I like my birthday. Actually, that is an understatement – a gross understatement. I LOVE my birthday! It is, without a doubt, my favorite day of the year, rivaled only by the day I created a birthday for my son. I love it because it is MY day – a holiday to honor me! What could be better than that? Of course I love getting spoiled with presents and special treatment, but the real reason I adore my birthday is deeper than that. Birthdays commemorate the beginning of the crazy, complicated, beautiful mess of life. My birthday is the day my life began and that is worth celebrating. Each year I enthusiastically embrace it as a celebration of my life, and it never fails to remind me what a wonderful life I have.
My 8th birthday party. That's me sticking my tongue out on the right.
Growing up, I had mixed feelings about having a summer birthday. On one hand, it was a bummer that school was out and I didn’t get to have a classroom party. On the other hand, school was out and I usually got to have a party in some cool outdoor setting, like this riverside picnic area. Check out the hilarious food on the picnic table. I have no recollection of the crackers called “Dixies,” but they appear to be shaped like little chicken legs. Delicious, I’m sure. I can’t tell what kind of soda pop we’re drinking, but it features some nice retro-70’s packaging as well.
You only turn 9 once!
I look summery and happy here at my 9th birthday party (on the left), and the expression on my face is so strikingly similar to the way my son looks much of the time that it amazes me. I desperately wanted a teddy bear shaped cake and my mom figured out a way to patch one together out of various cake pans. The cake had been beautifully frosted and set on the counter, where it was ruthlessly attacked by one of our cats. It was almost party time when we discovered the damage – an ear had been devoured – and I was devastated. My mom thought fast and managed to sculpt a replacement ear out of the little bit of frosting she had left. I now know that this is the kind of mom-genius that can only be pulled off, out of thin air, when you’re about to watch your baby’s heart break. Thanks mom!
The big 1-0
My 10th birthday was memorable for a number of reasons. First of all, 10 just seemed so grown up – double-digits and all. I remember it as a very lonely and very happy birthday at the same time. We were living in Arizona, but my birthday was spent in Oregon where we were visiting my grandma. She was ill and my parents were cleaning and organizing her house. I spent the summer playing by myself in the trees and streams around my grandma’s house. I was lonely for my friends and my parents were very busy, but overall I was enjoying the adventure of it all. For my birthday, I wanted everything to be Snoopy-themed. My cake is old-school perfection, but the best part about this photo is the napkins. Look carefully and behold the fabulousness. With a little help from my Magic Markers, I transformed ordinary, plain white napkins into lovely, personalized, birthday works of art. What can I say, I was by myself and had nothing but time. In retrospect, I can’t decide if the crude rainbows and childish “Happy Birthday Ronda” cursive are adorable, or sad, or both.
The picture was taken at my grandma’s kitchen table. I think the only people there were my mom, my dad, one of my uncles, his girlfriend and her daughter. My grandma was probably home, but sleeping at the time. She ran a tavern, so her hours were strange and I rarely saw her when we visited. My smile is very genuine and a little devious because “The Huckleberry Incident” had just transpired. My grandma’s huckleberry bushes were loaded with the most juicy, wonderful berries that year. We got a call that my uncle and his girlfriend (who my parents weren’t crazy about) were coming over to pick huckleberries. My dad couldn’t stand the thought of the girlfriend getting the berries, so we ran outside and started picking as fast as we could. Every time we heard a car coming, we hid. We left just enough berries to avoid arousing suspicion, hid the heaping containers of berries in a kitchen cupboard and scurried to the bathroom to scrub the tell-tale purple stains off our hands. I was sitting there with my cake, half laughing, half terrified that a cupboard would be opened and the berries would be discovered.
Happy 12th birthday! Welcome to the awkward age.
This was my first birthday party after having moved to Oregon. I am opening presents on the awful avocado-green shag carpet in the living room of my parents’ house. My dad’s gun cabinet is on display in the background, providing the perfect ambiance for a 12 year old girl’s birthday party. My teeth are a pre-braces mess, my hair is staggeringly boring and I’m like a walking Nike advertisement with the shoes and matching logo t-shirt. My stuffed animal gifts are an unidentified white critter with fuzzy hair and two of the side characters from the Garfield comic strip – “World’s Cutest Kitten” Nermal and Garfield’s on-again-off-again love interest, Arlene. The girl on the far left is Amanda, who is a dear friend to this day. I don’t know if I’ve seen so much over-the-top girlishness in one outfit before or since. She’s got it all covered: puffy sleeves, lavender plaid, a pink teddy bear and pastel pink pants.
