Today is the anniversary of my #1 son's birthday. He is nine years old. He woke up with a smile on his face, like a kid with the knowing that gifts were forthcoming tonight. Gifts, fettucini alfredo, kielbasa, garlic toast, pound cake, and ice cream. Oh and plums. He added plums to his birthday meal request. Okay, I said. And plums. You get whatabsolutelyever you want for your birthday meal as always. You will notice the total absence of vegetables. During the meal and the opening of gifts the procession of telephone calls will begin. The entire evening will be dotted, spotted, and interrupted with them. Generally we don't answer the phone during a family meal but for birthdays we make the traditional exception. These interruptions are terrific ones. Then we sing Happy Birthday to him, but his four year old brother will end the song "HAPY BUFFDAY BRUDDA, CHA CHA CHA!". By the time #1 gets tucked into bed the smile'll be so broad and so infectious I'll be teary. Probably only a mother would understand that.
My brother's birthday is the 12th. The big family birthday party is the following weekend, and he will not get to attend, due to an emergency in his wife's family. She's out of the country tending to that emergency, and my brother, my baby brother, will spend the anniversary of his birth by himself. He is now thirty three years of age, fully grown, fully mature, and totally able, I am certain, to handle this unfortunate circumstance, but I'm not sure I am. I don't want to visualize the image of my baby brother sitting in his home alone watching TV on his birthday. I was thirteen years old when he was born and even though he's a married man with his own business, it breaks my heart that he won't have loved ones around him making him smile from ear to ear on the anniversary of his birthday. Happy buffday brudda indeed. Cha cha cha.