38, and Chocolate Cake!

Denanananana! Yeah, it's my birthday! Denanenanananah! Is it your birthday too?

Weirdly, I have always been surprised when someone else has the same birthday. Which is silly, really. I mean, the odds are pretty good that you are going to run across other people with your birthday; people have to be born some time during the year, you know. Still, I remember being in Junior High when I realized for the first time in my life that I was actually sharing a birthday with someone else, and she was in my class, and a real snot. Only fun people should be born on my birthday.

In truth, I'm not a huge fan of my birthday. My best was when I was 15 years old. I had a fabulous party, and friends, and frankly I don't know if I've ever had such a wonderful time. It was all downhill from there. (Does this mean I peaked at 15?)

In general, I've always enjoyed my birthdays at least a little bit. I loved when they fell on school days because it meant a whole day of being "special" at school when everyone told you "happy birthday." This was a big deal to me because my stupid little brother (I'm regressing to my inner six-year-old) was born during the first birthday party I ever had when I turned three. The party was on the 25th, so at least he didn't crash my actual day - just the party. Typical, for him. It was a sign of what was to come (a blur of Chuck-E-Cheese's and streamers over the years followed by a "can't you just be happy with a cake? We just had your brother's party...")

After that, it's been pretty sedate. When I turned 21, I was married and living in a brand new city for a couple months (Chicago) with no friends. We went to a bar where my husband tried to get some people to show up from his work (they didn't, because -duh- they didn't know me) and we went out to dinner where he got carded and I did not. Hazard of marrying a younger looking guy, I guess (he looks older now, I make sure to remind him of that on a regular basis.)

Now, I'm 38. I'll have been married 18 years this year and my children will turn 15 and 13. I live in a house in the middle of nowhere in Vermont. I am a professional artist, a painter. I have two college degrees (which I suppose it's arguable whether or not that I use them.) I have read a bajilliony books, done even more laundry, learned more about chickens than I ever wanted to know, and every once in a while have a life and death encounter with coyotes (or other equally scary critters.)

I'm wrinkling. I see age taking its root in my face (and other places, but we won't go there) and I wonder whether I've earned those wrinkles or not? It's all gone so fast! I feel my mortality very keenly right now, and I sincerely hope that there are far more decades to come.

Decades with chocolate cake birthdays. Because no birthday of mine, good or bad, shall happen without chocolate cake. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting with chocolate chunks baked in.

I mean, I'm 38 people. I'm going to do this chocolate cake thing right!