Why Does SHE Get Flowers On MY Birthday?

When I was a little girl, I remember waking up and seeing a fresh bouquet of roses waiting in the kitchen. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but it was my birthday.

YUCK, I don’t want flowers for my birthday.

I’m a kid. I want Barbies, candy, toys, new clothes (not the Goodwill hand-me-downs), Atari games, and Babysitter Club books.

What? The roses aren’t for me? All of a sudden I care.

But it’s MY birthday. I am the center of the atmosphere today.

The flowers are for my mom. A gift of thanks from my dad.

I never understood that…until now.

Morris turns 5 years old tomorrow, and although I am very happy for him, (especially because he keeps asking, “when am I going to be 5 like all my friends?”), I feel a sense of pride and joy that I have made it.



Five years of being a mom.

Five years of nurturing, loving, caring.

Five years of crying, confusion, frustraion.

Five years of fixing boo boos, broken toys, and broken hearts.

Five of the best years of my life.

Someone get me a tissue…and some roses.


***To avoid any confusion, I am the one sitting on the left with the 12 inch bang and rose for a nostril. Not to be confused with the girl on the right with the mullet. That’s my sister, Mona.

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