Yesterday was my oldest younger sister's birthday. I found out about it from my youngest younger brother. There's a symmetry there that I'm quite taken by though I hope it doesn't become a rationalization for a new and bad tradition.
I am offering as an excuse masquerading as a reason that I forgot Evan's birthday because I, myself, was so young when she was born. Of course, I must concede that she, too, was young, and probably remembered it just fine, thank you.
When we were very small (heads at about the height that whacked dining room tables when you cut corners too closely as you ran around the house) I used to call her "Boss in charge of the Dog." I don't think I ever actually did that in front of the dog, or better phrased, dogs, as from the earliest age, she was an animal lover while I only liked them at mealtime.
I've wracked my brain trying to remember the name of the horse she had while living in the Blackwell Mills Road house and having forgotten her birthday I'm impressed I can remember the name of the road. Assuming I have, or did, which may not be as true as I'd like it to be, I'm confident she knows the name of that horse as well as any and all of the names she may have called me growing up.
She has a lot on her plate these days and enough wishes and worries, hopefully in equal number to allow her to sail through the holiday season and into the New Year. Where, fingers crossed, even better days await. Happy Birthday, Evan!