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Such mixed feelings. Birthdays and me haven’t had the best of relationships in the last 20+ years. There was the year that all my college roommates were in an accident on my birthday, where the car was totalled, but thankfully no one was hurt (it was the only mode of grocery transportation for our whole apartment). There was the year on my mission where the branch threw me a birthday/going away party (I was being transferred the next day) and then forgot to invite me (which means in the 3rd world, where no one has phones or cars, that I didn’t find out until it was over and I was on my way to the next city). There was the year that my daughter contracted scabies and we had to spend all day cleaning the WHOLE house and all our possessions and then slathering every member in the household (including the baby) in special scabies lotion and going to sleep.
This year doesn’t really rate on that scale. It was just not much different than any other day. Like nearly every other day, DH left for work early–this time at 0 dark 30. Like nearly every other day, I got children ready for school and they fought and tormented each other, destroyed property and the belongings of others. Like nearly every other day, I yelled too much getting them into the car and safely to school before the tardy bell (how much before the tardy bell we won’t go into). Like nearly every other day, I fought with the entropy of life to be able to have a shower and meals in the same day. And like nearly every other day, I saw my husband for about 1 ½ hours between when he left work, early special for my birthday dinner, and when he needed to be at a church meeting.
I want to be bitter. But instead my goal this year is to accept the gifts people give me as the best they’re trying to give. So, even though the children fought and destroyed property, they did hug and kiss me and wish me a happy birthday with much enthusiasm and ask when my “mom friends” were coming for my party. And even though my husband couldn’t bring himself to miss a meeting, the fact is that he left work early during a very stressful time to have dinner with me. And frankly, the fact that he feels his duties and stewardships so deeply is one of the things I love about him.
And we come to the end of the birthday day, where miraculously everyone bathed easily, fought not at all and went to bed and sleep without incident–probably the best birthday present a mother could ask for. And it occurs to me, I have my dream job. I have never, in my heart of hearts, wanted anything more than to be a mother. I am supremely blessed to be able to be a mother, and nothing else, because my DH has a wonderful job that pays well enough to provide for our needs and many wants. Dear DH is a worthy priesthood holder; he is a loving father to our children and a loving husband to me, his sometimes grumpy wife. And sometimes, even on my birthday, I recognize these gifts. And that I suppose, is the best gift of all.