“How old are you really?” the kids wanted to know as we raced around getting them ready for school.
Well, Tracey raced around. I’d taken up a celebratory birthday slouch against the kitchen bench near the coffee machine.
I always struggle with how old I am. Not least because I still feel like a dumb teenager on the inside. That’s not a swipe at teenagers – I really was dumb back then.
I looked at my wife.
“Daddy’s reached a milestone,” she told the kids.
“Is that good?” asked Miss6.
“It is if you’re a baby…” said Tracey.
“That’s you then,” Master11 grinned at me.
“…but when you hit fifty, it’s not as much fun,” finished Tracey. She looked at me. “Is it.” It wasn’t a question.
I took a sip of my coffee.
“It’s okay so far.”
A fantastic day ensued, starting with dropping all our kids at their respective schools and ducking out for brunch with my folks and then lunch with friends, where a bunch of balloons arrived courtesy of my nephews so that everyone in the cafe knew I was 50.
“You sure I’m fifty? I don’t feel fifty,” I told Tracey, after she set me up with my very own cake smash – my first, because my childhood was normal – on the pretext of keeping her photographer’s eye in, but I suspect really just so she could have me pie-in-the-face myself. Of course I agreed, because cake.
“You’re not, you idiot.”
“Then why is everyone telling me I’m fifty?”
“As a joke,” said Tracey.
“Oh,” I said. Seems not a lot has changed since I was a teenager – still dumb. “So I’m really….”
“YES!” I said, high-fiving myself. “I’m young again! That’s better than botox.”
Best present ever.
If the video had run for another ten seconds you’d have seen the bit where I yawned, then nearly choked as Miss9 took the opportunity to shove a piece of toast into my gaping mouth. Tracey says that bit was the highlight of the morning.
“Raising a family on little more than laughs”
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