So yesterday was my birthday. I’m 41-derful. Kind of a letdown after all the festivities of my 40th birthday.
For instance, I have 527 “friends” on Facebook, and yet I received ONLY 113 birthday wishes yesterday. The other 414 of you are dead to me.
I’ve always loved my birthday, as anyone who knows me will attest. I do my friends the courtesy of reminding them how many shopping days are left so that they can have the joy of watching me open a plethora of gifts celebrating the anniversary of the date of my birth. What’s not to love about THAT? I don’t get people who don’t love their birthdays – it’s an entire day that is devoted to the celebration of YOU. If you don’t want to celebrate your birthday, can I have it?
I must admit, however, that celebrating at 41 is a little more, um, reserved than celebrating the milestone of turning 21.
My thought process at 21:
I'm not athletic, but I bet if the Olympics had a beer pong team, I could totally be on it. Plus I have a good teammate. I'm gonna marry him in a few years.
My thought process at 41:
Gotta make sure I’m back from dropping the boys off at the bus stop in time to meet the Glass guy who is going to repair our window to the tune of $400. After 3 loads of laundry, a storybook about farm animals, and an “educational” children’s television program starring weird little talking mermaid gubbie thingies, I need to remind Small that we don’t “hulk smash” things that don’t belong to us.
Kick myself at 3:00 when I’m sitting at the bus stop waiting for Medium so we can go get his allergy shots, because, while I would have had plenty of time to make it to the doctor’s office on time if our appointment were at 3:30, I just now realize our appointment was at 3. Oops. Leave the doctor’s office and come home to help Large with his homework and order a nutritious pizza for their dinner.
Spend a total of 10 minutes celebrating with my family, which includes a tiny ice cream cake that is still in the freezer next to the frozen waffles, the chicken tenders, and the Jimmie Dean sausage biscuits, a funny card from Hubby, and 3 oh-yeah-I-forgot-it’s-mom’s-birthdays from the boys. Listen to a painful rendition of the Happy Birthday song complete with baritone accompaniment, which Large does NOT know how to play because he just brought it home today. Wait for Hubby to return from picking up babysitter so that I can leave for preschool orientation.
Have lovely cheesy & carbalicious mexican dinner, complete with what I hope was NOT a lice-infested sombrero and one (large) margarita. Don't have second margartia because a) I have to drive home and b) liquor sometimes causes me to be drunk and/or to lose the contents of my stomach. I paid good money for that mexican dinner. Don't wanna waste it. Hang with preschool moms as we converse about the origins of baby names and the appropriate age to start the kids in team sports. Stop by bank so I can pay sitter. Home by 9:15, because, well, it’s a school night. Take 3 ibuprofin to ward off a morning headache and mentally begin preparing my to-do list for tomorrow.
I promise I'll do a better job next year of reminding my friends how many shopping days are left, but perhaps you should just enter it in your calendar now.