Middle-age butch has a birthday

Everyone’s favorite butch blogger turned 46 this past weekend.

I happen to be a fan of birthdays.  The kids are usually somewhat nice to me.  And I get free stuff, or birthday swag, as I like to call it.

Redbox e-mailed me a code for a free movie rental.  The Movie Tavern sent a coupon for a free movie ticket.

Both JCPenney and Kohl’s sent $10 gift cards.  (Yes, people, I am thinking about buying more flannel, or maybe some new PJ pants.)

Oh, and CVS e-mailed me a coupon for $3 to spend in store.  That’s a free jar of hair gel or a pack of Irish Spring soap.

If you can’t tell, I like free things.

Plus, there are the real gifts.  W got me a really cool retro style radio.  Sweet.  I’m going to put it in the kitchen so that I can listen to the Phillies games while I cook and do the dishes.  She also got me a Phillies sign.  This baseball junkie is ready for spring and the boys in the red pinstripes.

My parents got me an iPad, which is the total opposite of vintage anything.  (Although it is an older model, so maybe that counts.)  I think the “i” stands for intimidating.  Or, “i” don’t know how to use this thing.

Oh, and cake.  Birthdays always mean cake.  Which is as good a reason as any to be happy about celebrating the day of one’s birth.  Plus, as the birthday girl, you get the biggest icing rose because it’s your damn day.  Icing is delicious.

I had been thinking all weekend about what kind of birthday post I wanted to write.  There’s the story about my worst birthday gift ever (you can read about my macrame purse here).

Or, I thought, maybe I should list 46 reasons why 46 is really old.

#24 — You’re really only about nine years removed from officially becoming “a crazy old cat lady.”

#37 — It’s creepy and perverted when you crush on young celebrity hotties like Jennifer Lawrence (age 22) and Rooney Mara (age 25).

But I wasn’t feeling particularly funny or sarcastic.  Weird.

I was actually feeling kind of peaceful and zen.  Like the space that I was occupying was alright.  Like I was alright.

Not that I don’t want to make some improvements, like lose some weight and get in shape and write that novel.  And get my hair cut shorter and learn how to tie a bow tie.

But who I am and where I am right now is pretty ok.  Forty-six isn’t so bad.

I have a partner who loves me for me.  Even though we’ve been together for awhile, she can still make my toes curl and my heart skip a beat.

Our three kids try our patience.  But on the best of days, they are smart and funny and lovable, and we can actually see them transforming into likable adults right before our very eyes.

Not to be upstaged by the kids are the cats, who give me a sense of purpose and provide endless hours of entertainment.

So, 46, bring it on.  I’m another year older and wiser.

Besides, I’ve got momentum and spring is coming, after all.  And, baseball.