How very special ...
Yesterday, I started writing a post with a somewhat similar title ("How fucking special ..."), but I didn't finish it. I didn't have the heart to put my hurts into words.
I had gone to bed Friday night with a major case of "I haz a sadz," and yesterday's post was going to be about how my family of birth (parental units, not children) had blown off my birthday. No, actually, they didn't just blow it off, but had pointedly observed Himself's birthday in October in the usual manner, and then omitted that same observance for me. He held me, and let me sniffle, and made comforting "there are people who love you" noises, but in that moment, I couldn't see it. I went to bed feeling abandoned, and rejected, and unloved.
For a period of time yesterday afternoon, it seemed He might be Up to Something, but then He made some noises about having found a new place for dinner in the South Bay, and letting me know it would probably be a place where I'd want to dress up a bit - something similar to what I do when we go to dressier kinky things would probably work. I figured He had just decided that a birthday dinner at a new (to us) restaurant in the South Bay would be much easier on a Saturday night than next Tuesday, the actual day of my birthday. I work in the City, and since I'm still in the middle of the Hell of opening a new clinic, there's a pretty even chance I will be working (somewhat) late that day. Kind of hard to make dinner reservations for the opposite end of the Bay when you're facing that kind of schedule uncertainty.
By 6:45, we were threading our way through the typical horrendous Saturday evening traffic through the Maze, which is always made even worse during the holiday season. He hadn't said we had reservations at a particular time, but I did sense an underlying urgency which made me think perhaps there was some time constraint. This made it all the more surprising to hear him say something about dropping something by rightkindofme's place on our way down. See, this is part of that "His friends/my friends" thing. He doesn't do "dropping by" visits to see rightkindofme, whereas, she is my adoptive daughter, so any chance I can get to stop by when I'm in the South Bay, I do. But I did recall seeing that he had slipped a bag into the back seat, so figured maybe Something Was Afoot for a holiday gift - that's how thoroughly I was convinced we were simply going for dinner somewhere near San Jose. As we pulled up, though, He mentioned having some extra time, and we really shouldn't just stop by and leave without spending at least a few minutes visiting. I noticed there seemed to magically be this space out in front of their house, whereas the rest of the street seemed to be parked up. But, then again, Himself has magic parking mojo, so I don't usually waste a lot of time questioning things like this when they happen.
When we arrived at the front door, it opened, like we're expected - which struck me as a little odd, but I got a "finger to the lips" shush signal as I entered, which told me les enfantes were sleeping, so please keep things quiet. I walked in to subdued lighting, and a beautifully decorated Christmas tree in the living room. rightkindofme then took me by the arm, leading me into the social space they have created in their garage. At first, I thought it was so we could talk in something other than whispers, but then I realized the entire space was candlelit, and I finally began to catch on that I had walked into a surprise. A wonderful, marvelous, just-for-me surprise. Because, there before me, were several of my favorite people, and a table beautifully set for eight. They sang "Happy Birthday" to me, as I stood in what I know must have looked like stunned silence.
It actually felt kind of awkward, at first. And humbling. Never, ever, has anyone ever given me a surprise anything celebration. Not really. I mean, there was the typical sheet cake at a dungeon party once, but I pretty much knew in advance there would be. But this? This was a total surprise. rightkindofme and her housemate dangerpudding, had worked in secret since October, with the help of Himself, to bring together a group of MY friends, with a dinner specially planned to suit MY tastes, preferences, and dietary needs. And dangerpudding totally outdid herself, serving a 12-course, gourmet-quality gluten-free vegan meal, at that. I knew dangerpudding was a good cook, because I had an opportunity to taste some of the evidence at rightkindofme's Wonderland Tea Party/Birthday Party. But, I had no idea there was a gourmet chef in our midst. (For all you foodies, yes, it really was 12 courses. As I told them last night, I felt like this meal could have been served for the first table on the Titanic. I'll post the food porn entry separately.)
We sat and talked, and ate, and drank wonderful wines, and ate some more, and shared stories, as evening stretched into night. Nothing was rushed, but the time didn't drag, either. Food and wine and good people -- a perfect communion of my chosen family.
My birth daughter often says "Family is not defined by blood." She's right, you know. Family is as family does, and my chosen family has chosen me in return.
I am not abandoned. I am not rejected. I am not unloved.
