40 Years and YouTube

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It’s my husband’s birthday today.  The big 4-0.  We had a party on the weekend to celebrate this milestone, and I was reminded again of what a wonderful, blessed life we lead.  With our house full to the brim with incredible friends and family, I showed a video that I made for him.  Some laughs were had, some tears were shed, some love was felt.

Should I post the video on my blog, I thought?  Should I be that transparent, that open, that honest with the online world?  The answer seemed obvious; to not post it for fear of sharing too much doesn’t make sense.  It’s a tribute to him, to his 40 years, and to the perfect husband/father he is for us.

You can view it HERE.

Huldebord-40

Happy birthday Chris! xo

This is 35.

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photo 3-5

This is 35.

This is what 35 looks like.

More accurately, this is what a grainy, mostly-in-the-dark iPhone photo of 35 looks like.

It was my birthday this weekend.  I love my birthday.  The beginning of September signals new back-to-school beginnings, and as a school-loving Type-A, September was something to look forward to.  Throw a birthday into the mix of excitement, anxiety, and anticipation, and you’ve got the perfect combination for someone like me.

But this year felt different.  The tides have shifted, the tables have turned, the timing has changed.  I’m not a kid anymore, I’m not a twentysomething, and I’m rounding the bend to 40.  If you’re reading this in your 40’s, you’re probably laughing at me.  If you’re in your 50’s or 60’s, you probably think I’m still young, and if you’re 70+ I’m sure this all seems trivial.  But to me, a change has come.  This is the first year that I’ve ‘felt’ my age, or rather, felt my aging.

35 is children.  35 is a husband.  35 is a career and a mortgage and lots of real-word-really-big responsibilities.

35 is too-old-for-that-skirt.  35 is wrinkles.  35 is bags under the eyes and slower recovery and much more fatigue.

I recently read that people are at their most-stressed at age 35.  I believe it.  I am acutely aware of the fact that my brain feels 21 and my body feels 51.  My world has ramifications and consequences and pressure.  My world has two little people counting on me, and they actually think I know what I’m doing.  My world has moved past sleeping until noon, weekend afternoon movies on the couch, and eating dinner at 9pm.  My world has become RESPs and age spots, property taxes and achy knees, retirement planning and knocks on the bathroom door. 

35 is slobbery kisses.  35 is a hug whenever I need one.  35 is 8 years and 80 more.

35 is understanding.  35 is acceptance.  35 is love.

35 is pretty.  Damn.  Good.

It was all the Extras.

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It was my birthday on Saturday.

I turned 34.  Not a ‘milestone’ birthday, not a significant life-changing number, not a shift in decade, or even divisible by five.  But a birthday nonetheless, and September 7th still makes me feel special every year.  Perhaps it’s the nostalgia of childhood birthdays gone by, perhaps it’s the back-to-school rush, and perhaps it’s the changing of seasons, but whatever the reason, my birthday makes me appreciative.  Grateful.  Happy.

All that being said, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to my birthday this year.  Not that I was dreading it, but rather that I was apathetic- I was in a ho-hum, take-it-or-leave-it, just-another-Saturday mood.  Birthdays have changed for me over the years, as they do with age, and the most important birthdays in my life now happen on January 22nd and March 2nd.  Those are the days on which memories are made, self-esteem is cultivated, and confidence is boosted.  Those are the days that I vividly recall meeting the two blessings who came into my life and changed me forever. September 7th takes a backseat.

And so, when Saturday rolled around, the day’s plan included hot yoga, work, a family afternoon at the playground, and a date night with my husband.  I love all of these things, so my ‘special day’ was shaping up to be pretty good.  What I didn’t count on were the ‘extras’…..

  • The extra excitement of my four-year-old racing in to my bedroom and waking me with an unprompted ‘Happy Birthday’!
  • The extra help from my children’s hands tearing open my presents.
  • The extra phonecalls, voicemails, texts, emails, Tweets, and Facebook posts from friends and family.
  • The extra mail throughout the week, full of birthday cards from across Canada.
  • The extra hugs, gifts, and babysitting from my in-laws.
  • The extra-special friends who surprised me at our dinner out, orchestrated by my extra-thoughtful husband.
  • The extra work done by my wonderful friend and neighbour to make me a homemade, flour-less, to-die-for chocolate birthday cake.
  • The extra sleep I got on Sunday morning when my husband quietly took the kids downstairs for breakfast.

The extras made it special.  The extras made it not ‘just another birthday’, not ‘just 34’, not ‘just September 7th’.

It was all the extras.

I’m an extra-lucky girl.

September 7th, 1979.

September 7th, 1979.