Saturday, June 6, 2009
32 Down, or: Hey, look! Mimi is a winged monkey!
Despite a fretful reluctance to have a birthday at all this year, I survived my 32nd with very little drama. Nothing blew up, nobody died, and and I even had a patch of good luck when a renegade thunderstorm caused the cancellation of the kindergarten trip to the zoo, thus freeing me from spending the day with an army of 5-year-old hooligans from hell.
It seems surreal that I've reached this point in my adulthood. I remember when the thought of twenty seemed old. And twenty-one? ANCIENT. My birthday is far more exciting to my kids these days than it is to me. (Not that I can blame them--after all, it IS an occasion involving frosting, which is one of life's greatest pleasures.) When I woke up yesterday morning, the kids sang "Happy Birthday" to me first thing, put pink-and-silver glitter "birthday wings" on me, and shoved a pink "birthday monkey" named Bella into my lap. (Why did Bellamy's dress-up fairy wings become "birthday wings" and why did her monkey from the school treasure chest--named after herself, of course-- morph into a "birthday monkey"? Good question. When I asked her, I was informed that, "Well, everybody has to have wings and a monkey on their birthday." Just wait until the day she makes it all the way through the Wizard of Oz yet and discovers the winged monkey. That will BLOW HER MIND.) Regardless, once I got a little caffeine into my system I was fairly agreeable about the weirdness. At least SOMEBODY is excited about my birthday, even if I'm no longer all that thrilled when it rolls around.
I just hope all of you are able to have wings and a monkey on your birthday, too.