A Fairy Is Born

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful lady who gave birth to her fair haired darling. People would stop by her room and gaze upon this lovely golden child and then ask "Where did she come from? Is she the milk man's daughter?" The beautiful lady would finger her own raven locks and serenely reply, "No, she must have fairie blood in her." And to prove this point, the beautiful lady would point to the golden child's right ear, which is indeed, the pointed ear of a fairy.

Well, mother, I do believe time has shown it's hand, and I'm no fairy. But I do still believe in them. Especially today, the day of my birth.

So as I sat and pondered, I thought to myself, how do I celebrate my 31st birthday? Do I get another tattoo? (Not if I wanted to keep my husband) Do I do more body modification? ( The only parts left to pierce are a tad sensitive. Ouch.) Do I throw myself a birthday party, grab a bottle of vino and sit in the corner, rocking out and mulling over my life? (Too depressing. I'll do it for my 37th.)

Then it dawned on me: In my bloggy absence I missed my dearest friend, Jojo's birthday. I had big plans for that post. So why don't I kill two egos birds with one post?

You see, I met Jojo when I was twelve. I was this awkward, gangly misfit who would cry at the drop of the hat. I walked into my grade 7 class and the only damn seat left was the seat directly in front of the teacher's desk. Any hope for becoming a cool kid quickly disappeared as I took my seat and fought back tears. As I looked around, I saw other sniveling, nervous kiddies but in the back of the room a girl quickly caught my eye. She was wearing makeup. Heavy green eyeliner and frosted pink lipstick. She was sooo cool. We were destined to be friends.

She took pity on me, and I charmed her with my superior wit and sharp intellect. And we became fast friends. Bus rides home, shopping at the mall, bike rides back and forth between houses, and scary seances in the spare room complete with candles. Jojo was the only friend who would rent Friday the 13th movies for me and then provide me with a pillow to scream into and headphones to tune the sounds of torturous screams out of my mind.

Then her family moved across the damn country. And it broke our hearts. But every summer she would come back.

Jojo was my only friend in the city who knew and loved my parents. My dad's redneck ways amused her and my mom's shrew-like anger amused her. Some how she managed to do what I never could do. She charmed my parents. Her easy laughter and stupid jokes made them love her even more. And I would wish the summer would never end.

Together we were so cool. Even when we put pillows on our heads and walked around like goobers, we rocked. Even when Jojo got so drunk that she hurled all over the inside of my dad's brand new truck, we rocked. Or the time that we stayed up until 6 a.m. thinking that my dad wouldn't notice, and snuck back into my bedroom, we rocked. Although, when he woke us up at 8 a.m. and told us to get our asses in gear and paint the fence, we didn't rock so much then.

And then there was the time my dad, while wearing nothing but a pair of dirty tighty whiteys, chased my boyfriend down the block, we alternated between hysterical giggles and overdramatic tears. But we rocked.

And when my beautiful son, Shalebug died last October, she flew across the country to spend ten days with me. She mourned the little man she never knew. She looked at endless photos and listened to me sob. She held my hand and wiped my tears. She made me laugh. She made me watch Survivor. (Could you tell I was in shock?) She charmed my kids and swept my floors. She reminded me it was okay to laugh while I cried and to remember the dead by telling silly stories. And when she was convinced I wouldn't walk off a bridge or neglect my kids, she hugged me hard and flew home. Like a pillow-wearing angel.

Last year, on my 30th birthday, surrounded by Boo and friends, I toasted that my 30th year would be my best year ever. 24 days later, my world crashed and I lost a piece of myself I will never get back. It has taken me all of this year to put the pieces of who I am back together. And like a broken vase, hastily mended with glue, the pieces don't all fit perfectly. Some are missing altogether. But I'm mending, with the glue of friendship.

So today, on my 31st birthday, instead of mourning this past year, I choose to celebrate some of the best times of my life. And show you, dear internet, my awkward geekiness. Which has morphed into this Redneck Mommy. Today, I celebrate what these three decades have brought me. And instead of looking toward the future, I want to pay homage to my past.

Because in my 31 years I have only been blessed with a few kindred spirits. Boo, Roxylynn, and Jojo. All three must be fairies too.

I love you all.