As  I write this, Phil is out getting me a birthday present.  Now, we kind of agreed a few years ago, after the kids came along, that we wouldn’t exchange presents.  Because, let’s face it, if either of us want something, we  generally just go out and get it.  Bunnings and Phil have quite the history of this.   And well, on top of that, his money is my money and vice versa. 

Don’t worry, we've never actually stuck to this plan.   I even made it dead easy for him by getting a Pandora bracelet a couple of Christmas’ ago.     There is always a sneaky present of some sort that comes out for him though.  In fact, previously,  I had become increasingly creative with my  present ideas for him.  Twenty laps in a race car with a racing legend, Jet boating, deposit on a surfboard of his choice,  you get the picture. It seems though, these kind of gifts require forward thinking and well, a bit of motivation. 

But this year I just don’t know what happened.  All of a sudden, it was the day before his birthday and I had Jack Shit.    No, not just the saying, I literally had Jack shit.  All over the toilet.   In his pants, on the sheets, in fact, there was so much of it, he was ready to star in his very own Gastro Boy.   So we made a mercy dash to the shops and all I could manage to get him was a plain block of Cadbury chocolate.  Regular Size.  And NOTHING ELSE.

I knew he was disappointed.  I think he might have even  been thinking as the day went on, that I would surprise him game show style, with a snowboard and trip to Perisher.   Bupbow.

The other thing is, we are really trying to finish this house and therefore any unnecessary spending has been ruled out.  We discussed this and I thought he was on board with the plan.  I guess not if todays comment of “I only need 5 minutes to get your present.  I know where the lolly aisle at Woolies is”  Shazam.

I have heaps of friends who just go out and buy the coffee machine they want and tell their husband when he gets home  to “Go look in the kitchen and see what you got me for my birthday big boy”.  Or “Check out these diamond earrings, Happy Birthday to me, thanks darling”.  Whilst I reckon this saves the bullshit of pretending you love the gift you get, (hello earrings from mothers day), it also takes away the exciting part of birthdays – the surprise.

And I think I get my fill of surprises with the kids.   I just about spoil the living shit out of them.  When they ask for toys during the year, I always tell them, “How about you ask for it for your birthday”.  So when the birthday does eventually roll around, I want to deliver.  And when I say spoil, I’m not saying stacks and stack of money on presents, I mean I want them to feel like they are the most special person in the world, for an entire day. 

I’ve always thought the best presents are the ones you can’t buy.  And my only request every year from Phil is a “no strings attached” massage.  Or as someone put it the other day “A massage with no happy ending”.  There is nothing I covet more.   That and a new handbag.  But, just quietly, I’ll be picking that one myself. 

In reality though, as much as I wouldn’t say no to a "Bradley Cooper  jumping out of a gigantic birthday cake surprise", I’m thinking my present may be more along the lines of a snack sized packet of Cheese and Bacon Balls.

Seriously though, it’s just stuff and on most days, having each other and a roof over our heads is enough.   

“The happiest people don't necessarily have the best of everything... They make the best of everything they have...”  (Thanks Emily)

Addendum:  He has just returned home with a jumbo sized ladder strapped to the back of his car.  For Moi??