Having a birthday on Christmas Eve was a mixed blessing growing up.
On the one hand it meant that I could never have a proper party with my friends on the day itself (bear in mind that I went to Catholic school through eighth grade) and was subjected to such indignities as birthday presents wrapped in Christmas paper and cards with such clever sayings as "Merry Birthday to You!"
On the other it meant an explosion of presents starting the morning of my birthday and, just when I was starting to come down from my birthday high, bam! It was Christmas! It was almost too fabulous to believe. I also was very lucky to have parents - especially a mother - who went out of their way to make my birthday extra special given its proximity to our family's favorite holiday.
Kelly Diels wrote recently about a vacation in Las Vegas:
once I had two babies less than two. when I gave myself permission to fantasize, my fantasy was this: to check into a hotel with a great bed and soft sheets and cable – oh cable – and sleep for eight hours, uninterrupted. mmmmmmmmmm.I can no longer claim to have two babies less than two. I do, however, have two less than two-and-a-half. And I hope that qualifies me to borrow Kelly's fantasy:
and this vacation echoes and underlines the reality of that fantasy. the most essential luxury in my life - besides love – is to sleep until I wake. unprompted. rested.
To sleep. Perchance to dream. "To sleep until I wake."
Wouldn't that be nice?
Wouldn't that be a Merry Birthday indeed?