Barry Manilow's Birthday

Barry Manilow and I were supposed to have a really good day Tuesday. June 17th is a great day, and I have celebrated with wild abandon on that day for years and years and years, as I hope, has Barry. Mary and Kate's understanding of the phrase "it's Mom's birthday" seems to go no further than the knowledge that at some point during this day they will be offered cake. I distinctly heard their father tell them "be good, have fun, it's Mom's birthday" before he dashed off to the office. Mary and Kate heard "cake, cake" and so went about their day as often they do: occasional listening, generous laughing, and wild silliness. They did not make me tea, they did not offer to clean up the kitchen after breakfast, they needed help getting dressed, tying their shoes and brushing their hair. Mary and Kate were three, regardless of how old I was on this day. So here I am, on the other side of forty realizing that birthdays, while wonderful, may not be the national holiday that I have long known them to be. At the end of the day, it was a wonderful day, and I got a little older, as did Mary and Kate and Barry Manilow.