Birthday Protest

Okay, I know this is going to sound like sour grapes since I already wrote Mother's Day Protest back in May, but now I’m having a Birthday Protest. I think birthdays should be on weekends. I can be a bit flexible here, they can be held on Friday, Saturday or Sunday, whichever day works best for the birthday person’s schedule.

I don’t really know how we managed it when I was a kid, but somehow we were always able to celebrate the birthday on the actual birth date for all my family members. The birthday person got to pick what the entire family would eat for dinner, and what kind of Mommy-made cake we’d eat. Then everyone would gather ‘round for the card & gift opening.

My brother’s family makes birthdays like holidays, with no chores and no school (they homeschool) for the birthday child. Such fun. Sigh.

Being raised like I was, it became ingrained in me to celebrate the birthday on the birth date. Well, my birthday was last Thursday. And when you have older children, especially older children involved in fall sports, weekday birthdays simply don’t work.

To start my special day, I got to do an unpleasant chore—taking our dog, Oreo, to the vet. Oreo has been suffering from a severe ear infection that has not yet been resolved. I got to endure a 1-1/2 hour, $250 doggie doctor appointment, where my pup cried in pain over his ear being swabbed and checked. It was heart wrenching!

After that I came home to bake and frost my own cake (which is never a good idea, see: You Take the Cake.) I had to bake it myself though because everyone else was too busy with sports practices, homework and club meetings. And my hubby was in Slovakia for work. (Where in the world is Slovakia anyway?!)

Next, I got to attend a sporting event. I really do love watching my kids participate in their various sports. But Thursday dawned cold, and wet. So I got to sit in a 45-degree rain (which ruined my perfectly fluffed birthday ‘do) on hard, cold, metal benches for an hour watching my son’s middle school soccer game.

I stubbornly held out hope that all was not lost however, because my hubby returned from Slovakia by 4:30 p.m., and we returned from my son’s game by 5:00 p.m. But where was my daughter? At a drama rehearsal for a school production from which she didn’t get home until 8:00 p.m. By that time hubby Chris was almost unconscious due to Slovakian jet lag, the kids were exhausted, and someone mumbled something about not wanting cake, but that I should go ahead and open my cards. I stuck my nose in the air, sniffed, and replied in my best pouty child voice “I’m not celebrating until everybody is 'into it'!”

Soooo, everybody went to bed by 9:00 p.m., and there I sat all alone. Well, except for the dog. I knew he’d eat cake with me, and be “into it,” but since it had chocolate frosting he couldn’t have any. (Chocolate is toxic to dogs.)

Nope, that is NOT how birthdays should be.

I didn’t open a single card or giftie on my “real” birthday. My chocolate cake sat pristine and untouched beneath the cake cover. And I decided to officially switch my birthday to the weekend this year.

I announced my decision, and when Saturday rolled around we celebrated. I didn’t do any chores all day. We ate a nice dinner that I didn’t cook, ate my cake with ice cream, and I opened all my cards and presents. It was relaxed and fun just the way a birthday should be.

So what do you think? Should birthdays always be on weekends?

Image by: Radiant Guy

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