Sharing Your Special Day

I share a birthday with my brother and my mom. I know, I know. That's weird. And we're not twins, and it wasn't on purpose, but that's the way it is. And my brother always told me happy birthday first because he knew I had to say it back to him. It was his favorite way of reminding me that I didn't have my own day. And because my parents didn't want my sister feeling left out, she would usually get a gift too. So it was like a less-awesome version of Christmas. Except we didn't get to sleep in, and we didn't get as many presents.

But the funniest part about sharing a birthday was that every year, without fail, my father would say the same thing to us. "Kids, this year I want to make it about your mom." What that meant is that he didn't have a clue what Mom got us, but he was gonna make sure he got her everything she ever wanted. Wait... let me rephrase that. He was gonna make sure he got her the most random stuff he could think of. So he got her appliances and stuffed animals and stereo systems. He got her furniture and shoes and clothes (as if he knew her size). It was really funny because my mom seemed to like everything she got. Whether she was pretending to like the gifts or she genuinely liked them, I'll never know. But it was fun to watch her open such random things (like a phone charger). If she was pretending to like them, then kudos to her for being so convincing.

Although, now that I think about it, I don't think I've seen that stereo system since she opened it. Or the toaster. Or the singing jewelry box. Or the 5-foot tall stuffed teddy bear. So either someone at Goodwill gets new stuff every December, or she found the receipts.