An (almost) perfect day.

Sometimes the best days sneak up on you when you least expect them. I spent this birthday, and the last few days, with Jeffrey away. His summer sailing trip, a tradition only a few years old, could only be scheduled for this weekend. Never comfortable being alone (truth be told I have never slept a night completely alone in my own house), it would have been expected that I ask him not to go, and he would have stayed without question. But without any guilt inducing tone I told him to go.  Our  life is about the other 364 days and I'm so glad I'm finally grown up enough to see that. I had 2 sons at home, and plenty of friends to fill my dance card.


Thursday night the boys cooked me dinner, got me drunk (Ciroc coconut and pineapple juice - yum), made me laugh and cleaned up.  Nights like that are the payoff for all the nights I listened to them scream in the crib for hours, fought over homework, and held my breath every time they drove away to a high school party.

Friday night I went to the movies (Crazy Stupid Love) with my oldest and best friend in the world. Terrible movie (somehow more sad than funny) but how lucky am I to have RW, never more than a street away for all my life (close to 40 years of it) and not a moment (good, bad or ugly) she hasn't stood by me. Perfect birthday gift - perfect friendship (although if she could manage to hug more often it would be good,on second thought, after all these years it would be weird).

Finally Saturday I spent a quiet morning writing and deleting and rewriting this blog. I went searching for the photos, opening all my Mom's storage bins in the basement looking for albums. She is not traditionally a "saver" so the items she keeps are even more interesting. Sitting on the cement floor I am transported back to 1958 with love letters from Yale, held together by a red elastic band that would probably crumble if dared to touch it. I find one of my baby dresses (I think maybe the one I was wearing in the photo from yesterday), family photos from events I forgot about and relatives I've unfortunately lost touch with. I stop myself when pictures of my Dad make me sadder than I want to be on my birthday. Close the box, put it back on the shelf, take that trip another day.

Birthday calls from Jeffrey (inner voice screams loudly "tell him your fine, don't make him feel badly") my Mom who still sings "happy birthday" off key and without interruption on every birthday. Both brothers call with birthday wishes and an invitation to meet them later in the day (they had planned a beach day with their little kids) and I instantly knew I would make it happen. I take the hour drive to the beach (headed there anyway for dinner), play loud music in the car, cry some unexpected Daddy tears (felt good to let it out) and spend a perfect hour with my brothers and their families. In their faces I see all my childhood memories, in their eyes I see my Dad, and when they hug me goodbye I realize this visit was the birthday gift I gave to myself.

Off to dinner, happy music in the car, sunroof open, life is good. My birthday dinner at the Z's is also perfection. The table is filled with friends who feel like family, their kids who I loved as babies and as adults, and new friends who I know I'll see again. The night magically combines great food, embarrassing stories, hysterical laughter, quiet conversation, and a birthday cake shared by the four August birthdays. I drive home safely and my birthday ends quietly in bed, which feels far too big without Jeffrey's leg next to mine. And thus the designation of the "almost" perfect day.