Last week was my birthday. I am now thirty-three years old.

Let's start with my feelings on that.

First, I have given it much thought, and I have come to the conclusion that I still qualify as being in my EARLY thirties. This is because when you first turn 30, you are THIRTY. Just thirty. No early, mid, or late thing going on. From there, the rest of the decade is separated into groups of three: 31-33 are EARLY thirties, 34-36 are MID-thirties, and 37-39 are LATE thirties. So, this year, I am still in my early thirties. 

I don't have to feel older until next year.

On the other hand, I have spent the week pondering the fact that Christ's ministry lasted from the time he was thirty until he was crucified at age 33. And then I think of my past three years. And I feel WAY behind. Except for that part where I made two people. That definitely counts for something.

Anyhow.

This year, my kids were very into the idea of getting me a birthday present. They convinced their dad to take them shopping, then they started asking me what I have ALWAYS WANTED that they could get me for my birthday (with their couple dollar budgets :) ). I assured them that they could just trust daddy to help them pick something out since Sean is always good with those things. 

Since I had been wanting to go to Barnes & Noble (someday, I will have to tell you all about how much I love my Nook), we decided that they would drop me off while they shopped, then come get me when they were done. About half an hour or so after I sat down with my hot chocolate and Nook, Sean called to tell me that they were done.

I walked out to the car, opened the door, and was greeted by a rather large box sitting in my seat.

Of course, it wasn't the box's SIZE that concerned me, it was its STATE.

"It has air holes." 3/4 statement, 1/4 question.

"Just open it," he told me.

So I did. And I looked inside. Then I processed for a few seconds.

"You got me a chinchilla?" This was COMPLETELY unexpected.

"Well, I know you've wanted one for a long time..."

People, a loving, sensitive wife would have just rolled with it. Faked it. Preserved his feelings.

I'm not that wife.

"I have???"

"Haven't you?"

"Um, I think you're thinking of a hedgehog." At least now I understood.

"I BOUGHT YOU THE WRONG ANIMAL???"

That was the point where I had some sympathy. I told him how hard it is to find a hedgehog around here, and how expensive they are, and HEY! A chinchilla will be a lot of fun!

Then, I spent the next couple of days wondering if, in some supremely ironic turn of events, my birthday present hated ME.

Over the past week, though, we have gone from the point where I could barely even LOOK at it without it barking in fear at me, to where we are now. And that would be the place where this hilarious little animal begs to come out of its cage, runs around my bedroom, hops up on my lap, and lets me pet its impossibly soft fur.  I absolutely love it. Which is probably good since they can live to be twenty years old.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure my husband never thought we might have to come home from our kids' weddings to let the chinchilla out for a run.

Some other things that I'm sure he didn't know to think of when he bought Cheech (who I almost named Peta, because how ironic would it be to name an animal raised for fur coats "Peta"?): They don't have ribcages. Which, of course, makes them delicate and terrible to hang out with small, not-so-delicate children. They are from the Andes mountains and therefore need cool weather. Anything above about 75 degrees Fahrenheit, and they can have a heat stroke and die. So, should we ever have a prolonged mass power outage in the summer, this critter is toast. Raisins are like chinchilla crack (not that that affects anything, but WOW does it like raisins). They eat pellet food and HAY. You know those wooden things in a horse stall that they shove the hay into for the horses to eat it from? Cheech has a tiny plastic one in his cage. So, this is probably the closest I will ever come to owning a horse. Oh, and they can't get wet. But they need to "bathe," so you have to buy them special chinchilla dust to roll around in. Yes, I'm paying for special dirt for my rodent to play in. They can JUMP. As in, he (she? it?) has no problem getting on and off of my bed in a single bound. And they are FAST. We're talking greased lightening.

Maybe I should have named it Kenickie.

Or not. I wouldn't have wanted to doom it a future on Celebrity Rehab, arguing with a Baldwin brother about whether or not it intentionally smuggled raisins into the treatment center.

Sorry. I promise that made sense to me. And it created a hilarious mental image. Because I'm weird like that.

Anyhow...fast. And jumpy.

That? Was "slow and cautious" mode. Did you see how effortless the jump onto the bed was? Last night, I watched it do a vertical jump two or three feet in the air. I also watched it grab a receipt that was on my floor and hop away with it like a kangaroo. Honestly, it just cracks me up.

So, Cheech may have been "unwanted." He may have weird needs and poop a lot (I won't even go there). But he has turned out to be a perfect present.

Like I said, Daddy is good at these things.