Happy Birthday, Old Lady

March 2nd marked the 47th birthday of my mother. A day to remember. A day to commemorate and go down in history. A day that we spend the entire month of February dreading as she prances around the kitchen in her pajamas, pointing her toe like a small child ballerina and declaring, "For my birthday month I would like concert tickets and my favorite gum and a labotomy. OOOHH and jewelry, please," after which, she skips off and leaves us all standing in the kitchen staring at one another in confusion asking ourselves how we're going to split up responsibility so that I can take care of the gum and Andrew can somehow find the mystery jewelry.

It never works out that way. I always have to find EVERYTHING and on the eve of March 2nd they come running into my room in the dark of the night, all harsh whispers and dread going "What are we going to get mom for her BIRTHDAY?" like she hasn't been threatening all of our lives with in the past six weeks. Like she didn't just do a Zumba dance she invented all on her own in the living room the other night to express how much she wants new tennis shoes. The woman could be in the middle of the pet food store and find a collar that looks "just like that bracelet she can't wait to get for her birthday". I've seen her take a conversation about pot roast and turn it into the, 'you know what also tastes great? Happiness. Like the happiness I'll feel on my birthday when you buy me Kenny Chesney and leave him under the Birthday Tree with a giant bow and no underpants on" conversation.

You get the picture. My mother is birthday specific.

Here is my mother on her 47th Birthday. Isn't she darling?

We got her the Pandora's bracelet that we thought she might have a hernia if she didn't get. We also got her a puppy calendar and this ridiculously chocolate cake that I'm still eating for breakfast on a regular basis. And if you're going to try and tell me that chocolate cake isn't good for breakfast, then you would be wrong my friend.

I'm getting a little off topic, though. What I really had intended for this post was to tell you all about my mother and I joining this new exercise class with my best friend, Beth. It's intense and insane and the last time we left my mother refused to form words and ate her cheerios in the passenger seat of her car like a pathetic soul who had just been tortured in Russia.

But I've reconsidered. This is my mother's birthday post. You don't post a picture of your mother falling out of a spandex bra after one hour of grueling exercise after her birthday.

I'll save that til this weekend. And you can best BELIEVE there will be pictures.

Happy Birthday, Mom.