I’m 44 years old today, a number divisible by 1, 2, 4, 11, 22 and 44. Not prime, but a good number anyway.
I wasn’t going to celebrate this year. Too much going on. Like last year with my daughter’s wedding, my birthday this year is buttressed between two larger events – my husband’s surprise party a few weeks ago and the Minnesota family reunion in a few weeks. I’ve been in planning mode for months, no time to think about my birthday. I thought I’d want to let it slide, let it be just another day. But that little kid in me woke up this morning and said, “It’s your birthday! Yay!” Same feeling I had when I was 5 and 8 and 12 and 20 and last year. I can’t suppress that birthday-happy inner child.
So bring on my birthday.
I’m starting off with a cup of my husband’s coffee. No one makes coffee like he does. Not Michelle’s, not Starbucks, and certainly not me. Then later, my youngest daughter will be here to take me out to lunch, and she’ll bring with her my family present: a new papasan chair (click here to see what it looks like) and ottoman, perfect for the Zen room.
It’s always seemed funny to me that I was born on a date I consider so serene. I love prime numbers – harsh, lonely prime numbers. But my birth-date is hardly harsh. Here’s how I figure it: The word “August” is a lovely word, starts with a vowel. I like words that begin with a vowel. The number 14 – it’s even, looks pretty, and is divisible by my fourth favorite number, 7. The year I was born, 1963, is not a prime number, but it is divisible by my third favorite number, 13. (For the record, my favorite number is 23, followed by 19.)
It’s also always seemed funny to me that I was born in the summer, my least favorite season, two weeks before the March on Washington and a few months before Kennedy was assassinated. I’ve never felt like a Leo. I always thought I’d make a better Libra. Being a summer baby, I was almost the youngest in my class and I never got to bring treats to share in class like the other kids with school-year birthdays. In fact, my birthday meant school would start in a few weeks. No wonder my mother loved celebrating my birthday.
Kidding aside, Mom always made each of us kids’ birthdays special. We got to pick what we wanted for dinner and dessert and she’d make it, no questions asked. I always wanted tater tot hotdish and chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. Tonight, I won’t be eating tater tot hotdish, although that does sound very good (potatoes, cream of something soup – how can you beat a combo like that?). I’ll probably just have some fish, but I know there’s a bottle of champagne in the back of the fridge leftover from my husband’s big birthday blowout. I think I’ll dig that out.
So happy birthday to me! Let the inner kid run amok!