Just Another Day [RANT]

Yes, I am a grown woman who is still quite precious about her birthday. When my employment came with the benefit of days off, that was the day I took every year, without question. It didn’t matter if I stayed at home, curled up with a book and kitties, or my friends lured me out for dinner and random hijinks. I claimed my birthday as my day.

(For perspective, my boss kept pointing out how I rarely used vacation days. He also kept suggesting mental health days. I could go for one of those now.)

As a mom, clearly I share my summer days with the tiny humans I made. I miss my own mom, who honestly went through quite a bit to bring me into the world. I may joke about having the shoulders of a very short linebacker, but that proved less of a joke during the birthing process. But here I am and my mother may have forgiven me. I can’t exactly ask for reassurance from her at the moment, but I continue to forgive my little loves tor denying me sleep, so maybe…

Back to me being precious. I declared my day of celebration as mine this year by deciding how my three loves could entertain me. Fortunately, they let me drop off to sleep before my actual birthday started. My body made sure I woke up multiple times before the sun rose, but that is just part of the joy of celebrating so many birthdays.

When I was finally ready to start celebrating me, I got to do so by waiting for the opportunity to wash off birthday eve and start with a clean slate. At least someone got to leisurely do as they pleased on my birthday morning. 

I made my own breakfast. I made my own cake. 

My email gifted me laughs with an invitation to join a relationship coaching academy. My constant assertions that I should have committed to being a hobbit hermit don’t stem from a deep-seated love for damp, moldy-smelling caves with spiders nesting in my hair while I sleep. I mean, I wouldn’t rule it out, but I am sure the spiders and I would annoy each other eventually. In other words, no one really wants me as a relationship coach though I can tell you some things that definitely don’t work.

Real life gifted better. One tiny love presented me with a tiny, squishable Grogu. The other selected a necklace that declares “I heart you”. A friend released a new book for me to read on my kindle. My bonus parents found a replacement for one of my ruined books. The tallest love presented me with a cozy shirt pointing back toward our first meeting. Then he played chauffeur for the rest of my demands for the day. I selected matching earrings and a necklace featuring lovely butterflies (anyone know why that is important?) with red flowers and what appears to be a nod to mother-of-pearl. 

Then we went to the Cheesecake Factory for my birthday lunch. Usually, our service there is stellar. In fact, we had a waiter who has provided such service in the past. Yet somehow, my birthday brought on its own luckless abandon. We placed our orders. No problem. Beverages and delicious bread arrived. No problems. We placed our orders. Still good.

Then the food began to arrive. They brought one child’s meal and my husband’s meal. Another wave of servers came toward us. They delivered plates to people who ordered after us. Some time elapsed while my husband stared at his hamburger morosely as he waited for my food to arrive. At last, our final food got carried to our table. Almost. My dressing, as I ordered it on the side, got lost in translation. My husband tucked happily into his burger. I requested my dressing. Waiting resumed. 

I finally got to eat my salad when most of the other food had already disappeared from plates. But that’s okay because after cleaning my plate, it was time to order dessert. I had decided I wanted the Very Cherry Ghirardelli® Chocolate Cheesecake. Delicious and sharable with my picky children. I was informed that this flavor has been discontinued. Then the waiter disappeared.

My body, which I may have mentioned is cranky and old, demanded I make my way to the bathroom. I informed my husband of this and he made it clear I needed to stay put until the waiter returned to take my dessert order. I couldn’t give an accurate accounting of how long his return took, since I was uncomfortable. I eventually had to flag him down. I ordered the pecan turtle cheesecake. I wasn’t thinking clearly. This was not sharable. I tried. Complaints were lodged. Repeatedly as I tried. 

I enjoyed my cheesecake as much as one can with such grumbling. Then we moved on to our next adventure. A few years ago, both of my tiny loves scored new friends at Build-A-Bear for my birthday. We got some gift cards for future use. I decided that it was time to make my own friend. It was pointed out to me that a sale meant one could get two stuffies with only an extra $15. I think the idea was to repeat letting the littles each get a friend. I got exasperated sighs when I suggested the children each pick a sale eligible friend and I would get whatever inspired my little heart. Twice.

My little heart wanted two kitties. My little ones selected a cat and a dog that had coloring inspired by ice cream. We somehow kept the overhead, after gift cards, small. We took our friends home for snuggles and the hope of more cake.

I assure you there was more cake. Layers and layers of lovely cake. I posted a picture on substack. I may still be working my way through said cake, slowly, and with massive amounts of sharing because this cake was impressively large as my cakestrosities must be to celebrate my birth properly.

 

Anyway, I rounded out the day in bed with my tiniest angel because her “heart hurt”. I keep telling her I will hug and kiss her without subterfuge, so I spent the night worrying.

Gifts continue to trickle through though. Much like the cake, they bring back the joy of getting older. Two friends let me love on their kitties. Few images bring the joy of a chubby orange tabby bounding down the stairs to see you or tiny Siamese kittens trying to steal the toe beans of your youngest child (also on the stairs--maybe I need more stairs in my life?) Another friend treated my children and I to lunch at my favorite Queen. Well, not my absolute favorite. This one didn’t feature an Eskimo girl or a view of my birthplace from the entrance. But it was delicious.

