I love my birthday. In fact, it’s my favorite day of the year. I can make my birthday last a week, sometimes even a month. I’ve planned lavish parties and weekends away, been feted by Sig Other with surprise parties and outrageous gifts. But this year I made no plans. This year I decided to lay low. This year belonged to Child One’s graduation from high school, and 18th birthday and departure for college. It belongs to Child Two as he prepares for his Bar Mitzvah. It belongs to the backyard remodel and to a busy work schedule. It does not belong, I decided, to me. And so I planned nothing. But it turns out that even with no plans, even with no fancy invitation, no perfect plan, no elaborate announcement, my birthday was as good a day as any I could have imagined.
Beta Dog woke me with plaintive love and urgent snuggling, Alpha Dog, as always, woke up needing to go to the vet. Sig Other wowed me with the perfect gift, and the day continued with flowers to make a funeral home jealous, cakes and gifts and lovely phone calls. I got emails with hilarious poems and facebook posts from around the globe, a delicious dinner, far too much wine and sweet gifts from the children. It was, all told, a perfect day.
And now it’s here – the 45th Year. I’m halfway to ninety and still have yet to find a better name for this blog. I have no fear of growing older. No hesitation to share my true age. No phobia related to the forward march of time. I quite like it actually. I revel in my older lady status. I like being the wise old sage, the broad, the ol’ lady. Notwithstanding posts about saggy arms and wrinkled skin, I have no complaints about the passage of time. Thanks to all who made the transition to my next forty-five years a smooth one. Happy Birthday to me.