Today It's My Birthday...

...Cue the Beatles song.

Last year I turned 50.  The big 5-0.  A big milestone, to be celebrated with much ado.  Unfortunately, I was still undergoing chemotherapy last year.  I was exhausted, had sores in my mouth and throat, and couldn't taste anything.  So my birthday came and went with minimal fuss. I wasn't happy about it, but what could I do?

This year, I feel much, much better. 

No reason for the picture, I just like it.

In the past, I haven't been lucky with birthday parties.  Summer birthday celebrations usually end up not happening, even for children who look forward to birthdays all year.  People are off on vacations or just don't want to bother thinking of anyone but their own family.  I stopped bothering after awhile, and started treating my birthday as just another day.  It's harder to be disappointed when you have no expectations. 

But this was my fiftieth.  Nobody else might care, but I did.  So I decided to do something. 

I'm celebrating my fiftieth.  A belated birthday, to be sure, but I'm doing it.  I called up a local restaurant, reserved the patio, and sent out an open invitation on the Book of Face.  I ordered a cake from a local bakery.  This afternoon, I will show up for my party.  I'm going to celebrate surviving another year, celebrate being healthy, celebrate being alive.  If anyone else other than my family shows up, I will be happy about it.  If it's just us, that's okay, too. 

More cake for me.  

Sometimes I Can Keep a Secret

I am not good with surprises.  Because I tend to speak without thinking, I often give away the answer even before most people have even formulated the question. There was the Christmas when I told my father to hurry up and open his wallet, as I handed him his present.  Or the time that I blurted out "I got you a necklace" when one of my friends said hello to me.   It's rather embarrassing. Except for this one time, when I rocked the secret keeping so hard, it was a thing of beauty.

Many years ago, my boss was turning 40. Because she'd gamely tried to keep up with me for my thirtieth birthday, right down to that last tequila shot, I wanted to surprise her. I wanted to do something magnificent that she would never, ever forget. 

I felt that a night with The Rolling Stones would qualify.  

I have a special affection for those guys, since they first hit it big in America right around the time I was born.  Most of the original members were still in the band, and The Stones were always entertaining in concert. I know this because I'd seen them several times.  My boss loved them as well.  So I made sure to talk constantly about The Rolling Stones concert nonstop whenever Martie was around.  And my boss specifically said, every time I brought the concert up, that she wanted to go.  

Then I gathered up the entire office on the sly, and asked them all to chip in whatever they could, and everyone contributed what they could.  Then I headed over to the local Ticketmaster to stand in line on the day the tickets went on sale.  Because back then, there was none of this lazy "wait next to the computer" thing to get tickets.  If you were hardcore and really, really wanted to see a particular band, you got your butt up at whatever gawdawful time necessary to go stand in line outside, no matter the weather, and wait until those Ticketmaster employees managed to show up.  I waited in a line for HOURS for those darn tickets.  Well, two hours, anyway.  But I was able to buy four tickets to see The Rolling Stones, because tickets didn't cost 300$ in those days.

I went to work that Monday and bragged loudly about how I had tickets to the concert. I laid it on thick, how great a time I was going to have.  And when Martie asked if I'd had a ticket for her, I played dumb.  

"I didn't know that you wanted to go," I said, wide-eyed.  "If only you had said something, I would have bought you a ticket too."

Martie was upset.  She was downright ticked off at me.  I was going to see one of the greatest bands on the planet, and I had completely forgotten about her.  I apologized and acted like I felt terrible about the whole thing.  

And then the day of her birthday, we all gathered in her office, sang "Happy Birthday", and handed her an envelope.  The look on her face was priceless.

"I'm so sorry about all the bad things I said about you when I was mad," she said as she hugged me.  

"I know," I replied. 




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Summer Birthdays Suck

Today is my birthday. 

Annnnd you're singing that Beatles song right now, aren't you? It's okay, I understand.  If you would like to throw in a little air guitar to spice things up, go ahead.

 

My husband is excited when his birthday rolls around. Larry is actually excited for the entire month of September.   He is practically giddy with joy for the entire week of his birthday. My son is so ecstatic about his birthday that he starts talking about next year the day after. The exuberance in this household come September and October is so powerful that it could power a city block.

I barely manage a facial expression in June.

My birthday has never been a big deal.  My mom never went overboard scheduling parties, because we were usually moving in or out of a place.  My eighth birthday, for instance, took place the day we arrived in Germany.  Even if my mom tried to set up a birthday party, the timing was never good. People go on vacations, after all, so even if my mom actually wanted to throw me a party, people weren't around to attend.  But we were on a budget, and money didn't grow on trees, my mother told us repeatedly.

But then my mother was really obsessed with my britches. She thought I was too big for them, that I expected too much. We didn't have a lot of money at the time, but I was a kid and I didn't understand that. I should be grateful for what I got, she said, on more than one occasion. Maybe she was right, but I thought that being treated extra special one day a year wasn't too much.  How many other kids out there have to make their own birthday cake when they turn thirteen? I can't be the only one.

Even in college, my birthday would happen after everyone had gone home, so few ever remembered.  And when you're an adult in the workplace, not many people pay attention to birthdays. There were moments, over the years, where someone would surprise me with a piece of cake or remember it was my birthday, and I grew to appreciate those times. Most of the time, however, my birthday was just another workday.

