We have a special family member in our clan; her name is The Birthday Fairy. On the morning of our birthday, every year, my brothers and I would wake to a bedroom decorated to the hilt, with crepe paper streamers twisted from corner-to-corner, balloon, confetti and a sign celebrating how old we were turning. When I say always, I really mean always.
Even when I was away at college, The Birthday Fairy called my boyfriend, and not only explained what to do, but also mailed him the goods to do it. When I was living on my own, again in my hometown, before I got married, She came while I was at work. I suspect She is like Santa Claus and can come down a flue or has a key for every lock, because that house didn’t even have a chimney. (One year, She went over-the-top and completely filled Dumber (#26)’s room with balloons; we have a snapshot of him standing with balloons up to his chest. He was 20.) The point is, we always knew something was coming, and it made our special day even happier.
It is important to note that I believe the reason The Birthday Fairy was so successful in our home is because my brothers and I all sleep like absolute logs of the dead. You can march a drum-core band running vacuums through the room while we are sleeping and we won’t even roll over. All three of us.
Up until last night, The Birthday Fairy, Jr. Had been able to spread joy to my children on their birthdays too. Jeffrey sleeps like his mama, and I can go in his room turn the light on and clean out his closet after he has fallen asleep. Nothing. Eric, on the other hand, takes after his daddy. If you walk by his room and step on a squeaky floorboard, he is up and at ’em. It has actually been a problem, since we have another rambunctious child in the house. We keep a small fan running in Eric’s room for the white-noise factor, no matter what the weather is like, and it seems to help. But, this has caused some big problems for the Fairy. When mama cannot even kiss her baby goodnite without waking him up, how does the Fairy enter and decorate a bedroom??
Little Eric woke this morning to his second birthday (albeit, completely not caring that it is) to nothing special. The guilt is unbearable. I have broken the chain, and feel unworthy to call myself the daughter of the Fairy. Granted, the living room had a birthday sign up, and a few presents wrapped, and he was delighted with his new tub of Tinker Toys, but he missed that magic moment when you wake up and see your room transformed and full of exciting colors and balloons and streamers.
I hang my head in shame, and hereby vow to come up with a contingency plan for next year. Maybe I can give him some cold medicine the night before? Or does that again push the line to bad mama? Oh, woe is me! Happy Birthday Eric! Mama LOVES you!