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Thanks For The Birthday Surprise

Monday, September 21st, 2009 by Alyice

Saturday was my birthday. Every year since moving out of California, my family and I have celebrated our birthdays with a dinner and a movie—both of which are the birthday person’s choice. Originally, I had planned to drive up to my son’s college so that we could celebrate my birthday together because I wasn’t ready to have my first birthday, since his birth, without him.

There was just one problem. I had gotten sick and there was no way I could do that drive. Disappointed, I accepted the fact that my birthday would be celebrated without my son.

However, my son had other plans. Having been told that all his classes were cancelled on Friday, he hopped into his car and drove the six hours to surprise me. And boy was I clueless!

Knowing that I wouldn’t be comfortable with him driving all the way down to see us without a midway check-in call, he calls me to chat it up about college life. He asks how I am feeling, asks what the doctor had to say about my illness (as I had laryngitis due to all the phlegm in my chest), tells me that we need to move closer so that his drives home wouldn’t be so long and boring, makes a comment about having to wash his laundry, asks what’s playing at the theatre this week-end, then asks if I plan to stay up until his dad has to go to work.

At one point during the conversation, I ask him what’s playing on the radio (not even thinking that he doesn’t own a radio in his dorm room) and he says, “I don’t know it’s my roommate’s radio”. Finally, his phone kept cutting out and when I asked him what was up with his phone and where he was, he says, “This new phone you got me is crappy. It keeps cutting out. I can’t get a good reception out here. I’m not even moving around.” And he was so convincing. Either that or I was just really sick.

A few hours later, my husband leaves for work. A half hour after he leaves, there’s a rattling at the front door. I think to myself, “Why is my husband back? What did he forget?” I walk over to the door to let him in. But first I look out the window to make sure it’s him. It’s dark as we don’t have a porch light. I see a huge head in front of the door, but I can’t make out who it is. The person is much taller and bigger than my husband so I know it’s not him. I jump back and close the curtain when I realize that hey, “that looked like my son’s figure.” I look back out the window where I see my son waving and laughing.

Yes, he got me! Yes, I have the coolest son!

I was so excited. What an awesome birthday gift.

The next day, his dad returns home from work and says, “Whose Honda Civic is that in front of our house? It looks like…is our son home?!” Yes, he surprised his dad, too.

Friday was spent hanging out on the couch and playing cards with my kids. Friday night, my daughter treats us to the movies with her report card money (Can I say impressive and self-sacrificing?) and my husband treats us to dinner.

Normally, I choose a “chick flick” because it’s the only time of year the whole family will watch it with me without a single complaint. But this time there wasn’t a chick flick available so I chose Jennifer’s Body. The kids get a kick out of me screaming and talking to the screen in horror/suspense movies so I thought it would be a nice treat for them. (I really did not like the film and found it far less suspenseful and far more “gross”.)

Saturday arrives, and as much as I want to have a family day of games and laughs, I just couldn’t shake the cold, the cough, or the headache induced by all the coughing so spend most of the day sitting on the couch dealing with my cold.

When my husband arrives home from work, however, my son says, “Okay what movie do you want to watch?” I say, “We already went to the movies.” To which he replied, “It’s your birthday. We are getting out of the house. Pick a movie. We’ll order Burger King and eat it in the car on the way to the movie.” So I picked White Out. It wasn’t a bad film. I enjoyed the murder mystery part, but it was long and drawn out and I’ve kind of gotten used to fast paced action films.

Sunday arrives and I wake up to find my husband has cooked me a nice breakfast of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns. Sadly, it didn’t turn out well and I couldn’t really appreciate all the effort he put into it. A few card games later, we say good-bye to my son and my birthday weekend ends.

Yes, I still missed my mom’s “Happy Birthday” song. (Before she died, she’d call every morning and sing to us.) Yes, I still wished my out-of-state friends could have been here to celebrate the day with me. But oh, did I feel blessed.

My birthday was spent with the people that matter most to me: my daughter, my son, and my husband. And I couldn’t have asked for anything more!

Give thanks…

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Random Acts Of Kindness

Monday, September 14th, 2009 by Alyice

When I was a young gal, my mother gave me a beautiful sapphire ring. I wore it until after the birth of my first child. The weight gain didn’t disappear and the ring no longer fit.

Ten years, or so, later, I met a woman online named Anna. She and her husband had been going through a rough patch financially due to medical/health problems and after a few years of marriage, she still didn’t have a wedding ring. She didn’t even have an engagement ring.

She loved her husband and understood that a ring was merely a possession, but a part of her longed for a wedding ring; longed for a way to silently let the world know that she was taken—that someone loved her enough to commit his life to her.

