If you’ve been following me on social media, you know April was a tough month for me on a very personal level. I lost my Mom, had to delay the release of Conquered in Cancun, didn’t write or edit the whole month. But it ended on a great note by selling out of all the books I took to A Day With The Authors in Nashville where I saw friends and met lots of new readers.
May will be a better month. I’ve always loved May. Not just because it’s my birthday month, but because the earth seems to rejuvenate in a flourish of color. My red and white dogwood blooms have fallen to the ground, replaced by the light green of budding leaves. The red-salmon azaleas came back full this year and should bloom again later this summer. Macho Marine likes the many hostas we have planted in all the beds–mostly because they cover so much space it’s less to mulch. My Appalachian garden is so strong this year with my trilliums doubling and ferns loving the long cool spring we’ve experienced.
With Mother’s Day this weekend, I expect Favorite Daughter and Favorite Son (I only have one of each) to do something nice. I’m pretty sure FD bought me a Mother’s ring. FS will forget until the last minute then spend the weekend in the garage with his forge (finally) making me the wine stand I asked for at Easter.
Mother’s Day has always caused a problem for Macho Marine, from the beginning of relationship. My birthday is in the middle of May and Mother’s Day is always the second Sunday of the month. Occasionally, they fall very close together. Too close that first fragile year of dating.
I thought they were beautiful. Bright, reminding me of spring. They arrived with apologies from the delivery guy for being late…and, yes, you guessed it, a Mother’s Day card attached to the plastic stick. Thinking he’d sent them for my Mom, and they truly were late, I placed them on the dining table for the entire Cooper Clan and neighborhood to see through the giant picture window what a wonderful boyfriend I had that would send flowers to my mother, albeit late.
When MM called me on my birthday, he didn’t get the gushing response he’d expected for the expensive dozen red roses. Instead, he got a “Thank you for thinking of Mom.” He was confused. So was I. The next morning two dozen red roses arrived, delivered by the shop owner who sincerely apologized for the mistake. I placed the red ones on the table and took the yellow ones to my bedroom.
They were my first real roses. I still prefer yellow roses.
If you read the first book in my Black Swan series, title yet to be finalized, you will see a slightly different version of this story.
What’s the best (or worse) birthday gift you’ve ever received?