December 20, 2011

Happy twenty-first?

Lets start back at the beginning, the beginning of when I started to ignore my dear blog.  Good golly, well it all began when I turned 21.  Seven long days ago, on December fourteenth to be precise, I decided I no longer wanted to be a year older.  In my youth I was always very excited for my birthday, a day where I felt special, not only for my day of birth, but for the amount I'd accomplished within said years.  For the younger I am, the more special I seem.  But twenty-one is an adult, in everyone's eyes.  Twenty-one is someone who needs to be responsible for themselves, twenty-one is someone who pays bills.  Twenty-one is a late-to-the-party student and a little to old to be great at anything "for your age."  Twenty-one makes me like everyone else, I really am no longer a child.  I feel suffocated already, let down by my own expectations.  I didn't make a cake.  I didn't light a candle.  I tried to make it no big deal.

But they spoiled me anyway!  They brought me adulthood by storm!  I was wined and dined, fed sugar and champagne.  There was baking and coffee, wine and pedicures, they didn't let me feel down.  After all of the 14th's festivities my husband brought me to Seattle for three glorious and wonderful nights, where I was stuffed and spoiled for three solid days.  I'll show you more of that later, for now: my birthday.
I baked cinnamon buns first thing that morning, a whole dozen that five people devoured along with a few glasses of cranberry mimosas.  Natasha and I baked gingerbread cupcakes, had tea with Grandma and following that enjoyed pedicures.  I opened gifts, drank wine and indulged in said cupcakes.  Shane and I had dinner with Dad and when we finally got home hours later, we drank this eleven year old bottle of red wine.  A fine day indeed.

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