Birthdays

We all know that there comes a time in our lives when birthdays are no longer thrilling. Just to put a finer point on that, somewhere between the ages of 21 and 85 we don’t really want to be a year older. 0h maybe the attention and the celebrations are nice, but in general we would prefer not to see that calendar flip to another new year taking us along with it. If only we could find a way to put a stop to that unrelenting, steady progression of time, most of us would gladly sacrifice that yearly observance of our ever-increasing age. That, however, as I and anyone else who’s ever tried quickly discovers, is a losing battle. That’s a definite “no can-do“ if there ever was one.

And how, might you ask, did I try to stop that continual, annoying progression of time? Simple. When my children were very small, I had them convinced that I was 29 and just kept sweeping those yearly birthdays right under the rug. This worked quite well until one day the sister my children knew to be younger than I was blabbed her age in front of everyone at a family get together. My children all turned a questioning eye towards me, and I knew my cover was blown. I just sat there feeling like a deer in the headlights. Busted. 

Since there isn’t a thing in the world I can do about this whole business of yearly birthdays, I have decided to embrace it. You’d be well advised to do the same. It’s one of those “if you can’t beat ‘em, you might as well join ‘em” situations. And if you’re reluctant to heed my advice, I may as well warn you. It’s going to be harder than you think. Your relatives will ruin it for you, and if you have children, they’ll figure it out. They can do math.