I am chosen. I am wanted. I am loved.
Thank you for loving me. And thank you for being my family.
I had gone to bed Friday night with a major case of "I haz a sadz," and yesterday's post was going to be about how my family of birth (parental units, not children) had blown off my birthday. No, actually, they didn't just blow it off, but had pointedly observed Himself's birthday in October in the usual manner, and then omitted that same observance for me. He held me, and let me sniffle, and made comforting "there are people who love you" noises, but in that moment, I couldn't see it. I went to bed feeling abandoned, and rejected, and unloved.
For a period of time yesterday afternoon, it seemed He might be Up to Something, but then He made some noises about having found a new place for dinner in the South Bay, and letting me know it would probably be a place where I'd want to dress up a bit - something similar to what I do when we go to dressier kinky things would probably work. I figured He had just decided that a birthday dinner at a new (to us) restaurant in the South Bay would be much easier on a Saturday night than next Tuesday, the actual day of my birthday. I work in the City, and since I'm still in the middle of the Hell of opening a new clinic, there's a pretty even chance I will be working (somewhat) late that day. Kind of hard to make dinner reservations for the opposite end of the Bay when you're facing that kind of schedule uncertainty.
By 6:45, we were threading our way through the typical horrendous Saturday evening traffic through the Maze, which is always made even worse during the holiday season. He hadn't said we had reservations at a particular time, but I did sense an underlying urgency which made me think perhaps there was some time constraint. This made it all the more surprising to hear him say something about dropping something by rightkindofme's place on our way down. See, this is part of that "His friends/my friends" thing. He doesn't do "dropping by" visits to see rightkindofme, whereas, she is my adoptive daughter, so any chance I can get to stop by when I'm in the South Bay, I do. But I did recall seeing that he had slipped a bag into the back seat, so figured maybe Something Was Afoot for a holiday gift - that's how thoroughly I was convinced we were simply going for dinner somewhere near San Jose. As we pulled up, though, He mentioned having some extra time, and we really shouldn't just stop by and leave without spending at least a few minutes visiting. I noticed there seemed to magically be this space out in front of their house, whereas the rest of the street seemed to be parked up. But, then again, Himself has magic parking mojo, so I don't usually waste a lot of time questioning things like this when they happen.
When we arrived at the front door, it opened, like we're expected - which struck me as a little odd, but I got a "finger to the lips" shush signal as I entered, which told me les enfantes were sleeping, so please keep things quiet. I walked in to subdued lighting, and a beautifully decorated Christmas tree in the living room. rightkindofme then took me by the arm, leading me into the social space they have created in their garage. At first, I thought it was so we could talk in something other than whispers, but then I realized the entire space was candlelit, and I finally began to catch on that I had walked into a surprise. A wonderful, marvelous, just-for-me surprise. Because, there before me, were several of my favorite people, and a table beautifully set for eight. They sang "Happy Birthday" to me, as I stood in what I know must have looked like stunned silence.
It actually felt kind of awkward, at first. And humbling. Never, ever, has anyone ever given me a surprise anything celebration. Not really. I mean, there was the typical sheet cake at a dungeon party once, but I pretty much knew in advance there would be. But this? This was a total surprise. rightkindofme and her housemate dangerpudding, had worked in secret since October, with the help of Himself, to bring together a group of MY friends, with a dinner specially planned to suit MY tastes, preferences, and dietary needs. And dangerpudding totally outdid herself, serving a 12-course, gourmet-quality gluten-free vegan meal, at that. I knew dangerpudding was a good cook, because I had an opportunity to taste some of the evidence at rightkindofme's Wonderland Tea Party/Birthday Party. But, I had no idea there was a gourmet chef in our midst. (For all you foodies, yes, it really was 12 courses. As I told them last night, I felt like this meal could have been served for the first table on the Titanic. I'll post the food porn entry separately.)
We sat and talked, and ate, and drank wonderful wines, and ate some more, and shared stories, as evening stretched into night. Nothing was rushed, but the time didn't drag, either. Food and wine and good people -- a perfect communion of my chosen family.
My birth daughter often says "Family is not defined by blood." She's right, you know. Family is as family does, and my chosen family has chosen me in return.
I am not abandoned. I am not rejected. I am not unloved.
I am chosen. I am wanted. I am loved.
Thank you for loving me. And thank you for being my family.