No, I'm not talking about Puxatony Phil (although the days are the same); I'm talking about my birthday.
When I became an adult everyone told me that birthdays were somehow less important--less hullabaloo, less cake, less attention. I guess with all the distractions of work and kids and bills there just isn't time for grown-ups to feel special, even for just one day.
I understand busy. I even understand aging not being a big deal (although the more I celebrate my 30th birthday the more I love it!).
But this year, my birthday went by without much attention at all.
I had to commute and work and go to school until 7; Matt had business obligations until 10:30.
Before I left for my commute, there were no "birthday breakfasts" or silly "happy birthday" songs.
Aside from Facebook well wishes and a text or two, there were no birthday cards (unless you count the one from an insurance agency that I don't use) and no birthday phone calls--not even from my family.
Around 5:30 pm I briefly toyed with the idea that a surprise party was in the making. When I came home at 7:00 to a dirty house, I realized that there was no surprise party.
I had a Samantha Baker moment from Sixteen Candles. No, my birthday wasn't forgotten; it was just unacknolwedged. And somehow, that felt worse.
To be fair, when I got home (after I cleaned up the house and did the dishes) I found a Glee DVD set and my friend Sarah (who I did go to lunch with that day) brought me cheesecake so I at least got to spend the evening with Mr. Shue and 4 homemade, different versions of cheesecake.
When Matt came home I could tell he was dripping with guilt. He tried to "make up" for it with gifts but I'm not a gift person and I balked at feeling "bought off." I understand he had to work; I understand people are busy; I don't understand not taking a bit of planning to make even 10 minutes of someone's birthday special.
And I really felt this "birthdays aren't a big deal when you're an adult" mentality is just an excuse to not have to exert time and attention anywhere besides work/finances/hobbies. When really, shouldn't we go the extra mile for those people ... not matter how old they are?
I'm generally quick to get angry but this time, I just cried--because it felt bad to not to celebrated.
Out of that pity party came a super-strong resolution: birthdays do matter and the people we love are worth celebrating (at least once a year). So no matter how busy we get or how far he travels or how early the day starts or how sick the kids get or how tight money is, I will always acknowledge and celebrate the people I love.
What I think about birthdays is that they matter.
No one should be Samatha Bakered (or worse).
Even if you've had seventy-five birthdays, they still matter.
Even if you stopped counting how old you are at 27, they still matter.
Even if you hate being celebrated, they still matter (we'll send you a card).
As long as people matter, their birthdays matter.
DISCLAIMER #2--My husband is amazing. He loves and cherishes me. This is just one of those "oh crap" moments in his life that I'll let him forget in 30 years (see, if he did stuff like this more often it'd roll off my back). ILY, Matt!
Thanks to SHELL at THINGS I CAN'T SAY for always hosting my random Wednesday thoughts!