I guess I must take the good and the bad. Anyone else suddenly want to watch “The Fact of Life”?

Birthday Bashes [RANT]

Just a reminder that my substack has gone live with paid posts. You can subscribe for free and get all the free posts delivered to your inbox or pay a little and get every post sent to you. I priced the subscription as low as possible and have been posting at least twice a week. Summer has kept me busy, so most posts have been poetry, but I have high hopes to get more short stories out in the fall. In the meantime, wish me a happy birthday by letting me know what strikes your fancy here or there.

My brain keeps refusing to let me sleep until I address its need to write poems about various dark creatures. If I didn’t have an angel on the other shoulder prompting me to write light pieces, I might be concerned. have been posting these sweeter pieces for all subscribers because the world needs more light. I guess that means we pay for darkness. Seems valid.

The rest of the week has been devoted to pre-birthday celebrations. I have eaten cheesecake and Italian food. I have been carefully working through the freebies that find their way into my inbox. I have to get something for letting different places send me propaganda almost daily. 

Even better, my girls continued their camp happiness this week. Yesterday was their last day of camp, so they performed a cute little hula show for us. Of course, my brain thinks it is funny and halfway through a song about “hula hands”, it decided we were singing about Major Hoolihan from “M.A.S.H.”, so I apologize to my husband and friend who were sitting next to me for my snickers. I didn’t limit them to that song as I dropped my phone directly on my face while trying to make video to share later, preferably with shy boyfriends who are already terrified of me.

Clearly, I will not be taking up videography as a job any time soon, but I still think I missed my calling as baker. Luckily, I get to bake cakes for some of my adopt-a-family. I also keep forcing people to eat delicious brownies because otherwise I will eat them all myself. Please don’t let me eat all of the brownies myself. I do not wish to buy new clothes.

Anyway, my birthday swiftly approaches and we’re supposed to be celebrating again today with a little family trip to eat Italian food. Yes, I might be addicted to deliciousness.

Life’s a Party: Part 2 [RANT]

One of the many roles I take on as a mom is party planner. My youngest decided to make her arrival at the beginning of May, so sometimes her birthday falls on Mother’s Day. Not this year, but I already had a commitment on the Saturday closest to her birthday, so I got to plan multiple celebrations.

Technically, her first party was at Nana’s. This preceded me falling down the well of microfilm of obsession and was planned by Nana. My duties for event centered around releasing new friends from packaging as fast as presents could be unwrapped and consolidating Christmas, Easter, and birthday gifts, so we left behind as little as possible. We succeeded to the point that no meltdowns resulted.  I think I was also expected to eat a quarter of a sheet cake in a twenty-four hour period, but I did not accept that challenge.

So the first celebration that required my attention was a treat to be shared with friends. Some parents send in little gift bags, but I am a major slacker and skipped that stress. I decided to send in Tastycake Krimpets. The kids love them. We are close to Philadelphia. Perfect, right?

Nope. As I walked my daughter home from the bus stop, which happens to be on a busy road with cars zipping by and revving their engines as they blow past buses with their stop sign out, she informed me that I didn’t send in enough treats. I strained to hear her explanation until it finally made sense.

I sent in twenty-four cakes for a class of eighteen. They happened to be twin packs, which I have sent in before. It just means the teacher has to separate them and give each child one krimpet not a two pack. But there was a sub. And the sub didn’t do math. And the sub told my daughter to start passing out packages of cakes. Luckily, it sounds like the first graders figured it out and shared, but I still got whined at all the way home. And I am a mama who doesn’t like my child to be upset or disappointed if I can help it. There are enough disappointments in life that I can do nothing about.

Part of the reason I didn’t load all the kids up on sugar is that this was my daughter’s actual birthday. I knew that she would be having cake at home with just the family. We did place a video call so her aunt and nana could watch her open gifts. She seemed excited about all of my carefully selected offerings. Dad got credit. Nana commented on how much stuff we bought her though it was significantly less than the birthday gifts she got at her first event. Then we sang and let her have her tiny cake from Nothing Bundt Cakes that I made look like Hello Kitty. Then, she played with her toys and insisted that all of them needed to join the hoard already overflowing her bed. Happy Baby! Happy Mama! Goal Achieved.

Now, I needed to focus on her actual party with friends not just people who share her genetics. At this point, none of the seventeen kids from her class had responded to the invitations I sent in. Thankfully, I bravely invited some other friends, so I knew at least four other kids could make it. This meant squeezing them into our house, the three usable rooms between me not wanting to tidy the upstairs and the basement still needing remediation from a flood in December.

I spent the next week monitoring the weather and tidying and re-tidying my house because rain and the threat of rain made it impossible to prep or plan for an outdoor party. Saturday ended up being a sunny day, but our backyard was still wet and overgrown, so we squeezed into the house. I dubbed it a success. Confetti cake was enjoyed. Gifts were opened and appreciated Even the adults seemed to have fun.

