Infamousness

Dear Toni,

July. *sigh* I KNOW, right? She was like that girl from the movie... the one that was totally out of control and having way too much fun with everyone's boyfriends. You didn't see that movie?? Well. You get what I mean.

I was fully prepared to blame July for my flakiness over the last twenty-three days, but I can't in good conscience blame such a beautiful, happity month for all that's gone unsaid in this virtual room I call home. The truth is that I've been going through some stuff. During my blogging abstinence, I've gotten to know my friends, coworkers, sisters, NATURE, eyebrows and YOU on a much deeper, dare I say SPIRITUAL, level.

We have been neck-deep in BEACHWEAR. And BOOKS. And BARBEQUEING. And BABIES telling you how much they love you. Remember?? But, mostly, we've been partying like it's 1999. Or some other obscure and arbitrary date. For some reason, though, my subconscious was convinced that the party was over, I think...

I don't really know what happened, to tell you the truth. Maybe it was the fact that I had a customer sitting at my desk asking me questions like, "Where do I sign?! Tell me now!!" Okay... maybe he actually didn't cop a 'tude quite like that. But he had this whisper of a voice that said, "I want to go home so please make this quick, lady." So I was trying to acquiesce to that whisper.

And that's when you called. That exact moment when I was shuffling papers and pretending to know what the heck I was doing, THAT was when you called. And like Molly Ringwald's mother in Sixteen Candles, I totally didn't get it. UGH. You were trying to tell me that it was your birthday and I DIDN'T. GET. IT.

I know you've already forgiven me. You've been so gracious and ADULT about it. You even laughed, which had the opposite effect of making me feel worse. Which is stupid! Because some kids might have held a grudge well into their thirties. Let's face it, YOU might have held a grudge even a year ago. But not now. Not anymore. Suddenly, you're this mature eleven-year-old who takes a situation like your mother forgetting to say Happy Birthday and you totally shrug it off... chalk it up to your mother's goofy goldfish memory probs.

I'm in tears over it. Not the forgetting part. But the growing up part. Today I learned that my oldest daughter is no longer a little girl. Quite overnight, she's metamorphosed into a young lady with poise and charm and as much compassion as my organic chemistry professor back '96. I'm so freaking proud of you, babe.

Happy Birthday, my Antonia. Happy, happy, happy birthday.

Love,

Mom