The Year I Spent My Birthday in a Blanket Fort
“Are you okay?” my mother-in-law asked me.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…are you depressed? I heard you spent your birthday in a blanket fort.”
Oh right. I did do that.
My husband and son both had birthdays early in the year, so their celebrations were over by the time the pandemic lockdowns started in mid-March, and I was the first in our family to have a quarantine birthday. Going out to dinner was off the table. Disneyland, where I celebrated last year, was definitely out. And, to make matters worse, it was my first birthday after moving to a new state, far from friends and extended family. So yes, it’s understandable that my mother-in-law might have worried I was depressed. But building a blanket fort wasn’t my way of wallowing, it was my way of celebrating.
I’ll admit it…I’m kind of a princess when it comes to birthdays. I’m not a fan of giant parties or big surprises, but I’m selfish about my day each year. I like my birthday to revolve around me, and I’ll graciously allow everyone else to come along for the ride, so long as they don’t complain.
That’s why I spent hours on one of the hottest days of the year stacking patio furniture on the roof into the perfect base, lugging blankets and pillows upstairs from every room in the house, and collecting rope and bungee ties from the garage to stabilize my architectural masterpiece. Because it was my birthday and I wanted to. By the end, I was sweaty, exhausted, and absolutely delighted. I took a shower and put on my favorite dress before I crawled inside and put some Charlie Parker on the speaker. As every seven-year-old knows, building a fort is half the fun. Playing in it is the other half.
I wanted my birthday to be decadent, and it was. We ordered sushi and the three of us arranged it on a serving board to eat as we lounged amongst the pillows and rugs inside the fort. As the sun dipped down and the air cooled, I lit a strand of Edison bulbs strung amongst the potted citrus and hyacinth that made the fort’s back wall, and it added a warm glow to the scented air.
Once the sushi was well-digested, we brought in the dark chocolate tiramisu cake Kevin had acquired from a local bakery, along with a board game to play as we sat cross-legged on the ground. We took turns putting songs on the speaker. We talked, even though we’d thought, after five months quarantining together, we had nothing left to talk about.
After everyone else turned in for the night, I stayed, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders against the cold. In any other year—in any normal year—we would have gone to a museum, perhaps, and then out to dinner. Maybe we would have had friends visiting, or gone for long weekend away. It would have been lovely.
It wouldn’t have been better.
