Today is my husband’s 40th birthday and he has had very few requests. He wants to eat dinner at church tonight because we haven’t most of the semester and it’s something we really love doing. He wants to have birthday cake with the small group that meets at our house on Thursday evening and he wants to use our AMC gift cards to see some sort of a movie on Saturday.
40 is a milestone, and when I hit 40 next year I intend to mark it in a big way, but for Jonathan there are more important things on his mind, like an ethics paper and a Christ and Salvation paper, and group projects and internship requirements. . . and on and on. Really, a few quiet pleasures are a bigger deal to him right now than a big blowout that would just feel like another obligation.
Unfortunately, last night our mackerdoodle threw up all night, and this morning the cheesedoodle did his best to emulate her – at speech therapy, because throwing up in public is so much better than throwing up in bed. Ick. This rules out dinner plans and really puts a crimp in the over all festive nature of a birthday.
So on his 40th birthday, with papers due and meetings to attend and plans changed or canceled, my husband is snuggled up on the couch, a queasy kid under each arm (and a towel on his lap, just in case) watching The Incredibles. This is one of the many things I love about this man. It doesn’t take much to be content with life when you get to eat your favorite food with your favorite people and then do it all over again in three days. It is the mark of a wonderful husband and father to find joy in a birthday that features someone else’s vomit and canned chicken noodle soup.
Happy Birthday, my love.