Avoiding Crisis

it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to…

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I’ve just returned from the birthday party of one of my daughter’s friends.  So, of course, I’ve got birthday party on the brain. 

I don’t like birthdays.  Wait, let me rephrase that.  I don’t like my own birthday.  I like other people birthdays.  I even like other people’s birthdays that fall on the same day as my birthday.  I just don’t like my own.  Kinda like how I used to not like Christmas either, that is, before I had kids. 

My mother is going to hate me for saying this (and she’s probably thinking to herself, ‘well, then, don’t say it’ – but of course, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t go ahead and say it. Would I mom?)  but I can’t remember a single birthday party that I had growing up.  I’ve seen photos of various parties and they all looked rather enjoyable, but I don’t have a single memory of any one particular childhood party. That’s kind of sad, I know.  Sad, but true.

Here’s the thing with me and birthdays: they are always big disappointments.  This is probably the result of several factors:  1) I have unrealistically high expectations.  2) I’m born in August and so no one was ever around to help me celebrate because they were either away at summer camp or on holidays.  And yes, I’m still bitter about the fact that I never got to bring cupcakes to school and that I never got to wear one of those candy ribbons for a day.  And 3) I’ve always had to share my birthday with my brother – we’re twins.

To insure that I wouldn’t be disappointed on my 21st birthday – and fearful that I’d be all alone – I threw a party for my twin brother.  It was his party, not mine.  Seriously, how could I be disappointed if A) the party wasn’t for me, and B) I planned it.  Still, although I don’t really remember too well (and not because I was drunk, which I wasn’t), I’m sure I was disappointed about something, had a bad time and cried at least once.

I think one of the reasons that I tend to go a bit overboard when it comes to the planning of my own kids birthdays is because I don’t want them to ever feel that I didn’t make an effort (and, mom, this is not me implying that you didn’t make an effort so don’t take it that way).  Like any mother, I try my darnedest to make their birthday each year the best possible day it could be.  And yes this involves hours of making castle and police car cakes.  If I had birthday parties like my kids have had (and they’re only 2 and 4) I’d remember them, that is, if I had any memories from that age.  

I know, I’m being completely selfish and somewhat silly about this whole thing.  A birthday is just another day, right?   

Here’s the thing, since my 29th birthday there was been talk of what we would do this year for my 30th.  And since starting this blog that question has come up a lot.  At one time I thought I’d want to have a big party to celebrate.  I’m not so sure about this anymore.  Here’s the problem, with my husband in charge it would either 1) not happen or 2) happen but on a much smaller scale than I envisioned with guests eating off of paper plates and drinking from 16 ounce Solo cups.  My husbands idea of a great party involves a 6-foot deli sandwich, hot wings, pigs in a blanket and a whole lot of beer – all of which he got, by the way, for his 30th birthday. 

This morning, being very serious for once, as opposed to his overly sarcastic self where he asks me which Disney princess I’d like to have at my party, my husband asked me what I want to do to celebrate my 30th. 

You know what?  That’s a very good question. 


Written by nicolemarie

February 19, 2007 at 11:10 pm

Posted in birthdays, life, personal, thirty

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