Happy Birthday to Me

Today I'm 47. I love my birthday.

I love attention and presents. I love it when people smile at me and tell me Happy Birthday! I love getting cards, especially those musical ones, and cards that make me laugh.

I love getting a free entree at Moretti's, which is where my little family is taking me for dinner.

I love the season of my birthday--almost the beginning of summer, it's finally starting to warm up enough for shirt sleeves and no jacket, and the big fluffy pink peonies are just starting to open up. You can still smell the perfume of lilac and lily-of-the-valley in the air, and the flower pots on my deck are busting out with color.

I don't mind getting older. To me, getting older means having more to be grateful for--more life, more friends, more experiences, more maturity. I know I'm a wiser, kinder and gentler person than I was when I was much younger.

This morning I prompted A. Peevie and M. Peevie to remember my Big Day:

"Hey guys," I said, "Anyone know what today is?"

"Monday," A. Peevie said morosely.

"June second!" M. Peevie piped up, all proud of herself because she's been tracking the dates until the very last day of school on June 6.

"Yeees," I said, nodding expectantly. "It's Monday, June 2. What else is it?" Geez, what a person has to go through just to get a simple "Happy Birthday!"!

"My field trip!" said M. Peevie happily. A. Peevie just shrugged his shoulders, and started to turn away.

"What's special about today, Monday, June 2?" I insisted.

"OH, IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY!!" they screamed in unison. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOMMY!" M. Peevie ran up and squeezed me around the waist. "Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday!" she sing-songed, while we jumped up and down happily.

That's all I needed to get my birthday jump-started: some birthday screams, some jumping, and a hug.