When I turned three-years-old, I got a six-day-late birthday present: a baby brother. With my birthday on the 18th of June and my brother's on the 24th, my family made it an ongoing joke through the years, saying he was the best birthday present I could ever have gotten. Of course, on the days when he made fun of me, put gum in my hair or tried to put bugs in my food, I tended to think of him as the worst birthday present ever.

Not that I don't love my little brother, because of course, I do. Especially now that we have grown (somewhat) out of the childish bickering phase unavoidable for all siblings. We no longer share birthday parties (which we did for the better part of our childhoods). We get our own cakes and our own requests for birthday goings-on on our respective days. But since we have gained the ability to ask for such distinctions, we are faced with the chaos of two of everything in the space of a week: two birthday days, usually including dinner out, cake, presents and family; two birthday parties on a day near that of the actual birthday, with food, friends and more presents (along with yet another cake); and, as a result, too many people overstuffed, overtired and unable to walk through the house without getting an errant piece of tape or wrapping paper stuck to the bottom of their feet.

And then just when the craziness begins to subside, the cake has been eaten and our stomachs begin to feel like they may perhaps recover from being drenched in sugar, we hit July 1st, my mom's birthday.

This didn't used to be a big deal. My mom is not the sort to make a fuss, and when you tell a five-year-old not to worry about something, they don't. But in recent years, I began to realize that I had the new responsibility to make my mom's birthday as special as she had made all of mine. So we have added another round of cake, too much food, streamers, presents and the unavoidable trashing of our house.

Of course, she probably would be fine with a cupcake and a homemade dinner, but I tend to be a bit of an overachiever, and though they are a struggle in our family of summer birthdays, I do love celebrating said birthdays.

Some people hold that you grow out of birthdays, and others believe it is silly to celebrate the birth of someone to begin with. After all, they didn't do anything; they just began to exist. What's the big deal? But birthdays are a big deal. Because the day someone so amazing to and beloved by me came into the world is definitely worth celebrating. Every day, I wake up to my idiot little brother grinning at me over his cereal and my amazing mom cleaning up after my mess even though I'm all grown up. Every day, they make me laugh and keep me company and make life in general enjoyable. So I adore the chaos of baking way too many cakes and gaining several pounds as we eat our way through them. I enjoy the carnage of wrapping paper flying everywhere and I don't mind that my bank account drops to the danger zone as I shop for the perfect gifts. Because this is a chance to celebrate my family. Besides, I still owe my mom for giving me the best birthday present ever and I owe my little brother for living up to that title.