Two days ago I celebrated another birthday. (Thank you.)
For me, turning another year was met with mild inattention on my part. I figured, ‘What does it matter, really?’ I found myself think-speaking Kaukab’s rendition of, “What da beeg deel? You da onlee one wit a birtday!?”
Reluctantly, I bought into her premise. In our house, birthdays stopped being such a big deal after we kids reached kindergarten age, and for me, that meant sooner-rather-than-later–having a “late” birthday–when schools allowed kids to enter kindergarten before they turned five.
As the day developed, I found Kaukab’s words becoming softer and softer. Her words were silenced with exclamations of birthday wishes, from old and young. Throughout the day, I was happily reminded of what a wonderful gift another birthday meant.
I’ve had friends who’ve been met with life’s ultimate challenges: death, cancer…you name it. Yet, through it all, not one of them ever complained about turning another year older.
But, for some odd reason, those of us who’ve clicked off decades from our birthday odometers seem to delight in the pronouncement to others of like clicks, “Hey, 29 ‘n holding!” And, like a good soldier, I laugh along, acutely aware of my foolishness. When I think back to that age, I don’t see anything remotely similiar to my present-day life. No husband. No kids. Lots of free time.
By the time the kids and I had returned home from the day’s outings, I had been bathed in birthday wishes in all forms possible. Even got some FB ones, which is a feat in itself, since I don’t have an account. (Thanks, driver boy, for posting on your wall!)
Hubby brought me some pretty red roses. Three. Always three–one for each of our babies.
But, the best birthday gift came in the form of a pink and black oversized shoe box, set upon our porch floor. Inside were these lovely treats:
All, courtesy of the Watters Sisters. These wonderful girls live over an hour away from us. They made these the night before and delivered them to my front door (blissfully unaware of our starving cats lurking about) because they knew how much I loved their rolls, and because, violin girl had asked them.
Why would I ever want to hold on to 29 ?