“How can it be a surprise party?” my son asked me. “It’s not like I don’t know it’s my birthday!”
He had a point.
“How can it be a surprise party?” my son asked me. “It’s not like I don’t know it’s my birthday!”
He had a point.
She’s [age redacted]? It’s time for her to start gearing up!
– L., age 10, making a joke upon hearing his grandmother’s age
I’m just a tad pensive today because today is the day that even *I* have to admit that unless something changes dramatically along the way, I can see middle-age on the upcoming horizon from here.
(And no, I’m not in denial. I know my calendar age, but assuming it continues to be worth it, I really am planning to live that long.)
Yesterday was my son’s ninth birthday, and at some point it occurred to me that it also marked the half-way point to the start of his adulthood.
When I mentioned this to his mother she got a little misty-eyed.
When I mentioned this to my father he likened this to being at the half-way point of a marathon: While technically it’s true that you only have as far to go as you have already gone, the second half is a lot more involved than the first.
“What do you want to do for your birthday?” Lala asked me yesterday.
“Reschedule it to a time when I feel like celebrating it,” I chuckled.
(Still recovering from the road and the events of last week, but me being snarky is a good sign that I’m getting better.)
Me: So . . . since it’s my birthday, does this mean I get to sleep in tomorrow?”
My Family: *deafening silence*
Me: *chuckling* Yeah . . . that’s pretty much what I figured.
*****
Mom: It’s a good thing you picked up the phone, otherwise I would have had to sing “Happy Birthday” as my message.
Me: Why do you think I picked up the phone?