Happy Birthday -- You're Old

Today is my -- being Kate's -- birthday, which would be awesome were it not for the fact that I really have no use for birthdays. Well, no. I'm all about other people's birthdays. Just not my own. Unless Jimmy and the Christians are showing up to bestow me with shoes and couture, I pretty much just want to tap a "vintage" t-box -- that being, one leftover from the Taste Testing Party [Editor's Note: Hey, no judging...there's that plastic baggy thing for a reason, even though the box says to discard after two weeks. Whuck? Throw out wine? I think not. - Kate] -- and watch an episode (or six) of Law & Order.

It didn't help that this is what I've heard for the past week:

• Happy told his teacher that Mommy's birthday was coming up. She asked if he knew how old Mommy was. "Yes. She's forty-eighty hundred one million." Teacher: "Wow! She looks great for that age." Happy: "No she doesn't."
• Lefty asked what kind of cake we were having for my birthday. Me: "Well, whatever kind you want to make..." Lefty: [sighs] "Great. So what you're saying is that there won't be cake." Me: "You don't want to make one for me?" Lefty: "Mom, we eat the cake. You make the cake."
• McGee: "Mom, don't forget you're on dish duty for youth group. I know it's your birthday, so maybe they'll let you dry instead of wash."

McLovin decided that it would be fun to invite some friends over for drinks and snacks and cake. So, he sent out a message via evite. And, because my friends are *awesome* they are all coming. Which is like 80 people. Which ceases to be a little snack and drink thing and becomes a crap-we-have-to-clean-and-buy-a-ton-of-stuff MASSIVE addition to my Christmas To Do List. Which is already super long. And, as I pointed out when I wrote the list, it only works if you don't add anything substantial to it, like sick kids or trips out of town. Or impromptu parties.

Now, don't get me wrong, the fact that McLovin is doing this is super sweet and very cool and I get to see everyone all at the same time, and drink my favorite drink all afternoon and evening. And then he's taking me to see a super chick-y movie afterward. Which he doesn't know about yet but is sooooo going to happen.

However, the past week, he's written all over my whiteboard in the kitchen -- and it's a huge list of things to do. Like buy the booze, and forks and cups and acquire enough wine glasses and find a babysitter that's wiilling to keep an eye on the approximately 40 children that will be at my house. For four hours. Can I afford that? How many pairs of shoes equals four hours times forty children. I'm ballparking here, but it's somewhere around six million.

And he says things like, "we need to remember to order the cake..." and you may already know my feelings about the word "we" when he really means "well, I'll be at work and you're home all day, so...." But, again, I'm loving that he's doing this and so I put aside all my "way to blow up my list, dude" attitude and got all stoked that my friends were making shifts in their plans to come hang out with me...

And now I know why...

For the past few days, he's come home with status reports. "The Coupons are coming...and so is The Whooziwhatits and the Thingamajigs..." and I kept thinking how awesome that was, especially when it's just a little birthday and it's not like it's a pivotal one or anything. And then I had coffee with my friend Dorothy, who we introduced a long time ago, and who I love because she, unlike me and every other person on -- ummm, earth -- is Surrender Immune.

Dorothy: So, we loved the evite McLovin sent...
Me: Oh, I never saw it. What did it say?
Dorothy: [laughs] Oh, that explains it then.
Me: What?
Dorothy: It totally looks like you're turning 40. [Editor's Note: Which. I'm. Not. -Kate]
Me: WHAT?!
Dorothy: Yeah, it says "Kate and her shoes are turning thirty-blank" and then has a question mark at the end. So, unless I knew better, I'd assume you're turning forty.
Me: [mouth hanging open] Oh, you gotta be kidding me. So, when I get all, "no, I"m not 40 yet..." people are gonna be like "sure thing, Fancy - whatever you say..." aren't they?
Dorothy: Yep.

Me: And then when I actually turn 40, they'll think I'm full of crap and lying about my age.

Dorothy: Yep.

Me: You're enjoying this, aren't you?

Dorothy: Yep.

And then Lydia and Ellen got in on the Kate-is-Turning-40-Even-Though-She-Isn't bandwagon and now they're buying freakin' Geritol and Metamucil and Polident even though I still don't know what those things do...

When I asked McLovin about it, he laughed. Evil-y. And the thing is, I'm fine about turning forty. When. I. Actually. Do. Which is not this year.

So, I just want to say thank you in advance for all the crap I'm about to get about my age, and my fake age and all the adult diapers and pills that help you poo and ginseng and support bras and all that stuff that's about to flood my house. I'll be re-wrapping it and giving it to McLovin for his birthday next February.

When he turns 100.

xoxo, Kate

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