Birthday Blowout

Birthdays are a bit of a touchy subject in the O'Doyle household. While C-Rock firmly asserts that "not dying for another year" is not a celebration-worthy accomplishment at our age, birthdays were just short of a national holiday growing up in my family. What's wrong with having one day a year when your loved ones make you feel incredibly special? I suppose if you're a man who prefers to go about your business unnoticed, the idea is not appealing. Due to the misalignment in our respective views, birthdays are a source of bi-annual disappointment in our home.

C-Rock is not one to give me any clues as to what to get him. More than anything, he just doesn't know what he would want. I find this particularly challenging because one of my favorite things is spending a ton of time and effort into putting together the perfect gift. Without any guidance, my painstaking choices for him have been hit or miss over the years. One time I  picked out a random globe among a few other things. After unwrapping it, he could not have ripped open the packaging and started to assemble the thing any more enthusiastically. It has proudly sat next to his desk ever since. However, another year when I planned a surprise road-trip to a bonsai nursery and gave him all the books and tools he would need to get started, it was a big fat fail. The poor box elder tree grows wildly on our back porch amidst the various containers that comprise C-Rock's 'urban garden'.

The importance I place on gift giving also leads to problems on my own birthday. Despite my attempts to explain, C-Rock simply can't understand that a thoughtless gift is just as hurtful as if he'd forgotten my birthday altogether. He believes that as long as he's "spent enough money", his sacrificial offering should be enough to appease the angry wife gods. The biggest meltdown to date occurred on my birthday the first year we were married. As always, I had a list of things I'd had my eye on - and as always - I had spent hours pouring over customer reviews and item specifications to add just the right items to my list. Perhaps, like my husband, you find the idea of a grown woman having a 'wish list' to be absurd. But, I maintain that if someone feels compelled to give me something, why not give them an idea of what I could use or would want? After all, they are *wishes*, not demands, and we do have a very small home.

Anyway, this year C-Rock disappeared for a bit on the morning of my birthday. He comes home about an hour later with a plastic Wal-mart bag in hand. He started to walk up to me and hand me the bag, but after seeing the look on my face, he quickly pivoted and went into the other room. A few minutes later he comes back with the contents placed in a giant, reused Christmas gift bag (sans tissue paper). Despite myself, I became hopeful when I noticed he *did* include a card, which was an improvement from years past. My hopes quickly fell when I pulled the card out of its sleeve and realized it was a "sweaty man" card. This is a tradition between C-Rock and his brothers where they give each other lewd cards with scantly clad man on the front reading things like, "This is chad. He's here to give you your birthday spankings." I then reach in and pull out the small box from the bottom of the over-sized bag. It's a point-and-shoot camera. Nothing close to the one from my list, simply the "whatever's cheapest" option from our local Wal-mart. I put on a brave face for about 30 seconds before I had to run to the bathroom to cry, leaving a baffled C-Rock behind.

Since then, he's decided to stick to my list and at least plan further in advance than the day of. He also steers clear of sweaty man cards and tries to remember to write at least a little something inside. I try to remember he cares even if his gifts don't always show it. It's not a perfect system, but I hold out hope it will go smoother as we grow older together... one stinkin birthday at a time.