I made the insane 50 yard trek to the mailbox the other day and collected the shitstorm of mail that awaited for me. I. Hate. The. Mail. Everything I really need to know, I find out electronically nowadays. Kim K’s naked again… yup. Light bill is due… yup. Babies born, marriages started, marriages ended… I got you interweb. Thank you for being the most amazing form of paperless currency in my life. No mess, no stress. Yay me.
So, back to my shitton of mail: American Girl catalog… no girls here, Pottery Barn… you’re 10 years late on my income, Tax Collector???? What? I’m reading this shit. Oh, wow, it’s time to renew my registration… really? Wonder why? Then I looked at the date, and I realized that my birthday is less than 5 days away. What.The.Fuck?
My birthday? It feels like we just celebrated that? If memory serves we went to that yummy Japanese teppanyaki place. You know, the one where they cook in front of you on the table? And the kids were super adorable and well-behaved that night. The 3-year-old shared fried rice with me, he had just learned to use chopsticks too, pretty well I might add. The 9-year-old ate EVERYTHING on his plate, including scallops. And the baby? What did the baby do? Hmm, why can’t I remember? OMG, because I was still pregnant. The last time I celebrated my birthday I was STILL PREGNANT!
That’s how fast it all goes. Whoosh, a year! Over. Leaving me sitting here to scratch my head at the sheer speed of it all. Mind. Blown. I really have nothing against ageing or birthdays, as far as I’m concerned getting older is much better than the alternative… being dead. Yet, it’s so hard to believe that a year ago we weren’t yet a party of 5, because I feel like we’ve been our completed family forever, but the time bandit and that damn calendar has reminded my old brain that it’s wrong.
Sometimes, on a Sunday afternoon, when my kids are being utterly ridiculous with their, “I’m bored,” and their, “There is nothing TO DO!” bullshit, I think to myself, ” I didn’t sign on for this,” but I did. I really, truly did, I just hadn’t read the full job description when I accepted the position.
So this year, when I blow out my birthday candles I’m going to wish for the ability to breathe in the good things, the little things they do that make me proud and happy, joyous and in awe of their little souls, and the ability to cast away the annoying parts, the stupid behavior they pull when they are hungry or tired or just mad. Just maybe, maybe, if I can do those things I won’t be as surprised when the County tax collector reminds me of my birthday next year.
Most importantly I’m giving myself a fabulous gift this year. The gift of self forgiveness. I am my worst critic, and I really need to cut that shit out because it only distracts me from enjoying my life. No one gets all of this mom-shit right all of the time. That’s just a fact I have to keep reminding myself of.
Wonder where my birthday dinner will be this year?
I really don’t feel like cooking.