Nativity?

Well, before the actual post begins, I need to take care of a little bloggy business.  

First off: ThAnK yOu!!! to all who voted for me over at Mormon Mommy Blogs.  I came in third of nine, which I could hardly believe, and which may have had something to do with my husband, an employee of whom started talking to me about my blog the other night.  Anyway, thanks everyone!  It sounds like they are going to run spotlights on the top three blogs.  Cool.  (I probably would have known this is how they roll if I headed over there more often.  Sorry, Motherboard!)

Secondly: Less than 2 days left to enter my GiVe AwAy!!!  If you have left a comment on the original post, you are entered.  Many of you are entered multiple times.  I'll have to count, because I'm unsure if there are enough BINGO numbers for all of the entries.  If there aren't, we'll have to change plans just a tad and use tickets instead.  (Which I have on hand as a few years back I had a great plan for doling out TV watching privileges.  I never did it.  Don't ask me why those aren't in long-term storage, like the photos I'd love to scan in for the following post, because I'm not sure.)  Deadline= Tuesday, Jan 20th, 8:pm MST.  The winner will be posted Wednesday night at 8:pm.  Good luck!

Every year, as the date approached, my mother would begin to tell again the story of the most special birth we knew.  I learned the events of the weeks preceding, those of the birth itself, the visitors to the baby, and the gifts they brought.  I knew all of the details as if it were the story of my own life.

Wait a minute.  It was the story of my life.  Forget the birth of the Savior (although I knew that one very well, too) when I was growing up the most important holiday of all was my birthday.  I won't bore you all with the story in the detail that I annually heard it recited, only with the most important fact that my dad had been drinking Dr. Pepper at some point that morning.

With that kind of build-up, you may imagine the day itself.  It was always  over the top.  Even if I wasn't having an actual party there were flowers and streamers and balloons and once little silk flowers hanging with the balloons.  Always my favorite dinner and always a chocolate swirl cheesecake.  My birthday was just a huge deal.  And it was my favorite holiday.  

Then came my 18th birthday.  I was living in the dorm at college.  My mom had made me a cheesecake over the Christmas break, just so that she wouldn't miss it.  I was afraid my big day would be not so special at all.  Then came the box.  Jenny, you'll remember.  There were not only presents, but decorations and plates and forks and napkins.  And it was good she included those paper goods, because she used the BYU food department's service of sending me a chocolate cake complete with balloons.  Not only that, but that day on campus there was a guest speaker--Rosa Parks.  So I went.  That was amazing.  She was living history, and I got to hear her speak.  What a birthday!

Then came my 19th birthday.  Six of us girls were renting an apartment off campus.  My mother had sent me back on the airplane with pink carnations (among my favorites).  I can't remember if she'd made me a cheesecake, because I made one myself for the actual day.  I got a big package from her on my birthday, balloons from one of my roomies, a dozed beautiful red roses from a, ahem, friend in the Navy, and chocolate turtles from Larry, who wasn't sure what message he was trying to send with them.  That day, I'd had to see my social psych professor about an assignment I needed some guidance on, and he told me that I could be a mouth model.  Again, if I had to be away from home, I couldn't ask for a better day.

Then came my 20th.  I'd been married for three and a half weeks.  I wasn't yet as good as I am now about bluntly telling Larry my expectations for any given event.  In fact, I wouldn't do it at all.  Because that's not romantic.  (Don't worry, I've learned!)  So we went to a play that I had to attend for a humanities class, and I think I made myself dinner, and Larry got me the movie "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead."  Have you seen this?  It's great.  It's Hamlet told from the perspective of, obviously, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.  I love it.  And I loved it then, which he knew.  Um, but not for a birthday present.  I think I cried that night.  I learned that birthdays are not such the big deal for every family that they were for my mother.  My husband began to learn that he'd need to put a lot more effort into holidays than he thought if he wanted a happy wife.  I say "began" because this was a lesson years in the learning.

Now?  Well, now birthdays are not the major holidays for me that they once were.  And I say that entirely honestly.  I sometimes don't even have any dessert at all.  And I don't care.  Rarely flowers and never balloons.  And that is fine.  As long as I don't have to cook dinner.  I don't care if Larry takes me out or brings home take-out, I am happy.  No cooking, no dishes, happy birthday to me.  And as for my kids, I certainly try to make a special day for them, but I'm also trying to not set them up for disappointment on that first married birthday.  If they're having a party, though, I do tend to go all out.  But that's a subject for another post.

This year I will turn 35.  I am teaching an art lesson to #3's class in the morning, and I'm going to see if Larry will then meet me for lunch.  #3 also has a guitar lesson to go to and that night #s 1& 2 have Young Women at church and Larry has Scouts.  I'm guessing I'll need to remind him that I don't want to cook.  And that's fine.  It's certainly better than being pissed that he forgot.  I'm not seeing cheesecake in my near future.  I'm getting an awesome present though.  (I'll tell ya how it went later.) 

And, maybe, if they're interested, I'll tell my kids the story of the birth of their mother.  In detail.  Just this once.