I remember looking down at my wedding ring; a simple crown with a tiny diamond. It was all we could afford at the time but I loved my ring. I remember thinking how delicate and unique and beautiful it was and how it was the only piece of jewelry that has ever stayed on my body for more than a few hours a day.

Something inside me screamed, “She needs a wedding ring!”

So I emailed her, asked for her address, and sent the sapphire ring in the mail. I didn’t even ask the size of her finger as I wanted it to be a surprise. Along with the ring was a note that asked one thing, “that her husband would put the ring on her finger.” I just knew my ring was meant to be her wedding ring.

When the ring arrived, she read the note to her husband. With tears in both their eyes, he placed the ring on her finger and to our surprise, the ring fit! The best part is that she wasn’t a diamond kind-of-gal and felt the sapphire really fit her personality.

Over the years, I’ve committed similar acts of kindness—clothes and food for the homeless, Christmas presents for struggling families, shoes for my son’s classmate who wore holes in the soles, free babysitting services for single parents, food for strangers mourning the loss of a loved one, household items and furniture to those starting a new life, handmade gifts for anyone who needed a little cheering up or kindness in their lives, and yes, even shelter to a young couple who found themselves homeless.

And not once have I asked for something in return. I simply completed these acts of kindness because I truly believed it was the “right thing to do”. I felt a nudge on my heart to reach out and I did. And every time I reached out, I felt blessed—even if the recipient wasn’t gracious in the receiving.

The truth is that people, by nature, aren’t gracious in receiving help—or even gifts for that matter. It hurts the pride.

So with some people, they lash out at you and act like you are trying to say you’re better than they are. And other people, as grateful as they are, simply don’t know how to accept something without feeling guilty for not being able to return the favor, or ashamed for being in that position in the first place.

But then there are those recipients who simply rejoice at the fact that they were not forgotten and show their appreciation with smiles and words of thanksgiving. And it’s those people that keep you sharing of yourself and your possessions. Because it’s those people who remind you that you are doing more than sharing an object or a meal, you are giving them hope. You are reminding them that they matter, that they are not forgotten, that someone cares.

It’s not always easy listening to the call. There are times when I’d rather spend the money and/or energy elsewhere; when I’d rather do for myself than for others; when I long for just one “thank you” or “nice job” or even returned favor.

But then I am taken back to the day my daughter died and how so many random acts of kindness were bestowed upon me and my family by complete strangers—even though we, ourselves, couldn’t be gracious or thankful— and how much it helped us heal. If it weren’t for all those people supporting us, nurturing us, lifting us up in prayer, providing meals, sending “we have not forgotten” cards, and showering us with kindness, we would not have survived the ordeal and our family would not be as strong as it is today. You could even say that had they not instilled hope in us, our family would’ve broken up.

Here’s the thing: random acts of kindness aren’t meant to be repaid by the recipient. It’s sort of a “pay it forward” kind of thing. And they must be disbursed to both strangers and loved ones—whether in need or not. And you can choose to do it secretively or openly, it doesn’t really matter.

What matters is that every random act of kindness you provide makes the world a better place. So go forth and create a chain reaction—go forth and make the world a kinder, gentler, less lonely place to live.

Give thanks…

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Thanks For Calling Me Auntie

Wednesday, September 9th, 2009 by Alyice

When I was just 11 years old, my best friend had her first baby—at the age of 16. Neither of us knew anything about taking care of a child back then, but watching my friend nurture and love her little girl convinced me that no matter how difficult life got, if you loved your children enough anything was possible.

As time progressed, I became the resident babysitter. I proudly took my honorary niece with me everywhere I went and when people asked if she was my child (not uncommon when you live in the projects), I’d look them in the eye and say, “Are you crazy?! I’m just 11 years old!”

But secretly, deep down inside, I felt joy in knowing that our interaction with one another showed a bond that transcended both age and blood. I loved that little girl as if she was my own and I took great pride in knowing that her mother entrusted her in my care.

Then one day, her mother moved away and we lost contact with one another. It would be five years before we got in touch again, and another four years before we were able to truly reconnect. Yet, I never stopped thinking of them as family—her mother as my big sister, she as my niece, and her brother as my nephew. They were, for all intensive purposes, my family.

Today, we keep in touch via email and Facebook. It’s not the same as face-to-face interaction, but it sure beats the alternative. And yes, she still calls me “auntie” and it’s a title I wear proudly!

I still cannot believe she is old enough to have children of her own, old enough to be called a mother herself. Heck, I can’t believe I am old enough to have a great niece and nephew—but as you can see by the photo on the jar above, it’s true!

So Mina, my sweet, beautiful, bundle of joy, I thank you for showing me how to love unconditionally—for giving me the practice I needed to become the mother I am to my own children.

Give thanks…

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I'm a freelance writer, mixed media artist, SMVA, and the owner of The Dabbling Mum.

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