It was my Birthday yesterday. You’d think I was important or something. My social media just lit up like a celebration – Facebook and Twitter just loved on me like nobody’s business. I kinda liked it.
Family showed up with phone calls, emails, texts, cards, drop-in visits – a multimedia extravaganza.
I was given food – my mom bought me lunch, my hubby ordered dinner, my mother-in-law brought my unique “cake” which is a hollowed out half cantaloupe with a riot of different fruit filling it to bursting so that a candle can sit inside it. Truth be told, I don’t love cake people. I know, relax. It’s a travesty. But these “fruit cakes” (fairly apt for me) were the result of a gaffe one year that saw my actual cake landing on the basement floor behind the freezer and this was my MIL’s save. Ever since, she spoils me with the reminder. It’s kinda awesomesauce.
There were gifts. Everything I asked for actually. Umbrella, nice insulated lunch bag, key chains (I got a few so I have lots of options), nice boots, a bubble tea outing with my girl, shirts that I spotted, a gift card for books. All of these are appreciated, and perfect for me.
But then I got these:
“Thanks for always being there and supporting me. You are still the #1 Mom”.
“Thank you so much for always being there for me, even when I don’t answer your texts and am grumpy. I am profoundly thankful that we are able to talk about anything and everything…”
And, this tweet:
Ummm…I’m a caress on his soul people.
My seventeen year old son actually wrote the words #1 Mom.
And my nineteen year old daughter likes me.
So, as far as birthdays go, this one was so much more than enough.