Celebrating Thirty Three

In the car after dinner last night

Last week we celebrated the week of my birth, 33 years ago.

Our celebration began at the lake with cake, ice cream, and the "Happy Birthday to You" song. The week continued with extra sweet attentiveness from my honey. And when I didn't get my way, I could use the "But it's my birth week" line and turn things around.

Wouldn't you know on the day of my birth, he forgot. Yep, forgot. No breakfast in bed, no sweet text message with birthday wishes, and not even a happy birthday kiss. I planned to wait until the 10th to break the news to him, but it just flew out of my mouth about 6:30 that evening as we walked side by side on the treadmills.

He, of course, felt awful. The look on his face said it all. Now, there may have been a time in my life where that's exactly what I hoped to accomplish, but not the case with Charlie. It actually tickled me that the man, who enters EVERYTHING into his cellphone calender had managed to forget his wife's birthday.

And Charlie celebrates me everyday. He asks about my work day and my students by name. He patiently endures my rants about this and that. He sends unsolicited, sweet text messages and emails. He likes sitting in the kitchen with me while I cook dinner. Believe me, the man celebrates me and us. I'll take that any day over a single day of attention.

But I do think I will suggest to him that we change this birth week celebration into a birth month celebration, and that he enter the date into his calender for next year!