Diapers
I recognize that in the world of excrement control, diapers have come a long way from the dripping cotton cloths and pins of yore. Today’s diapers are trim, fit, have gathered legs and boast of their flexibility and capability to move with your growing child.
That’s all good and well, but let’s think about what us mommies REALLY want. Is it the ability for our crawling babies to be able to move more freely and unencumbered towards our collection of Waterford Crystal? Or would we rather the diaper be able to handle the thrice soiled nighttime waste without providing ‘finger-painting’ entertainment the next morning?
Don’t get me wrong, I do care about the comfort of my child, but if I have to chose between a diaper that will handle the fact that my 2 year old climbed on the counter and ate a 3lbs Costco container of grapes, or one that will ‘move and flex with my toddler’, then I’d rather have the diaper that keeps my son stranded on his back like a displaced turtle as opposed to running for my carpet cleaner that can handle ‘pet stains’.
How many companies out there are brave enough to market what we really want but are too embarrassed to admit it?
“NEW Industrial Strength Diapers! Made with 47 layers of thick cotton batting, three layers of extra tight elastic bands and a stay-wet inner layer so your baby feels soggy and uncomfortable each time they go to speed up the process of potty training!”
Now that is a product us mommies could REALLY use.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Hot Potato
We have a game that we like to play in our house. It’s called Hot Potato. Sure, most of you have heard of Hot Potato, probably even played it as a child, but in our house, the rules are a little different.
First of all, our potato is a little different than most. This one isn’t even that hot. More like lukewarm. And squishy. It also moves of it’s own accord and makes lots of noise. To keep things from getting complicated, we like to call the potato ‘Sam’.
Secondly, with most games, everyone sits down, plays the game, someone wins the game, the game ends. Our version of this game has NO END!
Let me demonstrate a typical round of Hot Potato in our house.
When the game starts, I am always in possession of the potato. I put the potato down and it scurries away into a brother’s bedroom. Shortly thereafter, a brother drags the potato back to me. I put the potato back down and it scurries towards it’s own bedroom where the door is promptly slammed in it’s face. The potato runs back to me.
I put the potato down and it turns towards the den where there is a Lincoln log village that has been painstakingly built. After the sound of collapsing logs and a heart-wrenching wail, the potato comes running back to me. It is now turning red and getting increasingly hot.
I decide to end this round by putting the potato away for a few hours. It is placed in the potato bin with some milk to marinate with.
I go outside to get the mail and return to have the potato shoved back into my arms.
“Why did you get the potato out of it’s bin??” I ask.
“It was too loud and we’re trying to watch a video.” They reply. “Besides, it’s rotten.”
I test the air and sure enough, Hot Potato has turned into Rotten Potato.
Round two has begun. Great.
Oh, and the last thing that is distinctly different about our version of Hot Potato is this: It’s the potato that actually wins the game.
First of all, our potato is a little different than most. This one isn’t even that hot. More like lukewarm. And squishy. It also moves of it’s own accord and makes lots of noise. To keep things from getting complicated, we like to call the potato ‘Sam’.
Secondly, with most games, everyone sits down, plays the game, someone wins the game, the game ends. Our version of this game has NO END!
Let me demonstrate a typical round of Hot Potato in our house.
When the game starts, I am always in possession of the potato. I put the potato down and it scurries away into a brother’s bedroom. Shortly thereafter, a brother drags the potato back to me. I put the potato back down and it scurries towards it’s own bedroom where the door is promptly slammed in it’s face. The potato runs back to me.
I put the potato down and it turns towards the den where there is a Lincoln log village that has been painstakingly built. After the sound of collapsing logs and a heart-wrenching wail, the potato comes running back to me. It is now turning red and getting increasingly hot.
I decide to end this round by putting the potato away for a few hours. It is placed in the potato bin with some milk to marinate with.
I go outside to get the mail and return to have the potato shoved back into my arms.
“Why did you get the potato out of it’s bin??” I ask.
