Jeff and I sort of got into it back in May. On a particular Sunday in May. A particular Sunday that is well recognized in our culture for being an over-marketed, trite recognition of a normal human act.
I’m talking, of course, about Mother’s Day.
You see, Jeff didn’t plan anything for Mother’s Day. I promise, wasn’t looking for a parade or a grand gesture or anything. But a “hey happy Mother’s Day” might’ve been nice. Some sort of little recognition that I had spent the past 6 months getting increasingly fatter and off-balance (physically and emotionally) AND IT WAS HIS FAULT.
But nothing was forthcoming. So while we were watching the previews before the afternoon matinee of The Avengers, I briefly mentioned why I’d been in a bit of a sore mood all day and he apologized and I really truly wasn’t mad or anything (I’m not a complete shrew, you know). But the next day there were beautiful flowers waiting for me at home because Jeff’s really a sweetheart and felt bad, even though I’d absolutely forbidden him to beat himself up over it.
I did tell him, though,that part of the reason I’d been so looking forward to this first Mother’s Day (and the subsequent first Father’s Day for him) was that I’d come up with a brilliant and clever gift idea and I honestly couldn’t wait another year to give it to him. But I couldn’t just go and do something for him for Father’s Day without him recognizing Mother’s Day the month before, because then that would make me look like an asshole (or maybe he’d look like the asshole there. I’m not sure which direction that guilt river should flow. But anyway – no inadvertent assholeishness could be allowed, because that’s no fun for anyone.).
This is a REALLY REALLY REALLY roundabout way of saying that I did something mildly awesome for Jeff’s first-ever Father’s Day. Because I am just that nice, and also because dude deserves some sort of recognition for all those back rubs I’ve coerced him into giving me since January.
On Sunday morning I woke up and did my usual stuff, and then around 11 I made maple-cinnamon french toast and OJ and set a lovely table, along with some cards (one from me, one from the cat) and a couple little gifts wrapped in brown paper*. If I were a fancy person like in my dream life, I’d go out to our cheerful flower beds and pick some pretty what-have-you’s and put them in a mason jar adorned with raffia. But that’s laughably implausible given our current apartment-dwelling living situation and my own inherent laziness, so I didn’t. But feel free to imagine that added to the spread, if it helps. Think whimsical!
ANYWAY. (Jesus H. Christ this is long-winded). This is what I had found on Amazon, many weeks prior, for Jeff’s first-ever Father’s Day:
I inscribed that with a loving sentiment – something about not killing our baby, logically enough.
Then Macbeth and Roxie gave him these, to read to Hoopling:
COOLEST. BOARD BOOKS. EVER.
I love these so much there aren’t even words. Is there any better way to raise a tiny geek? (Answer: No.)
With any luck, next year Father’s Day will look quite a bit different (hopefully in a good way). But I’m glad that this year, while we’re in that odd limbo of childless-but-not-really, I was able to do something for Jeff to tell him how much I love and appreciate him. Because he’s my nice husbandman and is going to be an *excellent* father to Hooplings.
Assuming he doesn’t accidentally kill them, I mean.
*I love wrapping gifts in brown paper. Rather than looking cheap and bleak, I like to pretend that it’s utilitarian and rustic and customizable to any occasion. Except I’m always too lazy to fuck around with curling ribbon or anything, so it’s always just plain brown paper and my gifts end up looking like Soviet-era rations.