ninanevermore: (Motherhood)
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Sweet Pea is turning 6 in a couple of weeks. He wants a party. After all, all kids get parties when they have a birthday. Because all kids' moms know how to throw them.

Except for my son's mom. I am the exception to the rule.

Some kids! Some kids! A party for some kids! )
ninanevermore: (Default)
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I forgot my mother’s birthday this year. Again. Since she’s been dead for most of my life, there were no repercussions for this. I only remembered it on my own birthday, 3 days later. Being 9 months pregnant on her 37th birthday in the middle of a hot Texas July could not have been any fun for her. By her next one, I would have been a cute little just-starting-to-walk toddler, so that one was no doubt more enjoyable for her. The one after that, she would have been 39 and 6 months pregnant with my kid brother. From what I hear, she was angry at the doctor who told her she didn’t need to worry about birth control until I was a bit older (she never did forgive him) and fumed through the whole pregnancy; I doubt she took a day off to stop fuming on her birthday. In fact, I’m pretty sure turning 39 with a 6 month baby-belly only rubbed her nose in the fact that she believed she was “too damn old this.” Turning 40 with two small children and the security of a tubal ligation would have been a day to celebrate. While she loved us, she never stopped be delighted that we were the last children she would ever have. She never worried about having an empty nest.

“I can’t wait until you kids grow up and move away,” she told us. “It will mean my job is done and I can do what I want. Maybe I’ll write a book. Or your father and I will travel.”

To Be Loved Is To Be Wanted, But Not The Other Way Around )
ninanevermore: (Default)
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For the first time in a long time, I didn’t forget my father’s birthday this year. I have the internet to thank for this. My memory is not wired to remember birthdays. Actually, it seems wired to forget them. I remember my husband’s, but only sometimes. I remember my son’s, probably because I have a lot wrapped up in that day (his arrival was a life-changing event for me; most people’s birthdays are not). I am generally aware of what month the birth of people close to me occurred during, but I always forget the exact day. This last Saturday it occurred to me that my father’s birthday is in May, and I knew it falls around Mother’s Day because of the times I’ve visited the house to have my son deliver a Mother’s Day card to my father’s wife only to have her take me aside and tell me, “You know your father’s birthday was this last week.”

I really hate it when she does that.

Another birthday? Didn’t he just have one last year? )
ninanevermore: (Default)
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On the day you turn 40, you wake up with the same thought in your head that you had on the morning after you lost your virginity: "Funny, for something everyone makes such a big deal out of, I don't really feel any different. Shouldn't I feel wiser? More worldly? More experienced? More something? Because I don't."

If you bother to reflect back on the previous decades at all, you find yourself thinking the same thought you had immediately after losing your virginity: "Wow, that didn't take long at all."

Okay, so in my case, he was a virgin, too. The difference is that yesterday morning I was thinking this about 4 decades worth of time, whereas in the case of my virginity it was more like 40 seconds (if that). But still, I had the same thought.

Just drifting through the Universe on my big day. )
ninanevermore: (Default)
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Today, March 17th, is Saint Patrick's Day. It is not my husband's birthday. My husband's birthday is March 7th, and has been for decades. I've got that part down.

Saint Patrick's Day is, however, the last day I allow myself to acknowledge Jeff's birthday and not be officially "late." I'm not good at birthdays, and I allow myself this 11 day window to keep from having to acknowledge that I'm an inconsiderate and forget spouse.

I'm such a bad wife, I may as well be a husband.

Why the $%#* Can't Everyone Just be Born On Christmas? )
ninanevermore: (Default)
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A funny thing happened two weeks ago while I was stuck at the office: the infant I brought home from the hospital transitioned into a 4 year old boy. Due to circumstances beyond my control, he was 3 years old for a year and a day, and will only be 4 years old for 364 days. Time has a way of getting out of whack in our lives.

I'm been swamped at work for the last month, and just when I think I'm catching my breath I find myself up to my eyeballs in things that needed to be done a week (or a month, or two months) ago, but that I am just now getting around to. On my husband's nights off, he has been taking care of our son and on some nights I made it home just in time for bedtime stories and a kiss good night. On the 8th, which was my son's birthday, I figured the least I could do was leave work at a reasonable hour and spend an evening at Chuck E. Cheeses eating bad pizza and playing child friendly arcade games. I had the best intentions, but it seems I ran over a nail on my way into to work that morning, and my tire was completely flat. By the time I reached Jeff and he drove into town to rescue me (which served him right, for not paying the AAA membership fee when I asked him to), it was too late to do any celebrating. We had dinner at a restaurant in the city, and got home at 10 PM, much too late for birthday cake or the excitement of presents.

"We'll do it tomorrow," we told my son.

At A Standstill )
ninanevermore: (Default)
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about my husband's birthday present to me this year. I am notoriously hard to shop for, or so I am told. There are two reasons for this: the first is that I don't know what I want unless I am looking right at it, and the second is that if I don't want a gift I have just received, I have no talent for hiding my feelings.

After 19 years by my side, Jeff is used to this, because a man can get used to almost anything. Being used to a situation doesn’t mean you are happy with it. Gift-giving occasions are an emotional minefield around our house.

Boom! )
ninanevermore: (Ferris Wheel)
"By this time next week, I will officially be one year older than I am right now."

The Carney looked at me sideways, looking a little bemused, and spoke around the cigarette clinched in his teeth. "By this time next week, you'll be a week older than you are right now. How is that any different from you being a week older today than you were last Wednesday?"

Hitting the snooze on my mortality )
ninanevermore: (Default)
How the hell did I ever get this old? I still feel like a child.

If God doesn't make mistakes, then it must be agreed upon that He does tell jokes. Every morning, when I look into the mirror, I find I'm waiting for the punchline. Of course, my life just might be the punchline, which would explain why I'm the only one who doesn't seem to get it.
ninanevermore: (Default)
My birthweek winds to a close.

On the drive in, I was stuck in my own head, in my own cloud, and I noticed nothing. For all I know, I was the only one on the road today.

I feel too old and too young, all at once. This is nothing special, though; I have felt this way for the past 20 years.
ninanevermore: (Default)
iT'S MY BIRTHDAY. i HATE BIRTHDAYS. bIRTHDAYS ARE NOT GOOD DAYS FOR ME. bIRTHDAYS ARE UNLUCKY. bIRTHDAYS ARE THE KIND OF DAYS WHERE YOU DO STUPID THINGS, LIKE DRIVE OFF WITHOUT PUTTING THE GAS CAP BACK ON YOUR CAR OR TYPING AN ENTIRE FIRST PARAGRAPH ONLY TO REALIZE THAT YOU HAVE LEFT THE "CAP LOCKS" KEY ON.

Crap.
ninanevermore: (Ferris Wheel)
It's my birthweek. I won't even look in the direction of the Grim Reaper this entire week, so as not to jinx myself. He loves irony, that one. If he has something up his sleeve, I don't want to know.

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