Happy Birthday to Me

Last Friday was my birthday, and despite having two sick kids at home who were stir crazy with missing school and out to cause each other bodily harm out of sheer crankiness, I had a great day. I woke up to my two precious little bundles of nonstop chatter bursting into my room, talking over each other in their excitement to wish me a happy birthday, and then describe every present and card waiting for me downstairs. Sure, they’d only seen the cardboard boxes that had come in the mail, and the colored envelopes waiting on the dining room table, but they were so excited that even these paper products were worthy of lengthy descriptions. We headed downstairs and they helped me open everything, running off with the prettiest cards before I’d had a chance to read them and storming my boxes of gifts like demolition experts (luckily I received nothing fragile). They sang “Happy Birthday” to me as I made my morning mocha, sang it again as I checked my email, and sang it again as I fed the dog.

My mom came down to brave the sickies and babysit so hubby and I could head out to celebrate. She came early, just as I was putting the girls down for much-needed naps, and while hubby was still at work. I took advantage of the time to run down the street to Starbucks with my laptop and get a little writing done. During my hour and a half break, I put the finishing touches on the final two chapters of a novel I’ve been writing for the last five months. It’s just the first draft, and I already have ideas for what needs tightening up or loosening up during revision, but it’s the first novel I’ve ever written, so I’m pretty proud of myself. I’ve spent years writing nonfiction, sharing family secrets and telling stories about crazy events in my life, but this novel is complete fiction. Finally, a book I can publish without having to apologize to anyone or warn anyone! I realize that trying to get it published will be a tremendous challenge, but looking back at the discipline it took to crank this 85,000 word novel in just five months, squeezed in around caring for my girls, I feel like I’ve already achieved success. In all my 38 years, it’s the best birthday gift I’ve every given myself.

The Christmas Spirit

So, it’s not even Halloween yet, but the Christmas ads have begun on TV already. I’ve told the girls that they can’t have everything they see, but that they can start making their wish lists for Christmas, so every time we’re in a store together or I accidentally let them watch live TV on a channel with commercials, I get a few more items for the list. So far String Bean wants a princess bike, roller skates (the old school clunky kind that straps onto your shoes), Bendaroos, a new fairy wand, a jewelry box, rain boots, warm dresses, a new pig-shaped mini flashlight, and the new Tinkerbell movie that isn’t even out yet, but is already being advertised. I’m sure there are other items she’s thrown at me and I promised to put on the list but have already forgotten. So far Peanut has asked for…nothing. She got a doll house from her grandma for her birthday, and she spends hours playing with that every day. The rest of the time she spends with my old horse collection. Between those two diversions, she’s a happy girl.

I’m not sure what it is that makes some of us collectors: of clothes, jewelry, bright and shiny objects, toys, shoes, books, movies, you name it, while others just don’t value stuff so much. But I can tell you that I have one of each in my children. Maybe Peanut never asks for anything because with all of the stuff String Bean wants, pretty much every desire she could have is covered, but I think it’s more than that. String Bean is so aware of how things look, and puts a lot of value on the appearance rather than function of her objects. She’s prone to statements like “I just like pretty things,” as she sneaks her dentist appointment reminder card, decorated with a glittery rainbow, into her treasure box. Peanut’s treasures are all in her own mind, in the form of her imaginary scenarios that she acts out with her dollhouse dolls or Breyer horses. Aside from the doll she sleeps with every night, Peanut doesn’t keep any toys in her room or consider anything off-limits to her sister.

So, someday I’ll have to help String Bean understand the difference between a want and a need, and that not everything sparkly, shiny, or new is worth owning. Definitely before her teen years, when she’ll undoubtedly be on top of the latest trends and be a complete shopaholic. Maybe Peanut can help me get the message across.