“It was too loud and we’re trying to watch a video.” They reply. “Besides, it’s rotten.”
I test the air and sure enough, Hot Potato has turned into Rotten Potato.
Round two has begun. Great.
Oh, and the last thing that is distinctly different about our version of Hot Potato is this: It’s the potato that actually wins the game.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
What You Will (and Won't) Read in our Holiday, er, Valentine's Letter
Letter: We are so blessed to have 4 healthy, happy, rambunctious little boys
Not in the Letter: I don’t think I’m going to make it. Going from 3 to 4 has totally kicked my butt!
Letter: We have really enjoyed homeschooling Josh and Will this year.
Not in the Letter: How many times I’ve asked other home-schooling mommies if they would take my kids.
Letter: It’s been so exciting to watch our little guy go from a tiny, helpless newborn to a walking, climbing, curious little boy.
Not in the Letter: “AAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGG! How the heck did he get up on the window ledge??!!”
Letter: This was the year of Superheros!! From Star Wars to Robin Hood to Superman, the boys ate it all up!
Not in the Letter: Having to call for ‘Obi Wan and Anakin’ to get out of the pool in front of many curious mommies who actually think I named my kids Obi Wan and Anakin.
The boys putting their street clothes on over their padded Superman and Spiderman outfits and enduring the looks of strangers because my kids look like some genetic steroid experiment gone bad.
Running through the toy department at the store screaming for Josh and terrified he’d been abducted only to find him hiding in an aisle refusing to respond because I was supposed to remember that his name is no longer Josh, but Robin Hood.
Letter: We took our first trip to the emergency room as Will broke his arm after falling (being pushed) off the top bunk of his bed.
Not in the Letter: How long Brett and I rolled our eyes at each other over Will’s head as he continued to writhe and scream about how bad his arm hurt. We were a full half hour into our conversation about how he must need more attention for him to be carrying on like this before I noticed that his arm looked a little crooked….
Letter: I’ve enjoyed playing around in the blogging world this year.
Not in the Letter: “Will everyone please leave me alone for 2 seconds?? Mommy has to try and be funny and you’re all sucking the life out of me!”
Letter: Brett and the boys enjoyed a few camping trips this summer while the baby and I had some peace and quiet.
Not in the Letter: “Make sure you call me at 9am, 12pm, 3pm, 6pm and 9pm every day” 9:05am “Where the heck were you? I almost called the Sheriff’s dept! You’re camping near the WATER?? Make sure the boys wear their life jackets 24/7! Did you bring a gun? Don’t let the boys sleep in the perimeter of the tent in case a bear drags them away in the middle of the night, in fact, I think it would be better if you all slept in the cab of the truck….” 12:07pm “OHMIGOSH! I thought you were all DEAD! What do you MEAN you’re not calling me again??”
Letter: We really enjoyed celebrating the birth of our Lord and ringing in the New Year.
Not in the Letter: Christmas day was spent with Brett stationed in the ‘How the heck do they expect you to get this thing out of the box?’ department and I was stationed in the ‘battery and superglue’ division.
On New Years Eve we decided to light the rest of the fireworks left over from 4th of July and instead ended up creating a new breed of pyromaniacs who stood in the cold chanting “Blow It Up! Blow It Up!”
Letter: We really look forward all the challenges and blessings this next year will offer.
Not in the Letter: Dear Lord, please, we just want to make it through this next year in one piece.
Not in the Letter: I don’t think I’m going to make it. Going from 3 to 4 has totally kicked my butt!
Letter: We have really enjoyed homeschooling Josh and Will this year.
Not in the Letter: How many times I’ve asked other home-schooling mommies if they would take my kids.
Letter: It’s been so exciting to watch our little guy go from a tiny, helpless newborn to a walking, climbing, curious little boy.
Not in the Letter: “AAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGG! How the heck did he get up on the window ledge??!!”
Letter: This was the year of Superheros!! From Star Wars to Robin Hood to Superman, the boys ate it all up!
