I am feeling such anxiety. Today's my husband's birthday, right? And what have I done for him?
Not much. Not much at all.
For days he's been saying that he's wanted no fuss for his birthday. No presents, no cake, no seven-layer chocolate dessert.
I know he's lying about the chocolate dessert. There's no doubt about that.
And today's been just crazy. Lily and the boys and I were going to take a fancy cupcake to Mr. Moon at the bank where he works works to stick a candle in the pastry and sing to him and when I got in my car this morning, the battery was dead and so click, click, click.
And of course I called my husband because birthday or not, he's the one who deals with this stuff. And he called a friend who works at a shop around the corner (yes! Lloyd has a very good car repair place) who came right over and gave me a jump and I drove to town and Lily and the boys met us and they brought a cupcake and we sang to him although the candle never made an appearance. Then Mr. Moon and I drove to the battery place and they put in a new battery and then we drove to the airport where he picked up his rental car because he was leaving to to go the auto auction for his business.
Jeez. Great birthday, right?
I met Hank and Lily and the boys for lunch and we had a good time and then I stayed with the boys for just a little while so that Lily could go to work and when Jason got home, I came home myself. I got here just as my darling man was leaving. He'd made his own popcorn and cut up watermelon and had it in a Tupperware container for his journey and I felt like such a horrible, horrible wife.
I've always had a problem with gift-giving. I'm just not good at it. And despite the number of birthday parties I've thrown for my kids and my husband and my mother and even a few friends, I always feel as if I fall short. I think it may be a matter of wanting to give people I love the PERFECT gift, the perfect experience. Giving them something that will represent my love and respect for them. My gratefulness for having them in my life.
And let's face it- unless I'm throwing airline tickets to Paris around or the deeds to new houses or BRAND NEW CARS, that's just not possible.
Even then, it would not be enough.
And so I clutch. I can't figure it out.
And at our age, Mr. Moon's and mine, we pretty much have everything we could ever want or need and we're perfectly capable of finding anything we don't have that we want or need and buying it ourselves.
I feel like a failure. And he's off to auction and here I am. I went out and picked the garden.
I collected the eggs. I talked to my Lis. I put laundry away and straightened up a few things around here. I did some dishes. And here I am.
Not with that man on his birthday night.
I am trying to rationalize it all. Trying to remember that it's not a cake or a many-layered chocolate dessert or gifts that mean love. That it's working together to create a family, a life, a garden, an income, a nest. That it's about always everyday loving. That it's about taking care of each other. That it's about always saying, "I love you." That it's about laundry and dishwashers and putting the chickens up at night. That it's about loving our family. That it's about holding each other in bed at night. That it's about encouraging and respecting each other's dreams. That it's about making smoothies and lunches the night before. That it's about thank-you for mowing the grass and thank-you for tilling the garden and thank-you for telling me how nice our yard looks because of all the things I've planted and thank-you for being so gentle and thank-you for being so strong and thank-you for packing my vitamins and thank-you for folding the laundry and thank-you for not bitching too much about the cat waking you up at night and thank-you for thanking me for our children and thank-you for being the grandparent you are and thank-you for still making me laugh and thank-you for all the private jokes and thank-you for bringing food to our table and thank-you for not mentioning the way my thighs look these days and thank-you for washing the sheets and thank-you for listening to my rants and thank-you for listening to my stories of my day and thank-you for letting me sleep in your t-shirt and thank-you for not leaving me when I was insane and thank-you, thank-you, thank-you. And mostly thank-you for loving me and letting me love you.
That's all I have to say. It is my husband's sixty-first birthday. It will be mine in a month.
Thank-you for sharing over half our lives together. Thank you for all the fun.
Yours truly...Mrs. Moon