So – another birthday has come and gone. All told, it was a pretty great weekend.

It started out with dinner and the theatre on Friday evening with Ann and Wendy, while Matthew stayed at home with the kids. The show was “The Book of Liz” at the Garfield in Chestertown. It was a great show and will run through next weekend, so if you haven’t had the chance to see it, try to come see it!

Saturday night Bob had a free meal ticket at the dining hall up at the college, so he splurged and took me out before we headed to see Last Vegas together, while Matthew stayed home with the kids. I have to admit, I enjoyed it immensely, but I can’t tell if it was because movies are such a rare treat, or if it was because I was still reeling from the top-notch cafeteria meal, or if it was because Matthew was staying home with the kids.

And Sunday was my birthday. While Matthew slaved away putting together this:

and this:

and THIS:

Kato and August worked on making me birthday cards:

and Alden explained to me all of the various details of her birthday card:

(if you’re curious, Alden was wearing her Halloween costume, Baba was there visiting, Donald and Ann were swinging Baby Charlotte between them and I only got three balloons because she didn’t want to waste any more time drawing and wanted to lick the frosting out of the mixing bowl).

Kato was then enlisted to decorate the cake:

but quit once he discovered he wasn’t allowed to press the toppings all the way down into the cake.

August was brought on as his replacement:

but was fired once we noticed he was swiping the toppings for his own use.

We finally found a successful hire in Alden, who very carefully decorated the cake in concentric rings with a smile on her face.

It turns out my philosophy of fair payment in dessert stock is a good one.

It was so nice to spend such quality time with my family and my friends, but this time of year is always bittersweet for me because the 15th was also the anniversary of mom’s death. I remember once hearing somewhere about a tradition in which you actually celebrate your MOTHER on your own birthday, giving HER gifts, because she’s the one who brought you into the world. I think of that often and think it is a lovely idea, but am not really interested in putting it into practice now because, well, it would really only be self-serving. I just wish I had thought to do it while Mom was still around. I think about how, 38 years ago, she was lying in the hospital, full of excitement and anticipation (or was it exhaustion? It breaks my heart that I never thought to ask) – waiting to meet me. I think of all of the many questions that I would ask now, as a mother myself, about how she did things or why she did things or what she felt about this or that. I think about how my kids have missed out on feeling the love that she could radiate with a smile, the sass she could convey with the twinkle in her eye, that grounded sense of comfort I felt just knowing she would take care of me when I needed it. And that comfort feels especially absent on my birthday, somehow, in spite of the fact that Matthew has done a bang-up job of learning how to make my favorite jello cake.

But though it makes me sad, it also makes me grateful, which is not a bad place to be on your birthday as you teeter toward forty. She was, unequivocally, the best. I am so very lucky to be able to call her my mom, and I am so thankful that I was the little baby that she met that day 38 years ago. Happy My Birthday, Mom.

Thanks for everything.