These days birthdays aren't all that exciting. Every passing year is jus that: another passing year. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. It's just that I find it hard to believe that I just turned 54. 54! Back when I was young, say 35, 54 seemed very old. Now, having arrived at the ripe old age of 54, I'm surprised (and quite thrilled) by how young I feel.
I can remember being around 12, and laying on the bed in my childhood bedroom (which featured orange plaid wallpaper on just one wall, as an accent). I remember thinking that being 16 would make me really mature. In retrospect, all that happened when I turned 16 was that the State of California presented me with a driver's license. The San Fernando Valley was never quite the same after that.
So I guess it's all a matter of perspective.
Totally by coincidence, we went up to New York to visit Charlie over my birthday weekend. I would love to say that we did this to celebrate my birthday, but mostly we went because it was a better weekend for Charlie than any of the other weekends in February. I'll take it. What could have been better now that we're all alone in our way too big for two people house, than to go and see our son, our first born, in New York? As far as I'm concerned, any weekend that we can go and see him is a celebration.
But the fact is, now that both of my kids arel out of the house, spending the weekend with either of them (or better yet, with both of them), and having our family reunited, even if just for a day or two, is a cause for celebration. And, since it was my birthday, this happy little coincidence made this the best present Ted could have given me.
(Note: This did not let Ted off the hook for a nice little something tied up with a bow.)