I don’t get bothered by birthdays. I was pretty excited to turn 30 last year.

My son, Weapon X, didn’t want to wish me a happy birthday this morning, because there are no balloons and no people around. He said, “Maybe we can get in the car and drive somewhere. To a party with people.” I guess it doesn’t count until there’s a party. I tried to explain to him that Mama doesn’t do birthday parties, but he gave me the “you crazy broad” look and ran off to play with Legos.

Project Alpha gave me some hugs, but was more concerned with whether or not he had to go to school today (and the fact that he had to clean their room solo yesterday, while Weapon X was recovering from the head wound he’d received at his brother’s hands – apparently Alpha was still annoyed by that) than bothering to wish Mama a happy birthday.

Tonight we’re going out to dinner, Husband and the twins and me, to celebrate. Husband and I have been married long enough that he knows better than to make random restaurant workers sing to me (I freakin’ hate that). I haven’t decided where to go yet. Any suggestions on a good place?

I feel like I should have some deep insight into being a woman in my 30s or some crap like that, but really, another day older is another day older and I hardly even notice them. So no metaphysical birthday crap from me. Bottle o’Riesling?

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