I've followed Gracey's blog, Fashion Giant, for a long time. I really appreciate her thriftiness and her genuine nature. I'm not a reader but if you are, you should also totally follow along with all of her literary adventures.
So my birthday was this past Saturday. I didn't post any birthday
selfies. I didn't really post anything on social media. A few weeks
ago I was thinking about my birthday. I've always been one of those
people who considered themselves a "birthday person". I relished in the
recognition, gifts, flowers, balloons. I never pretended to be
nonchalant about my birthday. I loved my birthday.
So I started thinking. And I realized that I didn't know why my birthday was always so special. In fact, I had had some pretty shitty birthdays. I had a party once where no one showed up. I had a party that got broken up by the cops half an hour after it started. My dad, although we are basically estranged, usually didn't ever contact me on my birthday or, if he did, it was always on the wrong day. I had a party once where my friends had to be escorted out for fear that the other half of the party would shank them (seriously). Not to mention the countless birthdays where I would end up doing typical, mundane things--dishes, laundry, working. Not to mention, the got damn Superbowl is always right around my birthday. And I hate football.
After thinking about it, I realized that my birthday was kind of . . . lame. So when I woke up early with the baby on my birthday, I started sulking right away. When I was still just sitting on my couch with him hours later just watching cartoons, I started getting really sadmad.
But the day went on. I got dressed and Patrick, Reilly and I went thrifting. And we had a really fun (and interesting) lunch at Steak and Shake. And through the day, I got phone calls, Facebook posts and texts wishing me happy birthday. And Patrick and I came home and started a bunch of painting that we had been wanting to do. And my father in law brought a homemade angel food cake (his specialty) over. And I realized, this is why I love my birthday. I love being reminded of how many wonderful people are in my life. I love being reminded of how many blessings I have (like that Reilly was able to hang out with me and watch cartoons without burning with fever or coughing profusely). I love being reminded of how special I am. I know that is totally self-involved statement but . . . I am special. Everyone is. And on your birthday, you should totally feel that way.
Turns out, I really love birthdays.
So I started thinking. And I realized that I didn't know why my birthday was always so special. In fact, I had had some pretty shitty birthdays. I had a party once where no one showed up. I had a party that got broken up by the cops half an hour after it started. My dad, although we are basically estranged, usually didn't ever contact me on my birthday or, if he did, it was always on the wrong day. I had a party once where my friends had to be escorted out for fear that the other half of the party would shank them (seriously). Not to mention the countless birthdays where I would end up doing typical, mundane things--dishes, laundry, working. Not to mention, the got damn Superbowl is always right around my birthday. And I hate football.
After thinking about it, I realized that my birthday was kind of . . . lame. So when I woke up early with the baby on my birthday, I started sulking right away. When I was still just sitting on my couch with him hours later just watching cartoons, I started getting really sadmad.
But the day went on. I got dressed and Patrick, Reilly and I went thrifting. And we had a really fun (and interesting) lunch at Steak and Shake. And through the day, I got phone calls, Facebook posts and texts wishing me happy birthday. And Patrick and I came home and started a bunch of painting that we had been wanting to do. And my father in law brought a homemade angel food cake (his specialty) over. And I realized, this is why I love my birthday. I love being reminded of how many wonderful people are in my life. I love being reminded of how many blessings I have (like that Reilly was able to hang out with me and watch cartoons without burning with fever or coughing profusely). I love being reminded of how special I am. I know that is totally self-involved statement but . . . I am special. Everyone is. And on your birthday, you should totally feel that way.
Turns out, I really love birthdays.
Purple Sparkle Dress-thrifted
Beige Blazer-thrifted
Vintage Suede Camel Coat-thrifted
Cognac Knee High Boots-thrifted
Bag-Target
Plaid Blanket Scarf-Target
Earrings-gifted
Also, how creepy does this outtake look when this truck drove by? Doesn't it look like these guys are posing for the photo? :-O
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