That Time of Year Again

Yep, birthday time for Ken. And that means it's time for the annual problem of how to handle the December 25th birth date of a child to two non-Christians, one of whom is a preacher's kid- times two. Oh what fun it is to fight the religious holidays, hey! I'd love to hear comments or ideas from the peanut gallery, because I'm all out of mine own and four years in, have yet to have the birthday for our son that Dwight and I had planned.

Admittedly, thanks to an amazing midwife, his birth went the way we planned, but that was it. First year doing birthdays, we had Christmas on his birthday the twenty-fifth, and then a few days later his big first birthday party. To which no one came. Second year we did Christmas in the morning and planned birthday in the evening, all on the same day. So everyone got here three hours late, and his birthday party got cut to, well, after he fell asleep. Third year we gave up and said have Christmas on the twenty-fifth, we'll do a half birthday party for him in the summer, and the family thought that was a great idea. Much easier to skip a half birthday party, apparently, because again- no one showed.

In 48 hours and 50 minutes, Ken will have his fourth birthday. We'll be visiting his paternal grandmother and aunt, and fitting in a dinner with Dwight's dad at some point as well. The whole trip across state will be about three days. Maybe we can make one of those days just for him? I don't know. I'll be writing and working, in between making an Enterprise V meets the Tardis cake, and imbibing my fair share of wine.

Any suggestions how to pull off his birthday and actually have a Happy Ken Day? Is that too much for a mama to want for her kiddo? I guess the take home lesson is if you're not Christian and don't care about Christmas and your in-laws are extremely religious, do everything shy of self immolation to avoid delivering on December twenty fifth. Oh, and please no comments about someone trying to tell me something. It was stupidly lifting a giant subwoofer that put me in labor when I did, not divine intervention, but thanks for thinking of me.