Not in the Letter: Having to call for ‘Obi Wan and Anakin’ to get out of the pool in front of many curious mommies who actually think I named my kids Obi Wan and Anakin.
The boys putting their street clothes on over their padded Superman and Spiderman outfits and enduring the looks of strangers because my kids look like some genetic steroid experiment gone bad.
Running through the toy department at the store screaming for Josh and terrified he’d been abducted only to find him hiding in an aisle refusing to respond because I was supposed to remember that his name is no longer Josh, but Robin Hood.
Letter: We took our first trip to the emergency room as Will broke his arm after falling (being pushed) off the top bunk of his bed.
Not in the Letter: How long Brett and I rolled our eyes at each other over Will’s head as he continued to writhe and scream about how bad his arm hurt. We were a full half hour into our conversation about how he must need more attention for him to be carrying on like this before I noticed that his arm looked a little crooked….
Letter: I’ve enjoyed playing around in the blogging world this year.
Not in the Letter: “Will everyone please leave me alone for 2 seconds?? Mommy has to try and be funny and you’re all sucking the life out of me!”
Letter: Brett and the boys enjoyed a few camping trips this summer while the baby and I had some peace and quiet.
Not in the Letter: “Make sure you call me at 9am, 12pm, 3pm, 6pm and 9pm every day” 9:05am “Where the heck were you? I almost called the Sheriff’s dept! You’re camping near the WATER?? Make sure the boys wear their life jackets 24/7! Did you bring a gun? Don’t let the boys sleep in the perimeter of the tent in case a bear drags them away in the middle of the night, in fact, I think it would be better if you all slept in the cab of the truck….” 12:07pm “OHMIGOSH! I thought you were all DEAD! What do you MEAN you’re not calling me again??”
Letter: We really enjoyed celebrating the birth of our Lord and ringing in the New Year.
Not in the Letter: Christmas day was spent with Brett stationed in the ‘How the heck do they expect you to get this thing out of the box?’ department and I was stationed in the ‘battery and superglue’ division.
On New Years Eve we decided to light the rest of the fireworks left over from 4th of July and instead ended up creating a new breed of pyromaniacs who stood in the cold chanting “Blow It Up! Blow It Up!”
Letter: We really look forward all the challenges and blessings this next year will offer.
Not in the Letter: Dear Lord, please, we just want to make it through this next year in one piece.
Things I Can't Believe I've Said - Or Had To Say
“Get off his head”
“Don’t jump on the baby!”
“Crap, the baby’s eating trash again”
“Get down off the wall” (Yes, my boys can physically climb a wall!)
“Get that chicken out of here!”
“Don’t put your cereal in the VCR”
“Does anyone know where the baby is??”
“The baby is hanging on the DVD drive again”
“How much is a new DVD drive?”
“I know it’s yours but just let him have it so he’ll stop screaming!”
“If you kick his seat one more time I’ll cut your legs off at the knees!”
(Don’t worry, this is usually followed by their peals of laughter – and more kicking of the back of the seat)
“I know they’re all crying, just take the picture anyway so we can get out of here.”
“I’m pregnant AGAIN?!?” (Followed by an intense scowl at my very bewildered husband)
“Just leave it on the floor, the baby will eat it.”
“Is it possible to completely eliminate the hours between 4 and 9pm?”
“I wish I drank alcohol”
“No, but I think their mom’s around here somewhere” (In response to an incredulous looking woman at Target asking if the boys running around the toy department were mine)
“Don’t jump on the baby!”
“Crap, the baby’s eating trash again”
“Get down off the wall” (Yes, my boys can physically climb a wall!)
“Get that chicken out of here!”
“Don’t put your cereal in the VCR”
“Does anyone know where the baby is??”
“The baby is hanging on the DVD drive again”
“How much is a new DVD drive?”
“I know it’s yours but just let him have it so he’ll stop screaming!”
“If you kick his seat one more time I’ll cut your legs off at the knees!”
(Don’t worry, this is usually followed by their peals of laughter – and more kicking of the back of the seat)
“I know they’re all crying, just take the picture anyway so we can get out of here.”
