Birthdays

Disclaimer: I am not in the mood for my usual snarky and feisty bent. Bear with me. It's temporary, I assure you.
Sunday was my mother's birthday. She would have been 61. Shamefully I have not called my father yet either. He hides things from me that I know he tells other people. Maybe I'm saving him some trauma too. Somehow I doubt it and it will probably come back and bite me in the butt around the corner here. I miss my mom, but dad has been lost the past 2 years without her. They were together a total of 35 years, married for nearly 33 of it. There's a part of Mass that thunked the tear ducts and I leaked a little Sunday. It's not often I get sad about the death of my mother. It seems a bit weird that I don't, I guess. I made peace with it sooner than most people make peace with a parent dying. She had her quirks and oddities and I acquired a few of my own. But I always loved her because she was my mother. I didn't really KNOW her till she died though. I vowed that my kids would know more about my story because I didn't want to have them learn it from an aunt or other relative like I did. I want them to have the opportunity to ask me questions about why I do certain things etc. Like, why I make a deal out of birthdays, even if I'm broke and can only make a cake at home and improvise steak with salisbury steak instead. In my household, your birthday nets you a dinner meal of your choice (within reason and family budget of course) and cake. Birthdays were just another day in my parents' household. A number of years ago, I started a new birthday practice. I used to call my mom on my birthday and wish her a happy birthing day. Maybe when my kids grow up they'll do the same. Yea, I know, call me odd. It's a quirk I have.