This past weekend I celebrated a birthday. I didn't dwell on it too much; Any day that is set aside for celebrating life and eating things like cake is okay in my book. We celebrated with a quiet morning at home, and a quietly joyful evening at my parents'. I don't feel old, I feel liberated; "Fitting in" no longer concerns me, I'm getting much better at leaving mole hills to their original size, and at the same time I still feel really young and with it.
This was that once every few years that I had to actually go into the Secretary of State to renew my driver's license. Expecting the usual long wait while the government workers behind the desk shuffled from one computer to another, spendng ten minutes to do five minutes worth of work, I prepared Calvin for the event and packed a bag full of books. I was right, too; we got through most of the fifteen books we'd packed before we were finally called for our turn, then I signed a paper, paid for my right to drive, and was ushered (with surprising efficiency) to the camera for my new mug shot. Calvin stood between my legs, smiling indulgently at the camera aimed well over his head towards my own smiling face, and then we were done. It was actually thirty easy minutes and an errand well done. Then I got my new license in the mail today, and you know what? I look a lot older than I thought. Oh well.
We had to try twice to get a picture of the candles on the cake—the little boy sitting on my lap blew them out the first time before the pan had even hit the table.