It's my 43rd birthday. Here's what I think about that...
- I'm not sure I feel 43, though I'm not sure what 43 is supposed to feel like. My spirit feels younger, not super young, but maybe 38. Or 40. My body? Well, that feels 57. (see #2)
- Today I called to schedule an MRI of my neck and my mammogram. Nothing says "Happy Birthday to me" like a little controlled radiation.
- When someone asks what I want for my birthday, I finally understand why my dad always answered that question with "nothing." There's really nothing I am coveting. A few things I would enjoy, but I'm more interested in getting rid of stuff than acquiring more.
- OK, if I have to name one thing, I'd say a mani-pedi. It feels great, lasts a while and doesn't have to be stored or dusted.
- Mom's birthday is an excellent behavior modification tool. When Charlie was slow to get out of bed this morning, Robbie said "Get up! It's Mom's birthday." Annie used it to get the boys to stop fighting -- "Knock it off, it's Mom's birthday!"
- In the order of priorities, the hierarchy today is Robbie & Mike's soccer practice, Annie's play, Mom's birthday.
- It's much better when your birthday falls just after payday instead of just before. That's ok. I can wait to celebrate tomorrow.
- Every time there is a card-giving occasion, Mike puts a York Peppermint Patty in the card for me. It's a small gesture, but I love it.
- I'm 43 and I'm having a mid-life hair crisis. Is there really any point to keep growing it out?
- Being wished a happy birthday still feels good -- after all these years. So far, I've gotten 3 birthday phone calls, more than 150 birthday Facebook messages, and a little personal birthday greeting from Mike. (Blush.)
