I turned 25 this past Sunday, March 13th. The day before it, on Saturday, I hosted a party over food and drinks at my place.
I was going to write an insightful birthday post (which by the way, I’ve never written about my birthday, it’s only landed on Friday Linky Loves here and here over the years) BUT – I cut the bullshit and have a story to share from my birthday party.
Saturday was filled with a beautiful hike with the boyfriend and our new pup, grocery shopping for the lengthy menu I had planned for my guests, cooking, humming, showering, dancing around in my dress, some exciting present opening and finally, guests arriving.
I was near exhausted by 8 PM when my lovely friends started flowing through the door to my small apartment, but was energized by the great group of probably over 40 friends that came.
I felt blessed. Everywhere I looked there were hugs, cheers of wine, and close friends from all over who had come to help me celebrate.
I can distinctly remember not having this, when I first moved here. To now see, a cultivated, supportive, lively community of family-friends that have bestowed themselves upon me makes me teary eyed.
Near the end of the night, our pup who had his own excitement of ‘partying’ was sitting patiently amongst the last 8 or so that were finishing their drinks, laughing and sitting closely – feet on laps, heads on shoulders – on the couches.
Through the laughter, without warning, an explosion of puppy vomit lands on one of my best friend’s white shoes (who is visiting from out of town). We all yelp.
Moments later, more puppy vomit explodes onto my white carpet, in another spot. The crowd flees.
I find myself on my hands and knees in my backless (short) dress, scrubbing puppy vomit, starting to feel stress and anxiety and worrying about the ‘buzz kill’, the sick puppy, my carpet, the ruined shoes of my friends whimpering, and the rest of my guests. Hostess anxiety.
Suddenly, I am overwhelmed and snap. I close the door to my room and tears start to slowly fall down my face. I’m ashamed I’m even crying. Next, I snap at my innocent boyfriend out of frustration and immediately realize how emotional I feel.
[I’m sharing this because these are the little things we let afflict us and I couldn’t believe what had come over me. Maybe I was tired and I let something little, “get” to me and even worse, others closest to me who didn’t do a thing. There are also, far more grave and important things in life. I know that. I’m even belittling what happened on Saturday night, but it’s worth a share, far more than a sugary, “what I learned last year,” post].
Want to hear the conclusion? The stories moral?
In the end, it wasn’t a big deal.
He’s a puppy. And if you saw his “I’m so sorry Mom,” face when he curled up in the corner, you would have forgiven him immediately. My friends were supportive and the night carried on, even though I felt depleted and they all continued the night out downtown. I stayed in to re-cooperate and clean. I wasn’t up for it. And that’s okay.
We have these choices to select our words wisely, to smile more often, to choose our battles, to act like the adults we really are and to seriously, not sweat the small stuff.
I didn’t choose the above at the end of my party and it’s no one’s fault but my own.
I woke up the next morning, regretting my snapping at my supportive, gift-bearing, cooking-all-day boyfriend and realized overall, how incredible the party was.
I sheepishly wanted to crawl back in time and instead, laugh at the puppy vomit, hug the puppy, kiss my boyfriend, turn up the Madonna beats, and pour more Pinot Noir for my friends.
Because really, those are the small joys of life that matter.
Indulge me. Any birthday shenanigans, outrageous actions on birthday tears? Can you laugh about it now? It’s okay, I urge you to laugh at me.