We did all the obligatory family celebratory things: Bar Mitzvahzilla, Daughter and I all drew him handmade cards. We planned a romantic, candlelit dinner, but then realized the kids wanted to come along. They were unsympathetic to our desire to be alone. Weren't we alone every single night at bedtime?
Then, after our celebration was through, it was time for Husband's Lamentation, a yearly ritual he must go through, tormenting both himself and me about why he's not a millionaire yet.
I don't know if this is just a guy thing, but each birthday since Husband was about 45 he has moaned and groaned about how rich he should have been by each respective age. Millions and millions of imaginary dollars should have been in the bank, apparently. And, again apparently, as he casts a withering glance my way, it's all my fault.
I have to withstand the glare because I guess it's true. I've spent all the money. I don't think it would have been millions, but I'm responsible for some significant portion of frittering. Over seventeen years of marriage, who knows how much?
There's the ill-advised vintage Barbie collection in our den gathering dust, something that seemed like a good idea twelve years ago when I was in my second bout of infertility inbetween having the kids. There's the fact that we have enough furniture in the house to fill a house twice this size, that there are enough pictures standing along walls to fill walls twice as high, and the fact that I have enough clothes - all from sales racks - to change my shirt several times a day and never run out.
But here's how men and women are different. When I hit my birthday each year I think, "I should have had a book published by now," or some other miserable writing related mantra. I never think that I should have been a millionaire. Truly, growing up with as much deprivation as I did, I'm amazed every day that I have any money at all. Only a man would think that.
I try to look on Husband lovingly and benevolently during this time period because I know it's tough on him, this longing for Money That Never Was. And I can afford to be nice right now anyway. For this six-week time period, from January 22 to March 7th each year, I'm actually six years younger than him each year instead of five, a youthful babe to his doddering old man. Who can blame him for festering?
Do you have an achievement lurking in your mind that you expect to accomplish by a certain age? Does your spouse or partner have a completely different goal? Is it monetary, fame, success, love, happiness, or what?
My husband's big goal in life is to be a grumpy old man.
ReplyDeleteThat is his goal.
I think achieving what he set out to do early in life(become a green beret blah blah blah ...only 300 blah blah blah) really helped him settle into his middle years in a relatively stable manner.
And I don't know what it is about the middle to end of january, but this is the third blog with the whole life choices theme (including mine).
weird. Good post.
I am 35, my hubby is 41....I enjoy being in different decades, it makes me feel like a spring chicken.
Oh...money, money, money. My husband and I always spend more than we make, him/cars, me/trips. I try to keep most of the ugly details to myself (like the monthly interest fees - yuk!), but then look back at the wonderful places we've been. Then the guilt sets in and I think, let's save up and not go anywhere this year. Well, make that 2011 - upcoming June trip to Montreal to see the Grand Prix car race (VISA loves me!)
ReplyDeleteNot money! Just like you, I think--where is that freaking book I was going to write?? Every year, I think that.
ReplyDeleteYou know, I have to say that, as much trouble as I have living in the present, I nevertheless don't think that much about the future and big dreams on the horizon. Husband does, though. He always compares himself to classmates of ours or historical figures who have achieved so much by our age. I let myself off the hook from that type of thinking most of the time.
ReplyDeleteChris, The military is a perfect example for setting goals (ranks) for where you want to be. And like your post said today (last night?) sometimes we just have to accept that we are right where we belong.
ReplyDeleteLove the two different decades, though! You get to enjoy that for a few more years!
Lisa, you are so lucky you have great stuff to show for the money spent. Can you even imagine having hundreds of vintage Barbies from the 60s gathering dust and not appreciating in value? Oy. You are right - it's money well spent.
ReplyDeleteTKW, At this point, and this ridiculous age, all I can hope for is to be an amazing "Frank McCourt" publishing legend - "her first book at 67!" Now that's a little pathetic. I was hoping to be a child wonder.
ReplyDeleteKristen, I can relate to the whole academia/publish or die kind of thinking. I always think that if I hadn't had to raise myself to go to college, etc., I could have done a lot more and not been sitting here, yes, unpublished, at 49.
ReplyDeleteSo far we have avoided the birthday bemoans, but then again I am still in my early 30's and still kind of think I have plenty of time to win the Nobel Prize.
ReplyDeleteYep, the writer thing. For my ex, it was always the big bucks and big position, which he achieved. As for me, I'd like to be able to sleep at night and pay my bills, tra la. And yes, the publishing thing. I have published, but not what I feel is my best work, or the sort of work I wanted to do (in my imaginary life), or enough of it, or good enough. . . Yep, typical writer thing, overcome by "real life" and never feeling good enough.
ReplyDeleteI'm pretty sure we will be millionaires by my 30th birthday. But, if we aren't....
ReplyDeleteCharlotte, at least you don't have to think, "I should have had kids!" One regret you don't have to worry about - times six!
ReplyDeleteBLW - isn't it funny how we discount ourselves? I know, do it too. I've been published, but until it's my opus that's published, nothing counts. It sits there, unpublished, staring balefully at me.
ReplyDeleteAmbrosia, lucky you to have the luxury of time! Then again, I'm such a nauseating optimist, I said to my (55-yr-old) husband, "So, what do you want to do with the next 30 years?" He wasn't as optimistic as me.
ReplyDelete