Sentences with phrase «morning after my birthday»

On the Sunday morning after my birthday, T and I put on our walking shoes (lol - I wore heeled boots that actually walked in ALL DAY LONG).

Not exact matches

Each of us chases after a desirable «rating» — an average score (out of 5 stars) that's affected by everything from that sideways glance you gave the woman walking past you on your morning commute to the lack of enthusiasm you displayed for the birthday gift your co-worker gave you.

After finishing his homily at the morning's Mass, the small - town priest briefly interrupted the liturgy for about ten minutes in order to call attention to a terribly special occasion in their parish: the sixtieth birthday of a parishioner in the front row.

Tomorrow is a day of rest (sort of: it's my eldest son's milestone birthday and I am switching gears and making birthday cake and a special dinner) and then Monday morning, after I go swimming, I'll be baking with a friend or two... yet more hamantashen.

This is no special recipe, but I went on a small shopping spree on my birthday at the organic supermarket (LPG) after an early - morning trip to the finance office to figure out how the eff I'm going to pay my German taxes (like taxes aren't hard enough in English)!

I wanted to say «well it's cereal this morning and Mom can make pancakes later» but after looking at her dear sweet birthday face, I set the babies down in their chair together and said, «Well let's make pancakes then.»

For the months leading up to and after her birthday, she was only nursing after waking up in the morning and after waking up from her nap in the afternoon.

That comes crashing down, however, when gunfire rings out the morning after his 30th birthday.

By the end of her first go - around on her birthday, she has blown off a seemingly genuine sort of nice guy named Carter (Israel Broussard), who let her crash in his dorm after a drunken night of partying (One of the amusing gags here is that, every morning, she wakes up with the knowledge that a killer is coming to get her, and she does so with a killer hangover).

While the artist is inspired by classical works like Augustus of Primaporta, the Artemision Bronze, the Venus de Milo or Winged Victory, to contemporary eyes the works evoke perhaps a sagging Koons balloon sculpture, or to a non art person, a birthday array the morning after.

It surrounds itself with the pastel shields of diversity committees and health advisors, rebadges HR as «talent management» and hires workspace - design consultants and installs pink noise generators, but the truth seeps out here and there: sixteen weeks without a day off (including weekends); equity partners sacked on the first day of sabbatical; women logging on to the firm system the day after giving birth to deal with an «urgent» client matter; every deal commencement meeting in one Projects department fixed for Saturday morning, despite protestations from two mothers in the team; endless expensive holidays cancelled at the last minute, anniversaries, birthdays and weddings missed, sacrificed on the altar of «client service».

I didn't sleep well, hustled into the office via a mailbox delivery to my ex's place of the youngest's homework and orange clothes for Harmony Day, listened to a message on my phone from the eldest's school about her fringe being too long (WTF FFS), bolted home after work to let the fur babies inside, bolted back to work for an office dinner (that's the gang in the main pic), realised on the way home that I need to be at a work function on Wednesday morning at 6.30 am... which is the youngest's birthday; had a major panic attack over the youngest waking up parentless on her 11th birthday; sent a frantic message to my ex asking if he could come over at 6.30 am on Wednesday; chatted briefly to an exhausted DD as he drove home from work at 9.30 pm; felt my stomach drop slightly when he said «just don't blog about the howling dogs»; pointed out that those sort of suggested edits needed to be made MUCH earlier to avoid appearing in the blog...

Yesterday morning, March 24th, 2018, my sweet husband of 33 years, Dennis West, passed away, a day after his 86th birthday.

I was pretty devastated, after years of getting a broken head doing cupcakes for school on birthday morning, I didn't have to and I was upset about it!