Dear Chelsea,
Happy Birthday. Thirty four isn’t nearly as fun to say as thirty three, but alas, here we are anyway. This birthday will pass with little fanfare. Jeff is traveling yet again. The kids have school. The house is a mess because you were gone all evening at a back-to-school night and missed your nightly clean-up. You chose debriefing with Petra about middle school instead. You will drive carpool, wash dishes, pack lunches, and vacuum the smashed crackers from the rug. You will share the cake you made for yourself with your kids. Petra offered to make it for you and while she is an excellent baker, she is not so excellent at the cleaning up part and this seemed easier. She will attempt to make the day good for you in some other way, if she can. Rilla will offer you hugs and birthday wishes and kisses. Lars will tackle you in what is his version of a hug, tell you you are the best, immediately followed by “I’m hungry.” Amos won’t know the difference but he will enjoy everyone’s enthusiasm. While you have trouble seeing yourself, feeling like a faded picture of someone you used to know, to them, you are an image burning bright into their memories. A figure that will shape the stories they tell and the way they relate to the world. A two dimensional character of their childhood. And so you let them sing to you, and ask you what you wished for. You will let them see you smile and accept your age without hesitation or shame because your daughters need to know that aging is a privilege. You will let your sons climb all over you begging for more cake, negotiating just a little more with a sugar high written all over their faces. You will internally debate the benefits of allowing relaxed indulgence when celebrating and sticking to reasonable expectations to prepare them for life. That’s a lot to put on cake, by the way, but you know that. Once they’ve had cake they will get distracted by this or that, and you will wash more dishes. This birthday will pass with little fanfare, and that’s alright. I don’t think thirty four is really going to be about you, anyway.
Sincerely yours,
Chels
