While enjoying a "smoovie" with H on Friday morning, he said, "oh mom, this is pretty, pretty good!"
I smiled and thanked him. But he wasn't finished, "I so proud of you, mom," at which point my smile almost overtook my entire head and I couldn't resist the magnetism between mouth and cheek (mine to his.) And in an instant, there were kisses all over those squirrely cheeks.
He is most complimentary. Before church on Sunday I was straightening my hair, (I know, SHOCK ME AGAIN! It's a rare day that I actually take the time to iron the mop atop.) Anyway, while I was thus occupied, I heard a little voice from the bathtub saying, "Oh! Mom! You hair looks so good!" (All of the exclamation points are to help you imagine how sparkly and bright his voice gets when he's doling out compliments. But I know you can't imagine it. It's better than you're imagining. It's too darling and sublime for description. You know, just like the excited sound of your own child's voice. If you don't have one, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about when you do. Language just becomes a really bothersome nuisance that always breaks down in the attempt to capture the magical cuteness of your own child.)
Another event from this week that can only be properly placed in the "Too Darling for Words" category was the date that Mr. N planned for us on Friday night. He refused to tell me about the night's agenda, so all I knew was that he hadn't made dinner plans, which, if we're being quite frank, made me feel just a bit put upon because freedom from the obligation of dinner prep is one of the things I savor most about date night. So, having to get H fed, wiped down, diapered, and pajama-ed, and get the house straightened AND conjure up dinner for the two of us, all before 6:15, made me...sweaty. And in my world, sweaty (unless working out,) equals short-fused and sour. Sensing my frustrations, Mr. N suggested that we play one quick round of Pictionary on the Dry Erase board before I left to pick up the sitters, (yes, sitters. With an "s," we get twins--two for the price of one!) We were already late picking them up, but sensing that this was probably weaved into the night's plans somehow, I put on my good-sport for Pictionary face and played along. He drew some "M's" (to represent my nick-name, "Em,") then a plate with some food on it, and then a big target (think shooting range.) It didn't take me long to figure out the hidden message of Pictionary: for our date, we were going to go to Target (yippeee!) to pick out the dishes (wahoo!) that Em's been eyeing (and talking about,) for nearly a month now. And then, because he knows my hang-ups about parting with green paper, he pulled out a Target gift card and said, "the money's already been spent. All you have to do is pick out the dishes you want."
Husband Of The Year material, that is.
You know the old adage, "Happy Wife = Happy Life" -- well it's totally true. Evidence: I used some of the Target funny money to buy him a few little somethings, a sort of belated Father's Day present, if you will. AND, more significantly, (after being guilted with a chat about how my "up-for-everything" attitude before marriage was "false advertising," which made Nate believe he was marrying a more "sporty wife,") I figured that Mr. Husband of the Year at least deserved a somewhat "sporty wife" and finally agreed to an afternoon of keep-away in the pool. Keep away from who, you ask? Oh, just each other. Which basically meant a free-for-all wrestling match in the pool, in which we each tryed to keep a Winnie The Pooh beach ball out of the other's posession. It felt awfully much like a hokey pool scene from Beverly Hills 90210, but it was really fun to horse around like teenagers again.
There's nothing like a little care-free fun to breathe new life into stuffy, serious souls, which is what mine and Mr. N's have a tendency to feel like after a long week of work and personal responsibilities. We're mastering the art of "Unwinding" on the weekends. It's a most lovely art-form, to be sure. Our favorite (free) way to amuse ourselves is playing Bohnanza (thanks Becca and Marcus, for introducing us to such a delightful little game,) and popping popcorn on the stove. We do it almost every weekend. And when we're really feeling indulgent, we throw a little Cherry Coke Zero in the mix to make our hearts beat fast! Whooo-weee! The thrills of a Mormon weekend in suburbia are numberless!
I keep thinking we'll get sick of it, but at least once a weekend, we both get that giddy flicker in our eyes and...On goes the stove! And a-shufflin' goes the Bohnanza deck! And it's hours of free fun and punchy late-night laughter (and a little bit of edgy competition) every time. When I crawled into bed last night, Mr. N was mumbling nonsense from the unconsciousness of his sleep. But when I listened more intently, I realized he must have been engrossed in an ethereal game of Bohnanza: "It's your turn sweetie. (grumble, grumble.) You wanna trade? Ok. Ok. (sleepy grumble.) A soy for a black-eyed? Yeah, sure."
That seals it then, my friends. This is indeed the stuff dreams are made of!
Well...it's what our dreams are made of.