Why can't I just enjoy?

On Tuesday Kevin called mid-day to inform me he was cooking dinner.  Say what?!  The last time Kevin cooked dinner it was the dawn of the new millennium. We were dating. I was totally smitten and ate the pasta with fake crab meat without informing him that it was indeed fake crab meat he was serving. I love the man, but he does not cook. At all. So, I was incredibly suspicious to say the least.

Next flowers arrived.  A gorgeous arrangement from Vincent's. What Kevin lacks in his cooking skills he makes up for with his ability to phone a florist. I am spoiled by flowers. They arrive frequently.  Well, 4-5 times a year. Isn't that frequently by most man standards?  Also, they never arrive on birthdays or valentines day or other obvious choices, always a random day with no apparent reason. This is why I consider myself spoiled by flowers -- it is never out of obligation. Well that, and sometimes I will admit I wonder, why doesn't he think of it more than 4-5 times a year?!  I digress.

So the flowers alone would not necessarily make me suspicious, but flowers coupled with a promise to make dinner, well that was just to much. So what do I do?  I do not luxuriate in the idea of being positively spoiled by my loving husband. I begin, instead, to worry.  What did he do?  What is he going to tell me?  Why? Girls, we really do have a way of turning a wonderful situation into a worry.  I recognized this even at the time but was powerless to stop myself.

I ask as soon as he walks in with the bag of groceries.  What is it?  Why are you doing this?  He is cheerful and eerily happy.  He asks if I like the flowers. I nearly start crying.  What is it?  I demand an explanation.  He thinks I am crazy. Positively certifiable.  I think he is simply trying to get me off the trail.  He wants my defenses down.  Clearly.

Dinner was great. Yes, I did have to assist a tad in the prep, but how fun - we were cooking together!  I love cooking.  Even alone.  But cooking with my husband (especially with him calling the shots) was beyond my wildest dreams. I starting enjoying myself.  For a moment.  But then I remembered: he doesn't do this. We don't do this. My paradigm had shifted too far too fast. I couldn't get my bearings.

Dinner was lovely. Pasta with sweet Italian sausage, chickpeas, tomatoes and fresh baby spinach. Even the kids would partake -- Kaden the pasta and sausage and tomatoes and Olivia the pasta and spinach.  We consider that a success. Even this puts me on edge.  Everyone is happy except me. Still on edge.  The wine is helping, though. I was relaxing a bit. At this point I was merely curious, not frantic.

With dinner complete, Kevin says, there is one more surprise.  The kids run off with him.  What, my kids are in on it?!?  No wonder they are eating a normal meal.  He clearly bribed them to create an alliance.

They bring a gift to the table.  I am frantic again.  But as soon as I hold it in my hands I know precisely what it is without even untying the bow.  I squeal.  I delight in untying the bow slowly.  And then I can help myself no longer.  I rip off the paper, tear open the box and hold my new iPad in my hands.  I adore my husband!   He went to all this trouble to make presenting me with a new gadget into an event.  As if the gadget itself would not have sufficed.  Wow.  I sat in awe.  For a moment I allowed myself to feel special.  Loved.  But, by golly, that nagging suspicious started again.  So I nag and nag, asking why I am getting such an extravagant gift for no reason and why he felt the need for such a flamboyant build-up to the actual gift?  No reason.

I adore my new iPad.  I love laying in bed and reading the paper.  I love typing my blog from bed and reading others' blogs outside by the pool.

I also adore my husband.  I adore him for showing me he is still willing to court me ten years after catching me.  This was an opulent day.  I know it will not happen again (or at least not for another ten years).  I am ok with that.  I realize you all would hate me if it happened with any regularity.  I would probably hate me too.

But let me just say this:  if anyone has any information that would make this story any less of a fairy tale, I beg you to keep it to yourself.  I am done with the fretting and do not want to know. Was that his plan all along?