My very favorite birthday.

For as long as I can remember, my mother has given me a Birthday Week. Rather than limiting the birthday to just one day, we celebrate our birthdays for a full 7 days.

Nothing particularly special happens on the 6 days surrounding your actual birthday, but the birthday week becomes a great excuse.

“I don’t have to do the dishes. It’s my birthday week.”
“We’re having tuna noodle casserole for dinner. It’s my birthday week.”
“I don’t care what you want to watch on TV. It’s my birthday week.”

And so it goes, a week of glorious control over your fellow family members. I recommend you try it.

Of all my birthdays, and birthday weeks, there is one that I remember most of all as my very favorite birthday.

It was the year I turned 8, and the last birthday I celebrated in San Diego. In Southern California, it was always sunny and 70 degrees in February, so I had outdoor birthday parties.

Now, I was an admittedly stranger-than-average child with varied interests. So I insisted on having a Garfield-themed birthday, complete with a lasagna.

(Most kids have pizza; I had trays of lasagna.)

But the real highlight of the party? My parents had rented a bouncy house for me and my friends.

To the best of my recollection, everything was going pretty smoothly on the day of the actual party. The decorations were up, and I was rocking a seriously purple ensemble. And then the phone rang…

I heard my mother answer, and the disappointment building in her voice.

There was no bouncy house for my party that day. The company had double-booked my bouncy house, and it was going to some other birthday party for some other kid who definitely was not me.

I have to imagine I was pretty disappointed. There was still lasagna of course, but no bouncy house.

Then my fortune changed. To make up for their error, I ended up with a full size, princess castle bouncy house big enough to fit the whole neighborhood.

Only downside? The bouncy house was so big that my mom actually made me invite the whole neighborhood. Including a girl who was by definition a bully, who had destroyed my forts on multiple occasions, brought me a re-gifted Barbie that I already had, and who kept saying throughout the entire party,

“I don’t YIKE DASAGNA.”

My mother and I still say that today. And my eighth birthday is still my very favorite birthday. Thanks, mom!

What was your favorite birthday?