As I am sure everyone knows, last Thursday was my birthday. I am sure everyone knows this because my birthday is a national holiday. At least in our house.
I have always loved LOVED my birthday. In fact, I am a fan of the “Birthday Month”- why limit the special treatment to just a day? The best part about my birthday is that everyone has to do Whatever I Say Because It’s My Birthday. Shockingly, my husband isn’t as big of a fan of my birthday as I am.
Growing up, I had the most fabulous birthday parties. One year, my parents turned our living and dining rooms into a casino. I had a costume party one year (I was a hula girl… a hula girl with a sweat shirt and sweat pants… hey, it’s cold in St. Louis in mid October!). Another year, we went bowling (even with the bumpers I am terrible!).
In high school, I would bring cake for everyone (my high school had 136 girls in my class). Girls I only spoke to once a year would smile sweetly, wish me a Happy Birthday!, grab some cake, and disappear again for the next 364 days.
When I turned 18 while away at school, I celebrated hard… So hard that I ran away when I turned 21 (I ran to a formal brunch at my parents, so don’t feel badly for me).
Thirty was fun. I spent the first night away from Emma (who was eight weeks old) when Thomas took me for a mini staycation.
Recently, we have traveled to New Orleans (a trip that was supposed to be free with our hotel points and airline miles. At the end of the day, our “free” trip cost us several THOUSANDS of dollars. Night. Mare.). Last year, we traveled to Chicago. While there, I was reminded of why I no longer live in Chicago… it was 70 degrees and sunny when we left Atlanta. Chicago’s weather: 38 degrees and sleeting…
This year, on the fourth anniversary of my 29th birthday, I celebrated with best friends and family.
I finally got my BFF necklace!
And of course, cake and champagne!!