So it's my thirtieth on Thursday.
And anybody who has not been aware this is coming up has not been paying attention. Only I wasn't paying attention and thought my brithday was the week after next. So was slightly surprised to get back from Cornwall (And I keep on trying to type Cornwell, which is my maiden name) and find the date was the 24th and that it's my birthday on Thursday.
The last time I was this surpised by my birthday was two days before I got married and was chatting to a colleague about the wedding and honeymoon and things and suddenly remembered that it was my birthday three days after the wedding... SHIT SHIT SHIT that means it's my wedding anniversary tomorrow.
Eeeek Have no card or present or anything.
Um, how many years have we been married?
*Counts on fingers*
Last year sometime I was reading a post on amipregnant
by a twenty two year old who was talking about her husband. And I was thining that twenty two was far too young to be married. And then realised that I was twenty two when I got married. Sometimes I think if I met my younger self I would find very hard not to be patronising to myself. (I sometimes wonder how different things would have been if I'd had the older brother(s) I so deperately wanted growing up)
So seven years. Um, what the anniversary for seven years?
Wool. Woo'ls doable without going into Bath. Whoops. You know how in marriages it's the sterotype of the Husband forgetting dates and the wife doing all the housework? Well with us it's so totally the other way round. And Doug has a shit sense of direction, whereas I have kick ass map-reading skills. (Even if I have a tendancy to route-plan based on which villages have the wierdest names or which route will take us down the twistiest, steepest narrowiest lanes) I want to buy a copy of that book "Why Women can't Mapread and Men can't listen" and burn it in an elabourate ritual. It would be cathartic.
Have been wierdly depressed all day since finding out it's my birthday on Thursday. It's nothing to do with the age thing as that doesn't worry me in the slightest. Infact I have to say this now, but there's been a rash of people on my FL turning twenty-five and posting OMG I'm Twenty-Five and I've done nothing with my life and I'm Old and Life is Over posts. And I love you all dearly but twenty-five is so not old. Really. Honestly. I think I'm lucky in that the older generations in my family have all done the cool sttuff later on in their lives, and are continuing to do the cool stuff in their sixties, seventies and eighties. So I've never had the angst of do your cool stuff before you get old and die.
Which is good, 'cos I so haven't found out what the cool stuff I'm going to do with my life is yet. (And anyone who has posted an OMG I'm Twenty Five post, please don't be mad, I love you all and just don't think you should be stressing because spending all your time trying to not be old stops you actually living your life).
I did warn you about a lack of spelling and coherency didn't I? Good, you read entirely at your own risk.
Anyway, so I've spent the day feeling rather depressed about Thursday. I suspect a large part is because I had so little sleep whilst camping in Cornwall, because the kids were so excited they wouldn't sleep until well gone ten, and the Cullyn woke up about twelve both nights and ended up coming into bed with Doug and me and proceeded to try (and nearly suceed) to push us out of bed. And then wake us up at five. So very, very tired. And I think that's mainly why I'm feeling down. Plus I'm trying not get excited about Thursday.
Because I loove Birthdays. I believe that birthdays should be big things and Birthday people need a fuss made of them, because it's once a year, and who isn't better off for having a little bit of a fuss made of them? So I always try to give Doug a good birthday, with lie-ins, and not having to do any chores, and nothing stressful, and nice things. And the same with anyone else close to me that I have the opportunity to do something for. But not many people close to me seem to share my view point on birthdays. And I try not to say anything because I'm not doing it for reciprocation, I'm doing it because I believe in it and I'm a big girl now and don't need people to make a fuss of me. But I'm really a petty toddler who wants to throw an tantrum screaming because no ones paying attention. And being completely honest I'm scared that as I've had my present from Doug
(and the boys and Doug's parents), and my Mum can be relied on to remember my present about a week after my birthday, and My sister isn't necessarily going to be around, that my birthday is going to be me trying to deal with the kids, maybe having Doug cook for me, (which, to be fair, is something to look forward to, because the man can cook) and not a lot else. And I shouldn't mind, I shoulnd't want more, but I do. Fuck I am a petty toddler.
When I was a child, I thought that being an adult was this magical state that you achieved sometime between eighteen and twenty one. When you were wise, and thought and felt appriopriately, knew what to do in all situations and were able to clean up your childrens vomit without feeling sick yourself. Insert sound of hollow laughter here. And even going through my twenties I still half believed that there was going to be this magic moment when I would suddenly feel like an adult. Would mentally catalogue myself amongst the grown-ups rather than the children. It was only a few years ago that I realise that you don't ever become an adult, you are always yourself, the only thing that changes is your experiences. And with any luck you use your past experiences to your future benefit. That last sentance sounds rather pretentious, but hopefull you get what I'm trying to say.
But anyway, I think with my birthday I'm giving my self low expectations so that if something nice happens that will be pleasant surprise-y and yay!, but if nothing happens I can be all stoic and not let myeslf down by behaving badly.
But because I'm so tired, and I have my period at the moment I'm all emotional and just making my self want curl up aomewhere and wallow. (Wallow's a very evocative word don't you think?)
Oh and I'm coming to terms with the hair. Mainly I didn't like the way she styled it, it was all bouffant-y and helemet-y, and was disapppointed that the reds they had were all natural colours when I wanted something more scarlet. But now my natural wave's coming back through I like the cut, and I plan on finding out how soon I can get the hair re-dyed a more scarlet red once I've found somewhere near me that will do scarlet reds. (Going towards the Jane Goldman end of the spectrum)
Well done on making it though all that waffle.( I might as well meme now. )
Oh and some Banksy Icons. (Feel that making Lj icons from Banksy artwork is something kin to an oxymoron, but don't care)
Obviously as the original artwork is not mine, these are sooo gakkable.