Un-happy Birthday

A few days ago it was my thirty-first birthday. It was a terrible day, maybe my worst birthday ever, not just because I am getting older--I can deal with that. I love the new laugh lines and small papery crows feet and an aching lower back every morning when I wake up and the fact that one more year has passed and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up and now there is one less year to figure it out. Those things don't bother me overly much. No, this birthday was bad because in addition to all the little boys whining and fighting, my daughter, so as not to ruin her perfect record, snapped at me about fifty times before she left on the bus for school in the morning (she has been rotten to me every year on my birthday-- I distinctly remember the birthday I was pregnant with the twins I yelled at her after a particularly gruesome tantrum she had, “I'll remember this and I will make sure to be an asshole on your birthday!"), The Netflix wasn't delivered as promised so no movie to watch, there was a mountain of laundry to attend to, the weather-- which was eighty and warm the day before --turned cold and overcast, and I had to renew my license at the DMV where I was last in a long line that went out the door (and mysteriously decreased to nothing after I was through it--go figure) only to wait until my number was called, only to wait at the window when the computer wouldn't let the greasy clerk drop one of the endorsements on my CDL, only to get hit on by said greasy clerk as he waited on the phone for the state to fix the problem, only to have my hair windblown and mussed for my photo so that it is sticking up in the back, only to have me just grab the damn license and run like my ass was on fire out the door without getting a different picture because greasy clerk had managed to relocate himself to the photo section just as I went there--as if all those things weren't bad enough, the whole household was just in a funk, a dark cloud brought on I think because there is yet another chapter in the whole custody battle for my fifteen year old step-son who, last year, out of the blue, asked Hubz if he could live here with us. While it is wonderful he is here--he is a really nice kid--his mother has been fighting with guerilla tactics to get him back. I can say no more about it, although I desire to vent like Mt. Vesuvious. The one bright spot in a gloomy, dismal, and for the most part un-happy birthday was my birthday cake (no, not because it had thirty-one candles on it!). The Girl made it for me and Eighty-Eight Fingers and the Fellers (the twin two-year-old boys) helped me blow the candles out.

Now that I am older, I don't have high expectations for my birthdays like I did when I was a kid: the roller-skating parties, the presents, cake and ice cream and slumber parties with friends all around giggling the night away. It does not bother me that my birthday is just another day to most people. All I am asking for--my birthday wish--is for a little kindness. That is all. So kids, next year please don't fight, don't push your brother or take his toys. Don't block his view of his favorite cartoons to make him squawk. Don't steal his blankie and run through the house waving it over your head. And The Girl, if you don't have anything pleasant to say, please just remain silent. That is it; that's all I want next year. So I am hoping by getting my wish in early, it might-- just maybe-- come true.




***P.S. The Girl was much more pleasant after school. She has never been much of a morning person.