33

Some of you may know that my birthday is coming up. It's not just any birthday...this is the year that I turn 33. Well, what's the big deal about 33?, you might ask. Last year I turned 32 and next year I will be 34. Yes, yes I'm all fine with that. But it's 33 I have a problem with. I remember as a little girl someone asked my mom how old she was. Her reply? "I'm 33" So, for the next 10 or 15 years my mother was 33 in my mind. I remember asking her myself much later and was very surprised to hear that she was 45. WHAT? When did that happen? Weren't you just 33? (For the record, my mom is 34 now:) And now I'm turning 33 and I have little ones and do you know what that means? I'm the grownup. You see, in my mind I'm really still 19. (In my mind I'm also a size 4 and my boobs are still big) Do any of you feel that way? And now I have children, two beautiful children, who will remember next week when someone asks me how old I am. Do you know what that means? That they are remembering other things about this life of theirs too. What will they remember from the year their mom turned 33?  Tonight as Andrew put Fox to sleep and he was drifting off he asked Fox what we should get mommy for her birthday. He said "A broom...or maybe a mop...(yawn) no, a rag (eyes close)."  Really? This is what my child thinks I would like the most? Is it because many times I prefer these things over playing with him or reading him stories? No, it is within my power to give my children happy memories this 33rd year of my life and that is just what I intend to do...starting next week...