Growing Up

I have not forgotten Christmas and do have some pictures to post on that this week, but today I am another year older.

I am realizing this year that I must really be growing up. Because, to be honest, I had a pretty lousy birthday so far as celebrations go. In years past I may have been very depressed by such a day, and I admit to being a little bummed, but I realized this evening that I'll get over it. Some years are just not stellar, and in many ways 2008 belongs in that category.

My ability to cope with disappointment more maturely is a bitter-sweet realization. While nice in some respects, at times I fear I am venturing into resignation, an adult degree of disinterest that is really a more cynical way of viewing life than it is an indicator of wisdom.

I have always complained about my birthday. Three days after Christmas guarantees that my "special day" was always an after-thought. I never looked forward to a birthday, planned a party well in advance, or counted down the days. Usually sometime around the evening of the 26th or morning of the 27th of December someone in the family would say, "Hey, it is going to be Emily's birthday tomorrow!" And, I would realize they were right, get a little excited, and we would plan some activity for the day.

I always wished for a June birthday with a plethora of outdoor activities, a dispersion of gift-receiving throughout the year, and months of anticipation. But, you get what you get, right?

Conversely, because my birthday fell during a week already designated for holidays, despite just being one more of the many, it was a full holiday in its own right. My birthday was always a day off of school and work. I've never worked on my birthday, neither has my father or husband, or anyone else in my family. In fact, for all of us, it was always a full-day celebration. I would get a special breakfast and gifts in the morning, usually including money. Then, the family would go to lunch and a movie. I would have a shopping trip to spend my birthday money, a special dinner and cake in the evening. Frequently, with friend parties and dinners with the grandparents, my birthday would run until new year's celebrations commenced.

So, celebrating me would creep up suddenly and take me and others (who often scrambled to buy gifts at the last minute) by surprise, but in the end, it really was a special day.

Because my birthday was such a comprehensive holiday, it never changed status, even once I married and moved away from home. Still, my whole family would clear their schedules to join a celebration. Add to that dinner with Jeffrey, nice breakfasts, and going out for a good meal with my in-laws. Even last year, my family flew into town after Christmas to celebrate my birthday.

But today, well, let's just say, "It was Sunday." Sunday means fixing 3 meals between 9 am and noon. Bathing and dressing three kids, driving them to church, wrestling with them there, teaching a lesson, bringing the same exhausted children back home... Not exactly celebratory material. I told Jeffrey I wanted to do some shopping and did spend some time at the mall with a friend yesterday, which was fun, but today was really a day like any other, and what is most surprising is how I feel about it.

I am surprised both that I really do miss my special day, and yet that at the same time, I am fine with it: it is just the way it happened this year. It is rather fitting as I was in the hospital while Jeffrey spent his birthday without any gifts and at a three hour church meeting: what goes around, comes around.

So, I am chalking this one up as a bust, while maturely recognizing that somehow that is just how it goes.

Don't get me wrong. I am not looking for pity; I don't feel sorry for myself -- actually it is just the opposite. I have been called with well wishes, sent gifts in the mail, sung to by my children, and thoughtfully considered by my busy and exhausted husband. No one has failed me.

I am just learning lately that too often in my life I have waited for someone else to make things special for me, like my happiness was someone else's responsibility. In reality, it is entirely my job to celebrate me, to bring myself joy.

And, I plan to do it. Next year, Emily is having her special day. I am not going to sit around and be a victim if no one has planned anything -- if it matters to me, which I have discovered it does, then I will decide what I want it to be and make it happen.

As is so often the case, this is just a microcosm for a larger lesson I need to learn in life: to lovingly take care of myself. It takes a lot of real growing up to realize how fully I am responsible for caring for myself, for asking for what I need or want, and for finding my own happiness. And, I plan to do a lot more to celebrate me in this way throughout the coming year.

Now, I just need to decide how big to make my next birthday bash...