Birthdays

I recently watched a Portlandia episode where one of the main characters was making a big deal about her birthday. She was going over the top to celebrate it in all the ways that would delight her. She was drawing  a lot of  attention to herself and really wanting folks to make a big fuss over her. While watching this it drew me into my own birthday reflections. What an interesting moment in time. The moment you were born into the world.  I thought how much I want friends and family to make a fuss over me. How those early baby feelings of being wanted, loved and cooed over come up on this date every year.

At different times I have had amazing birthdays. As a child in Connecticut my mom was skilled at making a really fun home made birthday party based upon my interests at the time. I recall a safari petting zoo theme one year, a boat ride through the Thimble Islands when I was 12 with all my friends, and the traditional cake and play outside when I was little. I went through a lull of big celebrations as a teen. It was hard to figure out how to get together my friends who lived in many different states. One year, my 16^th, was the exception. My friends and mom all met up in New York City and went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and tramped around Soho and Greenwich Village, owning the city. Experiencing NYC with my loved ones felt like the best celebration to me. 

In my early 20’s, while living in Seattle, I had a lovely friend who was great at coming up with big celebrations for me. When I turned 24 I gave her a list of experiences I wanted to have, pet a llama, have a picnic, go to a hot spring. She made a party out of us going on this big adventure into the mountains to a hot spring ending in a llama farm. I also recall being pregnant with Sweetpea and having a Portland birthday adventure. That birthday included a picnic in a park and dancing to Bollywood at a club that night with my big pregnant belly on the dance floor.  I felt free.

By Jessica Foster

Post kids it has been harder to celebrate me. Last night at my birthday potluck as I waited to gather everyone together, the children at the party had their sticky fingers in the ice cream melting around the second layer of my cake. I stood my ground and said “Birthday girl gets the first piece!” but they swarmed like hounds once that piece was cut. Not quite like my birthday the previous year when I turned 35. The adult celebration I got to have when my in laws took the kids. We had wine, viewed my old art school films, folks showed up at 10 pm and the party lingered to midnight. I got a taste of my life pre-children and it was sweet.

As a parent I savor any alone time I get. I am a combo of introvert and extrovert and I find the best way to balance this is by having a good chunk of alone time. As my first birthday present of this year I gifted my self some time sans kids to write at a café. I used these few hours of alone time to contemplate what it means to be in my mid-30s. My 36^th year feels like my adult prime. I think that your 30’s and 40’s are a great time to take charge of the big things you want to do in your life and have the history, clarity and experience of your 20’s to back up your plans. If anything I feel more relaxed, as I get older, that time is expansive and I can have it all just slowly and not all at once.

By Ian Roberts

I am evaluating my life from this new perspective. I find that growing older just makes life better. I am more focused on my goals and less stressed about getting it all done. There was an adrenaline that ran through my 20’s to get everything done and fast. I now have the perspective of time on this planet, time for many things to happen, many wheels to turn, and many projects to develop. My husband has gifted me this ease to some extent. Though he is a master of juggling multiple things as am I, he does not feel that it all needs to happen in a quick way. I see my life unfolding with many delicious treats, at the moment I am in the thick of parenting and starting a business, but I know that I will not always be in this stage of life.

In some ways I can’t wait to get older.  I imagine I will be hitting my stride in all that I am doing and feeling truly in charge of my life. Maybe at that point parenting will become more of a collaboration with my children where I get to guide them more and sideways teach instead of doing so much to keep them afloat. It is good to think into the future and remember that I will reclaim my birthdays again someday and make them all about me. For now I am surrounded by the needy love of young people and it is still sweet.  I love all the homemade gifts, cards, making messy breakfast omelets, drinking sips of coffee in between threading needles for small felt toys.  But I also enjoy sneaking away to enjoy an adult celebration on my own in a café with big windows and small minty, lavender sparkling drinks.

Exploring the MET (Metropolitan Museum of Art) with Sweetpea

I strolled my sleeping child through the rows of ancient Greek statues, awed by there presence. Daddy went off to see a world war II photography exhibit, disappearing under the white tent folds of the MET's newest installation. I preferred the ceramics of antiquity. As I turned a corner to the most ancient pottery of the Mediterranean I saw her, the big, billowy, thighs and chest of an ancient mother Goddess, propped up on two metal hooks, encased in glass under soft light. She was hard to spot amongst the vases and oil urns, but she stood out for me, glowing with an aura of majesty. As I stood transfixed, the halted movement awoke my dreaming child. Sweetpea woke up with a start as she always does, immediately alert and ready to tell me something. As if being pushed in a stroller over the cobblestone pathways along central park west was a part of our daily routine. Waking up surrounded by artwork in a large, loud, echoing room was just a part of the fun of having two adventuring parents.

"What’s that mama?" Her crackly just awoke voice said pointing at the little Goddess I had found for us.  “It’s our mother Goddess Sweetpea," "Mother Goddess" I hear repeated back to me, a slight pause, "why?" I go into an explanation of how this little Goddess represents the power of women as life givers and how ancient people's worshiped this power that all women have. I lift her up and we stare at the little figure, I smell her slightly sweaty hair, and marvel in the beauty of sharing this with my daughter.

I was only a little older then Sweetpea is now the first time I came to the MET. It was a daddy daughter date in the city. There is a picture of me flat up against Cleopatra's needle in a multi-colored, terry cloth dress and blues sneakers. I remember going there, I remember walking through the Egyptian temple, and admiring the old Roman statues. I have been back many times sense. As a teenager my unschooled friends and me would rain down on NYC and meet in front of the MET. We would hang out on the front steps leading up to it and check out the fashion history exhibit in the basement. My favorite place in the museum was in the Arab section, a tiny dome made of wood, carved in intricate patterns. This dome sits in a hallway in between rooms. It is quiet, like a tree house within the vast open spaces of history and art.  


Later, with my husband and daughter in toe I walk them towards the Roman statue hall. We ended up in an atrium with a larger then life bronze statue of Perseus defiantly holding up the head of Medusa. I pointed at the statue and said "Sweetpea, look at this beautiful statue."  With a look of wonder and horror my child stares and begins a long strand of "why?" questioning. I realize after the fact what a strange statue this is to point out to her. In one room I am talking about ancient people's worshiping the great Mother, in the other room I am trying to explain Greek myth and the chopping off of a woman's head. My daughter is learning life is complex.

I have cornered myself into this conversation so I go back to the beginning, we first talk about stories, how they are different from real life. Then I talk about Medusa, what she did and why someone would want to chop off her head. It is a delicate explanation.  I am trying to explain things simply enough that she will not draw conclusions about good and bad, and will instead focus on truth and fiction. The rest of the day she reports to everyone we talk to about "Dusa, and how he chopped off her head." We still talk about it months later.

Our last stop is the Tiffany hall, we all stand awestruck in front of the huge Tiffany windows, lit from within, exuding an aura of holiness. We play make believe games with the bear statues in the hall and pretend to chop off each other’s heads. :)

There we were, only a 3rd of this grand museum explored and still content with all we got to see. We went just outside the gates to a NYC park complete with meandering benches and metal play structure letting the art of the day soak into our souls.