Today marks the beginning of the week-long festival of dig me called the High Collee-days — the seven days leading up to my birthday.
During the High Collee-days, I can request anything I want for breakfast or dinner, I get gifts every day and basically John makes an extraordinarily big deal out of me making it one more trip around the sun.
I love it. L-O-V-E it.
I am an 8-year-old trapped in a grown-up’s body when it comes to:

• birthdays
• parades
• water slides
• moon bounces — Katie, Lara and Karl earned my undying love and affection when they got me a moon bounce for my MBA graduation party!

What’s this got to do with living life intentionally?
It’s about realizing I don’t have to give up things that bring me joy because I’m too old. I have come to appreciate the simple pleasures of silly kid-like activities.
Other women might recoil from their birthdays and prefer to pretend they no longer age. Instead, I’ve adopted my mom’s former mantra: every birthday on this side of the lawn is a good one. That’s why I’ve taken cupcakes to the office for my birthday more than once, just like we did in elementary school.
Bring on the cake, the candles, the balloons, whatever you’ve got. I celebrate my birthday with the joyous thrill of a kid.
And in case you’re curious, I’m turning 39. Let the planning begin for next year’s bash.
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