Mum’s birthday was a DISASTER. I hate myself for not remembering this extremely important anniversary sooner. Oh, how I hope against hope that I could go back in time and give myself a sharp kick in the shin and say, ‘Yeah DORK, it’s your MOTHER’S birthday in a WEEK and you’d better do something great so that I, the Taylor spirit of the future, don’t have to feel guilty every time I see a present wrapped up with sparkly ribbons.’
Instead of regretting what cannot be undone, I think I should just put it down the whole thing right now so that when I flip through this diary when I’m older, I’ll understand what a truly SICKENING daughter I am. Yes, not only am I sickening, I am disgusting, ungrateful, unbelievable [not in a good way] and downright STUPID. People don’t forget family events. Its just… wrong.
Maybe I’m making too big a deal about this. I mean, everybody who you see walking around, every Tom, Dick and Harry, every living being you set your eyes on has a date of birth. It’s only natural that something that’s going on has a day when it all began, when the whole process of “growing up” started. But, I just don’t KNOW, you know?? My mum makes sure I have the greatest day ever whenever it’s my birthday. I mean, just last month, she bought me a TABLET [and not Crocin flu tablet either] And what did I give her, you may ask. Well, I’ll tell you. NOTHING. Yes, you read right. I didn’t give her ANYTHING [well, except for really DUMB stuff that nobody in their right minds would want as a present].
Basically, Kathryn and I stayed up all night long on the eve of the big day. In the end, I just made a couple of cards and jotted down a [lame] poem. And you don’t even want to know how Kathryn spent her “brainstorming” time [sometimes, I feel like my sis thinks its her duty to text her friends every second of the day]. Anyway, by the time the sun rose and the roosters started clucking, I had designed about SEVENTEEN [at least if felt like I made seventeen cards] customized letters and little squares of paper with colorful doodles splashed all over.
So Kathryn and I decided that even though we prepare a breakfast in bed every single time it’s anyone’s birthday, we’d do it this time too [only because we had nothing else to do]. Fortunately, the bread wasn’t scorched [though maybe a tad sootier than intended] and the bowl of cereal wasn’t drowned in cream, so at least it could have been worse [right??].
Anyway, as soon as mum roused herself from her slumber, Kathryn and I, thoroughly exhausted, toppled under the sheets hoping for at least an hour of sleep when our mother comes bursting in, peppy and cheerful with a song on her lips. She hummed as she tore my blanket away from me and requested me to wake up. Of course, I was WAY too sleepy to think rationally, so I snatched the woolen back and continued snoozing. This went on for a while. Luckily, I finally squeezed out the last drop of humanity in me and drowsily tugged my way to the bathroom, more than unhappy about having to desert the warmth and comfort of my bed.
You see what kind of a daughter I am?? I mad my mother strain on the morning of her day!!!!!! That’ it, the last, final straw. You know what?? I think Despicable Me should have been based on my daughter-mother relationship, because, trust me, it doesn’t get any worse than this.
The day wore on, and I tried to put on my best happy-face, but in my heart, I knew that damage had been done and was sealed with a… a thing. [Well, you know what I mean, right??] Mum ignored the whole bad-start, but it nagged my mind, and if I could, I would have shot myself. [I know I’ve been saying that a lot these days, but I really and truly felt it right then]
Before I knew it, Grandma and Grandpa and all the relatives had departed and we, the Skarr’s were left alone. I fished out the scar of paper that took me all night to make [seriously, where did all the artistic talent go when I needed it??] and I could have payed a million bucks for the expression on my mum’s face as she read the poem I composed. Of course, she said she liked it, and I gave her a big hug for all that she’s done for me and all was happily ever after.
Okay, the giving the card part was right, but after that… well, I don’t know how to say this, but I felt this hollow in the pit of my stomach as I looked around at all the glamorous gifts the relatives presented mum and I felt like bursting into tears. How could I have been so IRRESPONSIBLE????????? My mum’s birthday happens ONCE A YEAR and I can’t even keep track of ONE in THREE SIXTY FIVE???????????
My mum did say she loved it and her smile was the most precious… but I didn’t feel like I’d done enough…
… so I thanked mum for all the praise about my poem [pasted below] and rushed to the desktop where I splurged on FlipKart for birthday gifts for my mum. I know, I know, a little too late in the day, but better late than ever, eh?? Now all I have to do is wait patiently for the third… which is a big task but no one said birthday-shopping was going to be easy, right?? Got to go hunt for the postman, DeDe. Later!!
To mum, With Love
Who ties my hair painstakilngly
And is as perfect as can be??
‘ My mum
Who’s smile can light up a town
And turn a frown upside-down??
Who’s elegant, posh, an uptown-girl,
A radiant, untouched gem-of-a pearl??
Who loves to stew, cook and back,
And calls Algebra a piece of cake??
Who cares for flora and fauna alike
And belts Carpenter’s into unsuspecting mics??
Who do I love and respect the most,
A girl at heart who never grows??