As I sit here and tell you that today is my 40th birthday, you might be asking, Why aren't you out carousing and alpha-drinking yourself silly, in keeping with the standard über-jag paradigm? Well, I did all of that, and less, at the surprise party my wife threw for me in Central Park yesterday. The plan was for me to work all morning and meet her and the boys at a cluster playdate for Robert's posse. I arrived with a headache and some nausea from reading on the bus, and when I began recognizing people from very diverse branches of my life-tree, I was completely buffaloed. (Truly. You can still see the horn marks.)
So thanks, sweetie, for working so incredibly hard and fighting back your primal impulse to burst out and spill the beans. Thanks to everyone who came out, and helped drag the furniture into the middle of a field, and bought me all of that wonderful high-end booze.
Thanks to Robert, for giving me the Bob the Builder birthday card three days ago (because you just couldn't wait), for helping Mama make my birthday cake, and for very courteously saying, "I could blow out the candles for you, Daddy, if you want."
Thanks to TwoBert, for laughing so freely at the "I'm Gonna Kiss Your Feet" song and continuing to laugh after I started filming you--instead of stopping all communication and staring blankly at the video camera like you normally do.
And thank you, Internets, for the gift of your attention. I remain amazed by the upward slope of my SiteMeter and by the positive effect the blog has had on my life. It's an odd feeling to make new friends and know that meeting them for the first time will seem like a long-overdue reunion.
Onward, then, into the fifth decade. If life begins at 40, then it's been one helluva long gestation period.
