me: “Babe, what’s your favorite thing about being a boy?”
Doug: “Excuse me?”
me: “Your favorite thing about being a boy. What is it?”
Doug, with a pause of thought: “I have a penis & you have a vagina.”
me: “Oh.”
Doug: “What’s your favorite part about being a girl?”
me, with no hesitation: “GLITTER!”
If you give a mom three hours, she will pour herself a cup of coffee.
Energized from the cup of coffee, she will put away the toddler toys.
With a small glimmer of satisfaction, she will continue clearing the floor, this time with vacuum & mop.
The sparkling floors will make her notice the dusty furniture, which she will polish before scrubbing the kitchen.
After cleaning the kitchen, she will toss the dish towels in the wash with regular towels, which will remind her to put away the stack of tshirts on the dresser.
The house smelling fresh & clean, she will flip on the wax candle to fill the air with Pear Cider scent, which will remind her of delicious bread filling the oven, so she pulls out the pumpkin & chocolate chips & bakes a loaf of bread.
The loaf of bread reminds her of the beef in the fridge, so she brews up a pot of chili to simmer in the crockpot all day.
With the bread rising & dinner prepared & the floors glimmering, she realizes that she wants to be just as pretty, so she showers & primps & slides on a clean pair of jeans.
Accomplished & feeling more like herself, she sits down with a book & luxeriates in quiet “me time.”
Refreshed from the “me time,” she happily greets the boys at the door & whips up her favorite lunch from childhood, macaroni & hotdogs, which the boys love.
Full bellies mean long naps, so she takes a breather from the morning’s activities while her husband watches golf & football.
A relaxing, accomplished afternoon means happy spirits & teasing & flirting & oh yes, maritals in the evening.
Happy from the night’s activities, her husband whips up cinnamon rolls before she wakes up the next morning, her favorite Sunday morning treat.
….all because he gave her three hours.
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p.s. this only works if the mom in question is intensely OCD & mildly insane about things being orderly & pretty, who gets her kicks off Mrs. Meyers cleaning spray & baking….like me.
p.p.s. God have mercy on your soul if you try this with a non-neurotic woman & expect her to clean happily while you are gone. GOD HAVE MERCY.
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You’re 29 today.
I know that kind of freaks you out because it means THIRTY is only ONE YEAR AWAY & you’re checking your hairline but I promise you, it’s all still there.
Sometimes, when I am laying there at night with you breathing heavily by my side, I marvel at the life we’ve built together. I laugh at how I am much better at picking a spouse than you, but you pull me in close with those blue eyes that never give me rest & it reminds me that life is so good because it’s you & me.
& I pray for all the years of your life to come, including the ones where children grow & hairlines fade but always, it will be you & me.
I love you, happy birthday, let’s go romp in the sack.
I still remember the cheers of our friends & family as we walked through the double doors, greeted by twinkling lights & a towering cake. Oddly enough, we did not care for the reception – the wholeness of the marriage ceremony still rang through our hearts as we greeted guests, sliced cake, & twirled to James Taylor for the next two hours. Later that night, we sat on our hotel bed, me in a flowing pink Christian Dior nightgown…& we finally ate food. Laughing over a bottle of champagne, we snacked on brie & stuffed mushrooms & cake until midnight. So thrilled to finally be starting our life together.
I cannot wait for the next five years, until Heaven & then forever.
I love my little place on the internet, but I like being able to peace out for a few days with no explanation. (p.s. thanks for letting me do that & not being all where are you, where’s mcfatty, blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiir!!)
On Saturday, we packed up our swimsuits & headed to the lake with friends, something we used to do as a couple with our couple friends, but this time we had a small fry & a pack of Goldfish in tow. (by the way? the adults ate more Goldfish than the toddler. go figure. Do they put crack in those little swimmies?) Proof that I didn’t birth my ability to be cool along with my placenta.
Also? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE, JEN LANCASTER?! More coming on how the book “Such a Pretty Fat” is changing my life. Yes, I’m serious. Jen Lancaster in all her sarcasm is changing my life, but I think that’s because she & I were separated at birth to keep the universe from imploding at our combined asshatery awesomeness.
A word of warning: although the one-touch purchase button feels like play money, Amazon Kindle uses real money, so don’t flip the hell out when you see a balance on your emergency-only credit card & call Capital One demanding fraud revenge. Somehow the Hunger Games series constituted an “emergency,” & while I haven’t delved into them yet, the customer service gal insisted that it was real money well-spent.
(But that’s kind of her job, right? Like even if I bought a bear skin rug & a bottle of unicorn tears, she’s kind of locked into telling me it was a wise investment & to not worry about paying my bill, right?)
There was also a moment this weekend where I threw in the towel on my Spot Bot removing old paint stains from the carpet, so I got down at eye-level with sewing scissors & cut the paint out of the carpet. I told Nate that he wasn’t allowed to see what I was doing until the final product because he’s usually Mr. Follow-the-Rule-Book & I figured “cutting carpet” wasn’t part of normal housekeeping. But then he surprised me by a) not even noticing & b) not caring when I pointed it out.
You know, Nate. We’ll never know make-up sex if you don’t start getting irrationally pissed off about things that don’t matter.
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