It’s My Birthday and I’ll Plan If I Want To

Tomorrow is my 27^th Birthday. This year, like most years past I found myself to be the one to make the reservation for my birthday celebrations.

I experience the same cycle each year, I decide exactly what it is I would like to do for my birthday, my husband asks me to make the reservations and then by the time I hang up the phone I already feel resentful.

It’s that question: “Is this to celebrate a special occasion?” I pause, “Yes, a birthday”, “who’s birthday is it?”, then I wince “It’s my birthday”.  Somehow I always end up feeling stupid for: a) making my own birthday reservation and b) for not bypassing the situation all together by answering with a simple no; I really don’t want the free dessert that badly.

Yet, I will acknowledge that I do it to myself, like the loving wife that washes, folds, puts away her husband’s laundry for 35 years who is bitter about the fact he doesn’t know how to start the washing machine, or the friend who is always first to pick up the phone who wonders why no one ever calls her.

It’s like that old Dr. Phil saying “If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always gotten”.

My husband hates making reservations and would likely forget to do so, therefore it’s something I always do, and I’ve planned all family celebrations since I was 11.

Somewhere around that age I become the official planner of my nuclear family. My Mother was the centre of my family; a good portion of our family celebrations revolved around her: her birthday, Mother’s Day, my parent’s wedding anniversary.

These days were very important to my mother, she loved a fuss, she loved to be celebrated and above all she loved to be the centre of attention. Therefore she needed a reliable conspirator to make sure such events were remembered, planned for and celebrated.  My Father couldn’t be bothered and my brother was unmindful of such things. I was good at organizing and I liked to be able to contribute to and make these decisions at such a young age.

It started slowly: “Shannon, it’s my birthday in 2 weeks, please make sure your father doesn’t forget”.

You see she didn’t want to be the one to remind him, because in her mind that would cancel out the fact that he remembered, my Mother figured out early in her marriage that if something was important to her, for it to become important to my Father she had to say: “This is important to me, please don’t forget”. My Dad is a wonderful man, but he’s not intuitive or perceptive when it comes to hints, you just have to SAY IT.

Next it was: “Shan, I really would like your Father to get that Alfred Sung perfume for Mother’s Day but the 2.5 ounces not the 4.2 ounce, the larger one is too expensive”.

Then it evolved to: “My Birthday is in three weeks, if you were thinking of inviting some people over, you would have to start planning now.”

This coupled with the fact that for some mystic reason my Mother was incapable of making a successful birthday cake (and I mean literally unable to, they always stuck to the pan, burned on the edges or fell in the middle) meant that I took over celebrations all together, the planning, the reminding the orchestrating and the birthday cake making.

My role as official family planner continued even after I left for University, my means of conversation simply evolved to email, “So it’s Mother’s Day in three weeks, we need to come up with a plan, I saw a terry clothe bath robe in burnt orange Mom would just love, I’ll pick it up. Dad can you make a big brunch that day?”

Once my mother passed away it was just me and the boys so I just started planning my own birthday.

My husband and my-in laws are not reservation type people, so somehow that job fell onto me in my married family as well. Let’s be honest it didn’t fall onto me, I took it on.

At the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter who made the plans or picked up the phone, what matters is that everyone is together to acknowledge when something significant happens in our lives.

Then  why do I always have that little wounded moment after making reservations for my birthday and better yet, why do I not have the foresight to say “It would mean a lot to me if someone else called to make the reservations”?

Perhaps it’s that thing my Mother ingrained in me at an early age; if you’re the one that initiates the celebration it cancels out the fact that everyone is a willing participant.

How silly is that? I decide what works for me; I can choose how I feel about the situation. This year, I choose to be happy that everyone is willing to show up. It’s my birthday after all.

What role have you taken on in your family and marriage?



Tagged as: birthday, family