The Icing On The Cake

Today is my birthday.  When I was little (see above), I loved my birthday.  (Every child should be able to say as much).  My birthday was magic, exciting, and full of surprises.  On my birthday, I was made to feel truly special. 

I still embrace this day each year.  Thankfully, I have not become a grizzled grown-up who dreads getting older (yet).  But the specialness of the occasion has changed a bit.  No longer do I have a sleepover with a dozen of my closest friends, wear a construction paper crown, or blow out candles on a cartoon character cake.  Like so many things, the joys of childhood have been replaced with more mature versions of bliss.  There are still plenty of indulgences through which I peek over the table and stick my finger in the frosting of life…  

Jewelry, for instance. 

Mani-pedis. 

And of course, the almighty champagne.

Tonight, I raise my glass in a toast to the people responsible for all that specialness I felt as a child.  To my mother and father, who ordered the cartoon cakes, fastened the makeshift crown, and were kept awake long into the night by the muffled conversations of a dozen giggling pre-teens.  My birthday is a big reminder — but there are subtle hints every day — that my childhood was made beautiful by two individuals who ask for no gratitude, and yet I can never seem to thank them enough.

— Bridget

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