my balloon day.

A few years ago: someone sang this song to me on my birthday. 
And while he sang: the snow came down in spirals across my window.
We both: sat in the floor across from each other. 
He sang: and I listened. 
And I thought: this is a wonderful day to be alive. 

Today is a special day, set aside to celebrate America's most beloved weather-forecasting rodent.

This is Punxsutawney Phil.

Just kidding! That's an R.O.U.S. from The Princess Bride. 

This is Punxsutawney Phil.

Today, we celebrate him and his shadow. 

Today also marks the second anniversary of the day I turned 29. This is me: 

And each year, on this day of days, my brother texts and asks if I've seen my shadow yet. You'd think, after this many years, his joke would get unfunny. But he never finds it unfunny. Some people get to be born on Christmas. Some people get to claim Valentine's Day as their birthday. But I am proud to share this day with Phil. Many holidays are very cliche these days, very commercialized and consumer-ized. Groundhog Day? Is still indie and awesome! Celebrating my birthday in Punxsutawney, PA is definitely on my list of life goals. (In the words of Juno, "Whoa! Dream big!")

Last year on my birthday, I wrote about what I'm dreaming and believing and hoping for. How change can be a good thing. That's one of my most favorite posts. If you're a new reader (hugs to you!), you might enjoy it too. 

This year, I wanted to pop in (zing!) and share my balloon story with you: 

A few years ago, I did a short stint in graduate school (before realizing my heart was gallivanting down a very different path). The grad school I went to was 1.) amazing and 2.) very far from my friends and family. I had just started school, and didn't know many people yet. And it wouldn't have mattered if I'd known a bunch of people. The sad truth about birthdays is that, as you get older, birthdays tend to be bittersweet. Especially when it comes to people. Maybe this isn't true for everybody, but it's definitely true for me. All day today, I'll be thinking about people I love and people I miss. 

My first far away grad school birthday started out sweet, thanks to a bunch of phone calls from my peeps. (My dad always calls at the exact time written on my birth certificate to tell me he loves me. He's the coolest.)

So I should have been in a chirpy mood when I set out to face the day. But I couldn't kick the sad. The people who knew me best, and who loved me most, were hundreds of miles away. I love them all so much it hurts. When there's significant distance between us, the hurt starts to take on a very unwelcome hollow quality. Lonesome is a bad way to be, no matter the day. 

No big deal, I tried to convince myself. I am a grown-up. I'm an adult now. Birthdays are just days. I've got too much to be grateful for to be sad ... 

And so I set out trying not to think about the lonesome part. 

I did not succeed. As I walked back to my door late that night, the click of my heels against the sidewalk sounded extra loud. They made more of a tick-tock sound than a click. 

Tick-tock, I'm getting older. 

Tick-tock, I should know what you want to do by now.

Tick-tock, I'm in a huge city. And I'm all alone.

Seconds seem to click by extra-slowly when you feel lonely, don't they? 

And that's when the balloons happened. 

The first thing I noticed when I walked into my apartment was the vase of flowers on my table. Next, I saw a happy birthday banner, made of colored-foil letters, shimmering over my tiny kitchen. My very dear Texas-by-way-of-Michigan friends, Kaylene and Jill, were responsible for the balloons and flowers. I'd given them my spare key in the likely event I lost mine, but they're wonderful people. And they frequently dropped in to leave muffins and cookies and delicious baked goods in my apartment. (I mentioned to them once that I didn't feel like I brought much to our friendship. They said, "You have cable!" Win.)

I did a little happy dance. And then I walked into the bathroom. 

And those two wonderfully-wonderful friends of mine had filled my bathroom with hundreds of balloons. 

This is a fact you need to know: they didn't even use an air pump to blow up the balloons. They actually blew each one up. Just the two of them. Olympic athletes should envy their lung capacity.

They made me laugh. 

Soon after the balloon discovery, Kay and Jill burst into the apt and took me out for birthday tacos. Even though it was late. Even though they had approximately ten thousand things to do the next day. I remember closing my eyes that night so happy. So grateful. 

I will never, ever forget the year of the birthday balloons. 

And that's why I'm sharing my balloons with you. 

I realize that today might not be your birthday. But since it is mine and Phil's big day, I hope you'll allow me a very sappy moment to remind you: 

That you're never anonymous,

never forgotten, 

and never, ever alone. 

You are loved and wanted and celebrated. And there's a big reason you're living and breathing and taking up space on this planet. I hope the people in your life remind you of that fact very frequently. If I could, I would fill your house with ten thousand balloons just to remind you of how awesome you are. But that might come off creepy. So if you're in a party mood later, maybe flip open your Bible to Psalm 18:16-19 and draw a little balloon in the margin instead. (The clean-up will be much easier ... )

Thank you for being part of this little blog and sharing this twisty-turny journey with me. Happy Groundhog Day to you! ;-) And happy chandeleur to you lovely French folks! (The fact that people all over the world are eating crepes on my birthday brings me much joy!)

I'll be back soon with some middle grade books I'm dying to read. For now, I'm going to go look for my shadow. And maybe eat a cupcake. Or three ...


What's the sweetest gift you ever received on your birthday? I can't wait to read about it! I'll meet you for virtual cupcakes down in the comments.