For the past few weeks I have been moaning about the day of doom: my birthday. I have dwelled over the fact that I am not as young as I used to be; I can't stay up till all hours of the night anymore, and my three year-old toddler wears me out. My knees pop loudly when I kneel, and my son refers to the 80's as the "olden days."
Today I turned 35. Thirty-five, ugh! First thing this morning I jumped out of my bed and looked anxiously in the mirror. I expected to see a head of gray hair and a face full of wrinkles; I looked the same as I did when I went to bed last night, except my hair was a mess. It looked like a mass of melted milk chocolate. (Try saying that five times fast!) I know that I'm being extremely silly. Studies have proven that a person does not reach full maturity until they reach the age of thirty. Still, my loving hubby pointing out last night that I have five years until I reached middle age, did little to console me.
I took my much needed cup of coffee and settled onto the couch. Half-asleep I turned on the television and settled back to watch the news. Reality slapped me in the face as I saw images of the hurricane ravaged Gulf Coast.
Most of those people had lost everything they had, including family members. The sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen let me know that the rest of my family was up. Quietly, I crept to the kitchen doorway and peeped in. My hubby and son were not only preparing breakfast for me, they were also secretly baking a cake.
I was ashamed of the way I had felt over the past few weeks. I was so fortunate; I had my health, a room over my head, food to eat, and family and friends that loved me. Suddenly, turning thirty-five didn't seem so troublesome anymore. Unlike some of the hurricane victims, I have a chance to live and enjoy life.
It's still not too late. Please donate to the American Red Cross.
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