Husband took my birthday off from work so he could spend the day with me. He didn't have to do this, I didn't ask him to do this, but that he did do this meant the world to me. He took the big girls to school so I could squeeze in a workout. And then we went downtown for a birthday brunch. But before we did that, Husband gave me a present.
It was wrapped beautifully in lipstick red paper with a polka-dotted bow. I ripped into it like a kid on Christmas morning and I pulled from the package the most beautiful bag.
It's structured and slim, medium-sized, and can be worn as an over-sized clutch or as a shoulder bag. It was made by a local Manhattan designer. It's positively gorgeous.
I think Husband believed me when I told him I loved it because I promptly took a zillion pictures of it, propped up in various locations of our home. I like this one of it on the vast white slab that is our kitchen island. After I took this shot, Husband grabbed it, the bag, and checked something. He took my laptop and slipped it inside. It fits! he declared.
He bought me a beautiful red bag that fits my laptop.
The photo shoot continued. People on the street must have pegged me as a crazy as I snapped shots of my own side. But it was my birthday and I was happy and figured whatever.
We hopped off the subway and walked several blocks to Balthazar where we indulged in a decadent and positively delicious brunch. There were donuts involved. And also a rebellious midday Bloody Mary. More regal red.
It was a really good day. A day stuffed with scenes and stories. A day full of wonderful well-wishes and priceless hand-crafted cards and little girl hugs. A day full of moments, and magic and memories. A day of going back - to the school that made me - and looking forward to the expanse of good years to come. A day of true and treasured and tuned-into abundance.
But this post? This is about something smaller than the swath of my day, and something bigger than a birthday bag.
This post is really about one man. A man who paused his busy life to spend time with me. A man who took a risk and bought a bag, a bright red bag, a bag that fits an important and symbolic object. A man who knows me, well and truly. A man who loves me. On little frustrating days and on big bright shiny days.
And I love him. This man. This guy. Far more than that beauty of a bag I now own and continue to swoon over. Although I really do love the bag, too.
Thanks, Husband. I love you more than you know.
Is your partner good at buying gifts or do they usually need some kind of direction? How did you spend your last birthday? Am I bizarre for loving this bag so much? This is about much more than a bag, isn't it?