My husband is a fabulous creature. He is good, kind, damned fine-looking and he can make me laugh even when I'm sure my sense of humour has abandoned me forever. If I asked him to grow peanuts out of his ears and he thought it was important to me he would find a way to do it. Because I know this and because he's so good at the little things (making me coffee, dealing with our paperwork, laughing at my pathetic jokes), I don't expect grand gestures from him. If there is something I really, really, REALLY want, I tell him and he makes it happen.
Which is why I don't understand how my desire for him to throw me a surprise birthday party has never quite hit his plane of consciousness. Every year around this time I start hinting at a surprise party. Who am I kidding? I hint at it all year round. And the hints get less subtle as September draws closer until the day before my actual birthday when, having watched my friends and husband with growing suspicion, I finally realise that there is no party planned and it's up to me to get everyone together. Again.
So, with tomorrow being my first spin at Mothers' Day, and with visions of the tantrum I would be reduced to if it was forgotten, I decided to take a more direct approach:
Me: I hope Ezra is getting me something for Mothers' Day.
Quick-thinking Husband: I hope so too. I gave him fifty bucks for your gift, he better not have blown it on sweets.
Me (smothering a giggle and cursing his wit): Shane, I am not joking.
QTH: I'm not joking either. He said he was going to borrow your car and pop down to town yesterday. I offered him a lift but you know how independent he is...
Me: Okay funny man. Joke all you want, but there had better be a dash of Hallmark in my coffee tomorrow morning or I'm out of here.
QTH: Don't you say something like that every year around your birthday?
There's enough breastmilk in the freezer for one feed. I wonder if he'll try joking with Ezra when the second meal of the day is due...?