'I think I'm going to throw up.'

I am officially 21 years old. As my sister Amy said to me with big eyes on Friday night, "Ashley, this is your last birthday that you actually have something to look forward to!" I took this remark quite seriously. And then I said, "Actually, I'm quite looking forward to turning 25 so that I will be allowed to use a rental car - and come on! Who isn't excited to be 55 so they can get senior citizen discounts?" I think I won that argument, although I'm sure my dad would gladly hand over his AARP membership.

I got to go home this weekend for the first time this semester! As soon as I walked through the door, I was pounced on by the resident darlings, who proudly showed me a sign they made that was hanging on the kitchen doorway - "Happy birthday, Ashley! We missed you!" Exhibit 1298739 of why I am obsessed with my family. My parents were out to dinner so to really get the party started, I decided that Sandra Marie should come in out of the cold. She was shivering on the back step, which was probably just to make us feel guilty, since she could have EASILY gone into the garage and laid down on her green flip chair. My mom is very anti-pets in the house (although God knows Lyndsey and Lexie have made various attempts to warm her up to it), but hey, I was the birthday girl and I had been gone a long time! When my mom and dad walked through the door, my mom eyes got big and she said, "ASHLEY!" and then she saw the blond mass wagging her tail excitedly behind me, and my moms's smile drooped a little and she said, "And.... Sandy."

My family - sans Kevin, who was at a friend's house - went out to dinner at the Olive Garden on Saturday. As we were waiting for a table, I warned my parents that they were NOT to mention my birthday, and they agreed. When we were seated, our waitress took one look at Lyndsey's 1980s not-retro-in-a-cool-way red velvet dress and cooed, "So what's the special occasion?" And my mom replied, "We're not allowed to say." Which, of course, gave Scott liberty to announce that it was my 21st birthday. Fabulous. As she walked away with this newfound knowledge, I made my parents swear not to give her a tip if all the waiters sang to me.

Dinner progressed relatively smoothly. We had gotten near the end of the meal when Lexie - two breadsticks, an entire cheese pizza, and some of Julie's spaghetti later - announced that she thought she was going to throw up. We all groaned loudly, as this is never a good sign. Then, with our jaws slightly agape, we watched as this 50-pound child proceeded to wiggle another breadstick out of the basket, dunk it in her spaghetti sauce, and take a huge bite. "Alexis," I said, patronizingly. "You just said you were going to throw up. Why are you still eating?" She took another big bite and smiled. "'Cause Mom always gives me Sprite when I'm sick!" My parents gave each other a Look.

A few minutes later, the demon waitress returns with a blazing chocolate cake and a handful of singing waiters. I wanted to pummel her. "Your face is so red!" she squealed, after everyone finished clapping. She was incredulous that I didn't want a glass of wine with my meal. "Man, when it came time for my 21st birthday, I couldn't get enough of the stuff! I had to go into the military to get it out of my system." Reason 1298371293 why I don't drink - I don't want to turn out like you.

My mom told me that she went to Lexie's classroom for her Valentine's Day party. The kids had been assigned to decorate big red hearts with the someone or something in their life that they loved best, so my mom went out in the hallway to search for Lexie's. She saw a few, "I love my dad!' and 'I love my mom!' and even 'I love my dog!' so she figured - obviously - that Lexie's would have something to do with a cat. WHICH cat was more of an appropriate question - Missy, may she rest in peace? Fuzzy? McKinley? So she was quite surprised when she finally came to Lexie's heart, which read, "I love my sister, Ashley."

That kind of makes up for all of the times she stuffed an entire package of my gum in her mouth, or hid my cell phone under the couch, or took all of the tags off my Beanie Babies, or just basically destroyed all semblance of tranquilty of our home.

That night, as I was getting ready for bed, I opened my shower door to grab a tube of facial cleanser to find that my shampoo had been replaced by a bottle of Bud Light. Upon further inspection, I found a second Bud Light bottle tucked neatly under my sheets, its neck resting on my pillow.

Thank you, Scott.

What a great birthday.