When you're a senile 23 year old and you think that your unofficial son's birthday is January 26th but it's actually January 25th, it's a good thing you have cool kids like Argusto and Alex and Degraff to call and remind you.
On Sunday, the 25th, I stuck post-it notes on my door, my mirror and my computer saying, "CALL EMMANUEL" so that I would remember to call him on the next day, his birthday. That night, I was tired from taking care of tetanus baby, so I was already in bed when my phone rang with the secret code that meant it must be the HFC boys. I called them back and heard Argusto yell something. Instantly, a raccous chorus of "Happy Birthday to you" came bellowing into the phone.
The song ended. Argusto laughed into the phone, "You hadn't called to tell Manno happy birthday yet, so I figured I'd better call and remind you."
I love that. I love the fact that even though those boys are upset that I am not living with them anymore, even though they are suspicious that I have other kids that I love more than them, they refused to let me miss Emmanuel's birthday. I love the fact that they know me well enough to know I wouldn't want to miss it for anything and that they care enough about him to assure that he got to talk with me on his special day. They're great kids.