Last night, while I was laying in bed trying to get to sleep without excessive pharmaceutical assistance, I was trying to remember what I've done for my birthday for the past 25 years. (I wish I was turning 25 today--nope, it's 30. But I don't remember anything before turning 5.)
The first birthday I remember, my 5th, mom and dad took us all to Knotts Berry Farm. We were living in San Diego while my dad was stationed on the destroyer "John Paul Jones." I had seen a commercial of a little girl at KBF chasing a piglett, and decided that pig chasing was the ultimate in birthday fun. My sweet mom looked all over that damn place with me for the pig chasing, but alas, there was none to be found. That was to be my first experience with false advertising, and with birthday disappointment.
The next birthday I remember was in Minnesota. It must have been #7. What I remember about that one is that it was a moving day. My egocentric little mind had just assumed that we wouldn't even THINK of moving on my birthday. I was pretty shocked that my parents would presume to move on a day that should, by rights, totally revolve around me. My mom tried to make up for it with a Little Bo Peep cake--complete with ceramic Peep and sheep. I was some-what mollified.
My 8th birthday I remember very well-because it was my first official birthday blow-out. I got to invite my friends to that Mecca of birthday ballyhoo, Chuck E. Cheese. There, my mom surprised me with 2 of my most memorable birthday presents ever. The first was a Cabbage Patch Doll--an indispensable part of any little girl's plaything inventory in the early 80's. The second was a package of UNDERPANTS. WRAPPED. THAT I OPENED IN THE MIDDLE OF CHUCK E. CHEESE IN FRONT OF ALL MY FRIENDS! Oh. The humiliation.
The next several birthdays are pretty fuzzy. I remember a very cool sunshine cake surrounded by little cupcakes that were the rays, a trip to Sizzler (very high class in my child mind) to see just how many fried shrimp I could eat, and various other brief flashes of candle blowing and present opening.
My 15th birthday was special, because I went on my first real date. The LDS church lays down the line pretty heavily--absolutely NO DATING until 16, but my parents were moving us to Utah in a couple of weeks, and I had a very sweet (then--later is another story) steady boyfriend who asked my parents for permission to take me out on a real date for my birthday. We went to a very upscale Italian place by the ocean in Big Sur. He then took me for a walk on the beach, and pledged me his undying devotion. It's a sweet, but somewhat silly memory, considering that his undying devotion lasted about 3 months after I moved.
The REAL first date on my 16th birthday was totally lame. This kid that I barely knew, who always smelled just a little weird, took me to see "Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey." He had the nerve to try and cop a feel 1/2 way through. I talked him out of it by getting up and moving over 2 seats.
No birthday memories turn up again until my 20th. Erik and I were dating, and he took me to Kolob Canyon (part of Zion National Park) for a moonlight picnic. I worked for a concession there at the time. So we were sitting up at the top of the 5 mile scenic drive, and I was swigging a strawberry kiwi wine cooler, (gag) when the local danger ranger showed up. Lemuel Pratt was the world's biggest douche bag. The kind of cop who bragged about how many tickets he wrote per day. So--he gave me a ticket for under aged drinking, and Erik one for contributing, and basically ruined my birthday.
I'm sure that my birthdays since then have been lovely--just kind of unmemorable. Lunches with mom--dinners with Erik--nice gifts from friends. Today will be more of the same.
So--happy birthday to me. 30 years down--who knows how many to go.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
When we picked up Sophie from my mom's yesterday, she threw her arms around me and said, "I've been missing and missing you!"
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
She just dumped her whole breakfast--yogurt, eggs, juice, all over the rug in the living room. Dude. Maybe I'll let the pup come lick it up.