Saturday was my birthday. I am one of those obnoxious people that loves to celebrate birthdays, even (okay especially!) my own. When it's my birthday, everyone knows. They know because I tell them: Friends. Acquaintances. Store Clerks. They all have been known to hear me burst out,
"Today is my birthday!"
We are a family of hams, and I am just as much of a porker (avoid the obvious comments here...they'd be true, but mean) as the rest of them. I love the cards, the emails, the phone calls to tell me they love me, to have a great day. They make me feel warm and loved and, in the interest of staying real, they make me feel validated. Pathetic I know. Really pathetic. But nonetheless true.
I love using the "birthday" card to eat what I want, sleep late, indulge in pedicures & $5 lattes that would normally be too much of a splurge. I get to pick the movie, the restaurant, to forgo the dishes, cooking and other mundanities that my life typically consists of.
My birthday weekends are always great, because I make them great. I remind Shane patiently and naggingly that he needs to get a babysitter, I call girlfriends and say "Let's go out this weekend, it's my birthday!" I wake my kids up smiling and saying (yes, pathetically...I KNOW!) Tell mommy "Happy Birthday!", and they do, and they sing to me, unwittingly participating in my crazy ploy for forced attention because they are, well...3! I know this makes me sound shallow, insecure, self-absorbed. Spoiled. But at least it's real. I never sit around pretending I don't care about my birthday and being sad when no one remembers. People always remember when you remind them repeatedly and drag them out to celebrate. -Grin-
(No gifts though. I have a strict no-gift policy for everyone except Shane. Reminding people of your birthday and then accepting gifts is too self-promoting, even for me!)
That being said, this was just the best birthday weekend. Friday night, after a lovely lunch with my mother, some of my oldest, dearest friends - the ones that fit like a comfy old tshirt- took me out for tapas, and glasses of wine and laughter like we were still 16. And it wasn't even my idea! Saturday was spent lounging in my pajamas with my kids and then husband-of-the-year and I went out that night with more dear-old-friends for more laughter and excessive amounts of food.
Then Sunday, Allison (my dramatic, Broadway-bound, mini-me of a daughter) and yes, more old friends, went to see "The Sound of Music" at The Historic Fox Theatre Atlanta. No not the play, the movie. It's just wonderful to see old movies there. Along with the rest of the audience, we hisssed at the baroness and Nazis; We burst into applause after the songs we had heard a dozen times. We genuinely enjoyed it...and each other.
I lament so much my children getting older that sometimes I fail to notice how much fun it can be to hang out with your child when you no longer need to pack a change of clothes and sippy-cups each time you walk out the door. When their interests have evolved enough that sometimes they even overlap with yours.
Here's a picture of our date.
Thank you to the people I love for making me feel so fabulously loved this weekend. I am blessed and I know it.