Today is the third anniversary of my 29th birthday. I’ll save you having to do the math–I’m now 32. (I don’t really care that I’m not 29 anymore–I just think phrasing it that way is funny.)
“Wow, Mom. Thirty-two! You look as old as PawPaw now,” Little Man told me earlier without cracking a smile. Luckily for him I know that he inherited my dry sense of humor. That’s what I’m telling myself for that comment, anyway.
Birthdays are usually tough, because of it being that time of year when depression often rolls around and other things. Today ended up being a really nice day, though, even though a lot of those feelings have already started surfacing. My husband let me sleep in, made an appointment for me to get my hair done this afternoon (7 inches gone plus fresh blue and purple streaks), I bought a nice purse, and then Sam made me a steak dinner and chocolate eclair cake. After everything, we all sat in the floor playing games. It was all so very nice.
“I feel like this wasn’t a great birthday,” Sam told me after the kids went to bed. “I didn’t buy a gift or have have candles for the cake.”
“Oh, this was a great birthday,” I said. “Remember last year? When you forgot everything and took the kids to buy a present, supper from Arby’s, and a cake from Food Lion at the last minute? This year was awesome.” And it really was.
He looked embarrassed. “Yeah I guess it was pretty good in comparison!” And that’s the first and last time I’ll remind him of that–gotta give that stuff an expiration date after one year.
Little Man had big plans for a present, but they didn’t pan out. He came stomping through the living room this evening. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked.
He stuck his bottom lip out. “I can’t give you the birthday present I wanted to give you.”
“Well…since Christmas is coming up, I took a laundry basket, my stuffed Rudolph, my Santa hat, and Baby Girl’s (ride on) elephant in my room. I was going to be Santa and the basket was going to be my sleigh. Baby Girl was going to ride on her elephant and be a reindeer. And if I could have found a fishing pole, that would have been my whip. But I couldn’t find any strings to attach everything, so now I can’t do it.”
The unruly Baby Girl as a reindeer. While Little Man cracks a pretend whip. Lord Jesus.
“Hey, it’s the thought that counts,” I told him. I didn’t add that sometimes it’s best when the thought is all that happens. “So thank you for coming up with such a thoughtful birthday gift.”
“You’re welcome!” he said. Now I’m pretty sure he’s going to write down thoughts for Christmas gifts. I’ll open an envelope that says “new car” or something like that. 😉