Of course, my tasks didn’t end there. I needed to tidy again. And someday, I need to find more room for all of the goodies Thing 2 got before Thing 1 has a birthday. 

And why didn’t I post? I got asked to give a talk at church last Sunday, so I got sidetracked by that. (Would you like me to post that for your perusal?)

Then Memorial Day wanted celebrated. I joined friends from church for breakfast in the park. I made some apple cider donuts. Boiling down the cider to make it more concentrated took more time than shaping the donuts.

We also had friends over for dinner, so I decided to make four desserts. I get excited when other people who eat a variety of foods show up. One of the desserts was brownies, so everyone could be happy. I made a yummy blueberry cobbler and save a couple of donut holes for sharing. I also made lemon strawberry pie, which didn’t set well, but I had ice cream because it goes with every dessert I chose, so it became a topping.

I may still be cleaning up from that  event by eating the few stray brownies.

So life is a party and I am the planner.

And it is not a small task.

The Real Surprise [FICTION]

 “Come for dinner on your birthday?” Mom asked hopefully.

Though I had been thinking about spending the day with my friends, I couldn’t say no to my mother. After all, she did all the work of getting me here. Besides, only she knew the magic formula to make my favorite cake just right.

“Okay, mom. I’d love to!”

Her squeal of delight clued me in to expect more than just cake perfection, but I decided not to worry about it. (Seriously, that cake is worth any number of uncomfortable inconveniences.)

—

Two weeks later, I stood at her door, bearing flowers and a box of her favorite gourmet cookies. Like any good hobbit, I give gifts on my birthday. As the door opened, my mother pulled me into her arms and squeezed me so tight that I was sure I would need an ophthalmologist to pop my eyes back into place. I was so distracted by my bulging eyes, the chorus of surprise that greeted me in the dining room elicited the reaction she hoped for.

“Hello, everyone,” I squeaked out slowly as my swollen orbs took in the amazing array of friendly sardines packed into the room.

Nestled among familiar friends and infamous family, two faces stood out. Each sported traces of food from the buffet on their round, jovial faces. The similarities ended there. One sported a long, green cloak and light brown curls falling into his eyes. The other wore not a stitch of clothing but maintained modesty with blue fur.

I turned to my mother, whispering in awe, “How did you get Cookie Monster and Samwise to come to my party?”

“Never doubt a mother’s love.” She beamed at me.

I radiated light of my own until I turned back to my guests. My eyes instantly sought out my most unexpected guests. Sam and Cookie eyed each other suspiciously. Then they turned away from each other and casually approached the buffet table, which took a cue from Pittsburgh weddings and featured an array of cookies and treats. They selected items from opposite ends of the table and devoured them with relish, moving away from the table as other guests surveyed their options. I lost sight of them as my mother presented me with a generous portion of cake. I nibbled on a bite of ganache before delving deeper into the layers of wonder.

“Are you enjoying your party?” My mother sought reassurance a little later.

I smiled around my last bite of cake and nodded my head emphatically.

“Here. Let me get you another piece. It is your big day after all.”

As I allowed my mother to plate another huge slice of birthday cake for me, my attention strayed from pleasing my taste buds to increased activity around the cookie table. At the center of the table, a giant cookie cake remained untouched. No one had worked up the courage to slice through the heap of frosting roses atop the chocolate chip laden treasure. But now two contenders stood ready to take on the challenge of not just one piece but the whole sugar-infused creation. 

Cookie’s mouth hung open in surprise as his hand met Sam’s on the edge of the decorative tray. “Me eat cookie…”

“No, I want this one.” Sam’s eyes strayed lovingly over the sweet floral accents.

“But me want it…”

“I think you should finish the crumbs in your fur first, you big blue orc.”

“Me no orc. You obviously eat enough.” Cookie reached out to pat Sam’s prodigious tummy with a hint of affection.

“I’m a hobbit. We are made this way.” Sam’s eyes narrowed as he placed his hand more firmly on the tray holding the coveted confection.

One of my friends stepped forward to suggest that they share, but neither Cookie Monster nor Samwise acknowledged that he had spoken. Cookie placed his own furry mitt next to Sam’s and they leaned forward to challenge each other with narrowed eyes. Then they both hoisted the cookie as if controlled by one mind and turned with open mouths. The cookie splatted both of their faces, sticking firmly thanks to the roses. As they ate their way through their portion, crumbs and drips of frosting shot across the room.

“Well, honey, glad you’re having a sweet birthday,” my mother laughed as sweet crumbs and icing drops rained down around us.

—

This one was a struggle because I was supposed to pick my two favorite characters, but picking a favorite is impossible. I figured limiting it to Humanoids might make it easier, but then I thought too hard about cookies. I hope I chose wisely and made someone giggle besides myself. Also, feel free to mail me gifts or send me gift cards. Hobbits love giving and receiving after all.