Today is Tate’s 25th* birthday! I know that people who have Christmas babies swear that they’ll always take care to separate Christmas from the birthday, present and attention wise. When I married Tate, I even told myself that I’d never fall into the habit of glossing over his birthday so close to Christmas, or tell him that his Christmas present was also his birthday gift. Merry Christmas AND Happy Birthday! Sorry I’m too cheap to get you another gift, sucker!
So here I sit feeling guilty this December 29th because the Christmas gift I bought for him also counts as his birthday gift. It was a really expensive gift, though, and my PayPal account is now empty. So…
I like for people to fuss over me on my birthday, make like it’s an important day. Maybe that makes me silly or childish, but I like feeling that I’m special to other people.
As much as I complain about my husband, he is a pretty good guy. Actually, he’s a really good guy. I wish that putting Christmas together didn’t overwhelm me, then drain me of my enthusiasm to celebrate.
I will make him carne asada for dinner and Ella is going to whip up a delicious Devil’s food whoopie pie with her Easy Bake Oven. He’ll open his card from me and maybe if I can convince the kids to sit down long enough, they’ll even draw him a picture or color something for him from their SpongeBob or My Little Pony coloring books.
Maybe his present could be that I won’t complain even once about what he chooses to watch on TV tonight.
Happy birthday, Tate. I’m sorry I stink at post-Christmas birthdays.
*He’s not really 25. Let’s just pretend, okay? It’s just that every year that HE gets older means that I also get older.