December Birthday Diatribe

I’m part of a club. A club I’d rather not be a part of. But a club nonetheless. I had no idea how many of my friends in my extended social circle also are part of this club until I was looking at the “Upcoming Events” section of my Facebook page. Even when I meet people on the street, this club gains me instant sympathy and nodding heads. I’m part of the December birthday club. And I don’t like it one bit.

Naturally, I blame my parents. 😉

Here's me - nine days old on my first Christmas. It's a girl. In case you were wondering.

But in defense of my parents, (they didn’t plan it this way) they always did a really good job of making my birthday special. I got a party every year (not like the extravagant parties that are common today, but a cake and some girls for a sleepover), and they never really gave me a combination gift (I can’t even think of one right now).

In fact, I don’t think my contempt for my December birthday started until I got older. Maybe a teenager, or a college student? I don’t know exactly when.

Here’s the thing. I love Christmas. LOVE it.

We loooove Christmas in this house.

I love listening to Christmas music while doing pretty much anything holiday-related. I love picking out the tree and decorating it. I love wrapping gifts. I love watching my favorite Christmas movies by the glow of the tree. I love baking lots and lots of cookies and other goodies. I love the magic of the season and the spirit of generosity. And I especially love the extra emphasis on spending time with family and loved ones.

Both Husband and I are pretty big Christmasers. While we’re not super psycho crazies, we both have big expectations for Christmas.

I’m also a big believer in birthdays. I think birthdays should be celebrated for a minimum of a weekend, and I prefer to celebrate them for a whole week. I think birthday people should be given lots of extra attention and be made to feel super special. There always should be cake, a card and a gift, and extra points for balloons or flowers if you’re over 16. Birthdays are a big deal to me and I make them a big deal for my loved ones.

I guess the reason I started disliking my December birthday when I got older (as opposed to when I was a kid) was because other people didn’t “respect” the birthday as much as my parents did. They didn’t make it as special (and I don’t mean my dear husband; he has always been excellent at making me feel extra special on my birthday).

I’m not exactly sure why this happens. I can’t really think of a good reason why people think it’s okay to combine birthdays with Christmas when, as my cousin J said, “Everyone with a birthday in spring, summer or fall doesn’t have to ‘share’ the day they were born with a holiday. I don’t know why it should be any different at Christmas.”

Don’t get me wrong — I don’t think anyone was ever trying to purposely be rude. I mean, after all, these are people who love me and are giving me gifts. Maybe it’s because Christmas just becomes so ubiquitous that they’re not thinking when they give me a pine and red berry flower arrangement for my birthday? I get it. It’s seasonal. But it’s my effing birthday! Where is the pink and the purple!?

What not to get someone for their birthday.

This is a "passable" flower arrangement for a December birthday. It's got ornaments, but at least it's not red and green.

THESE are birthday flowers.

Extra points for creativity.

And don’t even get me started on wrapping my birthday present in Christmas paper. If you want to see my head spin around and pop off, just try giving me my birthday gift in Christmas wrapping paper. Why, why, why!?? It’s too much trouble to go out and get birthday wrapping paper so you’ll just use this Christmas paper you have lying around? At no other time of year would this be acceptable.

This is not birthday wrapping paper!!

You have no idea how tempted I have been to wrap other people’s birthday presents in Christmas paper in May, August, whatever. Just to prove a point.

IT IS MY BIRTH-DAY. THERE SHOULD BE NO RED OR GREEN OR HOLLY OR SANTA.

I may give you a pass on a snowman. Maybe.

My poor brother-in-law. He is awesome and so great and I love him dearly. He has experienced firsthand my hatred of the Christmas paper for birthday gifts.

I don’t know why, but for whatever reason we went through a period where he kept wrapping my d@mn birthday gifts in Christmas paper! And this was after celebrating many birthdays with him!

The first time it happened I gave him a lot of crap. So then the next year, before my birthday, Husband reminded him “NO CHRISTMAS PAPER.”

So that next year, he wrapped my birthday gift in (drum roll please) … silver paper.

And while he protested heartily that “IT WAS SILVER,” clearly it was Christmas paper. And that would have been okay except that he used a CHRISTMAS GIFT TAG to address the gift to me (we were at an extended family Christmas gathering where lots of gifts were being exchanged).

Nope. Definitely don't put this on a birthday gift.

When I pointed this out he looked at me with a genuinely confused look on his face and said, “Well how else were you supposed to know that it was for you and not someone else?”

I gave him a hard look back and said, “How about a birthday card.”

His eyes got really big. “Oh. That’s right. I forgot about cards.”

And that, my friends, is what happens to gift givers around Christmastime. All common sense goes out the window.

And while this is a tongue in cheek example, it really is disheartening when you want your birthday to be a day all about you and you’re constantly being reminded of CHRISTMAS, CHRISTMAS, CHRISTMAS — and as I said before, I do LOVE Christmas — but it’s my one and only special day!

