Next year they'll surround me with black balloons.

Well, now. The weekend is over and it was a full one.

Saturday was my birthday. I turned exactly 39 years old. Really.

I'm kind of glad I reached that milestone because I can officially hold on to it for years to come. Seriously, I told my mother-in-law that it's just a number. I do think about where I'm going, where I've been (channeling Forrest Gump), but I don't want to get all hung up on numbers and years and how that wrinkle between my eyebrows just won't go away.

Mama always said not to squint or I'd get wrinkles. A word of advice for all you whipper snappers out there- Listen to your Mama. Not just about squinting.

I woke up Saturday, greeted by gifts from Hubs and Daughter. Normally we open gifts during birthday dinner, but they decided they couldn't wait. (I, however, was perfectly patient. Ahem.)

Daughter and I worked on a craft that I can't really go into here because some of my extended family reads this, and HELLO, it's Christmas. I'll have to tell you all about it Dec. 26.

Then I was off to get my hair done because one thing I've learned about turning 39 is that the gray just pops up in places it didn't the year before. I also had nearly 2 inches of roots to cover. Lovely.

After a little shopping and one stop for a faux Starbucks (specifically a faux Peppermint Mocha, it just ain't the same) I came home with my new do.

Hubs told me to spin around so he could get a good look at me, which is his way of telling me I looked nice. (After 13 years of marriage, I've learned his love language.) Daughter honestly said she liked it.

Later, Daughter and I discussed my hair privately while looking in the mirror.

"It's not too much blonde, is it? It's not as blonde as a few times ago, but a little more blonde than last time," I asked.

"No, it looks good," she said.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Good, 'cause I know if I ask you, you'll be honest about it. Daddy can't be honest. It would hurt my feelings. It's a husband kind of thing. But I know you'll tell me the truth and that's good."

"It looks good."

"Thanks. It doesn't look good when it's too blonde."

"Especially when you're not really a blonde."

"Um, yeah. Again, thanks for the honesty."

I'd better not asking her about that little wrinkle between my eyebrows.

Seriously, with all her daughterly honesty, she made me one of the best birthday gifts I've ever received. Dinner.

Daughter decided she wanted to make my birthday dinner. With Hubs' help, she made oven-fried chicken, tangy mixed veggies and french bread. She also got out the cloth napkins and china (her mama's doing a little dance) with pretty tablecloth. Strawberry punch was served in our glass stemware and Hubs' cookies were dessert. (Yes, Hubs makes cookies. They made me swoon over him in college. That's a post of itself.)

It was one of the nicest birthdays I've had. Family from far away called. Friends emailed and one even called me to sing. (Yes, sing!)

Thirty-nine was a good year. And I'm still holding.