I turned 37 yesterday, and nobody remembered. Granted, we had just returned home from vacation. I don't mind that some of my family missed it. My granddad doesn't even remember I'm not my mom most days, so he thinks my birthday is in January. My mom is traveling back from NC, with a stop for an MRI and visit with her neurosurgeon on the way. But, what about the people who see me most often? I wasn't looking for a big stack of presents & a party. A handmade card and a 7-year-old's rendition of "Happy Birthday" on the piano would have sufficed. A single mention to the kids by their father would have sent them scurrying off to do their own special planning. He didn't have to do anything other than point it out.
I gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. But during the day, there were no secret whisperings. No request for picking up cake mix & muffin cups on my grocery trip. Nothing. Just laundry, breaking up fights, and the normal battle to get children to stick to chores & music practice.
At 5:30, while making dinner, I'd had enough. I made the following announcement: "I'm fixing dinner, then leaving for a run. It's my birthday, and I'm going to spend at least some of it doing something for me."
I came home to three homemade cards. The kids are wonderful. They were upset they'd missed it. I consider everyone forgiven, but it's going to be quite sometime before the person who dropped the ball is off my polite list. This wasn't the first time this has happened. Not even the second or third.
A small mention from me is all it took to get the kids are working on their Father's Day stuff this week. I can't help but be saddened by the lopsided message they're getting. It's important to remember Dad, but okay to forget Mom. I debated dropping out of all preparations, but it's not the fault of the kids.
On a happier note, the run worked. I came home too tired to be angry.
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