Happy birthday, mom!

Since it's mom's birthday, and since she is being nice, I will be nice. But I still have some things to tell you about-- mostly cute in nature.

Mom: It's like that cat in the story by Kiplinger.
A.: Kipling?
Mom: Was it Kipling?
A.: Yes.

Last night

A.: Accounting for time zones, it's already your birthday.
Mom: Yes, I was born in the morning. You were born at noon. Do you know why?
A.: Yes, because the nurses and attendants sat on your stomach.
Mom: And why...
A.: Because the head nurse wanted me to be born before her shift was up.
Mom: Yes... they all sat on my stomach...

Mom continued with the story of my birth. I thought this was odd, since she has a habit of turning things that aren't about her, her way, and here she was doing the opposite. For example, earlier that day:

Mom: You and Wendy met in high school?
A.: Actually, we met in summer camp. Kind of funny to think back to that time, and to think that now...
Mom: So? I have a lot of friends I knew since we were very young.

But I suppose my birth really was about her, so her bringing it up makes sense.

Today, we passed the summer camp where I met Wendy.

Mom: It was a good camp, too. You tried a lot of things... you had art lessons, dance lessons, horsebackriding lessons...

For the record, I never *sucked* at riding. I just sort of stopped doing it.

***
At Trader Joe's, we were deciding on desserts. Mom grabbed a pie crust.

A.: Mom, that's a pie crust. You have to make the filling yourself.
Mom: Are you sure?
A.: Yes. Read the box.

This is how we end up with a house full of crap. She doesn't look at the details, even the most relevant ones.

At the Russian food store, she once again grabbed a pie crust.

Mom: I found this pie.
A.: Mom, it's a pie crust again. Do you not even read the box when it's in Russian?
Mom: So it is. No, I don't.

***
Overall, she's very calm. She hasn't picked any fights or anything. I'm hoping for a peaceful birthday all around.