The time my mother had to remind her of her own birthday

You'll never meet a more awesome 49 year old angel. Nor one as sneaky.

Here's a story about my mother.

Too bad if you don't want to read it, because I'm not writing anything else. Go read something less indulging if you've got such a problem with mother-boy cheese. I think A Clockwork Orange, 1984 and the like are light on respect for mothers. I don't suggest Hamlet or anything by Freud - they tend to take it to the next level.

Anyway, this woman I know - quite well actually, as she happens to be my mother - is a rather respectable individual.
...Respectable? That's the kind of word to use to describe a donation, or hierarchical status. To make matters worse, "individual" is the kind of word used for garden variety members of society. I'm not off to such a good start. I don't think of my mother as big on hierarchy, nor is she at all anything as common as to come from a garden. All the varieties of my mother are far more...gourmet.
Indeed, gourmet. A tasty chick. Oh crap, did it again, let me rephrase. "If you were to eat my mother, you.."...you know what, lets just drop the food analogies.

One interesting fact about this woman is for all that I think she's worth (see: Mastercard ads), she's actually probably not "worth" much at all. Ah ah ah - what I mean is, I don't think I've ever really seen her indulge time and money on something just for herself. Every dollar or afternoon she spends tends to be used to help someone, especially her spoilt-rotten kids. Well, besides her book collection. But then again, she's a librarian, so we'll give her that under "work resources". In order for me to claim the same, I'd have to be a film directing, software developing, bar-tending musician. Who owned a clothing outlet.
Oh yes, she's kind. But sure, lots of people are kind. Mother Teresa was kind. Lassie was kind. But my mum's no bitch. 3 reasons my mother is better than Lassie:
- My mother isn't arrogant enough to have multiple films made about herself (I can't even get her to star in vacation videos)
- My mother would never stand outside and yap until you paid attention to her
- Her glossy long curls don't have fleas

Plus, have you ever slept in the same bed as a dog before? My mum is way better to sleep with. Ahhhhh Where's the delete key on this Japanese keyboard?

My mother would also be my favoured choice to be stranded on a desert island with, because I have a feeling that no matter how deserted it was, she'd still cook for 6 people and find SOME way to make cookies. I wouldn't even have to be on the island - she'd probably mail them to me.

So when February 7 rolls around, I always try and take some time of my busy "me-schedule" to give her some love and respect(able individuality) she deserves. Doesn't matter if I'm not in the country - a mail and a chat would do her just fine. But what did I have to do? I had to go and get busy and forget what day it was. I'd only been staring at the calendar all day, trying to figure out how to expedite our production lead-time. There it was, the 7 staring at me like a lucky roll on a craps table. Lucky seven. Lucky me, to have such a great mum. But all I could see was weeks in advance: 18s and 25s and Marchs (well, just the one).
Don't blame me too much. Like my mum, the 7 wasn't yapping. It was smiling secretly, bemused and slightly proud of my distinguished concentration-lines on my forehead. It was probably thinking that I shouldn't have shaved my beard the other day, because it thinks a bit of stubble suits me.
What did my mother do after the 7 reminded her there was only a few hours left for her son to call her on her birthday, and that she might want to do something about it? Oh not much - just sidled up on MSN and popped me a subtle message: "February 7 is a great day, isn't it". Ho-shit.
Since WHEN is it already Feb 7? Was I in a coma? I remember it being Feb 1, and thinking "righto, a week to get your act together boyo". But time did a number on me (namely 7), and suddenly I was staring down the dual barrels of guilt and shame. "After all your mother's done for you...", "She never asks for much..." "Just a simple phone call - it doesn't cost the world, does it?" went the invisible parental figure in my head. Not my mother - no way would she ever say something like that. I think I probably created an alter-ego mum in my mind years ago, that says all the annoying mum things she never would - otherwise I'd have turned out a complete self-infatuated prick who truly believed I was the greatest thing in the world. My mum is sneaky like that - she'd never say whinging things like that, so all the guilt I build on myself can't be blamed on her. Tricky little thing, isn't she.

Anyway, for all the feelings of self-worthlessness and stupidity, and with all the humble pie choking my throat, was I worried? Depressed, that I might have let her down? Apprehensive about what she might think?

....
nah. My mum's easy to deal with. Just tell her you love her and there's no way she'd hold anything against you.

Happy Birthday Mum.