My birthday is coming up this month.

I have a friend who celebrates her birthday for the entire month!

Not me.

For me, it’s more like, “Oh yeah… my birthday’s this month.”

No big countdown. No confetti. No birthday week. Definitely no birthday month.

But when I was a child?

That was a completely different story.

I counted down the days until my birthday arrived.

My parents always made sure my siblings and I celebrated with a cake and a present. We were lucky like that.

The very first birthday I remember wasn’t exactly a happy one.

It was the year I discovered I had to share my birthday cake with everyone else.

The injustice! 

Every picture from that day shows me crying. My parents were mortified.

Apparently, I believed the cake belonged exclusively to me.

Looking back… I can almost understand my younger self. Almost.

One of my favorite birthdays was the year I got my “big girl” bike.

Do you remember getting your first bicycle?

Back then, we never wore helmets. We just hopped on, rode as fast as we could, and if you could ride with no hands… well, you were basically a superhero.

Our parents’ safety plan was simply, ‘Be home before dark.’

It’s amazing any of us survived childhood.

The last birthday I celebrated before leaving for college was bittersweet.

My gift that year was a beautiful quilt for my dorm room.

Instead of appreciating it, I remember feeling disappointed because it made everything seem so real. I was leaving home.

Now, looking back, I’m a little embarrassed by my reaction.

I’m sure my parents sacrificed to buy that quilt, and all I could think about was what it represented instead of the love behind it.

Funny how age changes your perspective.

In college, birthdays meant one thing:

Free drinks.

We celebrated as many birthdays as humanly possible. Somehow every week it seemed to be somebody’s birthday.

Ahhh… youth.

These days, I’m still happy to collect my birthday freebies…

Only now they’re more likely to involve coffee or dessert than anything served in a bar.

I’d call that progress.

Birthdays have become less about presents and more about people.

Getting together for dinner with family or friends has become my favorite way to celebrate.

And if I have to play the birthday card to convince everyone to come?

“But it’s my birthday…”

Not that I’d ever do that.

I’m just saying I’ve heard people do.

😉

This year, though, I decided to give myself a different kind of birthday gift.

A friend told me about a tradition of reading as many books in a year as your age.

Well…

Considering my age, that seemed a little ambitious.

But it did get me thinking.

I’ll be turning 70 in two years.

What if I read 70 books before I turn 70?

Now that feels doable.

Even better—it sounds fun.

I love to read, but too often I tell myself, “I can’t read right now. I have too many things to do.”

Now I have the perfect excuse.

“I have to read… or I’ll never make my quota!”

Sounds perfectly reasonable to me.

And if my 70th birthday starts getting a little too close and I’m still behind…

Children’s books are absolutely going to count.

After all…

They’re my favorite.

—Peni

P.S. One of the best parts of growing older is realizing you never have to outgrow your imagination. That’s one of the reasons Old Long Snout has such a special place in my heart. It’s a reminder that wonder, creativity, and a little bit of silliness are gifts worth holding onto—no matter how many birthdays you’ve celebrated.