Happy Birthday To My Mom

Happy birthday mom. As people get older I think birthdays are kind of less important, unless you get to a milestone. And guess what... MILESTONE!!! Party time. I didn't get my invite but I haven't checked the mail in a couple of weeks so maybe it's sitting in the box, but if I wasn't invited that's cool. (True story: I was not invited to my parent's 25th anniversary party. No joke. But it's really just because my brothers planned it all and each assumed the other had invited me. Seriously. There's not a hint of acrimony in our family.)

But back to you, mom. I have no idea why I told you that anniversary bit. You already knew that.

As the years go on I have learned to appreciate all the things you have done for me. I have also become aware of all the things I have done to you. There have been lots of moments where I've thought, “Look at that kid. Surely I would never have been like that when I was growi---OH MY GOSH I used to be exactly like that. What a horrible kid I was.”

Except you've told me many times that I wasn't a horrible kid. In fact you've told many times that I'm your favorite (which would really suck to find out that you said the same thing to my brothers in an effort to exact good behavior out of us). While I know I was not a horrible kid, I've found out I was a kid that liked to eat.

Alas, I know it's not just me but my brothers as well. We all have the same condition: we're huge. All over 6ft. And as a big, strong, handsome boy---in order to turn in to a big, strong, handsomer man---I required food. Lots of food. Most of the time, that food was yours.

That's not to say that it was you that worked hard for our food and we ate it. I mean that it literally was the food you had prepared for yourself or put on your plate. I can still hear your voice ringing out.”Who ate my sandwich? Where did my pop go? I was gonna finish those chips. I hadn't even put milk in my cereal yet. I leave the table for three minutes to go to the bathroom and the casserole 'must've disappeared'?”

I have also realized that there is an age barrier for when this practice become acceptable. When a small kid come up and asks for a bite of my sandwich or a wedge of orange or a sip of my tea or a cookie, I'll usually oblige. But then at some point it usually hits me. I'll think to myself, “Man, I really was looking forward to that cookie, somehow eating half of it just isn't as satisfying. But oh well, they're only 6 or 8 years old, they could use a cookie.”

As the childing asking to share in snacks increases in age, so usually does the quantity they find an acceptable sharing portion. Somebody in your house studying? Break out an orange. Offer a quarter if to them. See the look in their eyes that says, “Thanks, but ummm.... this is so small that if I eat it I'm just gonna be unsatisfied. And then the hunger takes control. Then things are gonna get ugly” Next thing you know most the orange is gone.

There's also the numbers side to it. If you give a kid a snack, four more are going to pop out of the woodwork. If there's a group of kids in my house playing games and I pass around a plate of cookies, the cookies don't even make it halfway around the room before disappearing.

The big revelation is that the food, even when it is mine, has ceased to become mine and has become “ours”. Unless I run inside my house, shut the door and draw the blinds, food is “ours”. It's not technically ours, it's mine. I can say no, but as soon as one kid gets part of a pineapple, there are six more kids that want part of my pineapple.

And so I guess that take-away is happy birthday, mom. And be thankful I'm not there to steal your birthday cake.