Pearls Before Swine

Or a person shaped like a swine, at least... Round and sort of squishy. Although my nose doesn't turn up so I guess I'm only sort of swiney. ;)

Pearls... I got the best gift for Mother's Day. A double strand of real (real!!) pearls. They are gorgeous and I still can't believe it. Since I slammed him for the lack of birthday forethought, I figured it was only fair to share his success as well.

Vacation... We survived. It was actually about as I expected. Katie was very good, for the most part. Even at dinner in fancy restaurants. She flirted shamelessly with everyone she came into contact with. Only one problem: she hated the beach. And, even more, she hated the hat I made her wear. We wound up making a tent for her between our beach chairs, where she fussed for the entire 2 hours, making us both miserable. Still, she was awfully cute!

O Fortuna!

Got my recommendation letter today and will be sending in my application to sing the Carmina Burana at the CONCORA Summer Choral Festival. I feel a bit foolish going to music camp at my age but it is just a few evenings for a week and I do love singing the Carmina.

And who am I really fooling? I am also hoping to come to the notice of the Director and be asked to audition for CONCORA (www.concora.org) or at least figure out if they have open auditions and, if so, when and what the requirements are.

And since I'm writing of things choral... The church choir I'm singing in has paid section leaders. This is the first choir I've ever sung in that had paid section leaders. They seem a bit obsessed with them. It's just kind of odd. And a bit ego-bruising when the conductor assures my part (there are 2 of us) while looking at me directly that we will have a section leader for the performance... I don't think I'm that bad as to be in dire need of choral assistance. Think, of course, being the operative term. Maybe I shouldn't. Think, that is. Sometimes it's just a bad idea.

So, I'll just settle back and hope I get in to the summer camp. And leave you with this question: what the fuck were those 14th century monks doing writing about trading the world for the queen of England in their arms? That's just wrong on so many levels.

Werre du Welt alle min
Von dem Mer uns an den Rhin
des wollt ich mich darben
das die Koenigen von Engellant
lege an minnen armen.

The Long and Winding Whine

See title. Don't say you weren't warned!

A little background: My family has always made a very big deal of birthdays - balloons, streamers, chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, etc. I've been married 8 years and 50 weeks now; he's fully aware of this and usually tries even though he'd prefer to ignore all birthdays.

So, as you may have noted, my birthday was last Friday. No, you know... let's back up to the week prior to my birthday...

Two people are sitting at a dinner table. It's Friday night, April 14th.
Man: So, what would you like for your birthday?
Woman: (thinking, what the hell are you asking now for, you're not going to have time to get anything - particularly since just about anything I could think of to ask for would need to be ordered) Um. I don't know. I'd ask for the new Stargate S8 and S9 DVDs but I don't think they're out yet. (thinks some more, heck of a time to ask, you *know I can't think of stuff like that at the drop of a hat)
Man: (changes topic)

Fast forward to Friday last (April the 21st)...

Woman: (hmmm, card, small cake - diet alert, diet alert - no balloons, no streamers. Well, we are going away. Maybe he'll make more of a deal when we're at my folks tomorrow. Hey, where is he anyway?)
Man: (comes in)
Woman: Thanks for the card, honey! Come have some cake.
Man: Can't. I have to go vacuum the car for our trip. *You should eat it.
Woman: Oh. (contemplating the minicake) Are you sure? (hopefully) I can wait; I don't mind.
Man: No - go ahead! I'll be back later.
Woman: (disappointed. wheee - birthday cake by myself. Woo freakin' hoo. Oh, I feel so special now. Oh shut up.)

Fast forward to Saturday, April 22nd.

Woman: Thanks for the present, Mom!
Mom: Don't forget to remind me to transfer the money!
Woman: Ok. (well, now, *that would be awkward -- excuse me, have you given me my birthday present yet?, but it was a nice thought for her to think of flying money. Looks like John *didn't get me anything after all. Oh. Well, maybe next Saturday when we go to dinner.)

Fast forward to Saturday, April 29th.

Woman: (unable to stand it any longer, coyly) So, what'd you get me for my birthday??
Man: Well, you said you didn't want anything... (awkward pause) So, what do you want?
Woman: (sorry, too late now)

Which means, of course, that I didn't get anything. And, as I recall, I didn't say I didn't want anything; I said I couldn't think of anything at that particular moment.

Would it kill him to put some thought into it? This is why we don't exchange Christmas gifts anymore. I know it's hard for him, that's why I suggested, from the beginning of our marriage, that we not exchange anniversary presents either, because I didn't want him to have to struggle to think of something 2 weeks after my birthday. This is the ONE opportunity each year he has to give me a present. And he can't fuckin' be bothered.

You know, I keep my ears open throughout the year for things that might be good for his birthday -- a little mental "gee, that'd be a good present for John" list. I've mentioned a couple of times over the last month, month and a half, or so that I'd lost one of my pearl earrings, the earrings I most often wear. I even asked me to help me find it. (I dropped it while standing at my dresser and it vanished. Of course, did I think of pearl earrings when he asked me, a week before my birthday, what I wanted? No. But, you know, he *could keep his own mental list.)

And, you know, this isn't about the stuff because, frankly, the best gift he could have possibly given me would have cost nothing except his time. He could have offered to let me have an entire day to myself. One where he took care of the baby the entire day, took care of all the fussing, the diapers, the feedings, the changing, the getting up and the putting to bed. He knows my biggest frustration is that I can never accomplish anything because, just as I get into anything, I get interrupted. To have an entire day where I could do whatever I wanted would be amazing.

I had better birthdays when I was single. At least, then, you *expect you're going to eat your birthday cake alone. (And, yes, I did make myself a birthday cake when I was single.)

I know, I know. I should count my blessings. And I do. But, you know, this makes me wonder where I stand on his list. Clearly not anywhere near the top. He just can't be bothered. And that hurts.