My Birthday Cards

     Back in the day, I was very high maintenance about my birthday.  I used to count down the days, expect all my loved ones to fawn over me, and give hints about possible exotic presents.
     Then I became a mother, and suddenly the world stopped revolving around me.  Expectations were appropriately lowered.
     Last week, in preparation for my birthday, the conversations went like this:
     "Mom, I'm playing basketball Thursday night."
     "It's my birthday."
     "Shoot.  Are we doing something?"
     "Yes, we're all going out to dinner. "
     "Can I come after basketball?"
     "What will you smell like?"
     "I'll wear deodorant."
     Well Happy Birthday to me.
     Then I came home from work with flowers and the remainder of a cake.  My son asked, "Where did that come from?"
     "They had a party for me at work."
     "Why?"
     You get the idea.
     When the boys were little, they always made me a homemade card.  They were crayon colored, with construction paper hearts and too much glue.  They were sometimes accompanied by a dry mound of clay or a water colored self portrait, but the card was always the best part.
     As they got older, I begged them to continue the tradition, and lucky for me, they have.  A card on my bulletin board reads, "This is good for five times everyday for a week I say you are skinny."  The one in my top drawer reads, "There is $16 in this envelope.  $15 is for charity.  The other one is for you!  Go get a Slurpee or something!"
     These days most cards are made on the computer the minute before they are given.  Sometimes they are funny, often they are sweet, occasionally they are thoughtful. They are sometimes signed, "Your Favorite Son."  But they all express what I hope is honest gratitude for being a great mom.
      They are more precious to me than any bauble or decorated cake. I've kept every single one.  They are my annual review for the best job I've ever had.