Licking the spoon

I wrote the following entry on January 14, 2008:


Today is my 38th birthday. Another year's gone by. I got to thinking about how birthdays change over the years. I remember my 10th birthday. My parents were having a party for me at home after school. I was able to invite any of my friends, but I've long since forgotten who was on the list. I was excited. So excited that before I left the house for school that day, I walked into the bathroom and proceeded to throw up my breakfast.

I had a very weak stomach when I was a kid. I was always throwing up. There was a pattern to it all. If we went on a long car ride, I'd throw up. If we went to Lockwood Castle for ice cream, I'd throw up. Any special event would turn my stomach in many directions.

The actual act of throwing up also occurred at inappropriate times. The backseat of my father's car was a favorite of mine. I remember one specific time at Lockwood Castle when the janitor had just finished mopping the floor. I let it all go right in between the "Caution: Wet Floor" warning signs. The janitor had to repeat his efforts because of me. Three more steps and he would have been done for the night.

I don't really throw up much anymore. There is the occasional morning after hangover release, which is almost a necessity sometimes, and has less to do with a nervous stomach than it does to do with survival.

I also don't get excited about my birthday like I did when I was a child. Watching my kids make my cake today made that almost painfully obvious. Adults just don't get the same level of excitement that children do. And not just about birthdays. Children are amazed or excited about everything.

Take, for instance, the icing of my birthday cake. My kids--while they really wanted to make the cake for me--were really excited because it meant they got to lick the spoon. I can't remember the last time I got excited about licking a spoon. They were riddled with joy. They were handed a chocolate spoon and a vanilla spoon. One of each for both of them. The look on their faces, as they happily sucked and fingered the utensils; fingers and faces covered in frosting.

It was pure satisfaction.

The best gift a 38 year old, un-excitable, ex-nervous Nelly could ask for.