Wednesday, March 23, 2011

My favorite holiday

With all the illness going on in my house, I neglected to tell you one little thing about yesterday's post.

That all happened on my birthday.

I traveled for 11.5 hours and came home to a sick family, on my birthday. I want a do-over.

I'm the person that thinks her birthday is the best day of the entire year, not just in my childhood, but well-into adulthood. I don't care if it means I'm getting older. I don't care if it's childish and immature to want candles on every meal served on my birthday, it's how I roll. But I just couldn't bring myself to tell the Chili's Too server at the Detroit airport that it was my birthday, especially since I was dining alone.

I did try, however, to get upgraded to first class by using the birthday excuse. It didn't work, and I'm pretty sure I was pitied and talked about later.

I know I went to Boston for my birthday weekend and it was fun to do so, but I'm never travelling on my birthday ever again, unless it's to get on a cruise. I missed out this year.

In fact, the only one of my family to even care it was my birthday was Hoover. When we got home, he wanted to snuggle, and as we were doing that, I told him my birthday kinda stunk. He sat up with his Frankenstein-esque stitches and said, "I'll bake you cake, Mommy." I told him it wasn't necessary, but only because he's 5 and was feverish.

Sorry Tom, we just couldn't make it work this year.


The next day, in the make-shift hospital ward, I was thrown a Barnes and Noble gift card. Thanks honey and kids and all, but unless it's on March 20 proper, I have a problem counting it as a birthday present.

(Yes, I'm a bitch. Or, one could say, a birthday snob. I like option 2 better.)

When I was a kid, my birthday was the biggest deal ever. We opened presents in the morning at the kitchen table and had cake instead of cereal. There was usually a birthday party on the nearest Saturday, and lots of phone calls and cards. My birthday, I would say, was better than even Christmas because I was the only one to get presents.

(That, and my brother's birthday is 4 days before Christmas and he came home on Christmas, and the whole frickin' week was generally plagued with presents for him by people who knew his birthday was before Christmas and didn't want to do the whole "one present for both" deal. Where were these people in March?)

I know that as a grown-up and a mom, I should probably relax my birthday standards a bit. Just like I know candy is bad for me, but I eat it anyway. Logically, I can understand this, but the theory in practice is where I have trouble. And I just don't see it getting any better.

I guess I'll just go cry into my cake....oh that's right, there was none.

4 comments:

  1. I am SO with you, sister! I am a HARDCORE birthday brat! Rock on with your bad birthday self! LOL! That cake = amazing! Happy belated!

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  2. Sounds like we need another night out in Mad Town! And this time I can drink!

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  3. I feel the exact. same. way about my birthday. It's the only goddamn day of the year that's mine, where I get to do what I want. (Or at least I did until I had a baby....) But it's still MY day, dammit. My husband got me mini cupcakes last year, 2 days late. I was like "Um, WTF is this? This isn't cake. This is like an appetizer BEFORE the cake." I was also forced to work on my birthday last year, for the first time in my entire life.

    But enough about me. Happy belated birthday! Now go have too much to drink.

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  4. Just found your blog this morning. I love it. Have been ignoring the kids and feeding them Cheetohs sob they will leave me alone and I can devour your verbage. I have wanted to comment on so many posts, but this one wins first prize.

    My birthday is MY special day. I actually enjoy working on my birthday (I'm an out of work writer moonlighting as a server in a restaurant) because MORE people will KNOW it is MY day too. And give me more money because poor me, has to work on her birthday instead of spending it at home with (ironically enough) my Disgruntled Husband and two (evil) sweet boys aged 5 and 3.9. Working is like a vacation of sorts.

    I wish we knew each other in real life, we have a lot in common, from being a snarky mom to a grammar nazi (I too majored in English). Excellent blog.

    ♥ a fellow birthday snob. (MY day is coming up in 10 days ... but who's counting?)

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