“I’m pregnant AGAIN?!?” (Followed by an intense scowl at my very bewildered husband)
“Just leave it on the floor, the baby will eat it.”
“Is it possible to completely eliminate the hours between 4 and 9pm?”
“I wish I drank alcohol”
“No, but I think their mom’s around here somewhere” (In response to an incredulous looking woman at Target asking if the boys running around the toy department were mine)
Friday, December 14, 2007
Confessions
I let my potty training toddler go naked most of the day. Not only does this cut down on a crucial, timesaving step when it’s time to go potty, but it also almost eliminates his mark on my laundry load.
I let Sam drink from warm bottles.
I purposely tell my kids to clean up their rooms knowing that they will then play as nicely and quietly as they can to not bring attention to the fact that they are disobeying me.
Sam gets upset when I sweep the floor because I’m eliminating a crucial element of his dietary sustenance (I let him eat off the floor).
I don’t let my kids dress themselves when we go out because I care what others think of me.
I tell my kids that mommy is ‘working’ when I am reading the news or blogging on the computer.
My kids often have string cheese and apples for lunch because they can get it themselves.
I will often dress in baggy knit pants and a comfy T-shirt, then wear it to bed that night and then again the next day. Again, this dramatically cuts down on my laundry loads.
I believe that Hawaiian pizza and a milkshake covers all 4 food groups and is then, in fact, a healthy meal.
I rub spit up into the carpet with my sock.
I do cry over spilled milk.
I will take a binky from my toddler’s mouth and give it to the baby.
My 6 and 7 year olds have BB guns, throwing knives and are getting bows and arrows for Christmas.
My 3 year old still calls the baby “Baby Wham” and I think it’s cute.
I have let my kids help themselves to cupcakes for breakfast so that I can sleep a few minutes longer.
The real purpose of these confessions is that I hope my mom will read them and immediately make a plane reservation to come out here and take ‘proper care of these poor babies!’
I let Sam drink from warm bottles.
I purposely tell my kids to clean up their rooms knowing that they will then play as nicely and quietly as they can to not bring attention to the fact that they are disobeying me.
Sam gets upset when I sweep the floor because I’m eliminating a crucial element of his dietary sustenance (I let him eat off the floor).
I don’t let my kids dress themselves when we go out because I care what others think of me.
I tell my kids that mommy is ‘working’ when I am reading the news or blogging on the computer.
My kids often have string cheese and apples for lunch because they can get it themselves.
I will often dress in baggy knit pants and a comfy T-shirt, then wear it to bed that night and then again the next day. Again, this dramatically cuts down on my laundry loads.
I believe that Hawaiian pizza and a milkshake covers all 4 food groups and is then, in fact, a healthy meal.
I rub spit up into the carpet with my sock.
I do cry over spilled milk.
I will take a binky from my toddler’s mouth and give it to the baby.
My 6 and 7 year olds have BB guns, throwing knives and are getting bows and arrows for Christmas.
My 3 year old still calls the baby “Baby Wham” and I think it’s cute.
I have let my kids help themselves to cupcakes for breakfast so that I can sleep a few minutes longer.
The real purpose of these confessions is that I hope my mom will read them and immediately make a plane reservation to come out here and take ‘proper care of these poor babies!’
Friday, November 30, 2007
Products We Mommies Really Want
Closed Captioned Cameras
I have a confession to make: I’m a bad news junkie. I know that there are many women out there who prided themselves about being informed of the events of the day, but once their babies were born, became unable to emotionally handle all the horrible things happening in the world. I, on the other hand, seem to be more drawn to these horrible stories now that I’m a mom because it keeps me in a proper state of panic.
Gone are the days of ‘Stranger, Danger’, I now have myself convinced that the guy reading our meter is secretly plotting some heinous crime.
You can imagine my devastation the first time my 6 and 7 year old sons insisted they were old enough to go in the Men’s Room at Walmart by themselves. “Not until you have a whistle.” I insisted.