The next year he gave me my gift in birthday paper. With a card.

Balloons, stars, cake ... good. If it says HAPPY BIRTHDAY, even better!

Honestly, I think the biggest reason I don’t enjoy a Christmas birthday now that I’m older is due to time. There’s just not enough of it this time of year.

Husband’s extended family has now firmly established the weekend closest to my birthday as the weekend of the family’s annual holiday gathering. It also happens to be the same weekend that my parents do their annual Christmas party. So inevitably, I don’t get a weekend to celebrate my birthday with my family and friends the way I want to. Instead we (and all of our family members) are running around all over the place celebrating Christmas.

And now that I’m an adult with a family of my own, and want to do the Christmasy things like baking, shopping, wrapping, Christmas card sending, etc. — things I genuinely want to do — it just leaves little birthday time.

Celebrating my birthday last year. Note the Christmas tree at the restaurant.

2010 birthday cake!

Of course I’ve always been bummed that I couldn’t do fun outdoor activities like have a pool party for my birthday, but to be fair that’s not exclusive to December. My cousin L’s birthday is in March and for the last 20 out of 25 birthdays it’s been cold, gloomy and rainy. So there’s really no exclusivity when it comes to crappy weather. I mean, I guess rain generally doesn’t cause event cancellations, but you get my drift.

So yeah. The general consensus after polling my Facebook friends is that December birthdays (and even early January birthdays) kinda suck. Most of us have differing reasons for why we don’t like it (although combination gifts was a big complaint) the bottom line is we feel kinda cheated.

I will say that having only known a Christmastime birthday, I do like how the trees and lights and Christmas music remind me that my birthday is coming soon.

I’m thinking I might start a tradition of celebrating my semi-half birthday with my husband whose birthday is in July …

Barbecue anyone?

P.S. I will say that I think parents tend to be more sensitive to making their December birthday kid feel special, and they have the kid’s whole lifetime to remember to do that. Whereas other (non-December birthday) people (like my brother-in-law) are just unaware. So again, I’m not calling anyone out, I think they’re just not aware of the sensitivity because they haven’t had to be.

What about you? Do you have a December birthday? Do you hate it or do you love it? Alternatively, is your birthday around another holiday where you have to “share” celebration time with holiday time?

I Tried Not to Write This – Really.

So the PR person in me was going to blog about Taylor Swift’s brand and how consistent her concert was with her brand. But even though I LOVE her, a lot, I won’t do that, because I know how many of you don’t care for her.

I do have to say one thing though — it was so REFRESHING (if I could put that in 50 pt font, I would) to see live entertainment that wasn’t bursting at the seams with girls in bra tops and hot pants writhing dancing around on stage. Seriously. So refreshing. I mean, performers from Rihanna to freaking LUKE BRYAN on the CMT Awards have the dancing girls. I’m just so over it. Um, not that I don’t like sex, I just don’t need it shoved in my face (and my kids’ faces) 24/7. I mean, we know, sex sells. But seriously, let’s move on. Doesn’t anyone have any original ideas anymore? Taylor Swift was the first performer I’ve seen in a long time that hasn’t utilized sex in some way to sell herself — and that includes her concert Wednesday night.

Don’t get me wrong. She had dancers — they were unbelievable dancers — but they were fully clothed, and they played character roles in her production. By our guess, it was the same dancers throughout the night, so they were dancing everything from choreographed pop moves, to ballet, to acrobatics.

So kudos to Taylor for not only being a great performer, a great writer, but having an original idea and not contributing to the early sexualization of girls. Don’t know what that is? (think Abercrombie & Fitch selling padded push-up bikini tops for 7-year-old girls — this year!) Google it. It’s disgusting.

Oh. One more thing. She really can sing. She sounded great — actually the only thing that disappointed me was that at the beginning you couldn’t hear her very well, like her mic wasn’t turned up enough. But then it got better. Don’t believe me that she can sing? The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel’s review of the concert said she was “sonically superb.”

(For the record, I agree with the reviewer who said that the show came off a little too “staged.” It definitely was a big production number. It reminded me of a Reba McEntire show that I saw at the Bradley Center in the late 1990s — remember when she had the big hair!? Reba had a set and costume change for nearly every song. But honestly, I would rather be dazzled by a big production, that at moments is a tad over the top, than just watch a singer and a stool. Aside from a little more hair whipping than I thought was warranted, I liked it. I’m not sure if her somewhat overly dramatic stage presence is due to her age, and still figuring things out, or if that’s just her. Either way, it was SUPER fun.)

Okay, fine. I guess there’s one more thing. In the past, I’ve made fun of myself for not really being in Taylor Swift’s target demographic. In fact, certain friends, have made fun of me for liking her music, and before the show, joked with me to say hi to all my 15-year-old girlfriends. Well listen up, yo. I’m here to tell ya. We were not out of place AT ALL.

