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Forgotten Days

Forgotten Days

When does expecting your children to remember to call you on your birthday and mother’s day cease? It may be when the grand finally argument occurs resulting in the surprise “no call”. Perhaps it is that the children have been raised appropriately by a good mother who was routinely their planner, organizer, and reminder; consequently, when that is not readily available, the routine simply changes. Maybe my expectations that one should remember on their own, due to natural instinct and blood relations, is asking too much. Midst all of these inner thoughts, I am tossed back and forth playing Russian roulette trying to decide which reason to choose. There is that final dreadful thought, of course, that I have been disowned! We all know that can’t be the case considering within a week after my birthday, I am being asked to give one of them a financial loan. I would like to know where that money is located they keep insisting I have so I can go retrieve it for myself!
At this point, I would even accept a smart mouthed statement of, “Hey, Granny, it’s your birthday!” Satirically speaking, the enjoyable question of “Goodness, mom, don’t you think you’ve had enough mothers’ day celebrations?” would suffice because at least they would remember! On a more serious note, the minutest unannounced recognition as they did when they were in preschool bringing home that item called a surprise gift would work. Although neither you nor anyone else could figure out what in the world was just given to you, your mind puzzle pieced together it’s distorted like outcome and turned it into a million bucks. Putting it on the refrigerator under the prettiest magnet and introducing it to the public as if it were a trophy was also in the routine.
All of my children and grandchildren are far beyond what beauty can be defined; inclusive of both personality and physical merit. Yes, from child rearing through the years of teenage mishaps, clarity of accomplishment goes without saying. Each one of them has a structure of their own to get where they believe they should go. So, I am over here still playing Russian roulette deciding whether or not I should buy each one of them a planner with mothers’ day and my birthday highlighted in ugly orange! On the contrary, I believe I am going to take their unplanned advice and treat those days without recollection or depression; rather, with equal typical day value as they have done in their long lives of wisdom at ages 22, 19, and 17. Yeah, right! One thing is for certain, this set of circumstances gives me much anticipation as to what might possibly happen next year. The children will decide.

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