I remember as a child being so excited for my mom’s birthday, and she was always just meh. It was terribly confusing to me that a birthday wasn’t cause for glee, after all, what on earth is better than a whole day set aside to celebrate you?!
Fast forward 28 years and it all makes sense.
My 10 year old awoke at 5:30. I stumbled to his room and shoved his iPad at him and told him to just be quiet.
I had to dole out meds, feed the dog, make breakfasts, lunch and dinner, take out the trash, do dishes, and all manner of other daily living.
As per normal, Ben needed everything under the sun during my morning coffee, which while fully expected, is a touch more frustrating than usual.
As an introvert, I dream of a birthday on which the school bus arrives and I simply usher my dear offspring to the curb to enjoy a day of total quiet, though it’s just not to be. My dear husband is out of town for mandatory training for work, which always falls over my birthday, which means I’m flying solo today.
Please understand, my dear daughter got me a variety of cheese for my birthday, which is wonderful, thoughtful and sweet. My husband has something specially made in the works that will be ready on Saturday, so I am being celebrated, and entirely blessed, but today is really just like most other days; a day in which my primary objective is serving others.
Perspective. Sweet Alex keeps hugging me and calling me the birthday girl, and after lunch we’re going out Pokémon hunting, and I’m buying myself one heckuva cake and some premium burger to make myself a deluxe Bleu cheeseburger and a gorgeous watermelon from my garden for supper.
I may not be able to celebrate in a day that’s all about me like I did when I was a kid, but I can and will enjoy the little things that make a day joyful and fun, and 3 of those “little things” are the ones that call me “mom”.