Now that I’m a grandmother, I am hearing from my kids how extravagant birthday celebrations for their kids have become. I can remember trying to keep to a $50 or less budget when prepping for a kid party of 20. That would usually include a roll of crepe-paper streamers, goody bags with prizes, snacks, ice-cream and cake (I think now, anything short of a day at the trampoline park is considered a boring birthday party).

I was always thrilled to make each of my children’s birthday cakes. They weren’t always pretty, but I wanted them to be special and memorable. I slathered frosting over two 8” rounds and bedecked the leaning structure with sprinkles or M&M’s or Matchbox trucks. I'd splurge on their current favorite cartoon character napkins and cups and invite all the little neighborhood darlings in for pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and just pour a lot of love into celebrating their special day.

Occasionally, I’d wish someone would do the same for me on my birthday. A young mother goes through several years of selfless birthday giving without a lot of return on hers.

However, I cashed in on my 37th. The kids’ creativity far outweighed my own, and it would be a birthday to remember. By the time June 18th rolls around, school has been out for a few weeks. Everyone is bursting with excitement about the possibilities of summer, new ideas and fresh excitement for the coming idle hours. My friend Ana had invited me out to lunch and the nail salon. My kids were old enough to stay home alone for a few hours. When I came home from my girlfriend time, the house smelled extra clean, like Pine Sol. “Wow,” I thought, the kids have cleaned the floors! What a great gift! I went about the afternoon busy with my various housekeeping duties. My husband would be home soon, and we’d head out to dinner, another birthday goody. I passed my daughter as I entered the children’s bath, to put some soap away. As I reached to open the cabinet under the sink, she yelped! But it was too late – I saw it. The cake atop a lovely cake stand, pecan and coconut frosting dribbling down the sides of a German chocolate cake, decorated while it was still too warm, nestled inside the vanity cabinet.

“We baked it while you were gone and then we mopped the floor with Pine Sol to mask the smell,” my disappointed daughter said flatly. I was so surprised by the cake in the bathroom I missed her disappointment. The other three cherubs stumbled up the stairs at the sound of all the excitement and I hugged each one in turn. We sat around the kitchen table and for the first time, enjoyed my birthday cake together. I felt like I had arrived.

The following year, on my 38th, these same four kids found a new way to surprise me. Again, I managed to get out for a little while with my husband. This time the kids took all they needed to bake a cake – pans, bowls, mixer, spoons, mix, eggs, oil – to a neighbor’s house and knocked on her door.

“Could we use your oven to bake our mom’s birthday cake? She’s not home, but we don’t want her to smell it when she gets home and figure out what we’ve done!” Giselle was so shocked by the request of these four little urchins! She invited them in and just stood by while they peacefully assembled the ingredients, politely conversed with her family while it baked, took it out with the potholders they had brought, and gingerly walked it home. I was sent on a scavenger hunt when I returned home that took me to the laundry room, the garage, the frig, the pantry, the bathroom cabinet (of course!), and finally the tree fort! There my cake awaited and once again I was queen for the day, celebrated by four of the most important and creative people I know and love.

As I reflect on those years in the 1990s, it feels like another lifetime. Like I was a completely different person, like an alternate universe. For so many years, I found my identity in being a mom, and then in what felt like an instant, we were empty-nesters. There was a grieving that took place over a span of a few years when I transitioned to this new life - just the two of us, husband and wife. We talked about this a lot when we were first having babies, how we’d be in our fifties by the time they were in college or starting families of their own. We looked forward to it and prepared for it. But there was still a sense of loss; when we met new people I wanted to make sure they knew I had raised four wonderful people that called me mommy once. Those years were an investment with eternal dividends. I cherish these memories, and in a way, I’m glad we didn’t have social media back then. The Bible says that Jesus’ mother Mary “treasured these things in her heart,” and we might do well to do the same. Maybe these things are sweeter if they are only ours, not the entire world’s?