On Birthdays, Family Life and the First Day of School.

On Wednesday, I attempted to celebrate my 34th birthday. I say attempted because I have struggled the last few years of accomplishing too little and feeling like my life is flying by. For me, my youth seems to be a distant memory and the acceptance of wrinkles cellulite and other physical breakdowns seems secondary from the idea that many things I have done "in my youth" are over now. Simply gone. For example, the passion and amazement of new love my husband and I felt-now gone and replaced by a deeper more profound connection that surpasses newness and infatuation. Another example, having babies, being a young mom and giving birth to new people- now gone. A final example, is my early career years, now passed by. Could I be heading to the phase of age discrimination? I was very emotional in the days heading up to the "event" of turning 34. Stressed by the many tasks to prepare for the first day of school, Kindergarten for my middle child and 7th grade for my oldest. Typically, these preparations do not cause me to shed tears but this year I felt conflicted.

The family woke up, earlier that they had since the first day of school last year and had a wonderful morning. The children were very focused on what they were wearing and eating breakfast. Scott and I walked them to school. It dawned on me that I must let time pass gracefully, enjoying each moment since that is really all of us ever have. I cannot stop 34 nor return to 21, a particularly sad point in my life anyway. Time passes...we must allow "little deaths" in the process of aging. Letting go so that some magic can take the place of that which has died.
The other issues is that my husband really does not understand the concept of celebrating birthdays, he is somewhat annoyed by my actions to celebrate the children's and his birthday. Each year, and more so as the years pass the celebration of my birthday becomes lamer and lamer. This year the children had no idea it was my birthday, my husband made me a massage appointment and then when I arrived at the spa, I had to pay for it. No cake, no gifts, no candles, no homemade cards, just irritation and lack of enthusiasm. I had a therapist year sago who told me to stop with my expectations and I would not be disappointed. These are the trust words available to me in most of my relationships. I am the person who cherishes birthdays. I remember so dearly the moments of my children's births and also grew up in a family that celebrates these things. Celebrating my husband and children's birthdays are a way to remind them that you are here, you are alive and look how your existence matters to us! You deserve to celebrate! In the end though, these are my feelings toward the celebration of birthdays. For my husband, there are only sad memories of a youth with a dead mother unable to make him a beautiful cake and a father so cruel and checked out he failed to remember his birthday. For my husband each day of our children's lives are a celebration and putting undue pressure on one day to be "a celebration" is bullshit. So, I had me amazing massage, meditated and spent time alone. Alone. When I became very quiet I could see more clearly that my self-pity, my desire for Scott to automatically change and my expectation that people do exactly what I need is arrogant. I am the only person who can make myself happy. This includes surrendering to marriage with its ups and downs and difficult turns. Surrendering to the purely wonderful innocence of my children's faces and the how nice it is to be with them when I let the tasks "GO" and live each moment with no projection to past hurts or future worries.

And then, miracles began to arrive. In the mail a letter from a good friend with a piece of her art work. A posting by Lisa on this blog. Phone calls & messages. Birthday cards, a handmade gift from my mother and a nature journal form my aunt. A good sister friend of mine stopped by with sunflowers and shared a gin and tonic on the front steps. Children ignited with excitement about the new school year who remembered at 4pm it was Mom's Birthday and said so sat around the dinner table sharing. Finally, for me, a slice of blackberry pie-

Next year I will remember to celebrate my own life. Perhaps I will throw my own party and pick peaches and make peach pie for the party, they seem to be plentiful this year. Perhaps I will go on a retreat. I will honor myself and not expect others to create that for me, no matter how much I know they care about me. My sisters, my dear women friends, my mother, my aunt knew intuitively to share with me. Next year, I will not crumble and grieve. I will share with them my joy for life and savor that day.