This is my mom. Isn’t she pretty?
See how happy she is? That’s because we were having her birthday celebration at my house today. All she had to do was show up. Tada! Supper was prepared, dessert was hidden away for the big Happy Birthday interlude, and piles of pink tissue and ribbon adorned the counter awaiting the moment of “Oh, you shouldn’t have!”
On my birthday, the party is always at MY house. What does this mean? Well, it means that it’s not really my birthday party. Just another family dinner where I cook, clean up, and serve dessert. Except at the end of it, I get a $75 gift card to Lulu Lemon.
On my 40th, I knew I wasn’t going to have a surprise party. Call it a gut instinct. But as the big day approached, I also knew that if I didn’t start planning something, I was getting nothing. Finally I told family members to come to my house for Chinese food. Which I ordered. And paid for. I shouldn’t be so hard on the fam: in their defence, they were telling me to save my money, “There are chicken balls and spring rolls in the freezer downstairs. We can throw them in the oven. All you’d have to make is fried rice.” At one point I had to ask Wayne, le husband, if I should make myself a cake or could we count on Safeway for that.
There’s no particular reason why I’m sharing this, except that I’m a total bitch. I get bitter when I’m PMSing. And when I’m not.
But here’s the thing: I have a 38 year old single brother. No wife. No kids. On his birthday, there’s this urgency to please him, take him to his favourite steak house, supply him with household items, because, why should he have to go out and buy his own sheets and cutlery. He’s a bachelor. He doesn’t understand about thread count.
On my birthday, let’s break out the frozen chicken balls. Yup. I’m bitchy.
And I don’t have to worry that my family members will read this. Jamie Jenson over at http://www.daydreamer.blogspot.com/ wrote in one of her blog posts recently, that it took her a year before she told her mother about her blog. Rebecca over at Learning Curve, http://www.strompad.blogspot.com/ told me that her mother reads her blog every day.
Well, I told my mommy about my blog the first week I started it.
Mom: A blog? What’s that?
Me: It’s kind of like an online journal. You should go read it. I even put up pictures some times.
Mom: No, I wouldn’t know how to do that.
Me: There’s nothing to do. Just log in. Here’s the address.
Mom: You need an address? Oh, no, I definitely wouldn’t know what to do.
Me: Mom, there’s nothing to do. Just type in absolutelynarcissism…
Mom: Absolutely what? That’s too long. I’ll never remember that.
Me: There’s nothing to remember. Just write it down.
Mom: I don’t have a pen
Me: Thanks for your support. Makes no wonder I’m a neurotic mess who seeks validation from total strangers on the world wide web.
…..ok, last part was improvised. I’d never say that to her. She’s my mom. She’d kick my ass.
Happy birthday mom! You look fabulous. And you have great triceps!