It has been a Day of Three Birthdays! Which meant making some important telephone calls.
My apologies go to anybody who is
also celebrating their birthday today; had I known you, I would obviously have included you in my felicitations. Is felicitations not a perfectly delicious word? I really must try to use it more often...
The first phone call was to Our Boy who had celebrated his birthday by taking the day off. This isn’t, of course, quite the same when you are working from home - it means exchanging a laptop at the dining room table
for a cwtch on the couch in front of the TV with all his Best Beloved, rather than a day out, complete with a meal at a posh eaterie. (When I asked Young Morgan what his Dad did working from home, he told me, dismissively: “Oh, he makes - calls...”)
Still, there was a cake, baked by the Middle of the Welsh Boys, James - it was apparently in the process of being decorated while I was in conversation with his father, so keeping him out of the kitchen. I’m so glad I could be of assistance, even from
a (considerable) distance.
However old your children are, their birthdays are always special. I always remember the day each of my children were born - the
funny, the fearful, the unforgettable. We made a mad dash home from a weekend away in Kent when it became clear that our fourth-born was on the way, only to break down on the motorway. All was well that ended well but, as the midwife who delivered our boy
remarked: “It had to be a boy - only a man could cause so much trouble...”
Our family doctor, arriving in the morning to check that all was well, insisted
on inspecting our baby in all his naked masculinity before conceding that he was, indeed, “a handsome bloke.” So he was then - and now.
call was to a dear friend whose husband would have celebrated his birthday today but who died towards the end of last year. It seemed important to make sure she knew we hadn’t forgotten his birthday, the first without him, but we didn’t want to
make her feel sadder as a result of our call. I did, however, have a Secret Weapon - Mr B who finally made it home on Monday after two long, long months, first in Hospital, then recuperating in a nursing home. I switched to the speakerphone so that the moment
our friend answered, the first words she heard were Mr B’s cheeky: “Hello, Sex Pot!”
“You’re home!” she cried - proceeding
to tell us that it was the best news, that it had made her so happy, we had made her day. It was even better than the reaction we had hoped for.
make a call to Sailor Frank, Mr B’s father. From memory, this would have been his 107th birthday - we were in Kent to celebrate with him when we had to leave in a hurry. He had always been so very, very proud to share his day with his grandson, whose
birthday, he said, was the very best of birthday presents.
There you have it - a Tale of Three Birthdays, celebrating three Extremely Important People, all of
whom have, and always will have, a special place in our hearts.