Personally, I believe there are so many other reasons to love February than Valentine’s Day, which I spent working and coughing (thanks for the lovely gift, Mother Nature!) For instance, the month is short, like me, and it holds Abraham Lincoln’s birthday—you know, lots of fun stuff.
But most importantly, February holds my birthday, and every year I’m reminded how much my parents care about me.
This year, my mom woke me up way before I was coherent to sing happy birthday. They recorded themselves so I could watch this playback of my morning:
My dad walked down the hall with two donuts surrounded with candles, stating that this was a huge fire hazard (classic firefighter, risking his life to wish his daughter a happy birthday).
As he approached my doorway, my mom started singing while I lay wrapped up like a mummy. Naturally as cute animals do, I heard singing and smelled food/fire and rose from the dead with my eyes half-closed.
I still don’t know how parents are able to simultaneously sing and yell at me, but in the middle of the happy birthday song, they started saying, “Hurry up and blow the candles out!” How adorable.
Without even thinking to make a wish (let alone thinking at all) I blew out all the candles and proceeded to pluck out the used sticks of wax.
My efforts to eat a donut were thwarted by the presentation of a birthday card—awww, at 23, I am still special enough to get a birthday card?!
It wasn’t just any birthday card: it was a handmade birthday card written left-handed by a right-handed family. The sacrifices my parents made to provide a left-handed birthday card! They even started from the back of the card so that I had to flip it over to read it because that’s how left-handed people should be able to think!
That thought didn’t even dawn on me at the time because even in a dazed state I’m normally forced to think like a right-handed devil. After 23 years, my parents still care enough to protect me from corruption.
I was left alone to admire the backward—I mean forward—card and glazed halos in peace.
By afternoon I forgot it was my birthday until I received a call from my dad and my evil stepmother (totally kidding, of course) in Illinois! By this time, my thoughts were crystal and we had a riveting conversation about Postmodern Jukebox and the Winter Olympics.
I caught them up on my recent post-college endeavors, and they asked me all about the Improv Utopia camp I will be attending at the end of September because they’re so supportive of my adult shenanigans.
So yeah, you might be thinking February is all about an S/O on Valentine’s Day or whatever, but to me, it’s more about celebrating life and family.
It’s the little things that count. I’m truly #blessed.
