Turning 29

A week ago Friday, I celebrated a birthday. My 29th birthday, to be exact. The last birthday of my twenties.

It wasn't all that long ago when 30 seemed so old. But now it seems young. Really young.

Maybe I'll be singing a different tune a year from now when I'm actually turning 30, but I'm not at all concerned about leaving the twenties behind. Sure, it's a bit sad, because being a 20-something is pretty awesome. It's college and your first job and so much freedom to travel and do fun things but still be a "grown up" (without having to be too grown up all the time).

But it's not like I'm expecting to wake up in a year and feel drastically different than I do right now (although I'm guessing I'll be considerably more sleep-deprived, and hopefully I'll weigh considerably less—neither of which have to do with my age so much as the little fellow that's going to join our family soon).


Now if I were turning 35, that would be a different story. That's old. Really really old. (Just kidding, certain brothers-in-law that may or may not be around that age. That's really young, too! Conservative Hubby is wearing off on me. I apologize.)

Anyhow.

This year's birthday really snuck up on me. Normally October is all about birthdays (a few of my best friends also have theirs this month, plus My Mom's is the day after mine and My Dad's happens to be TODAY).

But this year October has been all about work, work, work and, more importantly, preparing for another birth day that could be coming up anytime in the next month or so. So it didn't even really hit me that it was my birthday until October 14 rolled around.

I've never been one for big birthday bashes to celebrate, anyway. To me a great birthday involves a good meal and (except for this year) maybe a few cocktails with friends or family. Of course, I've had my share of exciting birthdays. Like the year Conservative Hubby and my friends threw me a surprise party in Des Moines. (It was a big surprise!) Or the year I flew to Boston on my birthday to meet up with my family and surprise My Mom on her birthday. Oh yeah, and then there was that year that Conservative Hubby popped the question. (That was an even bigger surprise!)


But most of them have been pretty low-key, and that's OK with me.

This birthday was no different. In fact, it was even lower-key than usual. Conservative Hubby took me out to dinner at one of my favorite local restaurants, the Harvest Cafe, which is located in a little town outside of L-Town. It was delicious, although there's so little room in my stomach for extraneous items at the moment we didn't even get a birthday dessert. Then we came home, put on sweats, and watched television. I proceeded to fall asleep on the couch before 10 p.m.

Don't tell me I'm lame. That's an awesome birthday for this tired pregnant lady.

Red Velvet Cupcakes

In honor of a very important day (that would be Conservative Hubby's birthday at the beginning of the month), I made a very important treat.


Red velvet cupcakes.

To make these red velvet cupcakes, I used Paula Deen's recipe. (Except I skipped the toppers, because why would anyone mess up cream cheese frosting by topping it with nuts or berries?)

The cupcakes turned out pretty darn good. At least the birthday boy thought so.

And he should know--he ate nearly the entire batch himself.

But if you make this recipe, please be warned: It makes copious amounts of cream cheese frosting. I don't think I was stingy when I frosted the cupcakes, but I still had half the batch of frosting left. No joke.

So go ahead and cut the frosting recipe in half.

Or not. I discovered it's awfully tasty sans cupcakes.

Carrot Cake

Yesterday was my birthday. For my birthday, I made myself a cake.


But not just any cake.

This was a carrot cake.

And not just any carrot cake. It was my grandma’s carrot cake.

I hadn't intended to make a carrot cake. Although just a few weeks ago I told someone how I always used to request Grandma's carrot cake for my birthday, I thought I'd probably have an apple pie or cookies or something like that for my birthday treat instead.

But Wednesday, the day before my birthday, Grandma Collins passed away. She decided it was time to go join her "boyfriend," as she so lovingly called my grandfather.

Grandma made sure she waited for all 11 of her children to gather at her side. And then she decided it was OK to go, that it was time to go see the husband she'd been missing dearly for just over a year.

And so, because Grandma's carrot cake was the only kind of cake I’ve ever truly liked and ever requested regularly, I baked a carrot cake in her honor.

And with each ingredient that went into the bowl, I added a memory of Grandma Collins.

Naturally, my memories began in the kitchen, not only with her carrot cake but also with the amazing fried chicken she’d make. With the bright red hot dogs she’d boil in a pot on the stove for us kids when we stayed at her house. With the tin of chocolate chip cookies she kept on the counter—always with a slice of white bread to keep the cookies soft.

