There are two days I look very forward to each year, Mother's Day and my birthday.
I promise you it has nothing at all to do with gifts.
These special "all about me days" are the perfect excuse for me to sit on my can and do nothing (except what I want to do) all day long.
This year Mother's Day and Daddio's birthday decided to fall on the same day.
So I asked a panel of experts (a couple of other moms) who should trump who???
Who should get breakfast in bed and a back rub nice enough for its memory to get them through till next year?
Who should be crowned King or Queen for the day???
Any and all long suffering mothers reading this blog already know very well the answer.
Daddio's birthday trumped Mother's Day.
I'm not sure if he sees it that way though.
Daddio had a gig on Saturday night and while a mass consumption of doctored up Diet Pepsi(s) had him feeling no pain then, it appeared it was going to have the opposite effect on him this morning, and possibly linger the whole day long.
"I can't eat in bed" Daddio said as I tried to convince him to sit up and fluff the pillows behind him.
"I'm just not that kind of guy" he insisted when I attempted to sit a tray filled with breakfast on his lap.
Let me clarify that, he's not the kind of guy who eats from a tray in bed...but he does eat in bed, a lot.
I've rolled in mustard blobs and cracker crumbs.
Grape jelly and hunks of bread.
I even woke up in the middle of the night once to an intense smell of lettuce.
So strong was the smell that I was forced to get up and flip on the hall light.
You can only imagine my shock when I saw an entire soft taco (minus one bite) laying face up on my flat fitted sheet.
Taco meat, cheese, lettuce and sauce littered my bed.
Seems Bear had called to let us know he was stopping at Taco Bell on his way home. Daddio had sleepily answered the call and said "sure" when Bear offered to bring him something.
Like a good son Bear loaded up the taco with sauce just the way Daddio likes, he carried it upstairs, and planted it right in his sleeping father's waiting hand.
That he is alive to celebrate any more birthdays says something of my love for him.
Happy Birthday to my darling Daddio, I'm sorry that while you trumped me, the senior mothers trumped you and we had to spend your birthday on the road visiting and eating dinner in strange places.
Please know that I love you like no other and that you fill my life with so many wonderful things for which I am eternally grateful....including, but not limited to, fodder for this blog.