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Last week was my dad's birthday, so I called him early in the morning to wish him lots of love and cake. I know. I'm an excellent daughter that way.

It hasn't always been thus. That's why I'm going to provide you with a strategy to employ in case you forget to wish someone special a happy birthday. (You're welcome.)

I devised this strategy when I totally blew off my mother's birthday one year. Not that my mother expects the entire nation to celebrate her birthday like she's the queen of England. She doesn't expect gift stores to carry teacups with her picture on it or the guards at Buckingham Palace to do special little birthday marches in her honor or the citizens to line the street and wave flags as she passes by in her golden carriage.

In fact, my mother doesn't expect presents or even a card. But she would at least like a phone call from her adult children because you know how mothers are — just so unreasonable.

Anyway. One year I forgot to call. I'm not even sure why. Maybe because I was distracted by all those boys who used to live at our house, eating food. Sometimes, I wonder how our family even did those crazy years, crammed full of homework and soccer games. I felt like I was always doing things on the fly, occasionally touching down long enough to make a mess. And then I was off again.

But that's not the point. The point is that I completely forgot to acknowledge my mother's birthday. No gift. No card. No phone call.

Finally, she called me just before 10 p.m. The two of us enjoyed a long, friendly chat where we talked about the weather, her grandchildren, our dogs, our cats, a current event or two, her neighbors, my neighbors, her husband, my husband, whether we should let our bangs grow out and what we were fixing for dinner on Sunday.

"Well," she said, at last, "I just called to wish myself a happy birthday."

OK. I totally wanted to high-five my mother. Except that she was in Provo and I was in Salt Lake, and also (I've noticed) it's hard to high-five mothers over the telephone.

But I was full of genuine admiration for the way she'd handled things: She'd given me plenty of talking space to wish her a happy birthday on my own. And then when I didn't, girl took care of business. In one masterful moment, she managed to accrue enough style points to last a lifetime. Zing!

I wasn't sure what I should do next. It was late. Too late to call a florist and send her flowers. Or drive down to Provo and treat her to some Magleby's chocolate cake. Or do any of the things I might have done to redeem myself.

So here's what I did instead. The next day I contacted everybody she knew and everybody I knew and told them to call my mother. I further instructed them to wish her a happy late birthday and to take a shot or two at me while they were at it.

Which they did! With glee!

So my mom spent the day after her birthday fielding calls from friends and total strangers who said they were shocked — SHOCKED! — that I hadn't called her myself. By the end of the day I was totally forgiven.

Anyway, please feel free to adopt this strategy for your own if you find yourself in a similar position.

Or better yet, just remember to call.

Ann Cannon can be reached at acannon@sltrib.com.