“Mama,” Abigail said to me as I buckled her into her car seat, “shh, we can’t ruin the cupcakes surprise because that wouldn’t be any fun.”
“Yeah, we can’t talk about the cupcakes!” Lucas chimes in.
Delicious surprises from the mouths of my own little cupcakes.
After dropping them off at school today, I wondered how one could spend her birthday scandalously. Not governor upmarket prostitute scandalous, but an uncharacteristic indulgence, so over the top, she, if no one else, would find it unbelievably shocking, to her.
I’ve never gone for a professional massage on my birthday, not a facial, or a single spa treatment. Usually work has taken precedence over celebration, so there haven’t been any spontaneous trips by way of airport, no hotel rooms reserved, no treasure hunt of clues in envelopes involving a driver and a dressing room. It’s something I’ve always wanted, however impractical. But far more delicious than the “get” is the “give.” I’m truly happiest giving these things to the ones I love, seeing their surprise and delight, their shock and confusion followed by a squeal. It’s what I want to give the people I love.
So, that’s my new scandal: giving gifts of delight to others on my birthday. It’s my new trend. Something on which I can look back and say, “Yeah, I think it started when I turned 35.” That, and I might just do a little movie hopping (it’s not really scandal until you break a law or two), followed by a night at the Driskill Grill with my beautiful family, where I’ll stuff myself with bread and butter by the pound.