Theory of seven. (It's stupid.)

Happy Birthday to Jason! 37 years old today. Thir-ty se-ven. That's a lot of syllables. That's old. And that means that in 47 more days, I too will be...well, never mind.

I don't like numbers with 7's in them when we're talking age. Seven has an extra syllable which takes longer to say and, in my opinion, makes the number seem larger. Nicholas will be 7 on his next birthday. Se-ven. Too old. I don't like it. But to turn thir-ty se-ven. Ugh. 38 doesn't have as many syllables, so that won't be so bad. Or even 39 or 40. But thir-ty se-ven...

I can con myself into believing that I'm a year younger than Jason because he was born in '72 and me in '73. I can also pretend that there's a bigger age difference than there really is because he's older than me by for-ty se-ven days, and for-ty se-ven is such a big number. See how that works? I think when my birthday comes, I'll call it thirty-sept. (Don't say I didn't learn anything in 4 years of French.)

So anyway, Jason had a relatively uneventful birthday this year. No presents, no party. He's made it quite clear throughout the years that his birthday is just another day. If I were to ever try throwing him a party, it would be grounds for divorce. Blake was a bit disappointed that there was no party for Daddy. So to make up for it, I am to have a princess party for me in February. Ok. You're all invited.

It wasn't a totally boring birthday. Jason did participate in Lexi's PT today. And he shoveled the driveway. In shorts and a t-shirt. In Indiana. Stupide. (I did that spelling on purpose. It's that French thing again. I think I'll start using that word: stupide. Because stu-PEED sounds extra stu...well, nevermind.)