Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Another year, another chance...

My birthday has never been a huge event. I never needed a party.
I never minded getting older, but I never felt entitled to a special day. 
(Just ask BigDaddy how I made him cancel my 30th Birthday party oh so many years ago).

I've never expected gifts, and balloons, but breakfast in bed (made by messy toddlers) was always a treat. Crumbs were welcome.
My Birthday has always been just another day...sometimes in paradise...sometimes during an awful flu...and always on the eighth of February.

I have always enjoyed hearing my Mother's version of my birth.
Even as an adult I never tired of hearing how she went into labor on a cold night, with only her teenage son as company.

Way, way back in 1958 she was enjoying a lovely, yet uncomfortable evening with my 14 year old brother. I'm positive my brother was bored to tears being home with his pregnant mother, but that's his story...(I miss you Billy boy).
My father was a part time musician, and he was drumming away at some event that required his talent.
He was a drummer!!
I think that's awesome-ly cool now, but I appreciated it very little while growing up.
He was my Daddy. And Daddy's should mow lawns...not drum.

In a nutshell...My mother was in labor, I was early (this has never changed), and my poor teenage brother was frantically searching for his drumming father.
He found him at a neighboring banquet hall. I sometimes wonder if the hosts of this party were irritated when the Bobby Leonard Trio was reduced to a duo?!

So I entered the world on a cold, snowy evening while my father and brother paced in a waiting room. 
(There were no Daddys participating in the birth process in 1958).

I'm sure I've mentioned that my Mother is Italian.
And all Italian mamas truly believe that their children are the most beautiful, perfectly shaped, angelic looking infants to grace the planet. Throughout the years my mother told me that her doctor said I was the prettiest infant he ever delivered. She believes that to this day. She sometimes forgets my birthday, but she always remembers how perfect I was. 
According to her I was the most beautiful baby to grace the 1950's.

Sure I was.
I've seen the pictures...I was scrawny and resembled a frog.
But a mother's love is blind.
She insists that when her good friend gave birth the very next day, that same doctor did not tell her that her infant was beautiful. That's my mother.

Throughout the years, especially when I had children, my birthday was just another cold, winter day.
It wasn't important to me. 

BigDaddy always made my day special, and so did the kids.
But I much preferred to celebrate everyone else's day.
This has nothing to do with age.
I just didn't want the attention.

But I was always grateful to be blessed with another year.

So here I am in beautiful Florida.
I'm now 53.
I feel pretty good...not prepping for any marathons, but content to walk briskly and pass up the over eighty crowd.

I've made some lovely friends here.
(Lovely, funny friends.)

They've remembered my day, we had a great lunch, and I'm humbled by their thoughtfulness.

Most importantly, I've been introduced to a Florida staple...

Life is full of birthday wishes.

I'm always thankful for each passing year.
And I'm especially thankful for the chocolate...

I'm going to need more.

The kids have sent loads of surprises and love.

I've never wanted a huge birthday event.
I've always enjoyed spending my day with family, and a few friends.
I was a little hesitant to spend my birthday in Florida this year.
I wondered if I'd feel lonely, a little homesick, or slightly bored.

I should never have worried.


  1. Oh, M.E. what a lovely post, it has brought tears to my eyes (I'm a wuss sometimes!) You deserve to be pampered, and it looks like your family and friends share that sentiment!

  2. Oh looks like you had a wonderful birthday in Florida. Love all the flowers and how were those candies?

  3. Jillsy...
    I'm quite a wuss too!
    Thank you :)

  4. Kim...
    these chocolates were unbelievable!!
    I'm bringing some home!

  5. Happy Birthday to you. I smiled at the story of your birth - it reminded me of a lady in our village many years ago, When her daughter was born she said to the doctor, "Isn't she perfect, doctor?" He replied, "There is only one perfect baby Mrs Suttill, and every mother has it."

  6. Happy Belated Birthday! I am just now catching up on my blogs - after 3 long weeks. Hope you had a marvelous day.