A Mommy Story

Today I’m 37 years old. Light the candles, dim the lights! Sing it with me, everyone!

Hap-py birth-day to meeee,
I’m go-ing to the BMV
To get my new li-cense
For a $25 fee!

(And don’t forget the registration renewal!)

Yes, for my birthday I’ll be buying my own present – the gift of continuing to drive. On the upside, four years ago I was heavier and so this photo should be an improvement over the previous one. Then again, better is such a subjective term when it comes to a driver’s license photo. I mean, getting stung by a bee may be better than being bit by a black widow spider, but that doesn’t mean either experience is desired.

I think there’s been some improvement since that photo.

It’ll be fun to update my weight on the license and not “accidentally” forget 30 pounds for the official record. For once my weight is currently lower than what’s listed on the card. Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll probably still lie and set a lower goal to aim for. They never question the answer I give, which is why I’ll never complain about the wonderful people who work at the BMV.

And just in case that wasn’t un-birthday-like enough for the day, I’ll be frantically cleaning the house in-between working to get ready for a late-afternoon appointment with a behaviorist for Cordy. When I set up the appointment, I didn’t realize she intended to meet at our house, or I might have made an excuse about being busy until late next week to buy me some time.

I’m sure I’m not alone in having a panic attack when a professional comes to the house for the first time. Our house is cluttered, I’m never on top of the dust, the carpets have a few stains, and there are some cobwebs in hard-to-reach corners, but it’s not unsanitary. And yet I still have this moment of freaking out that this woman will come into our house and quickly make a mental note to call child services for raising our children in an unfit home. So I toss all the clutter in boxes and shove them in the closets or in the garage, hoping she’ll think we’re a respectable family.

(I know, I know…hiding clutter still wouldn’t make us respectable. Quit laughing.)

I’m not sure what to expect from this behaviorist. She works with the psychologist who evaluated Cordy, and the psychologist recommended that Cordy begin behavioral therapy soon to help with adaptive skills. (Daily life stuff that she refuses to do on her own.) I’m hoping the initial meeting will be short since, you know, birthday.

So that’s what’s ahead for my birthday. The kids get the Chuck E. Cheese birthday parties, while the grownups realize it’s just another day and there’s stuff to get done. However, gifts of Jeni’s Ice Cream in Rainbow Frozen Yogurt will be graciously accepted for when the stress of the day is over.

And the one lesson I’ve already learned this morning about turning 37: apparently at 37 you just don’t care about being as critical and start liking some of the photos of yourself.

Exhibit A