It’s my birthday week!!!
I turn 43 on Wednesday.
And just in case you thought I’d be lying by my pool sipping champagne and being pampered, wearing something fabulous and generally being treated like the birthday princess I am, you are very wrong…
I have kids.
I’m running a small athletic department without the benefit of creating the schedule or having a say in anything. My birthday week actually looks like this:
Tuesday – golf match, football game
Wednesday – golf match
Thursday – golf match
Friday – Sunday – out of town for our daughter’s parent’s weekend at her university
So, here’s hoping my family remembers it’s my birthday and actually celebrates me.
Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I’m turning 43. It’s less birthday week and more birthday week presented by the department of athletics. I would say I wouldn’t have it any other way, but I could do without the Wednesday match being that Wednesday is typically our only non-sports day and I would like to be celebrated, but it is what it is, and I’ll be on the course watching my girl and cheering her on.
Might I throw a bottle of champagne into my cooler that day? Possibly. I am who I am, after all. Here’s the thing about getting older and having kids who are old enough to have lives of their own: Our lives look different. It’s not really about us so much anymore. When I was younger, my birthday was all about me. Now? It’s kind of all abou the kids. It’s not so much about what I want, it’s about what makes them feel good celebrating me. What excites them about celebrating their mom on her birthday. What brings them happiness and joy. Because truthfully, at the end of the day, when they are happy and excited, that’s what brings me the most joy.
Maybe I don’t need the world to stop for my birthday anymore.
I mean, I’ve made it through 43 years, five billion loads of laundry, 25 years of being responsible for figuring out what’s for dinner every single night of our lives, and I’ve raised four super cool kids. I’ve watched babies become teenagers. I’ve gone from having an entire life of my own to being more excited about the lives of my kids than anything else. I’ve spent an absurd amount of time on the sidelines watching my kids excel at what they love.
I get to spend my birthday watching my daughter do what she loves.
How lucky is that? How lucky that I get to spend my day with a front row seat to her excellence? How lucky that I get to say on the day I turn 43 that I have never missed a match, a game, a ceremony, an award show? How lucky am I that at 43 I get to spend my birthday with my kids watching them live their best lives?
Something about turning 43 this week is hitting different. It’s not that I feel wiser – I don’t. Let’s not get carried away. I’m still 14 at heart. But, I am more aware. I know what I like. I know what I don’t like. And what I don’t like is not being present for my kids. I know I don’t need to attend every event. I know my daughter would understand if daddy came to watch her golf on Wednesday so I could go celebrate with my girlfriends or something, but I know I wouldn’t like that. I wouldn’t like not celebrating my birthday with my family. I wouldn’t like missing her match.
I know that I like being present for my kids every single time. I also love lipstick. I also love traveling, and reading, and spending quality time with the people I love most. I love getting dressed up, I love being at home. I love rainy days and Harry Potter and my friends. I love good food and the holidays. I love football and golf and being with my family.
This year, it’s come to my attention that what I love is my life and what I get to do each and every day. My life looks very different two days before I turn 43 than it did last year two days before I turned 42. My daughter moved away to college. My other daughter is about to get her driver’s license and her own car. My babies are almost teenagers. Everything in my life is different, and so am I.
This birthday is not just another candle on a cake (I actually don’t like cake, so there’s that). It’s me still being inappropriate at the absolute worst moments. It’s mean still experiencing excessive road rage because no one can drive. It’s me still making plans and figuring things out. I’m still learning, growing, and changing, but I’m also still making jokes about things that most people wouldn’t joke about. I’m a work in progress, guys.
But I’m first and foremost a mom.
So, I’ll celebrate 43 on the golf course. I’ll cheer on my girl. Clap for girls I’ve never met. I’ll be sweaty and hot and gross. I’ll wish I brought the hat I always forget to bring. And somewhere in there, I’m sure my family will remember it’s my birthday and do something special and sweet for me.
And I’m not complaining. Maybe this is what 43 should look like. Not stepping away from my life to celebrate myself…standing right in the middle of this life I’ve built knowing that I have so much to celebrate.
Now…if someone wants to bring a cookie cake to the golf course and sing happy birthday to me and make a girl feel special, I’m not arguing.
