Yesterday was a fantastic birthday. I got a call from a friend from church that ended with me hearing a tinny cell-phone version of “Happy Birthday” sung by thirty-odd church people. It was so cute! And thanks for all of the sweet wishes!
I devoured a mountain of yummy mussels and JG did a great job with presents this year. Nerd that I am, I had asked for a book light for Valentine’s Day and here it was! In all of its LED glory! Add in a good book about digital photography and Pinky and the Brain DVDs and you’ve got a winning birthday combination. The DVDs were more of a gift of self-sacrifice because JG does not exactly enjoy the comic genius that is encapsulated in Pinky and the Brain, so I appreciate that one very much.
In the aftermath of the birthday hoopla, I realized something. I may not be excited about my actual birthday, but do you know what I really love? Belated birthday wishes and things!
I think it all started in college. My mom would dutifully ship me a care package, my grandma would mail a check, and my sister would send an e-card to be followed up by a gift card to Starbucks or somewhere. Between all of this mailing, almost nothing arrived on time. I’d get the packages in dribs and drabs for the week after my birthday and I loved it. It wasn’t a birthday anymore – no, no! Happy birthweek! Happy birthmonth!
This year was no exception. Today’s mail brought in cards from my sister and JG’s grandma. My sister called me today to let me know that things were on the way and she added, “But I know you like birthday gifts to be late. I planned it that way.”
Yeah, right. But I’ll take it!