Debby Does…

It’s my birthday. The big 54! I got my AARP card in the mail, so I see where this is going.

I don’t have super strong feelings about how I do birthdays at this point. I mean, in my 30-40’s I felt the need to make it a thing, but since then, I have mellowed about birthday procedures. It’s not that I don’t care or don’t mark the day, but I don’t expect everyone else to stop what they’re doing and commemorate.

I have had some epically great birthdays. 35, I’m looking at you in NYC with my boys and some topless moments at the Duplex! Thank heavens cameras and phones were not the norm those days. I would have lost my job! My 40th in Atlantic City has its own photo album! VIP, baby!

I really think my favorite birthdays were the little girl ones. The ones with the paper tablecloths, and the paper cups with the little handles, baskets of snacks, balloons, party dresses, and my mom’s signature devil’s food cake with buttercream frosting and a paper carousel on the top, which she stored carefully away each year after the festivities. There were always flowers from a friend called Uncle Frank, though he wasn’t an uncle, but the guy who did some renovations on our house, and showed up every holiday with amazing flowers and gifts.

One year, maybe for my 10th birthday, my grandparents decided that what I needed for my party was a pony. They weren’t wrong. We all got to ride Patches around our big yard all day, and, in that singular moment, I was surely the coolest kid on earth.

As I got older, the birthday slumber party was the thing to do. We snacked all night on Doritos and M&M’s with cake and pizza or whatever my mom decided to make for us. We piled up in our sleeping bags on the family room floor with my dog, Daisy Mae McGee, and giggled and gossiped and Ouija boarded the night away, finally falling asleep in the wee hours, only to wake up for an amazing breakfast courtesy of my mom. Then, rides would come and a nap was required.

Those pre-teen birthdays were definitely an exercise in trying to find my place in the social hierarchy that was Upper Township, New Jersey. I don’t think I ever hit the pinnacle of that but I amassed a collection of good 45’s from the cool girls I invited. I was not always invited to their parties, but when I went I realized that I was wired a different way and often called for my mom to pick me up late at night, instead of staying over. I’m sure I was made fun of plenty for that, but I had an innate feeling when there would be shenanigans or unkind behavior. I never had time for it. Still don’t.

I often write about the dining room in the house where I grew up. The memories of that table, the chairs, and the eyelet curtains is visceral. It’s the place where my mom is immortal; cake and a dixie cup could fix anything; and play ruled the day. Even on her shoestring budget, Judy, my mama, made everything special. Her packages were beautifully wrapped and always exactly what I would have chosen for myself. Her bows were a work of art and nothing seemed like too much trouble for her to do for me. She made magic for me.

I think that I have pushed my birthday aside for the last few years because she had started to forget it and struggled to understand that it was my special day. This year, we’re in the midst of moving, but a dear friend is hosting a small gathering since I have packed my plates!

It’s a lovely gesture and it reminds me that this day is worth marking each year. It’s the day my journey of love, hope, song, sparkle, and laughter began. That’s always worth stopping to acknowledge and celebrate.

Cheers!