Catchy title eh? Today is my last day being 38. As I am every time this year, sad. I do not embrace getting older. Even though my age increases I continue to be the same person inside, a young sometimes crabby jokster whose mind is always in the gutter.
That's something to be proud of eh?
The kids are always excited to celebrate with me. I have always made such a big deal about their birthdays that they do the same for me.
Growing up birthdays just weren't a big deal in my house. There were gifts and a cake but no friends or family invited over to celebrate. When I was old enough to understand being adopted, my mother explained to me that the adoption center had suggested that two dates be celebrated, the day I was born and the day I was brought into the family. Because my brother is my parents biological child, the decision was made to not celebrate my adoption in that way.
(as a side note: this was probably a good idea because my brother tells the story of how when I was first brought home he squeezed my toes until I cried.)
My most memorable birthday gift was my 11th birthday. My mom actually bought me three books. This was most unusal. My mother's gift themes follow the same genere, outfits or knick-knacks. She is not one to stray from that either, even though I am beyond beaded sweaters and scuptures made of fake stone and have plastic plants. (I wish I were kidding)
To this day I can remember the moment of opening the books (they were wrapped together) and the thrill I felt. (one was The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe)
These days I love to give the gift of reading. Sometimes it's a book or sometimes it's a magazine subscription.