Sunday Birthday Blogging

After our wedding last May, husband's parents showered gifts upon us. They are quite comfortable financially and can certainly afford to do so, and we were deeply appreciative. There was one problem, though. When we opened the wrapping around what was quite obviously a bedding set, it wasn't what we had registered for. In fact, his mother and brother described walking through the store, seeing what we had chosen, and deciding that what they had chosen instead "matched your carpet better." (Our carpet is blood red. What ever "matches" blood red and yet remains tasteful?)

This is what they picked:


I call it "vomitatious."

Now, his family was doing something incredibly nice for us, bless their hearts, and make no mistake: I adore these people. But this just clashed so painfully with my own decorative taste that it was rather obvious I wasn't really happy with it. There was a little bit of tension for a short while, but I settled down, and we continued cuddling under the orange stripes every night.

Until Friday. I had known it was coming, which is a long story and not at all the typical one (wife drops hints relentlessly, husband finally buys gift, wife snoops and finds it ahead of time), but he presented it with me that morning, and I was very happy when he did. It fits so perfectly with my tastes, and it so very well toned down the bright red carpet, instead of highlighting the pukiest strains of it -- and it's something that can be ours.

That last note is particularly important for me: I made a point when I moved in with him just over a year ago that he needed to stop calling it "my apartment" -- it was ours. I had just abandoned my entire family and network of friends, the place I grew up and the place I made home, every earthly belonging that didn't fit in a box suitable to ship Fedex, and flew 2500 miles across the continent to settle down in a place I had visited once, to live with a man in whose physical presence I had been a total of five weeks previously -- I already felt excluded by default; I didn't need him to reinforce that feeling.

(He, being the understanding person he is, then stopped.)

Anyway, it just makes me happy. Most everything in this apartment came from his parents, but most all of it is also stuff that we are happy with. It's not like he was excited about the orange stripes. We were just both happy to have actual bedding (before that, we had been sleeping on a $15 Target sheet set and a couple old blankets). Now, we have something that makes the place look like ours -- instead of looking like we were renting a room from the in-laws.

Happy sigh.