My super-cool mom is having a birthday today. I could list one reason I'm glad she was born for every year she's been alive, but I won't, for two reasons in particular:
1. I just barely finished putting together one PRESENT for every year she's been alive and I'm all out of creative juice.
2. If I did that, you would know how old she is. And I learned very young that you don't just go tell the internet how old a woman is.
For example, when I was 4 years old, I shouted to the neighbor across the street how old my mom was turning for her birthday, and then that neighbor chastised me ("You never EVER say a woman's age"). It seemed weird to me then: I mean, at that point in my life, my age was the first piece of information everyone asked me for. And I dutifully held up my four little fingers and said something that sounded like, "Foe. I'm foe yeews ode."
I'm off track. It doesn't really matter how many years my mom has been around—I'm just glad she has been. She better stick around for many, many more.
Hugs. Happy birthday, Mom.