Another Year Older...
September 19, 2006

I am having a birthday this week.  It is not an important one, not divisible by 5 or ending in 0.  Oh, sure- I AM old, but I can deal with that, because my long life has given me so many treats.  I could start listing all the things that I am tickled by, but it’d take a week’s worth of blogs, and would unmask me as a simpleton who thinks popcorn is the most perfect food.

In advance of my birthday, my biggest blessing, (and challenge) gave me the perfect gift.

My home is a drive by site now.  Pat is a Californian, Mike is Mr. Chicago, and Matt is the mysterious Chicago beatnik.  I do not brood about this.  I fiddle away my day, reading 4 newspapers, clipping things Steve will not use.  I keep Steve’s gym clothes bleached and his towels fluffy. I make sure that what he wants is in place.  I am unscheduled, and it allows me to flutter from task to task.  Steve does not need to do much of anything here, and that is a fair division of labor.  I earned this time with a frenetic life in the early going, when Steve was abducted on a daily basis by his tumultuous career and Jack Daniels.  He frequently remained at the Loser bar until he got the “all clear” to return home.  (Kids bathed and in bed, dinner #1 cleaned up, dinner #2 waiting) My kids were my calling: they needed my stability, guidance and to be honest, my chauffeuring.  They still need me once in awhile, but by and large, they are on their way.  I am proud of each of them.  I know they love me.  I miss being needed.

Friday I attended Steve’s broadcast, and took a posse from my Book Club.  What a day it was!  Lake Michigan shimmered; there was music galore, lobsters and lemonade.  Steve was happy, I met Neil Steinberg (remember, I am a newspaper junkie), and I resolved to use my liberation to do more in this magic place we live in.  We trundled home to watch the Sox spiral of doom continue.  (To me getting October nights back is a bit of a gift, but to say that is heresy in the Dahl house.  My new mantra is Go Bears!)

At 2:30 the dogs woke the dead (me) as they greeted Pat Dahl, who had been spirited away from LA by Steve for a weekend family dinner. My husband is a wise man.  Had he produced the Hope Diamond, his effort would have paled relative to the home run he hit by giving me a Family Day.  I cried until 4:30. It took me about 5 rosaries to eventually settle myself down to sleep. Steve, having taken an Ambien to relax after the Sox Game and a live remote, dreamed away.   It is a great gift to be understood by your partner. It is a greater gift when he sleeps through the obligatory “gratitude sex” time frame. That makes the surprise seem really altruistic (a mirage, to be sure- who said that there is no such thing as an altruistic gift?).

We are at the place in our marriage where our love is a given, but the service of that love might be a little autopilot.  This orchestrated, pre-meditated birthday surprise shows that Steve has a map to my corkscrew brain, and he knows how to navigate.  I do not want to be a mystery woman to my husband, and I do not want to be just the sturdy German who keeps his house.  I want to be his BIG LOVE.  I am competing with his job, his Sox, his Bears and God knows what else.  He showed me BIG LOVE by uniting my family.

And so, on Saturday afternoon, we coalesced in the family room, watched the Sox cynically, enjoyed the Notre Dame game, and sallied forth to dinner at Embrace in Hinsdale.  It is a beautiful place, close enough to home that an early dinner left the shank of the evening to my urban pirates.  The food was beautiful and wonderful, and the server was adorable.  No fights broke out.  No unkind words were uttered.  I am still aglow.  Embraced, if you will. 

Sunday Steve and Pat rose early.  Pat stuffed his messenger bag with the change of clothing he brought, and they jumped into Steve’s car for a father-son Bears day with an airport denouement.  I was left blubbering on the driveway, sad but satisfied.  I had my Family Day. I have my Steve.  Besides, my real birthday comes later, and I will go to the Cell with Mike, Matt, Steve and some friends.  I will have my farewell, White Sox moment.  I will get my evenings back, and my man.  And God willing, there’s always next year.