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Let’s
face it, there is nothing cuter than small children proudly holding up their
fingers to display their age. Although I
do not flaunt my age, I’ll admit I’m pretty obnoxious when my birthday is coming
and frankly I wish for a whole week of special fun days to lead up to my actual
‘birth-day’. (No, I do not think that is asking too much.)
Yes,
my children are well aware that I would consider it a mortal sin if they ever forgot
my birthday. I mean please, without me my children would not even be around and
I trust me I am one of those mothers that think it’s my duty to remind my kids
of that fact. Also, if any of my kids ever forgot my birthday, well let’s just
say… paybacks are a you-know-what!
So
of course, this year I was thoroughly delighted when my grandkids called me everyday
for a week just to sing happy
birthday to Grandma Pama. I loved it.
Because
my little granddaughter Trista’s 4th birthday comes shortly after mine,
I’m still in that birthday excitement mode and called her bright and early. On the first ring, Trista answered by screaming into the phone, “It’s my birthday do you want to sing to me?” I cracked-up laughing and quickly broke out
into an off-key rendition of the standard happy birthday song.
An
hour later my phone rang, I started to say a polite hello although I was rudely
interrupted by a 4-year-old voice yelling at the top of her lungs, “It’s my
birthday! Want to sing to me?” Of
course, I squealed in delight and complied with another very loud over the top
out-of-tune birthday song.
I
realized that I’d started a bad habit when these ‘want to sing to me’ phone
calls from Trista continued every hour throughout the day. Then about four –o’clock the calls stop…cold
turkey. Never one to leave well enough alone, I called my daughter. “What
happened to Trista she has not called me in two hours, is something wrong? Is
she mad at me?”
It
was no biggie; I found out that they had just gone out to pick-up Trista’s
birthday cake. “Oh-oh put her on the phone!” I demanded.
I hear my daughter say, “Trista the phone is
for you, it’s Grandma Pama.”
“Hello”,
Trista shyly answers. (Oh for pity sakes, this does not sound like the same
child.)
“Trista
did you get a special birthday cake?”
“Yes”,
she quietly utters.
Wanting
to get this child a little more revved up I squeal, “Oh Trista, what kind of
cake is it?”
“A
“Oh
my how exciting! What flavor is it?”
“Strawberry
and-and-and green trees,” she says so softly I switch ears and turn up the
volume on my phone.
“Oh
my,” I exclaim. “I totally love it Trista, a strawberry cake with a pink castle
and green trees!”
Instantly
Trista screeches “NO” into my ear, holding the ‘O’ for a good ten seconds and
then she hollers, Not green trees Grand Ma…I said CREAM CHEESE!’’
I give up; at least Trista enjoys getting
older.
