A Birthday
2004-09-30, 11:34 a.m.

Thursday�s fortune:

You have an important new business development shaping up.

It could be one of two things. One, I have stuff I really ought to list on eB@y. Second, after today�s birthday card purchase, I just might cross over into having controlling financial interest in H@llmark.

Today is Mama�s birthday, and she and Significant Other are on their way here from South Carolina. Although I�ve been cleaning the house, getting things nice and tidy, bought her the mums she wanted for her gift, will have a cake and will take her out to eat, none of that will matter if I DON�T HAVE HER A CARD. I could gift wrap a million-dollar bankroll, build her a life-size replica of the Taj Mahal with my toes, but it would all be for naught without THE CARD.

The home medical equipment guy should be here in an hour or so to deliver S.O.�s breathing-in-a-bottle, and after that Son and I are heading to The Maul to buy THE CARD. It doesn�t help that THE CARD store is directly across the aisle from THE TOY store. Son still has $25 of birthday money to burn, the fact of which he will no doubt remind me every 3.2 seconds while I am trying desperately to find the perfect THE CARD. THE CARD must be somewhat large, preferably grander and more costly than the gift itself, appropriately mushy and sentimental. There must also be another THE CARD from the grandchildren, on whom the significance of a stupid THE CARD is completely lost, a sentiment echoed by Hubby and myself. So, enjoy my wretched angst today as I plow through thousands of rows of overpriced glorified construction paper while Son bleats for action figures. Another fun outing to The Maul.

I gripe, but of course my mother is worth it. She has some amazing talents, one of which is the ability to fall uphill. It was no shock that she went flailing off our three-inch-high-brightly-lit-porch at our first apartment. You can stand behind her and whisper �Incline!� and down she goes. Her most remarkable feat was the night before our wedding. We were headed out the door for the rehearsal. Mama chose that moment to conveniently forget that, although they built the house in 1973 and it was now 1990, there are STEPS leading down from the back door into the garage. She took one small step for man, one giant leap for mothers nervous about daughters getting married, and made a massive ungainly swoop over all four steps onto the garage floor. She grated her lower leg into shreds on the brick steps, but DID NOT GET A RUN IN HER PANTYHOSE. She may have been bleeding, but, importantly, she did NOT have a fashion emergency. Systems were go.

Mama is one of an old breed, a gin-u-wine Southern Belle. She can recall the days before they had indoor plumbing and electricity just as clearly as she can the beauty pageants she won for both her looks and poise. She puts on pantyhose and a skirt to get comfortable and relax, but she could pop right up and shoot the wings off a fly at 200 yards if she felt so inclined. Or if you messed with her. Three words: Concealed Weapons Permit. Be afraid, be very afraid. I am. She gets her hair done at the beauty parlor, puts on the makeup (Must. Have. Lipstick.) and perfume-by-the-gallon and stockings, all to ride over to the farm with S.O. to help feed the cows. And my Lord, can she party. At any given time she has a house full of little old people armed with blenders. VERY HAPPY old folk, might I add. I have few worries about Daughter partying wildly as she enters her teens. Instead I�m preparing bail money for my mother and her cronies. Gawd, I�m getting an ulcer�

So today marks 72 years of a long good life, and I pray there will be many more to come. Pass the Tums and the Kevlar. We�re off to buy THE CARD.

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