March is full of special events. My youngest son married his wife on the 14th, my step-son and his wife married on the 17th, and my husband’s birthday is on the 19th. Two of my best friends also celebrate their birthdays in March. I’d like to get my husband a special gift, but to tell you the truth, it’s hard to find him something that he doesn’t already have. I was thinking about buying him a lifetime pass to the national parks and a fishing license, but this just seems like a purchase more than a gift.

I’ve crossed-stitched bookmarks lately for people, too, but sometimes they do not even look that great as I’ve been sort of designing my own thing.

Anyway, the whole gift “what-to-buy/what-to-give” thing has been on my mind which has reminded me of several painful birthday moments. One was that my father passed on my son’s 13th birthday. I had some of his friends sleep over, and when I got the call that my dad passed, I remember sobbing in front of these boys, and then driving back home by myself to help make arrangements. Honestly, I don’t know how I got there as I was sobbing during the entire two hour drive.

When I was probably around 9 or 10 my older brother and sister worked to give me a special gift. I wrote about it in the following poem:

The Extra-Special Birthday Gift

For my 9th  birthday in June
Pam and Dave restored
A broken down bike
Painted it robin egg blue
Wrapped the seat in white tape
A wonderfully heart-filled gift

Soon after Pam and her friend plan a bike ride; 
I desperately want to tag along
But I am five years younger
They laughingly speed off 
I work my hardest to keep up,
Pedaling furiously, building speed

I careen around the corner
hurtling down the street we live on
Tearfully realizing, the chain’s broke; 
I can’t brake—Blairs Ferry Road, 
a two lane semi-riddled blacktop highway
is lying in wait

“Danger, danger, danger,” my mind shrieks
Leaping off the bike, I escape my certain demise 
Landing hard on the concrete
Scraping my knees; watching my beloved 
bike wobble across the highway; 
losing some paint; collapsing into the ditch

Hearing my screams, Pam and Dave rush outside
Find me crying; lying in a heap
Shouting, “Look what you’ve done to the bike!”
“You never appreciate anything!”
But what about me?
Is all I can think

Probably the worst birthday memory involves my husband. When he was younger, he loved to get drunk at local bars. It was the day before some “special” birthday of mine, at least it had seemed special in my mind. It was a Saturday, and I thought that would be the perfect day to celebrate my birthday which fell on Sunday that year. Well, that Saturday morning, my husband said he was going out to get a gift for me. Hours passed and there was no sign of him returning. I figured he was in a bar.

Finally, I decided to go look for him. It didn’t take me long before I spied his van outside a bar on Main Street. As I walked by the van, I could see there was a big barbecue pit grill inside. (Not what I wanted, but what he wanted). I sauntered through the barroom door, and I’m furious. He’s sitting at the bar with some other fool who slurs, “Earl’s going to die!”

OMG! That comment was like throwing gasoline on a fire. I do not recall what I said, but I do not ever remember being quite so mad as in that moment. When my husband came home, he acted like we were going to go out. NOT! The next day I got the grill and a garden hose holder. A garden hose holder! Who buys something like that for their wife? (An idiot!) I never could enjoy that grill either.