My birthday is never fails to turn into a giant family drama, pitting me against my dear-and-loving mother with my sisters caught in the middle and my dad (the supposed) true cause of it all (not sure I believe that). Last year on my birthday we were in the car for 12 hours (granted it was on the way to go skiing in Colorado ... details). The year before that, hey, it was pretty good. The year before that--another 12-hour car ride. The year before that, January blizzard that shut down the entire city.
I, of course, never miss a chance to make these people feel bad about slighting me on the one day a year that we can universally acknowledge is all about me. But seriously, I get the shaft (except for those legendary birthday parties sledding at Mahoney State Park back in elementary school).
Now, I know that my birthday comes on the day that the holidays are officially over. Everybody is going back to school/work. It's cold out. We've all eaten more than we should, shopped more than we like and gone to more parties than is reasonable. Yet I reserve the right to be irritated that my padres left town on purpose (maybe), so they didn't have to celebrate. And weren't even nice about it.
My one consolation: knowing that they would have had way more fun on vacation with me and my sisters because we are hilarious.
And here's a random photo of icing ...