So, yeah, it happened last week.
I turned 40.
It's one of those things you know will happen to you some day, but you don't really believe it until it does, kind of like having kids, getting wrinkles, or owning a minivan.*
With all the hecticness that is life--working, rushing kids off to camp, doing homework, trying to maintain some semblance of household order (you know about life's hecticness, yes?)--I haven't taken much time to reflect on being 40. But it did occur to me, sometime on the actual day, that I'm going to die.
Of course, I've always known that, haven't I? It just suddenly became real for the first time. Not that I'm dwelling on my mortality--hopefully I'm not even halfway there, yet--but it's just kind of out there now.
I always like to go to the beach on my birthday, but with my vacation time squeezed to the breaking point, I couldn't take the day off. So we did what I've been wanting to do for a long time.
We picked E and Z up from day camp (M was still at sleep-away camp), grabbed some sandwiches at the deli, and headed to the beach for a dinner picnic.
It was a beautiful, warm night, with a nice offshore breeze that made it pleasant for swimming and beach-combing and lying about doing not much at all.
So, it wasn't the MG Midget I asked for, but it was a pretty nice birthday.
*I don't actually own a minivan--yet.