"I hate those serious, flowery birthday cards," I said. "I look at those paragraphs of words in cursive, and my mind literally goes blank. I just wait a couple seconds, pretend I've read them, then open the card to see who it's from."
My mom and Shanda agreed. This was most certainly a funny-card crowd.
And apparently, Mark feels the same, because this is the loving card he gave me this year:
I wasn't sure what was more shocking--the fact he gave me this card, or the fact that my mom approved it (she took him shopping).
"Really, Mom?" I asked, pointing to the "rat's ass" comment. I couldn't even say the words out loud to my prim and proper mother.
But my mom just giggled and shrugged.
"What?" she asked. "He's heard worse."
I looked at Mark, who nodded in agreement.
"I have heard worse," he said. He looked at me knowingly and I shot him back the stink eye.
I realized two things in that moment. One, that my son finally recognizes that even though they may sound contrary, my brusque tone and unconventional words actually are loving and supportive. (I do love you, Mark, even if I tell you to brush your damn teeth and put on some clean damn clothes--that is loving and encouraging in our family.) And secondly, that we've given up even the smallest illusion of propriety in my family, even on the most sentimental of days. It's out the door, a complete free for all.
Which also means that, yes, I'm a little worried about the birthday card my beloved son will buy me next month. So if you see me reading it silently to myself before sharing it out loud...just know there's a good reason.
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