Upon deeper reflection, I realized that in this day of digital everything, why not combine the electronic masterpiece of Closed Caption TV with the ingenuity of digital cameras. A Closed Captioned Camera. Just point and click and a caption about that person will appear at the base of the photo.
Snap! DIRTY OLD MAN WHO LOOKS AT NASTY MAGAZINES
“I’m sorry sir, but you’ll have to wait out here until my sons are done in the bathroom”
Snap! RETIRED NAVY OFFICER BUYING CHRISTMAS GIFTS FOR SHUT-INS
“Thank you sir, you may proceed…Er, and will you please make sure my boys aren’t having a water fight in there?”
This device would also be very helpful at the park and playgroups. Just hang back and start taking pictures so that you can direct which group of children your kids should play with.
Snap! OBEDIENT LITTLE GIRL WHO LOVES BABY DOLLS AND WANTS TO MARRY A MISSIONARY.
“Josh, go play with her and BE POLITE!”
Snap! NAUGHTY LITTLE BOY WHO GOT A BB GUN FOR HIS BIRTHDAY
“Will, don’t play with him, but let’s see….” Snap! VERY SAD BOY WHOSE PUPPY RAN AWAY “go share your cookies with that little boy over there”
Of course I realize that this device could backfire on me. I’m sure at some point I will be the unknowing subject of another panicked mommy at the park.
Snap! STAY AT HOME MOM DESPERATE FOR ADULT CONVERSATION. WARNING! WILL SUCK THE LIFE OUT OF YOU!!
I have a confession to make: I’m a bad news junkie. I know that there are many women out there who prided themselves about being informed of the events of the day, but once their babies were born, became unable to emotionally handle all the horrible things happening in the world. I, on the other hand, seem to be more drawn to these horrible stories now that I’m a mom because it keeps me in a proper state of panic.
Gone are the days of ‘Stranger, Danger’, I now have myself convinced that the guy reading our meter is secretly plotting some heinous crime.
You can imagine my devastation the first time my 6 and 7 year old sons insisted they were old enough to go in the Men’s Room at Walmart by themselves. “Not until you have a whistle.” I insisted.
Upon deeper reflection, I realized that in this day of digital everything, why not combine the electronic masterpiece of Closed Caption TV with the ingenuity of digital cameras. A Closed Captioned Camera. Just point and click and a caption about that person will appear at the base of the photo.
Snap! DIRTY OLD MAN WHO LOOKS AT NASTY MAGAZINES
“I’m sorry sir, but you’ll have to wait out here until my sons are done in the bathroom”
Snap! RETIRED NAVY OFFICER BUYING CHRISTMAS GIFTS FOR SHUT-INS
“Thank you sir, you may proceed…Er, and will you please make sure my boys aren’t having a water fight in there?”
This device would also be very helpful at the park and playgroups. Just hang back and start taking pictures so that you can direct which group of children your kids should play with.
Snap! OBEDIENT LITTLE GIRL WHO LOVES BABY DOLLS AND WANTS TO MARRY A MISSIONARY.
“Josh, go play with her and BE POLITE!”
Snap! NAUGHTY LITTLE BOY WHO GOT A BB GUN FOR HIS BIRTHDAY
“Will, don’t play with him, but let’s see….” Snap! VERY SAD BOY WHOSE PUPPY RAN AWAY “go share your cookies with that little boy over there”
Of course I realize that this device could backfire on me. I’m sure at some point I will be the unknowing subject of another panicked mommy at the park.
Snap! STAY AT HOME MOM DESPERATE FOR ADULT CONVERSATION. WARNING! WILL SUCK THE LIFE OUT OF YOU!!
