I just had a great big birthday. I hit the big "five-oh". I couldn't really get a grip on how I felt about it. I won't go so far as to say I embraced it --I pretty much was down with just trying to ignore it. Didn't work out so well.
For one thing, my family and friends kept asking about my "big plans". When I'd say I really didn't have or want any "big plans", they'd look at me like I had a bugger hanging out of my nose or something. But really, I didn't -- until about 48 hours before my birthday, when I suddenly started pouting because I didn't have any plans.
Now this I should disclose about myself: I am a birthday brat. I have always expected BIG THINGS on my birthday. Not big gifts, necessarily, (although those would be fine) but merely that the world revolve around me for exactly 24 hours (or more in some cases -- I've been known to declare a birthday week). I want lots of fuss. I blame it on being a Leo --most of my Leo friends are the same way I am. I have learned over time that my husband, who loves me very much, is not a big birthday person. He finds my birthday neediness to be perplexing, annoying, and, I believe, more than a little bit scary. When my birthday comes, he is paralyzed with the fear of getting it wrong. He remains so paralyzed that he ends up not buying or doing anything until the last panic-stricken moment.
So really, my best birthdays are the ones I plan myself. My 40th was a great event that I orchestrated and directed like a crazed mad-woman. And then, from the stress of planning it all, I proceeded to get poop-faced drunk about an hour before the guest arrived. I hear I had a great time. I've seen pictures that indicate that I did indeed, but unfortunately, about the time I sobered up from my pre-party nervous cocktails, someone thought tequila shots were in order. So needless to say, I spent the first days of the decade of the 40's 1) puking, and 2) extraordinarily hung over. (Hangovers last several days beginning at age 40, I've learned)
But I just didn't feel up to planning my 50th. I've already moved this year, become a grandmother, and have a wedding to help plan. And really, I was fine with a small celebration, until about 2 days before my birthday. Then my inner spoiled birthday girl reared her head. My husband asked, one final innocent time, "are you sure there's nothing special you want to do for your birthday?" To which, I replied, "YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT? I WANT YOU TO FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO WITHOUT ME HAVING TO TELL YOU!" Let's be fair. My husband is a wonderful guy, but he has a long and storied history of mucking up birthdays and special occasions. He knows this about himself, and he would change, I believe, if he could. Well, my outburst elicited a look of fear as if my head had spun around a la' Linda Blair in the Exorcist.
But something amazing happened. First, I had a wonderful dinner with my family, who gave me the most incredibly thoughtful and loving gifts. Most cherished of all, a handmade, heartfelt card from my future daughter-in-law. And accompanying that, tickets to see Bruce Springsteen that my son had won for me (at no small effort, I understand). So, with my heart already full of love and thankfulness for my many blessings, I walked into my home to be greeted by a houseful of dear, wonderful friends. Somehow, my husband came through. He had the good sense to call in help -- first, my son, who, together with his fiancee', and one of my dearest friends, scoured my Facebook friends list, sent out stealth invitations, and lo and behold, in less than 2 days, assembled an evening I'll never forget.
All those birthdays I dreaded? They just keep getting better and better. I can't wait for 60!
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