Of Birthdays, Mom, and Tuscan Soup

Today is my birthday. Ta da! Another year older. Ta da!

As you may surmise, I am extraordinarily grateful to be celebrating another birthday, as opposed to the only other alternative (of which I'm aware).

I don't know if anyone feels the same, but I always feel a bit "special" on my birthday. The people whom I love make me feel that way, and that causes my child's heart to peek out from behind my adult heart. Were there gifts involved? Oh yes. But they weren't the kind that come wrapped in shiny paper and tied up with fancy bows. They came, instead, in words and actions, and I'm feeling particularly warm and fuzzy as a result.

There is a fragrant, steaming pot of my favorite Tuscan Chicken soup simmering on the stove, courtesy of my husband (and his culinary talent). There is a quart of decadent Friendly's Ice Cream Sandwich ice cream in our freezer (again, courtesy of my husband). There were the phone calls and e-mails from family and friends, all with happy birthday wishes.

Life can be simple and life can be good, and I feel blessed.

Speaking of being blessed, I spoke to my mom today. She called and sang me "Happy Birthday" over the phone, and I thanked her for having me. It's a yearly ritual of which I'll never tire. In fact, I can't imagine a birthday without that little exchange. My mom is an extraordinary woman, and I regret that I'm not more like her. She has an uncanny ability to connect with people. She has a "gift of gab" that I have always envied. (Me? Once I get past "Hi" and "How are you?", I'm about done). She remembers everything about people. She remembers things from MY past that I can't even recall.

She cares about people.

My mom has four children, three girls and one boy. I'm one of the girls. My siblings and I are all either four or five years apart in age. Mom said she did that so each of us would have the chance to be "the baby" for a few years. I happen to believe she couldn't bear not having a little one at home with her, and as soon as one kid was shuttled off to kindergarten, another baby came along.

I'm sure my mom doesn't know this, but there is something she said to me one day (during the course of a casual conversation) that has always stayed with me. Her words were "I loved being a mommy."

Five simple words.

Five simple words that speak volumes.

Five simple words that help me understand that I am the person I am, because of her.

So mom, I thank you...for you having loved....."being my mommy".

Okay, here's a poem.

I couldn't have children, so this is one I wrote about the atrocities we all read about every day in the newspaper. I wrote it a few years ago, and was surprised to learn just recently that it's one of my poems that touched my mom the most.

I guess that's because she "loved being a mommy".

Healer with a Hoover,
Clean up the mess,
Baggie toss in a landfill

Incubator hand jive
Chillin' in glass
For a formula fix

Back alley drop off
Cracker jack prize
in a silver pail

Underwater wrestler
Bubbles and burns
in a porcelain grave

Dream burglar in flannel
Wailing wrecking ball
on a nursery wall

Milk carton M.I.A.
Anatomic ashtray

Junk mail from heaven