Today is my 63rd birthday. I give to you today a repost of the entry wrote I about my 25th and my 50th birthdays. Today will be far quieter, but I wanted to drop in to say that my 50s were wonderful and my sixties, Covid aside, have been good. I think I’ve got this aging thing down.
The following was written 4 days after the epic party when I could finally write about it without crying.
Approaching my 25th birthday, I had a midlife crisis. Having always been precocious, the early advent of said crisis shouldn’t have been a surprise. But it was.
At 25, so I thought, I had to grow up and be an adult. I needed to pay my bills on time, get my oil changed, quit wasting money, and become a responsible (unmarried) matron.
Appalled at such a future, I threw myself a birthday party – the last blowout of my misspent youth before donning sensible shoes and alphabetizing my spice jars.
At the time, I lived in Milwaukee with the ex who was not yet a husband. We had a house in the city on a tiny lot in a solid, staid working-class neighborhood. Knowing the party had the potential to get out of hand, we invited the entire neighborhood thinking if folks were invited they were less likely to complain.
I don’t know how it is possible that I am old enough to have a 30-year-old child. Life is one, big goofy trip.
I had a rough pregnancy and he was 9 weeks premature. After he was born, I only got to hold him for a minute before they whisked him off to a NICU isolette. In that minute, I fell irretrievably in love with him.
Suffice it to say that Chef Boy ‘R Mine is the love of my life.
He has turned into a marvelous man and an exceptional chef – I honestly don’t know how it was that we were surprised by his decision to become a chef. The evidence was there all those years ago.
I’m snuggled on the couch with the puppy drinking coffee. After complaining about the heat for days, I’m enjoying the storm waging outside The Barn.
I promised myself I would not complain about this summer’s heat after last winter’s cold. I meant well.
But there’s nothing like feeling safe inside while the rain rages outside. I feel snug and loved as the puppy is using this opportunity to cover me with sweet puppy kisses.
I joke that Carruthers should be here. Whenever she visits, West Virginia is dowsed in torrents of rain – tropical monsoons the likes of which we all marvel at. But Carruthers is turning 25 while doing fieldwork in Indonesia. I bet it’s more tropical here today.
Her birthday isn’t technically until tomorrow, but it’s tomorrow today where she is, so I wished her Happy Birthday as she ate Mexican food and listened to salsa music in an Indonesian restaurant. Isn’t it a wonderful world!
One of the greatest blessings I received from Doug is his daughter, Carruthers. I would never have gotten through this past year without her. I hope she knows how much I love her.
It’s unbelievable to me that I can possibly have a child who turned 29 today. I mean, really, how can that be? No, he wasn’t a teen mama baby, I was 26.
He lives in Atlanta and so I wasn’t able to wish him Happy Birthday in person. Atlanta is much too far for my comfort. He might be 29, but he’s still my baby and I want to be able to get to him quickly should circumstances dictate.
I sent him, via Amazon, a not-very-exciting gift. For some reason, he didn’t get it although tracking showed it delivered. I feel really bad that he didn’t have a present on his birthday. Tell me — do parents ever quit thinking of their offspring as little kids? I imagine a 6-year-old bereft without a birthday present instead of a grown man of 29 who just shrugged it off.
He was the world’s cutest kid and I’m so ready for him to produce my grandchildren. I can’t wait to live life through the eyes of a child again.