The President and I share a birthday.
His 50th is front page news for some reason. My 35th is mostly remarked upon by my mother and Facebook. (BTW, thanks for the Facebook wishes, guys.) It’s not that I don’t feel lucky and loved in my life, but I do start to feel like I may not actually be “special.”
You know how when we were little kids and our elementary school counselors told us things like, “you are all unique” and “everyone is special.” Never mind that those are blatantly untrue statements that grossly misrepresent the definitions of both unique and special. It seemed like a nice thing to say and I always thought I was pretty special, if I did say so myself.
It turns out that, again based on my information from Facebook, I am not. A lot of us seem to be living quite similar lives. We are parents and spouses and employees. Some are divorced, some stay home with their kids. But pretty much, we are all just living our relatively quiet lives.
I somehow do not think that I will be running the nation in 15 years. Nor do I think that in 3 years I will be gracing the cover of a magazine like 38-year-old Heidi Klum is on the cover of this month’s Marie Claire.
I get Marie Claire because in a bizarre twist of irony, I am rewarded for consistent recycling by earning random magazine subscriptions. I also get O.
The Heidi Klum article points out that she gets her great shape by “chasing her kids around” and strength training. I am so tired of celebrities who say they are in shape because they chase their kids. Where are their kids going and are they hopped up on drugs that they are so difficult to catch that it burns calories? They also say horseback riding a lot, but doesn’t that seem like more of a workout for the horse?
Anyway, I guess I feel old. I am middle-aged. I am not going to be the president or on the cover of a magazine. Although why I am so annoyed by a German supermodel, I do not know. I blame Project Runway and an affinity for Michael J. Fox in Spin City.
My kids, and this is where they really come in handy, are ecstatic that it is my birthday. They have been “decorating.” Which I will have to clean up tomorrow, but still. They got out party hats from Harry’s birthday and wore them to breakfast. They are thrilled that there will be cake tonight with dinner.
I may not be happy about getting older, but we’re singing happy birthday anyway.