I am not sure what I even expect from my birthday. That part has become muddled over the years.  Since most movies and television shows depicted "perfect" celebrations of birthdays, with the parties and the cake, that was probably what I wished for as a child. I never wanted a pony. I would have settled for cake and ice cream, then.  These days, a nice pinot noir with some friends would do. 

Finally I just stopped getting excited about birthdays. It wasn't really worth the small pity party I would feel obligated to throw myself every year when whatever I expected didn't happen.  I stopped mentioning their approach, I stopped thinking about them, I just...stopped. 

Except my husband and son expect me to be excited. They expect me to be giddy like they are, to trip around the house wearing the gossamer wings of the Birthday Fairy.  I try to share their excitement, but I am not always successful. It's not that I don't appreciate their enthusiasm; I do.  I'm just afraid.  Afraid to have expectations. Afraid to be disappointed. Afraid that my reaction, or lack of a reaction, will never be good enough for other people.

Afraid that I'm too big for my britches.

Today is my Birthday

Did you just think of that Beatles' song? I did. It's one of those things that, through repetitive conditioning, I cannot not think of that song. (At some point, it seemed that the Beatles could have sung about their bathroom activities, and it would have been a number one hit. I did not mean to make a potty joke. You're welcome.) Sorry if I have passed that gem of an earworm on to you.

We all celebrate our birthdays in different ways in this house. Zane is all about the loot, and the cake, and all the fuss. I have a feeling that will never change. Larry has to have some sort of fuss made,  which may or may not in include a demand for a party or an Iron Maiden concert.  I try my best to give him what he wants, and so far he hasn't complained much. 

My feelings about birthdays are different. I have learned not to get excited about them, through various childhood traumas. Like the time nobody showed up to my party. Or the time that my entire family forgot, and I had to make my own darn birthday cake.  I have learned not to ask for any thing, because I might be told that it's too expensive, or worse, that it's stupid or silly.

I know, I am an adult, I should let go of that baggage and live in the now.  The truth is that I don't think about any of those old wounds when it is not my birthday. Only when that day comes do all these old memories  boil up to the surface like sulfur, stinking up the place.  It's not like I don't have happy birthday memories. In fact, there are way more of those, which makes it even more annoying that my brain recalls the wrongs in such precise detail.

It really isn't fair, that we all strive so hard to be happy, and our brains just trip us up. My life also seems to be in flux right now.  I sit between two outcomes, and I hate not knowing what is going to happen and feeling insecure about the future.  I can't control that, but I can try to let that angst go, for one day.

Today I am 48. I know this because my son has asked me at least forty times a day how old I will be.  He's also played the "older than" game, so I have had to indicate who, and what I am older than.  I was happy to be able to say that I am NOT older than dirt, at least.  Kids will always put a different perspective on everything, and mine makes me laugh.  My husband will do his best to make sure that I have a great day. I will be surrounded by people who love me. And there will be cake. 

A happy birthday, indeed.

It's My Birthday

Yes. Yes it is. On this day, back before the internet, I entered the world.  LBJ was president, the Beatles were big, and Elvis was still a hottie.

My husband is one of those people who expects a big to-do every year on his birthday.  He wants a party, and a parade float, and a blimp flying overhead.  My husband would love it if Iron Maiden was playing a special concert just for him.  Every single person who sees him must wish him a happy birthday.  It is the day of his birth, and therefore a grand day for celebration.  Larry basks in the glory that is his day.  He is all about the birthdays. 

I don't do that.  

Never mind that very few people not related to me remember my birthday.  Never mind that it's summer, and everyone is gone for their vacations.  Maybe when I was younger I would wallow in self-pity about all that, but these days I am just happy that I am still breathing.  I still have all my fingers and toes.  I can still speak, still see, still mostly hear.  I can still remember who I am and where I am.  Other than that, it's just another day for me.  Yep.  Just another day that I get to spend with my son and my husband and my family.  That is what is truly worth celebrating.

Oh, and there's cake. 

Source: especiallyforyouppkwallpepar.blogspot.com via Tina on Pinterest

Happy Birthday Mom!

 Dear Mom,

I know that you're still mad because I was born breach and you didn't get to have any of the good drugs, but look!  Your grandson made you a really cool present.

We started out with a blank puzzle. No I don't know where I got these blank puzzles.   I was cleaning out my closet the other day and there they were in a box.  Jimmy Hoffa was in that box as well--maybe they were his?

We traced Zane's hands onto the puzzle pieces.  Zane cooperated with my attempts to trace his hands, mostly because I wouldn't let him move any fingers while I was tracing. 

Since Zane knows that he holds his Grandma's heart in his hands(also her wallet), we drew a very red heart.  And then we colored the entire picture using as many crayons as possible. 

 
And now we take all the pieces apart and put them in a bag and bring them to Grandma's house so she can play(Zane's word).  Hooray!

Birthday Boy

Isn't this the most adorable birthday card ever????? My friend Kelly and her beautiful daughter gave it to Zane with his birthday present. I am not a super-scrapbooker sort, but I will be saving this one. Maybe in a nice decorative frame...


Today is my wonderful, rambunctious son's birthday. He is three, but if you ask him how old he is, he will tell you he's five. I told him that faking his age will not get him a driver's license any earlier.

Anyway, considering his start, I would say that my son is a healthy, happy kid. I give thanks for that every single day. Happy Birthday!