The people at the concert were of all ages AND both genders. I think my friend A and I were both a little surprised. Especially when we got to our seats and found that on our right were two 23-ish looking girls, and on our left was an adult 30-something-year-old daughter with her two late 60-ish parents. Not a tween in sight with them, either. Oh, and behind us? Probably some high school/college freshman girls, and then a boyfriend/girlfriend duo who were BOTH singing along to EVERY.SINGLE.WORD — even the guy. A and I kept laughing because this boy knew the words to every single song. And he wasn’t the only boy! There were lots of boys! Young boys, teenage boys, college boys.

I think we both were expecting to be surrounded by screaming girls ages 7-15, but such was not the case. Don’t get me wrong — we definitely gave each other a look and burst out laughing after passing two 9-year-old girls with matching braided pig tails and matching homemade Taylor Swift T-shirts. But we were not out of place by any means, and I rescind my earlier beliefs that I’m out of her target demographic.

So there.

(Although it was kind of funny when, towards the end of the night, A’s taking her daily disposable contact lenses out, chucking them and replacing them with her glasses, and I’m stretching and cracking my neck. Sucks getting old.)

Well, I really tried not to write this about Taylor Swift. But apparently I just couldn’t help myself. So I’m just going to go ahead and put a big wet sloppy kiss all over this post and say that in addition to love, love, loving her music, I LOVE the fact that Taylor Swift is such a good role model for my daughters. Prior to the show, concert goers could text a message that would show up on a screen next to the stage, and I may have gotten a little teary-eyed when a mom wrote, “Taylor, thank you for being such a GREAT ROLE MODEL for my girls.” And it wasn’t me. I swear. But it could have been.

(And if you’re a parent to daughters, and you’re not sure what the early sexualization of girls is, please check it out and be aware).

I really tried not to write this. Sorry. I’ll try better next time.

What Hasn’t Changed

There once were three girls — Jen, Jen and Erin from Erin. Their story began in first grade. And has continued for 25 years.

In grade school we were a concentrated group. Several of only 30. There were babysitter’s clubs, Girl Scouts and soccer. Dances, movie theaters and skating rinks. Band class and plays. Carpooling in minivans, station wagons and trucks.

Sleepovers at parents’ houses, staying up all night talking about boys.
Fights with parents, fights with boys, fights with each other.
Friendly competition and teasing.
Uncontrollable laughter, adventures and tears.
Stranger-than-fiction situations that we find ourselves in.
We witnessed each other’s terrifying trials, and came together for resilient comebacks.

We came together.
And that hasn’t changed.

In high school we were among hundreds. There were math clubs, band classes and Model U.N. Dances, bus rides and wrestling meets. Soccer games, plays and student council. Driving ourselves in minivans, station wagons and trucks.

Sleepovers at parents’ houses, staying up all night talking about boys.
Fights with parents, fights with boys, fights with each other.
Friendly competition and teasing.
Uncontrollable laughter, adventures and tears.
Stranger-than-fiction situations that we find ourselves in.
We witnessed each other’s terrifying trials, and came together for resilient comebacks.

We came together.
And that hasn’t changed.

College brought the beginning of accustomed separation. Only quarterly meetings at best. Each of us apart and on our own. We were one in thousands. There were soccer games, plays and student government. Surprise visits, parties, Christmas and summer. Graduation and life paths begun.

Sleepovers at parents’ houses, staying up all night talking about boys.
Fights with parents, fights with boys, fights with each other.
Friendly competition and teasing.
Uncontrollable laughter, adventures and tears.
Stranger-than-fiction situations that we find ourselves in.

 

 

We witnessed each other’s terrifying trials, and came together for resilient comebacks.

We came together.
And that hasn’t changed.

Boyfriends come and gone, mates chosen and wedding days celebrated. The miraculous births of children.

Sleepovers at parents’ houses, staying up all night talking about boys.
Fights with parents, fights with boys, fights with each other.
Friendly competition and teasing.
Uncontrollable laughter, adventures and tears.
Stranger-than-fiction situations that we find ourselves in.
We witnessed each other’s terrifying trials, and came together for resilient comebacks.

We came together.
And that hasn’t changed.

A restorative four days. In the Catskills of upstate New York. In a scene plucked straight from a story book. With two dogs, a cat, a babbling brook. A mountain, all-day coffee, and reading nooks. Warm pumpkin bread, a Coach Mike, and a Captain Jack. A Will and a Peter Rabbit.

Our friendship, like a tree, has strong, deep roots. And branches that separate from the base. They go off in twisted, altering directions. Each branch is a path, a road. Yet one part of a life-sustaining whole.

We came together.

Some things never will change. And I thank God for that.

I thank God for them.