We've done this before. Last year, we waited until two days before Banner was (finally) born before buying each other gifts during the after Christmas sales. And, really, at that point I probably could have been convinced to do anything if it got my mind off of how overdone pregnant I was. Otherwise, Trevor would have gotten a Swatch and I would have called it a day.
I figured this year would involve something similar. Except Trevor asked me in mid December what I really wanted for Christmas, so I'd have something to open on the actual day.
My reply: "You know, a massage would be really wonderful."
And I was serious. Because motherhood is stressful. I only *thought* I was a big worrier before Banner was born. I wanted a reason to relax. A WHOLE hour just to myself with nothing else to do or think about sounded like nothing short of pure bliss.
But I realized that if he got me something to open on Christmas, I needed to do the same. So I asked him what he wanted.
His response: "A robe. You know, for when I'm feeding Banner first thing in the morning and it is cold."
Cool. Easy enough. I'd get a massage, and he'd get a robe. Fabulous.
Except with Trevor it is NEVER that easy.
We went to the mall not long after our massage/robe discussion with Banner, Amy and Adam, and I was secretly trying to scope out robes for my hubby. However, I quickly learned that Trevor is very opinionated when it comes to the subject of robes. Not just any old bath robe would do. No, no. That would be too simple.
Trevor's robe had to meet the following criteria:
- Not too thick, but not too thin.
- Can't be made out of terry cloth, fleece, flannel, silk or sweatshirt material.
- Not too long or too short. But unclear if mid-calf qualifies as "too long".
- Doesn't like plaid or robes involving patterns.
- If solid color, robe can't be too light or too dark. Blue is okay, but not too dark because it might be mistaken for black. Brown = bad. Especially if it is light brown. Gray is boring.
- Wants it big, but not too big. And definitely nothing that could be mistaken for "poofy".
I mean, it was ridiculous. And I soon realized (after SEVERAL robe-specific shopping trips to view various options at places like Bed, Bath & Beyond and Nordstrom) that Trevor was going to have to pick out his own d@mned robe if I was ever going to have a chance in hell of buying him something he'd actually wear.
Something he'd ONLY wear, mind you, first thing in the morning while feeding our baby. Not at work or in public, and definitely never on the fashion runways in Paris, France. Because OMG.
So, I flat out told him that he needed to tell me which robe to buy him, because otherwise I was being set up to fail. We went online and I showed him several robe options (all of which he turned down). He finally found one on his own that he DID like at Nordy's, but I wanted him to see it in person to make sure he liked it first.
(Mainly because it was dark blue and of a length he had previously described as "questionable".)
Unfortunately, as it turned out, we never had another chance to run by Nordstrom again before the 25th. So, despite my best intentions, Trevor did not have anything from me to open under the rosemary bush in the dining room or the present bench in the study. I didn't think too much of it Christmas morning, though, because I didn't see a brightly wrapped package from him to me, either. The days leading up the Christmas this year were extremely busy and hectic. We'd exchange gifts. Just not on that particular day. No biggie.
Or so I thought.
Halfway between our house and Gran's on Christmas afternoon, Trevor reaches into his pocket and hands me an envelope from Massage Envy with a six month membership inside.
Not just a single one hour massage. No, no. SIX. Along with all these extra perks, available add ons and membership benefits.
And suddenly I felt like a complete a$$hat. Because not only did I not have a fabulously non-poofy robe for my husband to open on Christmas Day, his gift trumped mine by a couple of hundred dollars.
He said he splurged on my present because I seem especially stressed lately, and he thought I would benefit more from a membership. He even offered to EXTEND it for me at the conclusion of six months if I liked it and used it regularly.
So, when I wrote about our date night on Saturday in yesterday's post, the whole evening out was really about me trying to make up for the fact that I really sucked when it came to getting my husband a present this year.
And, don't worry. Princess got his robe. Or, rather, it is on its way. We swung by Nordy's before dinner on Saturday, and he found his precious navy blue with white piping, mid-calf, waffle-knit, not too bulky, light-weight kimono. Except they only had mediums in the store, so I ordered and paid for a Trevor-appropriate size then and there. It should be arriving at our house any day now.
In other news, I got my first massage last Thursday from a fabulously muscled man named Bobby. It was everything I hoped it to be.
Trevor, meanwhile, was rather dismayed to discover that Bobby wasn't really a "Bobbie". Apparently, he never considered that I'd use my shiny, new Massage Envy membership to have another man rub me for an hour at least once a month.
Best. Present. Ev-ver.
(Love you, Trevor!)