Today, my husband is 50. For my celebration last year he took us to Paris because that’s a place of considerable significance for us both. This year, he’s on the way to Italy, on the first part of a journey that I suspect may be just as life-changing for him as writing and exercise have been for me. With little or no grasp of the language, he’s been able to get a number of pretty rare old bikes purchased from private sellers and is now off to collect them.
After that, he’ll be restoring them all, and doing what he loves best: recycling old things to be like new. He did this before our son was born with keyboards and synthesisers, and I suspect that the bikes will be another part of his love affair with bringing vintage into the modern world. I’m slightly nervous about the whole thing, but that’s part and parcel of how I am because he’s not just my husband but my best mate too, and I’d be concerned over anybody doing the journey alone. However, this is his rite of passage, in a sense, into the second half of his life.
I couldn’t possibly begrudge him this opportunity at all.
This means I have five days to be the grown up in the house. I won’t exercise today because I want to make sure I’m capable of getting both kids to school tomorrow even if I am below par. There’s a ton of house stuff to do to so I’ll spend some time later getting lists sorted for everything so I can tick off achievements as I go. For now, it’ll be some food, walking to the shops for next week’s provisions, and then trying to get everybody organised for Monday morning. It is only when he’s not here that I realise how much I miss, depend and often rely on my husband to help life move on smoothly.
I do love him so very much and hope this first day of Birthday is as life-changing as mine was last year.