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Broken Trust
**The following events have been given a small amount of artistic license, however, this is an accurate account of events as they happened…in my heart**
Brett and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary this year. It is a momentous occasion to be able to claim a full decade of marriage and I’ve been looking forward to this landmark for, well, the past 10 years. However, all of this was put into jeopardy just this morning.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning and as last night was daylight savings, we got a full extra hour of sleep. What could possibly be wrong with the world when you can actually wake up feeling somewhat refreshed? We decided to stay home from church and have a nice breakfast and just hang out with the kids. After a big family breakfast, the boys decided to go outside and bury the little money they had in the backyard. Brett and I spent the rest of the morning hanging out on the couch and enjoying the quiet.
I got up to go to the bathroom and in the one moment it took for me to glance in the mirror as I passed, the entire trust structure of my marriage crumbled. There on my chin was the biggest, most bulbous whitehead I have ever seen on anyone’s, much less my own, face!! This thing could have been charted on a topographical map and given it’s own coordinates!
As alarming as the discovery of something so heinous on my face, the true devastation was in the fact that I have spent an entire morning with a man who did not deem it necessary to inform me that a creature must have drilled into my face and laid an entire nest of eggs underneath my skin as I slept!
After collecting the shards of my broken heart, I marched into the living room, and through a bevy of tears, confronted this man I once trusted with my life.
“How (sob!) COULD you?!?” (hiccup!)
He slowly diverts his eyes from his book and looks up at me like a man who has no idea his world has crashed around him.
“What?”
I remove the wad of tissue from my now bleeding chin and let the crater speak for itself.
“Oh, that. I thought you knew”
“THOUGHT I KNEW???? Do you not know me at ALL??”
It is now that it begins to dawn on him, that all may not be well. Concern begins to wrinkle his brow and he gets the glazed look that indicates his desperate search for the right thing to say. After several agonizingly silent moments, it becomes clear to me that he is not going to find it.
With resignation and deep hurt I whisper “I trusted you”.
“You CAN trust me!” he desperately responds, “I just thought that you already knew about it and decided to leave it alone for once.”
“So, it’s come to that has it?” My deep wounds begin to numb with the balm of anger, “You think I no longer care about how I look? That I don’t care if you’re attracted to me??”
“NO! I know you care about how you look!”
“OH! So YOU don’t care about how I look! You’ve given up on me??” Pause. “Is there someone else?”
“Andrea, come on, this is ridiculous, it’s just a pimple!”
Incredulous, I respond “A pimple? You really think this is all about a PIMPLE?? It is our marriage and the fact that the basic foundation of trust has been completely SHATTERED!”
He drops his head as he has a hundred times in the past and resignedly states “Ok, what’s it gonna take?”
I stand up straight and with as much dignity as I can muster, state “Dinner AND a movie.”
Heavy sigh, “Ok. When?”
My anger flares, “I think under the circumstances as soon as possible!" I calm down a little and decide to drop the bomb, "That’s not all. I want the movie to be a romantic comedy.”
It is here that he finally comes alive, “What?! A click flick??”
I slowly lower the blood soaked tissue and reveal the gash that is clearly in need of stitches and raise my left eyebrow.
He is beaten and he knows it. He begins to slowly nod his head and quietly says that he’ll call his mom to see if she can watch the kids. He opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind, gets up and walks across the room to the phone.
I turn my back to him and walk to the window and look out at our children shoving dollar bills into the muddy depths of the sandbox. A weary sigh escapes me and I look over my shoulder to see my husband talking on the phone in hushed tones.
A disaster averted. A marriage saved.
I turn back to the window and focus on the falling leaves of the trees, ‘But for how long?’ I think. ‘Until the next salad I eat? Will I always have to wonder if there is spinach in my teeth? Chocolate on my blouse?’
I straighten at the sound of Brett hanging up the phone. He comes to my side and takes my hand.
“It’s all arranged” I turn toward him as the sun breaks through a cloud and bathes our silhouette in soft, warm light.
Brett gazes deeply into my eyes and lovingly says “You have a big piece of goop in the corner of your eye”.
I try to choke back my tears of gratitude and put my head on his shoulder.
All is well. All is well.
