It’s the boy child’s birthday on Monday. He will be 19. First time he’s ever been away from home on his birthday. I, however, have twice before been traveling on business. Never neglected to celebrate of course, threw birthday parties ranging from homemade carnivals at the park, to a day at the slot car race, to a ski weekend for three. But I prefer that he be gone and I be here. I prefer maternal loneliness to maternal guilt.
Looking for something to do, I asked my daughter if the boy child needed a birthday cake. Answer?
Daughter: (8:14:49 AM) his friends are throwing him a surprise party
Daughter: (8:14:54 AM) they invited me
Mother: (8:15:00 AM) oh good
[I’m super-eloquent like that. I try not to talk too much when I have my kids on IM so they don’t notice that they are talking me. If they knew then they might have to run away…]
So I sent him various and sundry dinosaurs from the Oriental Trading Company (having already sent the Cold War unicorns) and gave him money to go to Belgium with my best friend’s daughter for a week. I have a feeling that from now on this is the mode for boy child birthdays. Needless to say I still remember the day he and the girl he’s going to Belgium with were in the back seat of my car, aged 2-ish, chattering about whether they preferred pachycephalosauruses or triceratops. But such is motherhood.