Thursday, October 27, 2011

I swear I am not wishing you an unhappy birthday

October 17th was Corey's 39th birthday.   Here is a photo documenting our celebration.   It was a hoot, obviously.  I don't know what Moriarty put a curse upon this day. but I swear it wasn't me.  I openly confess to the leading role that I have played in the destruction of all possible glee for at least two of these October seventeenths,  but the other botched birthdays have been beyond my control.   Filled with stalwart determination, I challenged our unnamed nemesis, vowing that this year would be the year of OUR victory.  Our foe will cower while we bathe ourselves in the spoils of this war...... Corey falling asleep with a smile in his heart and the knowledge that he is loved.....that karma had finally rewarded his time living deliberately on this earth with an nod of approval.   The kids and I combined forces and tried to follow all the rules of a good birthday.

1.  Gifts thoughtfully purchased and even more thoughtfully designed and customized.  Check
2.  Pre-work morning acknowledgment and texts of endearment during the day.  Check
3.  Favorite meal prepared and waiting for him when he returns from his rough day at work.   Check
4.  Cake ready.  Check
5.  Table specially set with a surprising change of table runner and 4 ambient candles. Check
6.  Family seated together to radiate our love and appreciation.   Check
7.  Open gifts, enjoy an unforgettable meal, and take photos of him blowing out 39 candles on his cake while he wishes only for another birthday equal to this in greatness.   UPCHUCK.

I initially aligned myself with the dinner table, only to moments later become a defector and swear my allegiance to the toilet bowl for remainder of the evening, leaving Corey to feed the troops, clean up his own birthday dinner,  and wipe vomit from the tip of my nose.  The poor cake was abandoned.  After the expulsion of the entirety of my innards, when my mind would finally accept any material other than survival, this thought enrolled itself into my school of thought:

"I seem to be the common denominator in the demolitions of this day of Doady's deliverance."  (Doady is my nickname for Corey and I had to remain true to my alliteration.)

Next year will be better?  Next year will be better.  Next year will be Better!

There I go again, making his day all about me.


Anonymous said...

Corey should be getting use to such birthdays. One year we all(except Duane) spent his birthday in bed to sick to even raise our heads.

Anonymous said...

Corey should be getting use to this type of birthday. One year we were all sick except for Duane. We were so sick we couldn't raise our heads from our pillows.