Brett and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary this year. It is a momentous occasion to be able to claim a full decade of marriage and I’ve been looking forward to this landmark for, well, the past 10 years. However, all of this was put into jeopardy just this morning.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning and as last night was daylight savings, we got a full extra hour of sleep. What could possibly be wrong with the world when you can actually wake up feeling somewhat refreshed? We decided to stay home from church and have a nice breakfast and just hang out with the kids. After a big family breakfast, the boys decided to go outside and bury the little money they had in the backyard. Brett and I spent the rest of the morning hanging out on the couch and enjoying the quiet.
I got up to go to the bathroom and in the one moment it took for me to glance in the mirror as I passed, the entire trust structure of my marriage crumbled. There on my chin was the biggest, most bulbous whitehead I have ever seen on anyone’s, much less my own, face!! This thing could have been charted on a topographical map and given it’s own coordinates!
As alarming as the discovery of something so heinous on my face, the true devastation was in the fact that I have spent an entire morning with a man who did not deem it necessary to inform me that a creature must have drilled into my face and laid an entire nest of eggs underneath my skin as I slept!
After collecting the shards of my broken heart, I marched into the living room, and through a bevy of tears, confronted this man I once trusted with my life.
“How (sob!) COULD you?!?” (hiccup!)
He slowly diverts his eyes from his book and looks up at me like a man who has no idea his world has crashed around him.
“What?”
I remove the wad of tissue from my now bleeding chin and let the crater speak for itself.
“Oh, that. I thought you knew”
“THOUGHT I KNEW???? Do you not know me at ALL??”
It is now that it begins to dawn on him, that all may not be well. Concern begins to wrinkle his brow and he gets the glazed look that indicates his desperate search for the right thing to say. After several agonizingly silent moments, it becomes clear to me that he is not going to find it.
With resignation and deep hurt I whisper “I trusted you”.
“You CAN trust me!” he desperately responds, “I just thought that you already knew about it and decided to leave it alone for once.”
“So, it’s come to that has it?” My deep wounds begin to numb with the balm of anger, “You think I no longer care about how I look? That I don’t care if you’re attracted to me??”
“NO! I know you care about how you look!”
“OH! So YOU don’t care about how I look! You’ve given up on me??” Pause. “Is there someone else?”
“Andrea, come on, this is ridiculous, it’s just a pimple!”
Incredulous, I respond “A pimple? You really think this is all about a PIMPLE?? It is our marriage and the fact that the basic foundation of trust has been completely SHATTERED!”
He drops his head as he has a hundred times in the past and resignedly states “Ok, what’s it gonna take?”
I stand up straight and with as much dignity as I can muster, state “Dinner AND a movie.”
Heavy sigh, “Ok. When?”
My anger flares, “I think under the circumstances as soon as possible!" I calm down a little and decide to drop the bomb, "That’s not all. I want the movie to be a romantic comedy.”
It is here that he finally comes alive, “What?! A click flick??”
I slowly lower the blood soaked tissue and reveal the gash that is clearly in need of stitches and raise my left eyebrow.
He is beaten and he knows it. He begins to slowly nod his head and quietly says that he’ll call his mom to see if she can watch the kids. He opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind, gets up and walks across the room to the phone.
I turn my back to him and walk to the window and look out at our children shoving dollar bills into the muddy depths of the sandbox. A weary sigh escapes me and I look over my shoulder to see my husband talking on the phone in hushed tones.
A disaster averted. A marriage saved.
I turn back to the window and focus on the falling leaves of the trees, ‘But for how long?’ I think. ‘Until the next salad I eat? Will I always have to wonder if there is spinach in my teeth? Chocolate on my blouse?’
I straighten at the sound of Brett hanging up the phone. He comes to my side and takes my hand.
“It’s all arranged” I turn toward him as the sun breaks through a cloud and bathes our silhouette in soft, warm light.
Brett gazes deeply into my eyes and lovingly says “You have a big piece of goop in the corner of your eye”.
I try to choke back my tears of gratitude and put my head on his shoulder.
All is well. All is well.
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