Birthday Watermelon

Today is my birthday.


The people who live in the same house as I do have gone camping for a few days. Seems like there’s a joke there somewhere, but I’m not sure what it is.


I’m not the type of girl who is tweaky about her birthday. I am exactly the age I feel at any given moment. Sometimes I feel twenty-nine, sometimes I feel thirty-nine. I mostly feel twelve. A good age to be, if you ask me. (And since you’re here reading my blog, I’m pretending that you've asked me.) I haven't felt older than my official age in years.


Chronologically, I am forty-six today. I have no problem with this. It feels great. I’m thinking I’m about mid-way along. This may sound optimistic, but I am pretty sure my drop-dead age is ninety. Or there abouts. So I’m about halfway started. (Not halfway done, mind you.)



Though out the early years, I was quite busy learning some important stuff: walking, talking, peeing appropriately, reading, bike riding, coloring and kissing. So I'm thinking that not all of those years count against my total. It's been only in the last ten years or so that my self-awareness learning has begun. Therefore, I’m completely confident that the best is yet to come. And babe, won’t it be fine.



My first birthday memory is of my third birthday. My uncle’s birthday is two days after mine. I remember sitting at a picnic table at the home of my grandparents. One pink cake for me. One brown cake for my uncle. And a baby basket at the end of the table in which lay an alien creature with much dark hair. My new sister born a couple of days before my third birthday. Happy Birthday Barbie! I wanted to name her Hoss, my least favorite character from Bonanza, but they wouldn’t let me. And that was the beginning of the end of the Reign of Barbie. We entered, the Dark Ice Age. This was a combination of the Ice age and the Dark ages, in the microcosm of my world. Until that day, I was the first born child, first born grandchild, toe-head, blue-eyed angel of the family. The center of the known universe. Man, those were the days.


You know I was perfectly feeling fine when I started this blog, a few minutes ago, but now I’m starting to get a little depressed.



My next birthday memory was of a surprise party. Five or six years old. I came home from somewhere, with someone, and my house was full of children. It was crazy. Seemed like there must have been fifty kids in my house. It was probably only eight. It’s one of the only childhood birthdays I remember not having to share with my sister. SURPRISE!

When your birthday is just a couple of days from that of your sister, you end up having your parties together. You end up getting a lot of matching gifts. We got matching stuffed animals, matching homemade outfits. We shared a cake. We shared party guests. I was, quite frankly, robbed. It is no wonder I’ve never really liked her much.



You know, I think I could use a drink. Scotch, please.


Barbie Birthday Trivia:

• I grew up where it was quite HOT in the summer, so I usually got a Birthday Watermelon instead of a Birthday cake (too hot to bake a cake).


• My 14th birthday was one of my favorites but if I gave you the details, you might think I should have notified the authorities.


• On my 16th birthday, I got into an accident on the way to take my driver's test. (And I totally passed.)


• I've repressed the gory details but there was forced camping involved in a few birthdays between twelve and seventeen. (I tried to report THAT to the authorities but they asked me to please stop calling.)


• My 19th birthday was spent sleeping in a tent along the river for the Columbia Cup hydroplane races in the Tri-Cities. (Wait a minute, sleeping in a tent by the river? That's camping. Holy Crow! All this time I thought it was a cool, four day long, drunken party without bathroom facilities. That one slipped right past me.)


• I let someone set me up on a blind date for my 21st birthday. It was the worst way to celebrate a 21st birthday EVER. Idiot!


• For my 22nd birthday, I threw myself a big fat party to make up for the fiasco 21st, the year before. If you want something done right, let me take care of it.


• I turned 23 in Anchorage.


• The next few birthdays were quite a blur of domestic life.


• One of my least favorites was my 30th. Not because of the age thing, but where my life was at the time.


• I remember my 40th was a good one. This was another perfect example of "If you want things done right...." Drinks by the water. A designated driver and almost a week to myself
  

My birthdays get better and better from there because the fog of adulthood begins to lift. Life shines again, for some years now. And I, with her. I awoke from my 'Compulsive Parenting' coma and am now, much better equipped to enjoy my children and for them to enjoy me.
Whew. Win, win.

By this time next year, I'll be Gigi to my new grand child. I can't wait.