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Tales Of An Educated Debutante

on life, loss and the joy that rules the day.


The future is far away and scary, but today is lovely.

Adrian H. Wood, PhD

Do Mothers have birthdays?

Do Mothers have birthdays?

Friday, April 01, 2016 Adrian Wood Comments (0)

Birthdays, my birthday, is a long ago memory and you know it too if you have children and no matter what charming story you tell yourself, the days of you are finished. I have been guilty too and this very evening you will likely get a sappy inspiring birthday take from me, yours truly. Yes, I run hot and cold as a bathroom shower in an old dormitory but damn it, today is my birthday. My forty plus one and I nearly forgot it myself.

In all seriousness, on Saturday I was in the middle of massive amounts of laundry from spring break and then brief breaks when I would lie on the bed and work my way through yummy Saturday movies, War Games, Pay it Forward and even the end of E.T. The last one is a sure way to be alone as my children were scarred with his pseudo death a few years back but on to the story. On one of my breaks I decided to tackle the typing of the soccer schedules into my phone and anyone that take the time to do this knows that this is not an uncomplicated task. As I plugged dates in my calendar, my birthday popped up! Interesting that I had it in there but am thankful for the foresight.

When I asked my children what they would get me, I was not met with any amazing replies. My oldest, "What? We didn't even know until right now!". Like it was some sort of punishment. My next son looked plagued and said disparagingly, "When is it due?". The it being my gift. My sole daughter said, "give me ten dollar". And there you have it, not a card, not a crappy gift, just a bunch of people who will be getting payback on their birthdays. I can't wait.

My birthday dinner was actually last night. It seemed to make sense to stop through and eat with my parents on our way from the airport to Edenton. There were several bells that should have gone off but alas, once they did, it was too late. The majority of them center around Amos, our non verbal two year old who recently has decided he does not sit in high chairs, likely because he is too big and remembers having been a virtual stretch Armstrong the last few times I managed to shove him in one and then could hardly get him out.

Him in no chair means him should no go out to dinner, but here we were out to dinner and at seven in the evening, all who know us know we eat at 5:30. Two problems thus far, Amos' attendance and people were very hungry. Third problem was location, Pizza Inn, a place where I have fond memories of birthday parties thirty years ago but not high on my list for cuisine and the only reason I acquiesced was the buffet aspect. I know, pizza buffet on your birthday. I hope you are making the connection with me (my birthday that is now obsolete due to the children that overshadow me).

How was I to know that Pizza Inn no longer offered buffet on Sunday night? The best part was the one hour it took to make the pizza. One hour of my birthday dinner and observing Amos wreak havoc while trying to pay close attention to the photos my dad was intent on sharing with me of a wedding reception. I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I chose Amos and found him carefully touching every plastic plate and bowl right at his level, all of them waiting for the next victim at the salad bar. I placated him with one of the germ-ridden plates and loaded it with canned pears. No sooner would I be feigning my enthrallment with the photos before Amos would be off again, by this time tired of syrupy pears and looking for pizza handouts from largely elderly couples who had come for a quiet dinner. Ha.

Once the pizza arrived and Amos' plate of spaghetti came, I realized again, that I had made a terrible mistake. I am fairly certain that it was one very long continuous noodle and I live with scissors in hand at home in the kitchen and so, it was him and the spaghetti and me caught in the middle. Not to mention the gargantuan forks. My parents looked horrified, even for them, which in turn made me laugh. I was peeling bits of the lone noodle off my leg when I noticed the diaper around Amos' ankle. I voiced this observation aloud and then my oldest son said quite calmly, "I saw that but the food smelled so good". Wtf?!

Dessert pizzas were ordered to go. Blair's puffy eye was diagnosed via texting as cellulitis and so, a day at home would be my first gift. A few birthday gifts from my parents were stuffed in my car. The good bye was quicker than the one I like to think I would give my only daughter, but then I fast forward to her potential children and think I will suggest a mother daughter birthday trip instead. I have always thought the birthdays should be for the one who gave birth anyways so I will call my mom today and hope she is not scarred and wish her a happy birthday! I have given up on my own.

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