birthdays.
Today is Mariah Carey’s birthday. It’s also mine. Less exciting, I imagine. She likely awoke to champagne and maybe diamonds. I awoke to my 4-year-old shouting from the toilet “Mama, I pooped. Wipe meeee!” So hey, we birthday girls both get fun surprises.
With each passing year, I feel stronger about the importance of birthdays being days spent in unordinary ways. Something about a birthday, to me, demands uniqueness. It calls for anything but the norm.
So yes, I wiped my kids butt this morning which is quite the norm however, it’s been extraordinary since then. Let’s begin at the beginning, a swimming place to start most things.
I took the day off work. I cannot imagine typical email correspondence, excel sheets, power points, or anything like that carrying weight today. At least not in a productive way; it will all be there on Monday where I can give it true attention. Today is for the unordinary.
The Morning.
I did NOT pack my children’s lunches. I did NOT pack their snacks. I did NOT refill their water bottles. I did NOT ensure all the paperwork that needed to be returned was put into their school folders. Rather, I sat on the coach sipping my warm espresso while the kids gave me birthday hugs intermittently.
Brad handled all the hustle and bustle that is getting children up and out the door for school - alone. This was a gift of service from him to me. Taking away the mental load and seemingly endless repetition that falls on my shoulders makes my birthday a day that feels different than most. That Brad guy is a real keeper.
He took all the children to all the schools and I went on a glorious walk with my weighted vest like every other 40-something woman in suburbia. Sunglasses on, arms pumping like a seasoned mall-walker, airpods in streaming the newest Serial/New York Times production “The Idiot”.
I returned home, showered, and put in my free birthday drink order at my local coffee shop to pick-up on the way to a doctors appointment.
I know what you are thinking - “Oh hey there, writer. Why would you go to the Doctor on your birthday?? That doesn’t seem very special. Your story is a sham!” It’s true, I did not want to go to the doctor on my birthday however, this is also what you do as a 40-something woman: take care of yourself.
I had the flu (type B, whatever that means - though I have ideas: Bad, Brutal, Big Bummer) and it rocked me for a solid 9 days. So here I am, almost two weeks later with a cough that won't quit and some truly disgusting snot. You know the kind, yellowish-green that you don’t want to look at in the Kleenex but for some reason are compelled to every time you blow your nose. Don’t pretend you are above this, reader!…unless this is Mariah Carey. Then you are above this, enjoy your champagne. Happy Birthday.
I had hoped to cancel this appointment. I had hoped for miraculous healing. But alas - the snot persists. So I snagged my coffee and made it to my appointment a mere two minutes late (this is a true accomplishment for me - to be only two minutes late.) I’d like to note I hit every green light on the path to my Doctor. Every.single.one. This, I know, was a birthday gift from God.
Quick unnecessary sidebar: My time management skills are shit. I blame my parents, they both possess the same flaw. So, I can only assume time management is a genetic trait. For this biological reason, I am cursed with perpetually being late. I apologize in advance to all people who invite me anywhere.
After my appointment - I went shopping like a rich lady. I didn’t buy like a rich lady, I simply played the part. Perusing beautiful and wildly overpriced home decor items while sipping my lukewarm cortado and imagining which of my children would break the absolutely gorgeous $400 lamp and how quickly after I brought her home. Asking questions of the store owners about the origin of the art on display as if I were a potential buyer. ‘Twas quite fun, highly recommend.
After three fancy lady stores, I went to real lady stores. Stores I truly enjoy and, better yet, stores where I can afford to walk out with a shopping bag filled with more than a single coaster. The kind of stores that send you a birthday discount. Think: LOFT, Madewell, Athleta. I bought new jeans. I bought new yoga pants. It’s been awhile since I tried on clothes in a brick-and-mortar store. The kind with harsh and unforgiving dressing room lights, where the sales persons check on you a bit too often, and the check out process takes far longer than you’d expect in this age of technology.
The Midday.
All that shopping left me famished.
I love a good solo lunch. Most people assume I am an extrovert because of my personality. It’s a logical assumption, but my cup isn’t filled by social gatherings - it’s quite the opposite. I need alone time. Silence. Observation. And time to write, if I’m lucky.
So in the spirit of continuing my unordinary day, I’m writing this piece while bathing in a fantastic solo lunch.
You guys see that ramekin filled with butter? I paid $1 for that butter. The margarine (ew) included in the bread basket is free. But today is my birthday damnit, I WILL buy real butter… and I will likely take the unused pads home with me. (See y’all - not a rich lady.)
I sipped my Sauvignon Blanc and scarfed my red beans and rice in between crafting sentences. I ate both pieces of bread then asked for more and ate that bread too.
I’ve been here for 2 hours. I am sitting next to open patio doors, the refreshing Spring breeze washing over me while my feet rest propped upon the empty second chair at my bistro table.
What a fabulous unordinary lunch.
The Afternoon + Evening.
Well, I can’t write this part yet can I?
I do know Brad and I are enjoying a senior citizen dinner at 5 pm (nope, it’s not Luby’s - but solid guess) while my wonderful Mom watches our miracle monsters.
This means I have 90 minutes of time to fill - in unordinary ways. Maybe I’ll order a second glass of wine and partake in some epic people watching. Maybe I’ll keep writing. Maybe I’ll go for a run (HA - nope. Not doing that one). I ran one time on my birthday in college and it was the worst out-of-the-norm way I’ve ever spent a birthday. Never.Again.
Life can feel repetitive.
At least I feel this way - same thing every day. New complaint from a kid, new dinner to decide, shop for and cook only to have another kid complain, more clothes to wash, more work to do, more wrinkle cream to apply whilst wondering if it’s even working - you get the picture.
Birthdays should not be redundant. They represent the day you took your first inhale of oxygen magically converting from fish to human in mere minutes. We inhabit this planet for a very uncertain and very limited amount of time. So, I encourage you to first wipe your kids butt, if you must, and then spend the rest of the day unordinarily.
Happy Birthday, Mariah.
-Aubrey
