Abby dee dee doo doo...

It's my birthday.

I feel old. Yet strangely content, as if things are unfolding according to plan.

The title of this blog is "abby dee dee doo doo" in honour of my little brother C. Now a hulking 6' 3" at a mere 16 years of age, he was once a little charmer, a blonde moppet of a child. When he couldn't pronounce "Happy Birthday" when my Mum's birthday cake was brought out, he waited until everyone was finished singing, and started his own version:

"Abby dee dee doo doo,
abby dee dee doo doo,
abby dee dee doo doo Mum,
abby dee dee doo doo".

So, every year, I get that sung to me down the phone. And I, in turn, have embarassed myself at no fewer than four workplaces by singing that to my mother on her special day.

I miss them.

It's hard. You make a decision, and you don't regret it until the stupidest moments. The most meaningless silly stuff. But then you begin to realize that it's the silly times, the memorable times that make life what it really is. Life is just the time that exists between one laugh and the next. I know this is all worth it, being here instead of there has given me more than I could have ever dreamed...a house, a fiance, a career. But then I think of that little kid singing to me, and I begin to doubt my choices.

Abby dee dee Barlet...make a wish.