Birthday

I love my birthday.  No, I mean really.  Like a five year old at Chuck E. Cheese.  It’s my favorite day of the entire year, second only to Christmas.  I LOVE IT!  It’s one day that’s only about me.  I get to be selfish.  I get to expect people to focus on ME.  When people forget my birthday, I get a little upset.  My husband, poor soul, learned this the hard way. 

When we were dating, he forgot my birthday twice.  He had some lame excuse the first year, like being in intensive care at the hospital for mono.  And the second year, he thought having Lasik surgery and being in lots of pain was a good enough reason to let the day pass.  (Please!)  But by the third year, he finally understood and sneaked out of his room while serving in the Navy’s Officer Candidate School to use the phone to call me on my birthday.  (Yes, it was breaking a military rule and he took a big risk, but it was MY BIRTHDAY!)

After that, it became the Robin Olson Birthday Extravaganza!  No longer a day but an event!  The first year we were married, I got a surprise trip to San Francisco for the day.  Now we’re talkin’.  Last year we spent the day at Hershey Park.  And this year—well, this year is one for the books as well.  We spend the evening downtown at a fancy dinner and then, dressed in our finest, took in a play—The Phantom of the Opera.  Yes, the weather was awful and we lost the car, but it was still AWESOME. I got flowers and half a day off at work plus double bonus birthday rewards at Starbucks when I used my birthday reward (free coffee!) and got a coupon for another free drink 'cause I had to wait too long.  Boy, do they know me!  Cookbooks, new CD's and cards came from my family and a Starbucks gift card from the in-laws.  Perfect.

Now, most years, Nick and I have strangely not been in the same city on my birthday.  And it’s not always him that’s gone.  After the first disastrous year, he was in San Diego and I was in Kansas City for two years running.  Then he was in Florida while I was in San Diego.  Almost every year after that, one of us was traveling.  That doesn't mean anyone is off the hook by the way—in 2009, I was in New Orleans for work and was taken out to Emeril’s restaurant.  Holy wow!


In all reality, though I really don’t care about presents or any of that.  I just want it remembered.  Make a bit of a fuss.  Say happy birthday.  Send me a card.  Something—anything to let me know that you remembered today was the day I was born.  I’ll return the favor on your day.  If you don’t know it’s my birthday, don’t worry!  I’ll be sure to let you know.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Easter

It’s Holy Week.  I remember being confused by so many pieces of Easter when I was young.  Why was it called Good Friday if Jesus died?  Wasn’t that BAD Friday?  Why did we eat so much fish?  Ick.  Why did it always seem to be a gloomy, rainy, week?  Did God do that on purpose?  How could Jesus ride into the city of Jerusalem with such fanfare on Sunday and be beaten so brutally just 6 days later?  As I’ve grown in my faith and age, I understand so much more.  When Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ played in theaters, I went to see it.  My sobs could hardly be heard over the sobs of others.  This wasn’t a movie where you munched on popcorn and sipped a soft drink.  This was a chore—a duty as a Christian to come face to face with the brutality endured by our Savior.  To come to terms with what He experienced so that I could, what?  Show up late to work with no excuse?  Watch movies with foul language?  ...
Read more

I just don't care

I'm reading this book, the Husband's Secret .  The jacket cover was so compelling!  A woman finds a letter addressed to her from her husband that she is to read in the event of his death...but he's still alive! Somehow, this letter affects not only her, but two other women that she barely knows.  Wow!  What a premise!  I have to read this! Um, no. Sadly, these characters are completely unsympathetic.  I don't like the woman who's daughter was murdered 20 years before.  I don't like the woman who's husband has left her because he's fallen in love with her cousin.  I don't mind the woman who found the letter but I don't really care about her either.  The only person I can identify with and feel defensive towards is the daughter-in-law.  She's a career woman who has a wonderful opportunity that will move her and her family from Australia to New York.  Her mother-in-law is angry because she's taking the grandson away.  Sorry, l...
Read more

The Wonderful World of Meat Substitutes

I didn’t become a vegetarian until a little over two years ago. I used to think it would be absolutely impossible for me to do—I’m in love with chicken! Can’t give that up. No way. Well, clearly, I did give it up (although so many non-vegetarians say things to me like “you eat chicken, right? Chicken’s a vegetable.” Um, no.). I often encounter someone that is unaware of my food lifestyle and after the initial shock wears off, they want to know if I miss meat. The answer is a resounding no. I hardly notice it at all. I won’t go into why I don’t eat meat (not now anyway). There are different types of vegetarians. I am what is known as a lacto-ovo vegetarian—I eat eggs and diary but nothing that used to crawl, swim, walk or fly. No chicken, no cow, no pig, no lamb, no fish. (Nick and I went to a restaurant today that basically wanted to know how you want your beef cooked, but did include two of what they called “Meatless sandwiches”. They included fried fish and baked fish....
Read more