Happy Birthday, Rose

It was Rose’s 24th birthday. Because Dad doesn’t always immediately remember our exact birthdays – six kids and all – he will occasionally ask one of the rest of us to remind him. Like this morning, when he asked Carrie-Bri. She told him to send himself a reminder on his phone.

So Dad told his phone, “Happy. Birthday.”

And Siri answered, “It’s not really my birthday. I appreciate the thought. Though.”

“So I shut it off,” Dad told us later.

Anyway, we ended up going out to the Big House earlier than I had planned. Mostly because some of the neighbor kids were hungrily rummaging through the fridge. Yogurt, cereal, bananas, flying off the shelves. Puck’s birthday chemistry set on the table: salt, oil, water. Also snap dragons. On the linoleum. I drew the line there.

So to avoid further damages, we left earlier than planned.

Rose was relaxed on the loveseat, having left work at noon. She was busy asking Siri questions, such as, “What’s the most powerful spider?”

Dad joined us, El Oso and Joe carpooling in the truck. Jaya was at work. Ricky almost came over to have his hair cut for a wedding in Hawaii that weekend, apparently, but didn’t. Then Francis came back from a shift at work, then Irish from another volleyball practice.

“Aw, Rose, look,” Mom told her. “All your siblings here together for your birthday.”

“That’s not that uncommon, Mom.”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“We do this all the time.”

“Moment ruined,” Carrie concluded.

With that subject closed, Mom moved to her next point. “Martin, would you stop eating the Doritos?”

“You gave ’em to me.”

It was time for dinner anyway. Just homemade mac and cheese and seedless watermelon from Grandma. Plus one of Rose’s favorites, Marie Calendar’s razzleberry pie.

Joe and Rose were leaving for Annamaria’s and Thunderbird’s, went the plan. And Puck spent the night. So El Oso and I sat on the couch working on stuff and taking in our respective life-interests: Cards @ Dodgers for me, and a documentary on back-up singers for the big guy.