'Twas a Mostly Lovely Birthday

Houston, we have a problem. I need my eyes checked. If I can't tell the picture is blurry until I upload it??? It's a sign of age, I guess. And aging is what I've been doing a lot of lately.

My kids made my actual birthday lovely. My kids and their significant others, shall we say. Now that my future daughter-in-law has snuggled deep into our hearts, she has inherited the "woman's job" of picking out presents for "both of them" Lucky Ben. :) Dee chose a lovely purse for me. Have I ever mentioned my love of accessories, namely bling and bags? And shoes.
This bag was well-timed; my old one is about to break at the handle, which I'm sure has more to do with the 22 pounds of crap inside it than any manufacturing defect. It was perfect a year ago when Barb gave it to me. The chiropractor always tells me my right shoulder hangs lower than my left; he said a woman's average purse weight is five pounds. "All you really need is a wallet, keys, and phone, right?" To which I've said, "You've clearly never been a woman." And besides, if we downsize our purses, we might put him out of business.



Dee also asked what kind of cake I wanted and she'd make it. I said it sounds silly, but I wanted cupcakes made from plain yellow boxed mix and canned chocolate frosting. I had even bought the stuff the night before, hoping someone would ask. Thanks, Dee! She and Joel made about 20 cupcakes and I ended up having at least five myself. But that's okay. It's my party and I'll gorge if I want to, gorge if I want to. (Too bad gorging doesn't lead to being gorgeous.)

Anyway, the other lovely gifts: a string hung on the wall with about 15 penants hanging from it that read "Happy Birthday, " a bouquet from Steve, a bouquet from Sarah, a bag of lotion and spray and a sign from Ambrey that reads: Laundry Room: Not Responsible for Lost Socks." I told her I'd love a second sign: "But I'll Take Credit for Matched Ones, Thank You." Not that I make that happen more often than a US president gets elected.

Sarah touched my heart with her card (accompanied by a gift card for a manicure. LOVE that!)
It really feels good when your student-teacher-daughter thanks you for all the years of homeschooling and that she plans to recycle some of your teaching methods. And she thanks you specifically for many "little things" that make her life easier in college: switching her laundry over, making dinner, proofreading her papers. That was really sweet. So much nicer than "Thanks for everything you do." I'd rather be told three things I do specifically that they appreciate than hear "thanks for everything"-- because it takes love and effort to do those things and love and effort to write down some of them in a thank-you card.

My hubby is not the gift-thinker-upper-finder-wrapper kind of guy. But he IS generous. After all these years, he at least knows to ask me ahead of time, "What do you want for your birthday?" and I answer, "A massage. A professional massage." And that's what I go out and get for myself when I am all in knots like I was last week. So tight the therapist suggested (more than half-way through) "just an upper-body massage" because "we're running out of time." I felt a new knot in my stomach and wanted to say, "What? How much time do we have? Oh, please do my legs and feet, too!" But like an idiot I said, "Okay." What was I thinking? I was paying for this but letting the therapist dictate what to do? Just when I think I'm all grown up and capable of calling the shots, I let myself get disappointed.

I got many well-wishes on Facebook and some nice cards. I got a GREAT scrapbook from Barb that she made. That meant so much to me that someone would put that much effort into expressing love. When someone says, "You're worth it," by spending a lot of time and energy and thought to make you feel loved, you usually feel loved.

Then certain people forget your birthday who ought to remember it. That hurts.

I know I'm hard to please. I know I have great expectations that are easily dashed. Over the past few years, I've gotten better about it, I think. Maybe not. When will my birthday stop being a big deal to me? When it stops, does that mean I've finally grown up and matured in a fine adult?