I need to vent. I vented on a different twitter feed earlier but it wasn’t sufficient.
My birthday is tomorrow. And even though I’m turning 35, which is by all objective standards an adult, I really want presents. And I know that’s silly, so I was going to settle for a present from my parents. But “a present” isn’t really what I wanted. I wanted my parents to put some thought into it, get me something, and bring it to me as a surprise when they come to visit on Sunday.
I told my mom that what I really wanted was a surprise. She countered with “but I don’t know what you’re interests are now, other than yarn.” (I had already taken yarn out of the running, as I haven’t started the project I planned with the yarn she got me for Chanukah–not as a surprise.)
I whined a bit about it at therapy, my therapist suggested that I come up with some general categories to suggest to my mom, and I did. I sent her an email with three categories of possibilities.
Last night my mom called.
“One of the ideas on your list looked appealing, so I did some research [Go Mom!] and want to check with you about…”
No, no, no!
I can appreciate if she is trying to make up for the great shampoo debacle of my 15th birthday, but I am fairly certain that I’m the only one in the family who remembers that. It’s not a grudge; it’s a great story! “My worst birthday present? My parents got me shampoo for my 15th birthday!”
So there went the surprise. Especially after the second phone call, “Is [address] okay?” Oy.
And then this morning was the email. From the day spa. With the gift certificate.
And that’s when I realized that I didn’t just want a surprise. I wanted wrapping paper. I wanted a box with wrapping paper that I had to open to find out what was inside. I wanted the anticipation. I didn’t think I needed to specify that those are parts of a surprise.