Flying my flag

On Wednesday I woke up before my alarm with that tickly excited feeling that you get when you know it's a special day. Wednesday, as you fellow Texans know, was our Texas Independence Day, but that wasn't the sole source of my excitement. No, March 2nd is an important day not only because of Texas' birthday but also because it marks my half-birthday.

After my morning run, I checked fb and my text messages for well wishes from family and friends. I wasn't disappointed. Number 3 had written on my wall, "texas independence day? check. half-birthday? check. what a great day to be alive!" Numbers 2 and 4 wrote me later that day, and my mom sent a text message.

The celebration of half-birthdays has a long and rich history in my family. My dad wanted more birthday cake than he could have with only four kids. OK, so maybe it's not too long or rich, but I still like it. "It's either celebrate their half birthdays or have more kids," I remember him telling inquisitors. (Years later, my parents would adopt four more kids. Hmmm.)

The half-birthday celebration was always simple. We got to choose what Mom made for dinner, the sisters would make us homemade gifts (like the pipe cleaner jump roping figure I made for one of them one year), and we would fly our flag.



Starting with our third birthday, my mom embroidered a patch for our flags each year. We'd fly the flags on birthdays and half-birthdays. Seeing that flag hanging in front of the house meant that I was the queen, the most important person in the world, at least in that house, at least for that day.



I didn't have my flag with me this year, but I still took myself out to tacos for lunch and spent the day imagining that my flag was flying high, letting the world know that March 2nd is my day.