Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday

There is one tradition on my birthday I always look forward to.  It's The Call.

"Happy Birthday!"

"Happy Birthday!"

Then we both break out into the giggles.

My grandmother and I share a birthday.  My mother says it was to spite her.  My grandfather (my mother's father-in-law) was born on the first of the month.  My grandmother (her mother) was born on the fourth of the month.  So my mother had hoped I would fit neatly in the middle between them, so as to avoid any appearance of favoritism -- couldn't I have been born on the second or the third?  No, she said that as soon as the third passed, that even though her due date wasn't quite up, she knew that I would be born on her mother's birthday even though her OB said there was no way, and I was.  She chalks it up to sheer orneriness on my part.  Or collusion with my grandmother.

Grandma and I have loved our shared birthday.  We have lived in different states all but two years of my life, and though she traveled for many of my younger birthdays, as I have grown older and have had work and family commitments that have kept me from traveling to see her, we haven't been together for as many as I would like.  And so we have our silly phone conversation.  My whole family is goofy about birthday phone calls -- we sing to each other and leave funny or mushy voice mail messages, but on my birthday, I always look forward to this, and so does she.  The Beatles song "Birthday" always runs through my mind, "You say it's your birthday.  It's my birthday too..."

"Happy Birthday!"

"Happy Birthday!"

I really dread the birthday when I won't have that phone call any more.

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364 days of the year J.J. Newby is Mom to two kids and JavaMom on Caffeine And A Prayer and Caffeinated Reviews.  One day a year she reverts into a giggling, cake-eating birthday girl and tries to avoid as much responsibility as possible.