So…I have a birthday on Saturday. It’s not a big one (such as one ending in 0). I have always loved birthdays. My parents made gift-giving events really fun when I was growing up. My birthday felt special every year. This was difficult for them to pull off as my older sister has the same birthday (can we say “best birthday present ever?”), and it usually falls somewhere around Easter. My dear mother, God love her, would make two birthday cakes, have two birthday parties on the same day for our friends, and have a separate family birthday party, too. I still remember opening my Strawberry Shortcake roller skates. They were soooo cool! BTW – we have a picture of me wearing my skates sitting beside my little brother who is pretending to smoke candy cigarettes (remember those?).
I love giving presents as much as receiving them – I really do. This makes birthdays fun for me no matter who is having them. I enjoy the fact that Starbucks gave me a free birthday drink of my choice for being a member of the Starbucks Rewards club. This morning I lingered over a Skinny Caffe Mocha while reading on my Kindle – small joys. I like that my children were making “birthday preparations” (their words, not mine) this morning before school. They are carrying on the tradition of making birthdays fun.
So, this is why I’m confused. When did I become one of those people who hates their age? Last night I got a laugh out of reading this tweet by @bcurrie5: Connect Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself , but realized that I’m dating myself for even getting the reference. I was driving around noon today, when a radio station I listen to has “Back-in-the-day-cafe”. I was jamming to Jump by Kris Kross, before it dawned on me that they were playing my high school songs as the throwback tunes. Ugh – when did I get old???
I was talking to a great friend (who happens to be a bit older than I am) last night about this subject, and she reassures me by saying, “It’s okay. You’ll realize that your role at the lunch table is now as the wise one. People will respect you for your experience and professionalism.” Hello?? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Ok, so I do want that respect, just don’t want to be called “ma’am”, and stuff.
I started out writing this expecting to come to some grand moment when I embrace the aging process and proudly declare how old I will be on Saturday. But alas, I have had no such moment. So, I guess all of that to say, I will forever be 26 to anyone who asks (even though I have an eleven-year-old daughter…), and don’t look too closely at my face. Maybe if you squint at me while I’m talking, my skin will look like someone in their twenties. I won’t think you are weird at all.