Headed to my mom’s apartment around 6pm for existence dinner celebration.
We were greeted at the door by delicious aromas and a hyper kinetic min-pin by the name of Cody.
This day, if anything, is a reminder that I’m a grown man and no longer mama’s little boychic anymore. This little dog is obviously a substitute child to pacify her maternal instincts. I won’t attempt to draw any jealous comparisons except that I’ve never had a penchant for shitting on the floor as a child.
Speaking of shit, I’d be full of it if I didn’t confess that my relationship with my mother has been strange and somewhat awkward since she left my father in 1999.
She’s definitely had her share of really horrible luck since then,… to such a degree I wonder what in the hell she did in a past life to reap so much fucked up karma. I think she’s still coming into her own and doing a lot of that awkward self-actualization most of us do in our late teens. Wed at the psychically-embryonic age of 17 and with a bouncing baby monkeybear at 18 – it’s easy to understand the delay.
Strangeness and nearly weekly guilt-trips withstanding – I still adore her. She is my mama. A title no one else can ever have.
My requested birthday dinner? Chicken Kiev and all the fixins, a childhood comfort dish.
The meal was sublime as was the homemade white-chocolate cheesecake chaser.
We socialized after dinner as Chad and Kevin took turns seeing how tightly they could wind the dog.
We left with our bellies full and I with a certain level of satisfaction of spending time with the person responsible for the “BIRTH” in “Birthday”.
I wont blog about this and spare you the sticky, sweet sentiments which would make the cheesecake taste like a Saltine in comparison.