No Good Deed

“Happy BIRTHDAY!”

This was a most auspicious occasion. On this day my Ittybit, a child born to me roundabout YESTERDAY, reached the age of majority.

The phone seemed to know what an epic moment this was. Because at its whim, balloons took flight while the letters I had carefully spelled out undulated in a crescendo of animation; each one becoming bold for just an instant before tripling in size, and finally, settling back into a standard sentence-like formation.

It was like a tiny party in the ethosphere.

It was also a little sad. 

This was the first birthday in her whole little life she has spent away from home … away from family. … away from me.

And even though I may have had grand plans to surprise her with something elaborate and exciting – like one of the many classroom-sized birthday parties of her youth –  it wasn’t something I was able to wrangle since the timing and logistics of her new adult life aren’t within my power to commandeer.

As it should be, I realize without lament.

Still, I want her to know we are thinking of her, but with something isn’t just some nebulous thought. And so I scour the internet for a gift she will like, and that I can schedule for delivery at a precise time on The Day Of All Days.

I land on flowers. Which makes me kind of giddy, I’m not going to lie.

“THIS is PERFECT!!!!” (Yes, in my mind all those exclamation marks and capitalizations appeared along with a fist bump I probably executed in real life after entering all my credit card details). I didn’t think I could go wrong: I know her favorite flowers and her favorite color scheme. And I know they would be a gift – even from her parents – that she would adore in the moment and for the seven to 10 days they are guaranteed FreshTM.

Of course, what I didn’t know was where she would be during the 12-5 p.m delivery window. The plans she told me about, which included a work party on her actual birthday and two more days of her internship afterward, which lead me to assume she would be at work, and that I could safely send it there.

Worst case scenario, I thought, would be that she misses the delivery and receives her flowers the next day.

But no … the worst case scenario is that she is assigned to work from her dorm that day, and she has conveniently taken the day after off, just in case the results of her evening of welcome-to-the-excesses-of-adult-beverages leads her to a morning filled with stomach upset and a throbbing brain trying to escape the confines of her cranium.

*Phone rings* (THIS IS IMPORTANT BECAUSE CHILDREN NEVER USE THE AUDIO PART OF THEIR PHONES UNLESS SOMETHING IS TERRIBLY WRONG).

I take that back … THE WORST CASE was that since she signed an NDA for her job, she didn’t mention that it was a clean facility where deliveries of cut flowers would be frowned upon.

“MOM! MOM! OMG MOM. FLOWERS. CAN. NOT. GO. THERE!!!!”

“Yes. Your mom, who loves you, just handed you a HUGE problem on your birthday. … But don’t worry, I will fix it.”

Somehow.

And somehow … after six phone calls to the florist; three text messages to the delivery driver, countless minutes on hold, and finally a herculean interception by one of her coworkers … I have fixed what I broke.