It’s fall again
Fall is my favorite season. I love watching the leaves change colors, I love the crunching sound they make when you step on them, I love how they make the sidewalks and streets look like a beautiful carpet, I love the way the air smells different, and I love when Halloween candy goes on sale. But this year, the fall season surprised me. I am not really sure why.
I turned around and it was fall. Again. How did that happen? And it was my birthday. Again. When did that happen? I love my birthday. Though I love it a lot less since my dad died. It feels weird celebrating a day when one of the people responsible for that day isn’t here anymore. Is that a strange way to think? I have no idea, but that is where my head is.
Truth is, the main reason why I always loved my birthday is because, as a boy mom, it was the only day that I could declare a “day off.” (Aside from Mother’s Day, which is a whole different story now because Oreos don’t celebrate Mother’s Day. They say it is because every day is Mother’s Day, but we won’t go there right now.) As for it being an actual “day off,” that didn’t really happen either, but it is such a blessing to be a mom that I never complained. Yup, let’s go with that, I never complained.
My sister’s birthday is the day before mine. Our age difference seems to get smaller every year. How is that possible? It’s like the hill that Husband #1 and I walk up to get home from synagogue. Every year it gets a little steeper. How did I push a double stroller up that hill all those years ago?
Is global warming making the incline steeper? Is global warming making the age difference between my sister and me smaller? Why not?
Ever year on my birthday, I think about birthdays past. Like my 13th birthday, when I had a sleepover party and we watched the movie “Jaws.” One of my friends was too scared to watch it. My dad thought that was humorous for some reason.
Husband #1 made me a surprise 30th birthday party. I remember that Son #2 woke up during the party and came down the stairs, all adorable and sleepy-eyed. We let him stay up for cake.
And now I am 54. For Strudel, that is five fingers on one hand and four fingers on the other hand. I am so grateful for every birthday. Heck, I am grateful for every morning that I can wake up, get out of bed, and go to the bathroom by myself. Every day is a gift. But actual gifts are nice, too. Who am I kidding?
My very adorable Oreos sent me breakfast on my birthday and they signed the gift message from my daughters-in-law. They are clever, those boys of mine. Included in my birthday breakfast were two bagels, for Husband #1 to take for lunch. Because, no matter what I did, do, and hopefully will continue to do, he will always be the favorite parent. And that is okay.
As any seasoned mother will tell you, it is a thankless job. I do all the cooking, cleaning, shopping, nurturing, cheerleading, baking, and diaper-changing — and everyone loves papa. He should live and be well.
This year, because Husband #1 is the best, he got me his favorite birthday cake for my birthday. That didn’t go over very well with his extremely sensitive and unappreciative wife. How can I complain when my husband got me a birthday cake? I will tell you. I have been married to him for 29 years. I know his favorite cake. I know everyone’s favorite cake. Granted, the last thing I need is cake, but what can you do? I am still grateful.
And the best present of all arrived the evening after my birthday, when Strudel’s parents brought her over to surprise me with a sleepover. As some of you may recall, since it was only a few weeks ago, we changed the clocks, so I got an extra hour with Strudel.
And so my 55th year has begun and my birthday wishes to everyone are good health, happiness, the safe return of the hostages, safety to all of the soldiers who are defending our beautiful country of Israel, and peace.
Blow out the candles….
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck did not buy any Halloween candy on sale or otherwise because her teeth are slowly falling apart….
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