When I was a kid, my birthday celebration consisted of my grandmother calling me before school and singing "Happy Birthday" to me the morning of my actual birthday, and a family party the weekend before or after. Highlights of birthdays past would be: my first slumber party (I sponge rolled my hair the night before and had a missing front tooth), the year I got Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall", the year I got my Darcy doll (think Bratz, only less skanky); it was the only gift my paternal grandmother ever bought me, and then there is this year. It was my first birthday week, ever and I think its going to become tradition for me.
My grandmother didn't call to sing me "Happy Birthday" this year on account of she's in Heaven and I can't even imagine what a long distance call would cost from there. I also didn't have a signficant other to share the day with, but let me tell you, my friends and family went all out to make sure I didn't miss that too much. Tuesday morning was filled with phone calls, texts, e-mails, facebook messages and repeated "Happy Birthday" wishes from a certain hairy young atheist who frequents my office. After that, my small group from church through me a surprise party. Over the course of the rest of the week, I had dinner with friends and capped it all of with a trip to the French Quarter with my family this weekend.
Now, when we planned the trip, I envisioned a beautiful, partly sunny day - perfect for picture taking - and all sorts of silly antics in the Quarter...most of them involving my brother, Brad, who has a penchant for making public displays. What we got was rain...and wind...and more rain. It wasn't the day I thought it would be, but we had fun, albeit it wet, muggy fun.