It's my birthday today. Yep. I'm getting one step closer to really really old. I woke this morning and thought, "It's my birthday." and then I rolled over and went back to sleep for a little while. When I got out of bed later, I began thinking about birthdays past and how I
used to feel when I woke up on my birthday. I used to positively tingle with anticipation when I awoke on my b-day, much like I did on Christmas or when my family was going to Disneyland.
My mom hated little kid birthday parties and, being the evil genius that she is, made a deal with us that if we would forego the birthday party with friends, she and Dad would take us out to dinner at any restaurant we wanted in Palm Springs. Just Mom, Dad, and you. I'm sure this doesn't sound like a huge deal to those of you NOT raised in a family of six or more children, but to have time all to your own with Mom and Dad was a big deal, as was getting to go out to a nice restaurant. I loved this tradition, and would plan for months beforehand which restaurant I would choose, and what I would wear.
A couple of times the roads to Palm Springs flooded on my birthday and we were trapped in YV. That was SUCH a dissappointment. All of that planning for naught! One of those years we ended up at a local Mexican restaurant and when my dad told them it was my birthday, they plopped an enormous sombrero on my head and the guys who wash dishes came out with maracas and sang, "Happy Birthday" WAAAAAAAAAAAY out of tune, and in broken English. I could have handled this in Palm Springs, miles away from all who knew me, but I was 17 and this was my VERY SMALL hometown! I was mortified as only a teenaged girl could be, and REEEEEEALLY hoped that A. J. (who I liked at the time) did NOT walk in at that moment. He didn't, and now that I look back on it, it was hilarious. If that happened now, I'd revel in the absolute kitschy wonder of it all. Such things are wasted on teenagers
(and I say that with all of the warmth and tenderness I feel for teenagers.)I managed to convince my mother when I was in the 5th grade that I NEEDED a slumber party. I had about 10 girls over, we laughed, we cried, we fought, Helen got upset and spent some time pouting on the deck, my sisters made fun of all of my friends unmercilessly
(Helen was called "Hot Stuff" for years by Christy and Jamie 'cause of the super cool, hot pink 80's t-shirt she wore to my party that said, well, "HOT STUFF!" across her chest.), we made pizza, and in the morning I was thrilled to see them all leave, although, I'm sure my mother was MUCH more thrilled. Bless my mother, who HATES birthday parties, for allowing me to have 10 snotty, loud, and obnoxious 5th grade girls invade our home for the night. It is a testament to how much she loves me that she did, and I tear up almost twenty years later thinking about it.
When I went to college I had the best friends/roommates in the world. Seriously, we loved each other so much that we rarely left our apartment. Luckily it was an apartment with a bust of Elvis, a disco ball, and the COOLEST girls at BYU. Therefore, we were rarely alone, it's just that other people had to come to us, and they did. We met one guy 'cause he saw our disco ball through the window and said, "I just knew I had to come up here and dance with you." So he did. We spent pretty much every waking moment together and, more importantly we appreciated each other and were kind to each other. We rarely fought, and when we did, we made it right. I wish it were not true, but this is rare for a group of girls in college or any time, really. My sister Christy used to make fun of us, calling us The Borg, but I think it was mostly out of jealousy. :)
(For those of you who don't know to what she's referring, first: pat yourselves on the back. You do not watch Star Trek. I'm proud of you. Second: The Borg is a collective where each member is only a part of the whole and has no distinct personality or thought. HA HA HA!) Birthdays were a HUGE deal. As roommates we always went out of our way to make sure that the birthday girl felt loved and special.
My best friend during college was Melissa, and she always spearheaded my birthday celebrations. One year she went through the J. Crew catalogue,
(which we as uber poor college students could afford next to nothing from. We looked at it purely for the beautiful men in it, chosing which models were our boyfriends, giving them names, making up our dates. . . Hey! We were young, I'd never do that now, and I don't have to. Toby loves me for me.) 
cut out pictures of delicious models, and wrote a huge story about my true love, who's name was Erik if I remember correctly, searching for me and fighting off all of the other models (with the exception of her "boyfriend" "Evan") for my affections. Then she hung a poster on the wall for everyone to write what they loved about me.
Another year, my roommates created a timeline of my life in picture form that they hung all around the livingroom including a picture representing the moment when each of them met me.
Blame it on my middle child syndrome, but I'd never felt so important and loved as I did during those years at BYU with my silly, bizarre, beautiful, and utterly amazing tribe. I still miss them every birthday, and many other days in between. Thank you ladies, for loving me like you did and do. I'm still amazed that such incredible women want
ME for a friend.
So, on my 34th birthday, Mom, Dad, and my dear sweet BYU friends, thank you for being some of my most treasured gifts.
