We all have one in our family: that person who forgets birthdays and anniversaries; sometimes, a card shows up a week late full of apologies, though sometimes a card doesn’t show up at all.
In my family, I am that person.
A couple times now, I’ve asked Jason mid-September why we were going out to dinner that night. Turns out it was our anniversary. I’ve missed my sister and brother-in-law’s anniversary a few times, and I was their maid of honor. I almost forgot my parents’ anniversary once, and wound up driving to their house in the middle of the night to tuck a card in the mailbox so they’d have it the next day.
My worst offense by far, though, is my aunts’ birthdays.
I have three aunts who were all pretty influential on making me the woman I am today. My Aunt Joan is fearless, always trying new hobbies, careers, and places to live, never afraid to fail. My Aunt Bea is brilliant and witty, and taught me to say something when things aren’t right, and to never be afraid of being alone. And my Aunt Joanne has been a rock throughout my life: she’s funny, supportive, one of my biggest cheerleaders, and also taught me it’s okay to sometimes not leave the house if you don’t want to, or to have hot dogs on Christmas if you feel like a darn hot dog.
If you ever stopped by the Books & Boos Bookstore back in the day, chances are, you’ve met Auntie Joanne. She was our go-to person when events or emergencies came up, always willing to step in, man the store, and keep the coffee brewing. She’s always done this: as a kid, I remember Auntie picking me up from school and bringing me home because Mom was working (Auntie’s work schedule was the same as our school schedule, so it worked out perfectly. For me, anyway). She’d babysit when needed, and when I was in college, she sent a card every week with a crisp five-dollar bill in it. She’s pretty amazing. You’d think I’d have enough decency to remember her birthday, wouldn’t you?
My sister gives us all a family calendar each Christmas. It’s full of family pictures, and perhaps in an effort to help her forgetful younger sibling remember to send out a darn card on time for once, she has everyone’s birthday printed on it. Just yesterday, I was writing Plastic City Comic Con on the calendar (see you there Saturday!) and saw I’d missed Auntie Joanne’s birthday. Again.
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, that’s what this blog is this week: an apology to my aunt. Sorry, Auntie Joanne. You are marvelous and wonderful and I love you and I’m sorry I missed your birthday.
In an effort to sweeten this apology, I'm including a picture of Wednesday looking adorable. If you could share it with Auntie Bea and Auntie Joan, I’d appreciate it. Because if it’s any comfort, you are not alone: I missed their birthdays, too.
In my family, I am that person.
A couple times now, I’ve asked Jason mid-September why we were going out to dinner that night. Turns out it was our anniversary. I’ve missed my sister and brother-in-law’s anniversary a few times, and I was their maid of honor. I almost forgot my parents’ anniversary once, and wound up driving to their house in the middle of the night to tuck a card in the mailbox so they’d have it the next day.
My worst offense by far, though, is my aunts’ birthdays.
I have three aunts who were all pretty influential on making me the woman I am today. My Aunt Joan is fearless, always trying new hobbies, careers, and places to live, never afraid to fail. My Aunt Bea is brilliant and witty, and taught me to say something when things aren’t right, and to never be afraid of being alone. And my Aunt Joanne has been a rock throughout my life: she’s funny, supportive, one of my biggest cheerleaders, and also taught me it’s okay to sometimes not leave the house if you don’t want to, or to have hot dogs on Christmas if you feel like a darn hot dog.
If you ever stopped by the Books & Boos Bookstore back in the day, chances are, you’ve met Auntie Joanne. She was our go-to person when events or emergencies came up, always willing to step in, man the store, and keep the coffee brewing. She’s always done this: as a kid, I remember Auntie picking me up from school and bringing me home because Mom was working (Auntie’s work schedule was the same as our school schedule, so it worked out perfectly. For me, anyway). She’d babysit when needed, and when I was in college, she sent a card every week with a crisp five-dollar bill in it. She’s pretty amazing. You’d think I’d have enough decency to remember her birthday, wouldn’t you?
My sister gives us all a family calendar each Christmas. It’s full of family pictures, and perhaps in an effort to help her forgetful younger sibling remember to send out a darn card on time for once, she has everyone’s birthday printed on it. Just yesterday, I was writing Plastic City Comic Con on the calendar (see you there Saturday!) and saw I’d missed Auntie Joanne’s birthday. Again.
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, that’s what this blog is this week: an apology to my aunt. Sorry, Auntie Joanne. You are marvelous and wonderful and I love you and I’m sorry I missed your birthday.
In an effort to sweeten this apology, I'm including a picture of Wednesday looking adorable. If you could share it with Auntie Bea and Auntie Joan, I’d appreciate it. Because if it’s any comfort, you are not alone: I missed their birthdays, too.
Please let this cat's cuteness make you forget your niece is a twit.
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