It was my birthday yesterday. I asked my husband (I am so not kidding) for a new vacuum cleaner. We have a Hoover that I hate. Every time I start using it, the belt slips off the rollers and it starts spewing dust. So, I have to go and find the electric screwdriver, sit down on the dusty floor, pull off the bottom of the vacuum cleaner, and then stretch the bleeping belt back over the rollers.

By the time I get the vacuum cleaner reassembled and then vacuum, I need a serious shower. And I always notice, right as I am tightening the very last screw, that I have left the vacuum plugged in the entire time I have been fiddling with it.

But in addition to a vacuum cleaner, I can usually think of something little that I want for my birthday. Something that I want so I will feel pampered. Something small to open. You would think with my recent feature on reading that I would want a new book! (I have plans, though, baby, just wait til next Friday). But I have a lot of books around the house I haven't read yet, so I didn't know what to ask for. I have more music downloaded to my computer than I can currently listen to. And I belong to Netflix, and I don't really need or want any new DVD's.

So, I was rather at a loss this year, because usually I can think of something to tell my husband (or something that I want to buy for myself, that I wouldn't ordinarily buy). I went to Wal-mart on Friday (we have few choices in my town, or I would have chosen somewhere else) yesterday to buy a birthday cake to take to dinner at our local pub. On Friday evenings, a group of us gather at the local pub for dinner. We call it the Friday Night Literary Society, because most of us are English faculty or former English majors. When my kids are with me for the weekend, they hang out and play pool or shuffle board.

While I was at Wal-mart, I passed by the arts and craft aisle; it was the one right next to the school and office supplies, and I admit to looking longingly at pens and notebooks from time to time. Yesterday, I found myself standing in front of the crayons. They have boxes of crayons with 120 whole, beautiful, unbroken, unblemished crayons. They are almost $8.00 a box. Under ordinary circumstances, I would never buy them. My children have crayons, broken, scattered, and scuffed as they are.

But it was the day before my birthday. I snatched up a box and put it next to my cake in my cart. When I got home, I opened the box and smelled the new crayon smell and looked at all of the beautiful colors.

In my job as a medical editor and writer, I am in my head entirely too much. I spend most of my waking hours reading or writing something. But now I have a box of new crayons and some blank sheets of paper, and I am going to doodle, draw, or just scribble. I am going to try out all of my new colors. And that makes me ridiculously happy. And when my children come home from their father's on Monday, I am going to hide the crayons. These are only for me.

What do you want for YOUR birthday?