So I guess this weekend is birthday weekend. My girl is turning three and my baby is turning one. This is what they tell me. This is what the calendar tells me and we all know the calendar is in charge. The calendar also says that my drivers license, the one I just renewed, like, last month? The calendar says it expires in less than a year. The calendar always wins. And it doesn't just win, it cheats. If I were a scientist I would prove it to you. You are a little kid with your whole life in front of you for what feels like an entire lifetime and then for one glimmering moment you are doing things and making choices and then you pause and look up and you are half-way to one hundred. But you remember what you wore on your first day of kindergarten like it's no big thing. You are that same little girl in the Minnie Mouse raincoat, just wearier, and you got from there to here in the same time it took to go through grade school. Of course I am speculating. I am not fifty, I am twenty eight. But I'll be fifty in a few years. I don't know the exact mathematical equation, but I think it's just ten years or maybe two and a half years away. Maybe I'll be fifty this Winter. I don't know. But I know that come this weekend, Alice will be three and the little baby who was born in my bedroom, a few feet away from where I sit typing this, will be a whole year old.
I know it and I even believe it.