Yesterday my mother turned 65. She wasn't overly thrilled about it, to say the least. When my father turned 65 last year, I made him a disaster of a birthday cake from scratch. It tasted like a sponge, with thin chocolate sauce (that was supposed to be frosting) dripped over it. It was ugly, it had no taste, but he ate it anyway because he's a champ. He just ate it with a bowl of ice cream.
Tomorrow, I'll be preparing a birthday breakfast feast for the parents. I'm thinking pancakes, eggs, English muffins, mimosas, (veg)bacon, (veg)sausage, etc. I can cook a mean breakfast (I think) so at least it wouldn't be a total disaster (hopefully.)
It's strange watching my parents get older, and unfortunately, imminent. It seems like just yesterday they were younger, I was younger. Time seems to be flying by entirely too quickly.
While I didn't get along too well with my parents in my formative teen years, and really, what teenager gets along fully with their parents at that age? I certainly carry on with them quite well now, and love them very much. So it warms me to be able to do something special for them every now and then because they did so much for me growing up.
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