Summer of 1980

In the summer of 1980, My brother and I were joined by a third musketeer: Little Ash, who I am sure was a sweet and cute baby. I have no recollection, really, of him as a baby (I actually have almost ZERO childhood memories, which is either a concern or a relief, frankly). But I do have this one, very clear memory of that summer. I informed the leader of my summer camp that it was my birthday.

My birthday is in February, just for the record.

Now, as a mom, I know that saying "It's my birthday" when it totally ISN'T your birthday, is no big deal. Like when my daughter announces her name is Jullila, and it totally isn't. But, the day camp decided to throw me a little birthday party, which was a big deal. And then when my mom came to pick me up, they told her all about it, and she was Not Amused. And I was caught - something that had been just an innocent, white lie was now a BIG LIE THAT I HAD TOLD. And boy, I was embarrassed. And my mother was PISSED. (Of course, she was also, like 13 months pregnant, and it was July, so you know, that probably didn't help matters.)

But anyway, my point is that as an adult, I still have that memory, and I try really hard to make sure that everyones reactions are on par with reality.

To that end, I emailed my son's teacher last week, and gave him the heads up - I was having surgery, I hadn't been well, Max seemed nervous, there were a lot of "unknown" and I didn't know whether I would be hospitalized or not, but to please know that everything was cool, and we would try to keep Max informed all the way, so he wouldn't worry. But I know how fact can translate to panic when parents are not around, so I figured it would be good for his teacher to know things were not "business as usual" at home. Plus, if someone forgot to pick Max up one day or something (ahem) he would know why.

Long story short, I had surgery, I didn't have to spend the night in the hospital, and I came back home to heal in my own bed. Hooray.

But.

Today, Max came home with a "project". Apparently, the entire class was assigned to make me get well cards. Can you FEEL me blushing from where you are ? There are lots of very sweet messages about getting well, and coming home soon, and that they will be praying for me.

Oh. MY. God.

So, I am now pretty damn humiliated. I mean, I did not tell his teacher about my surgery so that my botched hysterectomy could become the talk of the second grade, and these poor sweet children I am sure were very surprised to see me in the carpool line today.

Let's just chalk it up to the miracle of childhood prayer, and leave it at that.