Happy %$#@& Birthday, Hungarican Chick.

Today is my birthday.  Be prepared for whining. I whine on my birthday. Birthdays for me are something I have come to dread—because there’s the selfish expectation, and then the disappointing reality. And it’s rarely a day where I am not finding myself upset by being forgotten by certain people, and upset at myself for feeling negative when others are doing things to make it a good day for me.  I know that the people who apparently matter won’t change; they will continue to forget my birthday, or treat it like it’s any other day. I really hate it when someone doesn’t really think about it, and then in the last-minute, does something as an afterthought—or simply out of a sense of obligation. I’d rather they do nothing and not even mention it.  I cannot stop myself from being hurt by all these things, year after year after year. Even at 41, I let myself get hurt by it.

Mind you, this began years ago in childhood, where my birthday was perpetually an afterthought. When I hit my 20s, it was forgotten constantly. And in the past decade, My birthday has mostly consisted of last-minute calls from someone who had to be reminded by someone else that this was my birthday; but most of the time, no acknowledgement at all. My family then gets all upset when *I* don’t make a big fuss about their ‘special’ days either. Hm.

A part of me wants to just hide at home and not be given any reminder that this is my birthday, and there’s a part of me that secretly and selfishly desires to be treated like queen for a day; to get a cake and have the people I love all around me paying me special attention just like I see other families and friends do. But when they do, I’m just embarrassed by it all and I am made anxious by all the attention.  I truly, truly, truly HATE my birthday. I hate the fuss, but want the fuss. I hate the forgetting, but wish everyone would just forget it. It’s a horrid divided feeling that I want to just go away.  When the day is over, I’ve secretly cried at least twice.

What would my ideal birthday be? A day that shows that someone listened to me, and paid attention to what I love the most—and shown an effort to fulfill that wish—not do what’s convenient for *them*. I wish to be surrounded by people who will not hurt me, or turn the day into a drama-fest about them; make me feel like their presence or efforts are an inconvenience, or like they’d rather be elsewhere.  I want to feel precious and loved and not like an afterthought. To feel special, I guess. Most of the time I do not—by my own doing in some cases, and by the way my loved ones treat me in others.

So my solution is to grump out on my birthday. To hope everyone will leave me alone, and still be sad that they do. It’s inevitable. Unless the poles reverse, pigs learn to fly,  and my family learns to give a crap about things like this, and get together in Brussels to throw me a huge regency ball with all my friends, and shower me with gifts of sidesaddles and chocolate , I will probably never be happy. LOL!

Today is probably closest to the most tolerable birthday I can have. No muss and fuss (in great quantities). My coworkers want to take me out to lunch, which is okay. They don’t go nuts, they take me where *I* want, which is always a plus, instead of taking me where they want (I have an in-law who insists on doing something for me on my birthday, asks me where I want to go, and then when the day comes, her husband exclaims that he doesn’t want to go there, and we end up going where he wants—where he proceeds to complain incessantly and dominate the conversation the whole time).  My husband is then going to take me to our favourite local restaurant where I can eat my Escargots à la Bourguignonne and a decadent dessert (maybe with a candle, maybe not) and then it’s homeward bound for bed and the rest of my week.

Today, I got lots of wishes on Facebook from friends and not-so-close-friends. It was sweet, especially from the people who I adore. I know people think the facebook birthday reminder is an exercise in thoughtlessness, but I don’t think that at least with my friends, that their wishes are in any way insincere, and for a day where I spend most of it on the edge of tears because my family doesn’t give a crap and never has, it is fortifying and touching that so many people I care about really want me to have a happy day. It’s humbling.

To top today off, Mary Robinette Kowal, author and someone I look up to, organized a month of letter-writing that went viral recently, and someone obviously said something about my upcoming birthday, and even though I am not an active participant in this letter-writing initiative, I have received a flow of lovely cards from all of my Regency friends which really touched me very deeply. It was so sweet to have all this post waiting for me filled with scripted wishes. :D

So happy birthday to me I guess. One year older. Yay.

Aaaanywhoo... Progress on my riding habit... Stalled. I sewed in the rest of the lining last night, and did so sitting on the sofa watching TV. All I had left was the collar area, and I sewed it too tightly. I’ll have to release the seam and resew so that it doesn’t distort the back, which it did. Annoying.

Also, the barn owner, Dee let me have a child’s 14” English all-purpose saddle she had lying about not being used. I will use it for S2’s girls when they come to ride Tag.  When she gave it to me, it was in this shape: 

Now, after a vigourous cleaning, it looks like this: 

How cute is that itty-bitty saddle? Teehee!  The saddle is cheap, but it’s fine. It has a tiny little fleece saddle-pad and very shabby leathers I’ll eventually replace. I put new stirrups on it.

My horse is throwing his winter coat, and he gets SO fuzzy. Last night I combed a pony off of him.  Look how long his fur is:

Sorry the pictures are so dark. My cell phone camera kind of sucks.

Annnnyway, that’s it for my birthday rant. You all have a lovely Wednesday.