Over the years, I’ve enjoyed many (well not THAT many) birthday celebrations. Gone are the themed parties, “Pin the Tail on the Donkey” games and teddy bear cakes. As I’ve gotten older, the birthday celebrations have changed a bit, but one thing has remained the same: The family members, friends, colleagues and acquaintances that go out of their way to help make my day special.
One year, my birthday fell a month or so after I had been at a conference in Las Vegas with my co-worker Cheryl. There are a lot of things I enjoy about Las Vegas, but I am a special kind of sucker for the Bellagio Fountain. I can watch it over and over again, and I tear up every time the accompanying song is “Time to Say Goodbye” by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. Cheesy? Yes, it is. Do I care? No, I do not. Anyway, my birthday rolled around and, as was tradition, my officemates gathered in our conference room to celebrate. When I walked through the door, they created a miniature version of the Bellagio Fountain with squirt guns, complete with “Time to Say Goodbye” playing in the background. Four years later, there are still faint water stains on our conference room walls that make me smile.
My husband travels for work a lot. (Actually, saying he travels “a lot” is kind of like saying I “like” my birthday.) It was inevitable that he would end up out of the country for my birthday at some point. When it happened for the first time, I was less than thrilled. I whined to my friend and co-worker Dea, saying something about how I felt like my parade had not only been rained on, but completely canceled. Well, being the amazing person and wonderful friend that she is, Dea took matters into her own hands. On my birthday, a costumed, banner-carrying, instrument-playing group of a dozen or more co-workers surprised me with a parade. My very own birthday parade!
Yes, my co-workers are pretty great. My division shares a floor with two other divisions and we all celebrate birthdays and baby showers and the like together. For a stretch of time (that we have thankfully gotten past) the custom was to create and participate in various sports-themed games during birthday celebrations – mini-basketball shoots, paper football goal shooting, etc. I dreaded these games, mostly because I’m terrible at them. Knowing and respecting my hatred of the mini-sports games, the crew promised to plan something different for my birthday. My boss made her famous cherry-chip cupcakes. They are pink and sweet and, in my mind, a symbol of birthdays like the Statue of Liberty is a symbol of freedom. They honestly had me at “pink cupcake,” but they went above and beyond by reading haiku that each person composed just for me. Haiku! Just for me! Pure birthday awesomeness is what that is.
I said my best birthday gifts are the wonderful people in my life and while that is definitely true, I must admit I love presents too; especially sparkly ones. My first memorable sparkly present came from my dad on my 13th birthday. He gave me a heart-shaped pendant necklace with a small diamond in the center – the first diamond he ever bought. He bought it long before he met my mom and vowed to save it for a daughter he would have someday. My mom and dad apparently disagreed about when I should receive the necklace. My dad insisted he wanted to give it to me for my 13th birthday. My mom thought he should wait until I turned sixteen. She argued that thirteen was too young and that I would appreciate it more at sixteen. My dad was adamant and my mom couldn’t figure out why. Finally he confessed his reasoning – he wanted to make sure he would be the first man to give me a diamond. To this day, the story melts my heart, as does wearing the necklace. Incidentally, it was a good thing he stuck to his guns and gave it to me at thirteen.
My dad’s sentimental diamond was a tough act to follow, but the overall sparkle factor of my birthday was elevated several levels when I met my husband. Matt has many wonderful qualities, not the least of which is his ability to choose amazing gifts. The first birthday I celebrated with him rolled around mere months after we began dating and he set the bar high with a Lisa Jenks bracelet I had been dreaming of for years. It was the exact one I wanted and I had never mentioned a word about it to him. Another notable example was when he pushed a tiny box across the table at my 30th birthday dinner and sheepishly said, “I know they’re small, but I figured a girl should have some Cathy Waterman earrings by the time she’s 30.” His gift-giving track record has never waned and he has been tirelessly supporting/enabling (call it what you will) my jewelry habit for more than 13 years.
I was blessed with another fantastic birthday this year, including multiple celebrations with my family; flowers, emails and phone calls from my friends; and a handmade gift and lots of birthday snuggles from my son. I even received a text from my friend Amanda (the one in the pink teddy bear outfit at my 12th birthday party) telling me she dreamt of participating in a surprise flash mob that did a tribute dance in my honor. How cool would that have been?! Oh, and I’m pretty excited about this gorgeous Monica Castiglioni ring that showed up inside the little box this year.
Tough but refined, edgy yet organic. Birthday perfection. (Important Note: Please focus on the ring instead of my deepening crow’s feet – proof that my wonderful birthdays also mean I’m getting older!)
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