Tomorrow I turn 38.
38 is an uneventful number. It signifies nothing. I feel neither good not bad about it.
I will celebrate by attending not one – but two first grade holiday parties. Usually I spend my classroom holiday party time running back and forth between two classrooms but this year the teachers or homeroom parents have planned the only two parties I care about two hours apart so I will spend four hours doing crafts with 28 sugar infused six, seven and eight year olds on my birthday.
I am only being 80% sarcastic. As much as I dread the noise level during and the mess and headache that will follow I have always wanted to be the mom that showed up for the class parties. My mom was always the homeroom mom. I don’t have that in me, but I kind of like talking to the other students and the other parents are always very nice. I like being in the classrooms and getting a feel of where my kids spend all day five days a week. I like hearing the stories that the other parents tell me about their children. They always make me feel like my kids aren’t such freak shows.
I just wish it wasn’t on my birthday.
I’m not sure what I think I would be doing from 12:00 PM to 4:00 PM tomorrow if I didn’t have to be at school. In reality, I would probably be writing proposals, checking my e-mail and doing laundry just like every other day. Maybe I would be Christmas shopping.
I was commiserating with White (who sometimes calls me “Tampa” now, like it is my name, probably to punish me for constantly referring to her by her last name) about having Christmas birthdays yesterday and I’ve been wondering what it would be like to have a birthday in March or September or some less busy time of year. It seems so charming, but really, I’ll be 38. It isn’t as if had I been born on April 12 I would be out all night doing shots of Jägermeister.