They Say It's My Birthday

Hallie told Tom - all on her own - that he
should get me a Katniss cake for my birthday

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, but it was also my birthday.

When I was growing up I hated when my birthday fell on Thanksgiving. One of the highlights of birthdays, at least for me, has always been and will always be getting to pick where we go out for dinner, what we eat for dessert, and which movie we go see. I usually choose a restaurant where I can order spaghetti or a cheeseburger, chocolate or carrot cake, and a Harry Potter movie. (Most of the Harry Potter movies have been released around Thanksgiving, which means that I've been able to go see them year after year for my birthday. Obviously the Harry Potter series has concluded, but next year begins a three-year stretch of Hunger Games movies being released on or within two days of my birthday. I can barely contain my excitement.) When my birthday falls on Thanksgiving, I'm "stuck with" turkey, pumpkin pie, and football. And while I really like all of those things, I still want the opportunity to make my birthday choices.

So this year, I decided to celebrate Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving - and really enjoy the turkey, pumpkin pie, and football - and save my birthday for today.

I'm actually not at all bothered by celebrating my birthday a day late; in truth, I'm hoping that doing so will break the "birthday curse" I've been under for the last two years.

Last year, after a wonderful first three months of preschool, Will FLIPPED OUT while playing with a friend at recess and BIT this friend on the cheek. I mean, what?! Who does that?! When Will's teacher called me to tell me what had happened I nearly lost it, and when I arrived to pick Will up (his teacher and I decided that since Will loved school so much, the most appropriate punishment would be for him to have to go home early) I DID lose it. Nothing like spending your birthday crying in the preschool director's office. When we left school that day I was crying out of embarrassment and frustration, Will was crying because he was sorry for what he'd done and knew he was in trouble, and Hallie was crying because I'd picked her up early. As a side note, the fit that Hallie pitched that afternoon was so epic that for the remainder of the year I NEVER again picked her up even one minute before the end of the school day.

The year before, Tom, his dad, and Will went out for breakfast and Tom crashed my car into a pole. The three of them were fine, but the passenger-side door was bent in on itself and couldn't be opened or closed from the inside. It made for an interesting 13-hour drive back to Michigan after Thanksgiving, and an interesting quest to get the door replaced as we were trying to leave Michigan to move to Texas.  Nothing like spending your birthday shelling out hundreds of dollars to be able to get in and out of your car once again.

So will this year's birthday follow the "third time's a charm" saying?  Or the "third strike you're out" saying?  Maybe by celebrating on the 23rd instead of the 22nd I can ditch these crappy events that have darkened my day for the last two years. I'll keep you posted.