This sucks. Every November 10th for the last twenty-five years has been guaranteed face time with my son. We've been together since he put his hand in his very first (and oh, so, not the last) chocolate cake. We've celebrated at Chuckie Cheese, batting cages, go-kart tracks, arcades and laser tag venues. I've watched as he unwrapped stuffed animals, nerf guns, video games, and snowboarding equipment. I've baked Ninja Turtle cupcakes, fudge layer cakes, and Peanut Blossom cookies. For twenty-five years I've had a ringside seat at every one of his birthdays and now, when he's residing in a beautiful place like Colorado, where am I on his big day? A thousand miles away.
I really thought I'd be there for this one, too. My hubby and I had kicked around the idea of surprising him, showing up on his doorstep in time to whip up one of his favorite chocolate concoctions and treat him to some fancy dinner in Denver. But one thing after another conspired against us. Our son is still spending every waking hour on the job hunt and my husband had to schedule some important meetings this week. So, instead of celebrating the birth of my incredible son in person, I am forced to post mushy messages and old photos on Facebook and hope that his package of goodies got there in time. Maybe, if we're lucky, we'll be able to catch him on Skype later.
It's bad form to ditch your mother on the anniversary of the date she brought you into the world, isn't it?
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