Yep, I turn 42 this weekend. Except for commemorating the milestone with a party hat and a mammogram (remind me to make that appointment, would you?) I was all set to pretty much let it go without any fanfare. I mean, it’s not like the big 4-0, which can be celebrated, justifiably, with lots of liquor and karaoke. When you’re turning 40, people EXPECT you to make an ass out of yourself, and Lord knows I didn’t disappoint anyone that year.
But 42? Meh. Just not so special.
Blaine, I think, wanted to do something nice for me. He runs very hot and cold when it comes to birthdays. I never know whether he’ll painstakingly select a gift weeks in advance, giving it much thought and consideration, desiring to pick the perfect-ultimately-right present ….. or if this will be one of the years he snags a People Magazine and box of Milk Duds from the checkout stand at 7-11, and hands them to me with best wishes.
The first birthday of mine we ever spent together was when I turned 19. We had only been dating a month, and he sent flowers, which I thought was lovely. He confessed later that he didn’t want to buy any kind of expensive gift in case it was a short-lived relationship …. So basically, he didn’t want to be out very much cold-hard cash in case I turned out to be a hag.
The second birthday, after we’d been dating about a year, he stunned me by planning a huge surprise party. Emphasis on the word "Surprise". To this day I can remember walking in to the house, and honestly not understanding what all those people were doing there. For me? Really!?!?!?! He planned it to take place a week before my actual birthday, which threw me off a little. Mainly, I remember thinking, “if he can get all this accomplished behind my back, without me having any idea, what ELSE could he be doing and I would never know???”
In the years since, he’s bought everything from hot rollers to books to gift cards to suitcases to jewelry. Like I said, some years he splurges, and some years …. Well, some years I wonder if he even remembered at all, or simply noticed the Labor Day Special signs at Wal-Mart, realized with a jolt, “Hey, Kristie’s birthday is around Labor Day, isn’t it???” and grabbed an orange juice squeezer out of the dollar rack.
This year? I’m pretty sure he remembered.
This year? He bought me a little something that I like to call a cruise. A cruise to Alaska.
Depending on when you’re reading this, I’m either sitting in the airport, or flying overhead on my way to Vancouver.
The bad news is my fear of flying isn’t lessened knowing my husband and kids aren’t with me. In fact, it might be worse.
The good news is *this* is why I bought that stupid laptop last week, so I can keep you updated as soon as I arrive, and blog about all the beautiful, wonderful things I’m getting to see and do. As long as I don’t go down in a fiery crash and plummet to my death before I even cross the Canadian border, that is.
Gosh, let’s hope for the first scenario.
It’ll be a pretty depressing birthday, otherwise.