My birthday was this weekend. It hasn't really felt like it though.
Normally I am all about my birthday, celebrating for two weeks on either side. Um, hello? A day to celebrate how wonderful I am? I am so there.
This year? Not so much. This year, the children were the ones who pushed forward with the birthdaying -- the cake and ice cream, the gifts, the celebrating. As for me, I'm not really sure how I feel about the whole birthday thing. It was a good weekend, just not one that felt particularly birthdayish.
We've had an odd sort of late winter/early spring. One or another of us has been sick since January. As a result, we've been spending our time with just the family rather than participating in group activities like we normally do. Now that we're all mostly well -- only a few lingering coughs --we've recently been venturing out to do a few things again. This past week was the beginning of it, getting back into the routines that we all know and enjoy.
Spring always seems like a time for renewal to me, much more than the New Year. In spring I can see the circle begin again, and I've always been glad that I celebrate my birthday at that time, hand in hand with the season.
Perhaps this birthday was simply more reflective, with a different sort of appreciation and joy.