This is a good week, because some of my favorite people in the world celebrate their birthdays. If you weren’t born this week, that’s okay, I still like you. Kind of.

Birthdays are a funny thing. I enjoy celebrating them when they belong to someone else and I like the wishing on the candles part of my own, but the whole getting older thing? I could do without.

Somewhere between 27 and 43, I was living my life, but I don’t remember much of it. That portion is a blur of spit-up, home improvements, career changes, my son’s surgeries, puppy poop, bad hair and mom jeans. I don’t think people should go to college until they are in their 40s, because you don’t really know who you are, or who you want to be, until then.

I wish I could go back in time and relive those years, knowing what I know now; I would’ve done things a lot differently. But, unless Michael J. Fox pulls into my driveway I don’t think that’s possible. I blame the Libyan terrorists.

So, on my next birthday, I think I’ll blow out the candles and wish for the knowledge of an 80 year old so I don’t waste any more time.

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