Summary of Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life - Book Summary (2016)

Part II. COMMITTING

Chapter 9. Birthdays

Let’s head back to the morning of March 20, 2003, for a moment, shall we?

Craig and I have been married for six months. Chase, our firstborn, is two months old. Skip the math and stay with me. I’m home on maternity leave and spend my days alternating between the ecstasy and despair that accompany caring for an infant. I’m a little worn out.

But on March 20, I wake up renewed, refreshed, and tingling with excitement because as soon as I open my eyes, I remember: it’s my birthday. MY BIRTHDAY! I lie in bed and wait for the surprises and festivities and celebration of me to begin.

I wait. Then I wait a little longer. I look at Craig sleeping soundly and think, Ooooh—this is gonna be good. He’s still asleep! He must’ve been up all night preparing for my big day. Can’t wait.

Still waiting. Staring at Craig.

Craig opens his eyes, turns to me, and smiles. Happy birthday, honey. I bat my eyes and smile back.

Craig gets up and stumbles to the shower.

I stay in bed. Still waiting. Waiting patiently.

He comes back twenty minutes later and says, “Can I make you some coffee?”

Um. Yeah.

I climb out of bed. I put my hair up and throw on some makeup so I’ll look nice in the pictures Craig’s sure to snap of me when I emerge from the bedroom and see all my balloons and flowers and perhaps the string quartet he’s hired to play while I eat the fancy breakfast he’s prepared.

I take a deep breath and fling open the bedroom door with much birthday gusto. I prepare my most surprised face.

Turns out there was no need to prepare. I am surprised. Because there are no balloons. No quartet. No nothing. Just Craig. Smiling, hugging me. “Happy Birthday, honey. Gotta go. See you for dinner tonight?”

Craig leaves. I sit on the kitchen floor of our teeny apartment wondering if this is a practical joke. I repeatedly open and close the front door in case he’s hiding there with all of my friends whom he’s flown in from the ends of the earth to yell “SURPRISE!” at me. No friends. Nothing.

I sit on the couch, shocked. I am misunderstood. I am unappreciated.

✵ ✵ ✵

Growing up, birthdays were a big deal. Bubba and Tisha made the world stop on my birthday. I never knew what would happen, but I knew it was going to be good. Tisha served breakfast in bed with flowers and gifts, and out-of-the-ordinary things happened all day. In high school, Bubba sent roses to my fourth-period history class with a card that said, “From your secret admirer.” Nobody was allowed to get flowers delivered to class, but Bubba knewpeople. He also knew that those flowers would make me the most popular girl in school for the day, and they did. I walked around shrugging my shoulders when people asked me who they were from, glancing nonchalantly in the direction of the captain of the football team, who didn’t know my name. Anything was possible on my birthday.

✵ ✵ ✵

Let’s just say that the morning of March 20, 2003, I did not feel like the most popular girl in school. I did not feel like anything could happen. I felt like nothing could happen. Deflated, I sat down on the couch with my crying baby and turned on the TV. The news anchor announced that America had officially declared some sort of war. What??? I yelled at the TV. On my birthday?????

That was IT.

I called Craig at work. He didn’t answer, so I hung up and called back immediately, which is our bat signal for it’s an emergency. He answered on the first ring, “Hi, What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Another fire???”

I had set the apartment on fire the previous week. Twice. Firefighters had come both times. Blaring their sirens and holding their big hoses and wearing their big masks and costumes and everything, which I thought was a little dramatic of them. The fires weren’t that big. But Craig was still a little jumpy. Anyway, that’s not the point of this story. For the love of God, try to focus on MY BIRTHDAY.

Me: No, husband. There is no fire. It is much worse than that. You should know that I have cancelled my birthday. Today is no longer my birthday.

Craig: What? Why?

Me: Because it is early afternoon and nothing extraordinary has happened to me yet. Except, apparently, some sort of war. I hate this day. And so it is not my birthday. Cancel it in your brain. Tomorrow is my birthday.

Craig: Okay. Ooooookay. Should I cancel our reservations and the sitter for tonight?

Me: No. No you shouldn’t, Honey. We will still go out to dinner tonight. But it will be a working dinner. Bring a pencil and paper, because tonight I will hold a seminar just for you about my birthday expectations. They are many and they are specific, so you will want to wear your thinking cap. Also, find a sitter and make reservations for tomorrow night too. Tomorrow night will be my birthday dinner. My birthday is tomorrow. Consider it a second chance. You are welcome. See you tonight, Love. For the seminar.

We went to dinner that night, and I explained to Craig that my parents showed their love by celebrating special days. I told him that they paid attention to what I really wanted and cared about, offered thoughtful gifts, and created meaningful traditions. I explained that this is how I learned to accept love. So when he didn’t do that, it made me feel panicked and unloved somewhere down really deep.

Craig explained that he loved me very much. And because he loved me, he wanted me to feel loved. But he said that it’s hard to know what makes a person feel loved best. So he thought it was kind and wise that I figured out what made me feel loved and shared it with him. He said he was grateful. It made him feel safe, like I would help him through this marriage thing instead of being secretly resentful.

The Love Seminar worked for us. There was crying, laughing, and lots of talking about how hard it is to come from two different families and make a new one. We talked about how impossible it is to read minds and hearts and what a relief it is to hear what the person you love needs and learn how to give it. To set each other up for success rather than failure.

The next morning, on March 21, 2003, my temporary birthday, Craig walked into our bedroom with hot coffee and bagels covered with pink candles. He sang to me and asked me to make a wish.

When I peeked out of the bedroom I saw posters covering the walls of our apartment. They said, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HONEY! I LOVE MY AMAZING WIFE! The posters had balloons and hearts drawn all over them. Boys can’t really draw balloons and hearts. Ridiculously cute.

I squealed and Craig beamed. I kissed him good-bye and he said he’d call soon. Every hour, in fact.

I peeked into Chase’s room and saw that his crib was decorated with blue streamers.

I went to pee, unrolled some toilet paper, and little sticky notes fell out of the roll, “Happy birthday baby!”

Teamwork. Love takes teamwork, I think.

These days, Craig is known for his skill at celebrating special family days. He takes pride in it. He is a master. Legendary. I can’t tell you how many times a friend has said to me, “You are so lucky. He is amazing.”

And part of me wants to say, “Lucky? Whadyathink? He fell out of the sky like that?”

But instead I say, “I know. He is.”