Today? Today, I am sick. And not even my usual sick and tired. I am sick. Sick of the “The NyQuil might make me throw up but it’s worth a shot” variety.
And Mr. Wonderful? He is traveling for business. Away. Away from the sickness. And it’s just not quite the same when I actually have to call him to moan about how crappy I feel.
My parents were here this weekend. It was the first time I’d seen them since Christmas. They left, and then Mr. Wonderful left for the airport an hour later. And I felt horrible. And so? And so, I cried and cried. And then I fell asleep. And then I woke up and watched the last hour of Stepmom and cried some more.
I called in sick today and even that didn’t make me feel better. I must truly be sick. Dammit.
At least I felt ok for most of the weekend. It was my mom’s 60th birthday. And believe it or not, Mr. Barry Manilow performed here on her very birthday. And I won suite tickets through Corporate Behemoth. My mama and I sat in the front row of a suite to see Barry.
It was awesome. I love me some Manilow, and I don’t care who knows. Cha Cha + Barry 4-Evah!
My mom’s birthday is a funny thing. Her gift from me was an impromptu shopping spree at a fabric shop. And her gift from my dad was a shopping spree at a jewelry store. It’s almost like the non-gift-wrapped atmosphere is an attempt to make her birthday Not A Big Deal.
But, it’s a big deal. A huge, gigantic deal.
Two months before her 50th birthday, my mom was diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer. I won’t go into all the gory details, but suffice to say, the next year and a half were tough. Really, really tough. But my mom? Even tougher.
And so, when she celebrates 60 years of life, she’s also celebrating 10 years of kicking cancer’s sorry little ass.
I am so very proud of her. And also painfully aware of how precious every day is, and how big of a deal all birthdays are, even the ones that don’t involve a zero.
My mom has always been very supportive of my writing. She is the one who always tells me that when I’m ready, the world will be welcoming of what I have to say. And yet? I’ve been writing this blog for more than a year and never breathed a word about it.
At first, I didn’t tell anyone. The blog was about me, and if some randoms found it, great. But then a few writing-type friends were welcomed into the fold. And then I found blogging friends. And now it seems the blog is a part of my life and an important one, too. Important enough to feel like an omission when I don’t mention it. And me and my mom? We’re not like that.
So, this is my mom’s real birthday present. Welcome to my blog, mom.
And yes, I know I shouldn’t drop the f-bomb so much. Maybe I’ll work on that when I stop praying for death.