There were the colorful plastic mugs she bought so each grandkid would have his or her own special cup for drinking water or Squirt or milk whenever we’d come to visit. The countertop dishwasher she’d hook up to the sink after dinner was done. The big pantry full of surprises just outside the kitchen in their little apartment.

At the kitchen table, we played board games (Scrabble, naturally, was a favorite) and twisted colorful string together into friendship bracelets.

Some of the items from the kitchen found other uses in our visits to Grandma—particularly her mixing spoons, which always served as our microphones as we performed along with Lawrence Welk in the living room.

In that living room, Grandma’s wooden rocker with the soft cushions always sat to the right of Grandpa’s big recliner. On her footstool, which also rocked, without fail you would find a crossword dictionary and a folded, half-finished crossword puzzle.

In that living room, I remember spending many afternoons watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy and the news with my grandparents. I remember the hard candies—Werther’s and peppermints and those little bright yellow butterscotch disks—she kept on an end table for whoever needed a treat.

Grandma was always kind and generous when us grandkids visited (which was often)—letting us whip up magic elixirs with her lotions and creams and perfumes in the bathroom, allowing us to take over their bedroom when we were older so we could sprawl across the bed and watch first Nick At Nite and later whatever music videos came on MTV. She watched over us while we played recklessly in the backyard, hopping over the creek and squealing at snakes.

Grandma was the one who encouraged Grandpa to show us just once more how he could squeeze water from a rock. She was the one who would turn around in the front seat of the car and remind us kids—always, without fail, no matter our age—that the car wouldn’t start until all seat belts were buckled.

Whenever things went wrong, Grandma was there with a hug. Or a cookie. Or a piece of her carrot cake. Even when things went well, she was there with the same.

But here’s the thing about carrot cake. You can’t have carrot cake without cream cheese frosting.


And that’s the thing with Grandma—you can’t have Grandma without Grandpa.

Grandma was a strong-willed, independent woman until the end, with a feisty streak she shared with all the Collins women. But in my memories, whenever Grandma is there, Grandpa is there too.

So, as hard as it is to think that she’s gone, it’s OK. Because now she’s back with Grandpa, where she's happiest.

And she’s left us all more memories than we can count ... and, of course, the recipe for her carrot cake.

A (Big) Birthday Surprise

You never know about birthdays. Sometimes they're swell. Sometimes they're not so swell, like when they fall on Tuesday and you have to work and teach all day and take a three-hour midterm exam in the evening (that happened last year).

Sometimes, however, they're beyond swell.

I am going to put this year's birthday, which happened on Wednesday, in the beyond swell category.

Wednesday seems like a rather lame day for a birthday (who wants to celebrate on hump day?). But when you don't have classes or much work to do and get to stay home in your PJs all day if you like, it's not too bad.

I thought I'd share with you some of the things that made my birthday so beyond swell.

Sleeping in until 7:20. (So lazy of me.)

Having time to water my plants (even though I am fully aware it was raining), send emails, and make myself a latte.

Making pumpkin birthday cupcakes (even though, admittedly, I prefer pies and cookies to cakes). By the way, I'll share more about these soon.

Great gifts, including but not limited to some clothing items, some terrific jewelry, an iTunes gift card, a Borders gift card, a wonderful CD, a springform pan (yes, I asked for one), a Toddy, and more Pyrex bowls with a new pattern (yay!).

A delicious dinner, complete with a wine flight, at Bella Milano in Springfield.

Beautiful happy birthday and congratulations flowers.

Wait a second. Did I just say congratulations?

Why yes, yes I did.

Why would I receive congratulations flowers on my birthday? I mean, I guess it would be OK to congratulate someone for being born.

But it would also be OK to congratulate someone for this.

Yes, folks. This is my hand this time. It is not a joke. (I thought it was a joke too, by the way.)

Conservative Boy proposed to me (with an assist from Butter) on Wednesday morning before he went to work. And after I realized it really was a serious proposal, I said yes.

I will share more details on that later, but I'll let the fact it happened sink in first.

And now you see what makes a birthday beyond swell.