Birthdays

I had a birthday on Saturday. I'm now 18 plus a score, but as my friend reminded me, "We don't keep score!" She made me laugh.

I've reached a point where birthdays just don't do it for me anymore. I don't mind being a year older. Actually I kinda like it. I wanted to be 40 this year. Forty seems a nice mature number, but for some reason that grown up feeling never comes. It is as elusive as tomorrow. My mom was right. When you are 38 years old you still feel like you are 20. Of course the gnarled hands and gray hair start to remind you otherwise but inside...20.

Lots of tough decisions to make and all I can think is, "Hey, I'm too young to be making these tough decisions. Isn't someone going to bail me out?"

Buttercup is almost 13yo and I'm thinking, "Hey, she can't be 13 because I'm only 20!"

Sage is using a heating pad on his back and I'm thinking, "When did HE get old?"

I mess up again and I think, "Am I ever going to grow up?"

If it was up to me I'd ignore birthdays; no birthday cards, no Facebook shout-outs, no cake, no presents.

Every year I feel this huge conflict warring within me on my birthday. I hate reflection. I hate that feeling all day long that if I look over my shoulder I'll see all those years gone already like a vapor. And if I look ahead it is all shrouded in mist.

All I really have is right now.

All I've ever had is right now.

And right now the laundry needs folding.

And right now the kids need me to kiss their foreheads "Good Night."

And right now I'm both adult and child, mature and immature, old and young, right and wrong, making good choices and lousy ones, sacrificial and totally selfish.

Right now I'm still just a clay jar when I had hoped to be a lovely vintage something better than dollar store vase by now.

Another reason to dislike birthdays. The other 364 days of the year it is far easier to remember it isn't all about me.

Time to get back to right now. Reflection over.