I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with my birthday. Love for all the obvious reasons, hate because it’s in December, smack in the middle of snowstorm, flu, and holiday season. My ideal birthday celebration is to surround myself with friends and family—but travel plans, illness, and holiday party fatigue often get in the way of that.

But this year. This year.

This year I am turning 36, putting me on the other side of 30. This year, it’s Z’s week with her dad on my birthday. And this year I’m single, for the first time in over ten years, having gone through an extremely painful I love you and I want to be want to be with you but I just can’t do that right now breakup over the past few months.

This year, I’m reaching out and asking you for something.

Send me flowers this December, please.

Email or text me pictures, drop a card in the mail, or, if you’re so inclined, send real flowers. I will print the pictures and put them on my fridge, and hang your cards on my walls, and smell your flowers every time I walk into my house. It will be like I’m surrounded by all of you all month. And that’s the best gift I could receive.