Birthdays have always been a big deal to me and Doug. We have a tendency to over-celebrate. It's not just the day, it's at least the week that we make excuses to celebrate, i.e. "Oh, let's go out to eat tonight--it's my birthday" or "Ya, let's have that cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner, it's my birthday." As time marches on, I've just recently realized that my birthday and Doug's, really aren't that big a deal anymore. This is not a complaint or any source of sorrow. Just a realization. I will be 32 (GULP) this year. THIRTY-TWO! I can remember when that was O-L-D. And now that we have two small children, their birthdays and Christmases are what matter more.

I especially realized this today as I did some things at work. With this job I have, I am required to take call--be on-call if needed on some weekends and holidays and the occasional weeknight. I'm switching around to take a co-worker's weekend (as i would prefer to take an extra weekend as opposed to the inconvenience of a weeknight if I'm called in and Doug happens to be out-of-town). Anyway, what it came down to, was, I would take her weekend but I would need to take Weds, May 30th and Thurs, June 14th. No biggie, right? Well, May 30th is my birthday. Do I care about this? Surprisingly, no. Doug and I used to make a HUGE deal out of my birthday in particular because it usually falls right on Memorial Day weekend. We'd go to the beach or camping. Once we spent a fantastic weekend in New York City. This year, I'll be happy to hunker down at home with my boys and some yellow cake with chocolate frosting. Sitting by the phone, of course, just in case...