Dear The Daver,

Sometime this spring, in March or April, I don’t remember and I’m WAY too lazy to go back into my archives and check (I know you’d appreciate this because your roving sock colony has made it everywhere in the house EXCEPT down the laundry chute. In Casa de la Sausage, Laziness Abounds)(Also Abounding: Bad Attitudes and Penises)(Penii?), when either I was waiting on the pathology report from my cervix or the pathology report from my mother’s biopsy, I turned to you and said wearily,

“Is this what life is? Is it one non-stop shit-storm after another?” I may or may not have cried then, depending upon how wrung out I was feeling.

I was genuinely asking you, not whining (as I usually am) and hoping that my irritating voice would lead you to break down and buy me a new Coach purse. Thankfully, you saw that I was serious, looked me in the eye and said simply, “I don’t know.”

Then we laughed, one of those mirthless laughs that don’t come with any real humor because there comes a point when all you really can do is laugh. Or have a nervous breakdown. But laughter is a hell of a lot more efficient than having to go through the whole locked ward, Nurse Ratched thing.

Not to be all maudlin today–although “maudlin,” like “cacophony,” is a word I must use more–because I don’t mean it that way, but more like, well, holy shit, we fucking made it. I think this, if nothing else, warrants a Wayne’s World-esque headbanging session to “Don’t Stop Believing” or “Sky Rockets At Night (Afternoon Delight).” And then maybe a celebratory drink or 31.

Because we did, it, Baby, another whole year around the sun, you and me and the kids and the dogs and the cats and the bunny and it’s done. And while there were times when I thought that I couldn’t breathe with the blackness and pressure and fear of it all, the one thing in this whole crazy mixed up year, the one thing that I can say is this: in all the darkness, I could always see you.

The world could fall around us and you and I would stand there, amidst the rubble, gripping hands like life-vests, grimly picking up the pieces and occasionally laughing at something. In our darkest hours, we have each other.

I remember sitting in the cafeteria of the hospital the day after Amelia’s brain surgery, just the two of us, as she slept in her PICU bed. Exhausted but happy, we sat quietly and ate our breakfast.

At some point, I noticed that they were playing “Smoove Jazz” on the radio, you know, the crazy cornball crap, and I turned to you, started dancing like the guys from SNL, and said, “You know, this is the sort of song that gets a girl in the moooooood.” What sort of mood, I did not specify, but I don’t think it matters.

We both cracked up. We laughed and laughed and laughed. We laughed until we cried, both of us spurting tears out and they rolled down our face onto our shirts. We laughed until people around us openly started, wondering if we’d somehow escaped The Locked Ward, and we didn’t care.

Finally, we caught our breath and you looked at me and said, “God, it felt good to laugh. To REALLY laugh again.” And we did and it did and we do and we will.

Happy Birthday, love of my life. I’d hope for a less wild year, but I think if it were, we’d be living someone else’s life.


Sitting there in your pajamas & all the time in the world & if I could keep any moment it would be this: watching you & holding my breath with the wonder of it all. (The Story People)

Happy Birthday, Dave. Without you, none of us would be here.


Deadline for entry into my contest to give away all my BlogHer swag is September 8th, tonight, by midnight, CST. If it’s in my inbox by that time, we’re all good. I’ll get all of the entries up at some point today and voting will begin tomorrow!

My second column is up here today, so if you’re so inclined, check it out.

Also, if you would like, I have been nominated for a couple of awards, two on my sidebar at the top and one here. They do both annoyingly require registration, but if you’d be inclined to cut a bitch vote for me, I’d be tickled pink.

63 thoughts on “Thirty Plus One

  1. Awww, such a sweet post Bex!!
    Happy Birthday Daver!!! Don’t ‘ya just love how your loving wife incorporates sweetness with sagging balls?! Brilliant!!!

  2. Aww…sweet post, Aunt Becky!

    Crap…I haven’t finished my project. Umm…I may not have actually strted it yet…slacker. I bet I can finish it by midnight, though…anyway, I’m going to try…

    Shade and Sweetwater,

  3. Whoops…also, Happy Birthday, Mister Daver, sir!!!!!!

    Hey, is he Uncle Daver, since you’re Aunt Becky?? And is he the weird uncle, or the cool one?

    Shade and Sweetwater,

  4. Happy B-Day to The Daver!

    He seems like an awesome dad and hubs. Let him know how you feel often (even on days you would rather step on his nuggets )

    Love your new blog!

