As of 9 something this evening, I am officially another year older. Yet another one of life's ironies, that in our youth we eagerly anticipate the coming years, with different years being milestones, while when we are older we would cheerfully disregard the entire day if it were possible. Did I mention that in Oklahoma the liquor stores are closed on Sundays? Bugger.
I'm really not depressed about being older. I just don't care. Although I do color over my grey hairs, as I don't think I'm mature enough to go for the distinguished look. Kinda clashes with the sarcastic t-shirts and jeans.
I'm up before 7, myself and the dog, which is unusual for me on the weekends. The girls are still asleep and the house is still. I've had my sugary-sweet cereal and a cigarette, my headphones are plugged in and I'm ready for some evaluation. Any startling discoveries about myself? Not really. Am I wiser? Perhaps. Am I more patient? At times. Am I more mature? Definitely not. More responsible? Without a doubt. Am I dwelling in the past, reliving my misspent youth? Only when I'm with friends, I'm firmly in the here and now. Am I planning for retirement? Gah! Hell no!
The only things I've found out this morning are trivial. Sam can demolish an Old Navy flip flop in a matter of minutes. Pirates of the Caribbean cereal, while it has a swoonworthy pic of ol' Cap'n Jack on the box, does not stay crunchy in milk. I desperately need a new mouse.
The one thing I've come across is that I am proof-positive of the saying, "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak". My body feels every second of its age, but my mind is in a state of flux. I can see past the reflection in the mirror to the girl I was before. She's still there, still goads me to watch cartoons and play in the leaves, to run and frolic despite the protests of my sciatica and messed up knees. Next to her is the cynical teenager, with a smart ass retort for everything, even if it is never spoken out loud and only reverberates inside my head. Next is the young woman, fragile, in love, insecure and worrisome. And then there is the crone, the person I will be, who bides her time and imparts wisdom by spoonfuls. Incorporating all of them and you have me, a panoply of faults, a cracked mirror with the light streaming through.
I'm being very self-indulgent, I know, but let me have my moment. With the way my birthday falls, it's easy to get lost in the shuffle between holidays, and that doesn't seem to bother me nearly as much as it did in the past. Frankly, the only ones I think it holds significance for is me and my parents, the day we were gifted to each other. Plus, holidays are stressful for me and mulling over my life can just be seen as seasonal depression. But that seems changed this year.
Friday, I had all of my decorations up, inside and outside. I even have 90% of my Christmas cards ready for the mail. Whoa. I haven't been this into it since the kids were wee ones. Maybe Sam's to blame. I know my outlook has been brighter since we got him, another baby to love and spoil and who loves me unreservedly.
Now, my plans for the day. I'm sure I'll visit with my family. Then, I'm off to have joint birthday cake and ice cream with my nephew, whose birthday was Friday. I have also had 3 separate adults threaten me with birthday spankings, so I'll be watching my back. I've considered lining my back pockets with plate metal. Last year my friend's husband hefted me off the couch by my ankles, held me upside down and administered the swats, to the grand amusement of all gathered. Forget plate metal, I'm bringing mace.
My grandmother bought me a lovely, feminine blouse in an outrageous shade of pink. I just might wear it, along with my spikey heeled boots. I may even put on makeup and jewelry. But until then, I'm off to play ball with my dog, cook breakfast and play video games. There are Uruk-hai waiting to be stomped.
Happy Birthday to me!