Tomorrow, I turn 36.  I have kind of a love/hate attitude toward my birthdays.  If I’m being honest, I have to admit that I like the thought of having a day when I get to feel special.  I like gifts, and not having to cook, and my family doing extra little things for me that they might not normally do.

But, as much as I try to not have high expectations of my birthday, I tend to have vain hopes of extravagant gestures that never quite get met.  And then, usually, my day heads south pretty quickly.  Because at some point, I get disappointed at others not really seeming to care much that they’re supposed to be celebrating me, and then I feel guilty because I realize just how much I don’t deserve to be celebrated anyway, and I often end up wishing that there was no such thing as a birthday observance. This generally results in Tim feeling like he has dropped the ball in some gigantic way, and I’m left trying to explain my irrationality to him in a way that won’t insult his always eminently practical, but still completely selfless and loving approach to making my day special.

So, I’m trying to prepare myself for tomorrow.  I’m trying to set reasonable expectations.  I’m trying to adjust my perspective to look for good in the simple things and not really care about the rest.  And maybe this year, I will be able to demonstrate that I have, indeed, reached a maturity level beyond that of a ten year old.