Feb. 11, 2008 at 9:43pm

celebrating the big three-nine

(feeling grumpy.)

So we decided to take the kid to Crystal Mountain with us tomorrow, she'll skip school, Oh, Happy Day!  We discover it's going to rain on the mountain tomorrow.  I'm beginning to feel a sense of less-than-heartfelt-joy.

The kid and her dad, upon getting the car from repairs (and after many whispered conversations,) went shopping as I took the other car home. I stopped at Safeway. I got filet mignon, I got fabric softener. I got Gnarly Head Old Vine Zin. I made a balsamic/ extra virgin olive oil/ dijon mustard dressing that thickened to the perfect consistency, and felt a sense of peace and accomplishment.  Life was... nice.

Kid and dad got home, we ate, all was happy happy (except for kid, interrupting every 2.5 milliseconds, ESPECIALLY when her dad and I were involved in important conversation) and then, whispered conversation betwixt the two of them, "ya wanna celebrate your birthday now?" asks kid, excited.

Of course, I say.

Out comes package one.  Tinkerbell bag, uber-fancy, kid asks if she can have it.  Of course, I say.  In it: two floral balloons on straws, a bag of Hawaiian potato chips, a gap giftcard from Safeway.

I have to admit, the latter excites me. 

Thanks! I say, we have cake with symbolic ballet-class candles (yellow and purple are the teachers, the other ones are the class, she informs me), and all is well. It's white cake, fluffy, moist.

But wait! there's one more gift! much hubbub ensues, and out comes a "huge" thing.  It's a robe, micro-fleece type, sized too big for me, and I have to act delighted.  MMMM, looks warm and cozy, I say, I LOVE warm and cozy! 

Kid tells me, I got it for you because it's golden and lovely, and you don't have anything golden and lovely.  Good choice, I say, with sincere gratitude, and I put it on with much excitement.

I try to ignore the interior fleece balling up-- what, has it been returned, hence the $17 sale sticker? There are chunks of the exterior fleece falling out.  I try to pick out the most obvious, so as I stroke the nice soft arms, I don't create snow.

Just wash it, the man tells me. He's irritated.  She picked it out for you, he says.  I was hoping to find inspiration, and I didn't, and the kid was excited about this, he says.

I want to be snarky, and say, well, I suspect Kmart might have been the wrong place to look for inspiration.  I nod, sympathetically, and say, yeah well, REI always works for me (I've bought many a desperation gift there, for him.)

He says, yeah, well, I haven't really had alot of time. 

And he hasn't, he's been out of town, he's been on drill, he's been tasked for war.  I get it.  I don't expect miracles.  I know the gifts chosen have significance-- the potato chips are supposed to remind me of Maui.  The balloons are cool and celebratory. The robe is a golden, fluffy mound of joy, cloaking me in a resplendence fit for a queen.

I'm moved, I'm grateful.

But they're things, and inadequate things for the feelings I'm feeling.  I need information, I need answers, I need rain-free groomed runs on my birthday, for Christ's sake.  I need something that's unadulterated happiness right now.

and a Kmart robe ain't cuttin' it.

(but I appreciate the efforts.)