Last week, as we do every year, we celebrated the Husband's birthday and Father's Day - all within a few days of each other.
He has dubbed it, "The Week of Josh," and makes demands for cakes, presents, and celebratory honor all week long.
I roll my eyes each and every year, groaning out loud, and wondering when it will ever be the Week of Stie. The children, however, jump with glee at the mere possibility of getting cake every day, and immediately start making homespun presents from clay, sticks, and rocks.
Which everyone totally wants for their birthday.
This year, however, the week of Josh was doomed from the start.
Business took him out of town on his birthday and the evening of Father's Day, something no man should ever have to do.
A search for the one present he actually wanted this year ended in disappointment as we discovered it will be back ordered for several weeks. (I have consented on this gift for a few reasons, one of them being that he'll just go out and buy it anyway, and the other because it just so happens to be the weapon of choice for my imaginary boyfriend, James Bond. Nothing wrong with bringing your fantasies to life, right?)
And just a few days shy of his actual birthday, his loving wife accidentally uploaded a system-crippling virus onto the family computer. Doing this resulted in hundreds of dollars shelled out to Geek Squad, and the eventual purchase of a new computer. A computer which everyone but the Husband will realistically use.
So, for his 37th year, the Husband generously shelled out a large sum of money to make others happy, put his own birthday wishes aside, and cheerfully ate a large slice of the driest birthday cake in history.
While the many layers seem enticing and delicious, it was, in fact, not.
Happy Week of Josh, baby. In spite of indications otherwise, you are extremely loved. It is the generosity of your spirit, your soul without guile, and your constant thought of others that makes you who you are.
And, um, here's hoping I do a little better next year.