  5. Happy tears! Happy Birthday to your main squeeze. Here’s to many more dances around the sun. What a beautiful letter. I really wish I was at least half the writer you are! I try to write pretty, witty, amusing, clever, whatever things….but it all turns out so dull. I wish I had your talent. Oh well, I’ll just keep writing and reading. You’re an amazing writer….tell the Daver he’s lucky to have you dancing with him and writing about him.

  6. Happy birthday to him!
    It’s so great that you have someone you can always count on. There should always be at least one person like that in everybody’s life. xoxo

  7. I was trying to compose a smart-ass wise-crack, comment.

    But by the time I read your entire post, I was sighing. Seeing your partner despite the darkness is a wonderful metaphor. I’ve long since celebrated the multiples: my “sweet-sixteen times two” (32) etc. and I am learning that the lovely young person I feel in love with when I was another lovely young person, is, like us all, getting old.

    It’s a lot more work to love an old man or woman, especially when you recognize that a successful marriage is a suicide pact: one sees the other off first, then dies alone. Your post makes all that worthwhile: hold on to the sweet parts.

  8. i’m going to be the one to ruin the lovey-parade, but vom.

    it’s because i’m bitter and not in loooove. i only have a murderous cat that hates me and my tv loves (and there are many) to keep me company on cold nights. sigh… you two kids don’t go too crazy and have gross monkey-sex.

    or at least don’t tell us.

    happy birthday the daver. you’re old. ish.

  9. This made me cry! B and I crack ourselves up, but we often comment that we are likely the only people in the whole world who think we’re so funny!! Ah, but it works. And it has gotten us this far. . .

    Happy Birthday Daver! Wishing you many, many more.

  10. “in all the darkness, I could always see you” – that’s gotta make up for all the stuff you say about his old balls.

    Happy Birthday, The Daver! Hope you two celebrate all night long.

  11. Happy birthday, Dave! I remember 31. Barely . . .

    Just wanted to swing by and thank you for your kind words over at Flutter’s. Her’s in an amazing place to hide out . . .

    And I’m here just in time for a contest. Sweet! Sign me up . . .

  12. You had to make me tear up at work, and I don’t even really know except for here, on The Internet. I am turning into such a sap. Happy Birthday, Dave!

  13. “…It’s a lot more work to love an old man or woman, especially when you recognize that a successful marriage is a suicide pact: one sees the other off first, then dies alone. Your post makes all that worthwhile: hold on to the sweet parts.”

    I don’t usually linger on other people’s comments, but that is fucking depressing! MJ & I have got 20 years on you both; you are both the same ages we were when we got married, and as far as aging is concerned, you ain’t seen nothing yet. But we don’t care, ’cause we have each other, and from what I can tell just by reading here, so do you. Yeah, it is one shit-storm after another, but there’s a whole bunch of other stuff in between, and that’s what it’s all about. It’s always one day at a time, kids.

    So Happy Birthday, Dave! A toast to 31 years and many more to come! Hugs to you both! <3

  14. Happy Birthday Daver.

    That was a sweet post, Becky. (But don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten about your plan to slice and dice his junk. I haven’t.)

  15. Happy birthday to you, the-Daver-who-shares-my-birthday. I haven’t made a wish yet today, so I’m going to use mine on you and Aunt Becky. Here’s to you guys having a shitstorm-free year for a change, you clearly deserve it, you’ve been through enough. Keep laughing and enjoying the moments when you find the energy, or desperation, to laugh. Lots of love (even though we’ve never met, who cares)

  16. I LOVE THIS POST. So beautifully written, and I relate on so so so many frickin levels. I could print it out and give it to MY Dave!!!!

    Love you mate. And I dreamt you worked in a deli, cutting meat. But you were so pretty cutting that meat up. HA!

  17. Geeze, if a guy wrote this kind of epic birthday tribute for his wife, I’d be busting him for trying to get laid. Ah, hell, I guess it goes both ways.

    Happy birthday, Daver, and I hope you both get some mind-blowing sex before dawn!

  18. This was so sweet. Isn’t it such a good feeling to look around and realize “Well shit. It’s not perfect and sometimes it sucks, but it’s us. We’re here, we’re alive and we still love each other.” Can’t really ask for more. Happy Birthday Daver.

  19. Damn, that was beautifully done. I wish somebody would write something nearly that poetic about me. Oh well, time to go beat the little lady’s ass with a car antenna.

  20. wow, i’m so jealous of ur writing skillz! u made me totally feel the love! i too lucked out somehow (God knows i don’t deserve him!) & found the best husband/father that ever lived! happy birthday The Daver! u’re one lucky guys urself! ;0)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *