For the past several weeks Dave has been burning the candle at both ends, working on a proposal for a contract. It’s the same old drill we’ve gone through every September as the DOD scrambles to allot the remaining budgeted dollars for the current fiscal year before it ends on October 1st. So, our traditional Labor Day celebration consists of Dave working the entire weekend while I hang around the house not doing much of anything.
This year, he is really under the gun because this proposal is due this coming Monday and Maggie’s wedding is in three days. Even though his workmates are ready and willing to give him a hand, he wants to ensure the proposal is in good shape before he hands it over to them. Combine that with our extra vigilance in regards to his health, and the stress level increases exponentially. I’ve been pitching in to carry his load of household chores but occasionally some things do fall through the cracks.
Yesterday when he came home from work, he was pooped. He said he wanted to close his eyes for a few minutes and then eat a quick meal before heading back to the office. When I called him to the table he announced that he was done for the day and had decided that we should go for a walk this evening and he’d go in early in the morning to make up lost time.
True to his word, the alarm went off a little after 5:00 this morning. Per his custom, he hit the snooze button a couple of times and finally crawled off to the shower. I decided I would get him off to a good start by actually cooking him a breakfast – something I almost never do.
To the tune of Izzie’s whining to go out, I got the sausage and toast going before cracking the eggs into a bowl for scrambling. In short order I had set the table with nice cloth napkins, poured the juice and had two plates of scrambled eggs and sausage ready when Dave came down the stairs. I even had his coffee poured and mixed to his personal specifications of sugar and hazelnut creamer.
There was little conversation as we ate; Dave isn’t a morning person and he was a bit grumpy. He apologized for his dark mood and said he hadn’t slept well; so many thoughts were running through his mind. I felt badly for him and told him I had something important to tell him. He looked at me unconvinced that I actually had something important to say. I said, “Honey, I just wanted to tell you that today is my birthday.” He cringed and put his hand over his face. “I didn’t want you to get to work and look at the calendar and realize that you forgot and I don’t want you to feel like you have to run and get me a card. I’m okay with it, really.” And I was.
He said he was sorry and kissed me. I knew he was sorry as well as I knew that he hadn’t forgotten my birthday because he doesn’t care about me. Heck, with all the wedding stuff going on, I’d practically forgotten about it myself! It felt so good to let him off easy, like I was finally a big girl; mature and thoughtful. Being able to give him that gift was about the best gift I could have received for my birthday.