Feb
1
Dave hasn’t slept with me in two weeks. Don’t get upset, though. It’s only because he hasn’t had a day off work in two weeks and he works a 12 hour midnight shift. (Of course, try explaining that to my heart.) (You can’t! It has no ears. Only feelings.) Since his round trip commute is more than two hours and there are only twenty four hours in a day and even less money in our bank account, he’s just been staying close to work, except for the days when I need to teach dance class. Then, he drives home to be with the kids. And if it’s Tuesday, he brings them to my Kindermusik class.
Yesterday was Tuesday and so I got to see him at Kindermusik. He looked tired and unshaven and in need of a haircut. I’m not sure his outfit matched either. I weighed four pounds less than when I last saw him, but I don’t think he noticed. He was too busy trying not to fall asleep.
I will see him again on Sunday. Or maybe Friday if I tell him I’m making turkey burgers and sweet potato fries for dinner. Meanwhile, life is going on without him here. And it’s going just fine! Until Phoebe brings me his ball cap and says, “Dada?” Then, it just sort of stops.
I’m counting the days until he’ll be back in my bed.
Jan
25
This is why I don’t get to work out*
by Leslie
Guess where this penny has been?
If you guessed, “on a wild ride through Phoebe’s digestive system,” you win! (I won’t make you look at the penny-in-the-poop discovery photos.)
I know. You’re shaking your head at me. Leslie, you understand that baby-proofing your house includes keeping small items like this picked up and put away so tiny hands can’t get them, don’t you? How did this happen? Well, I’ll tell you: It was my mother’s fault. No. No! I’m kidding!!! (Mom, I’m mostly kidding.) It was Julia and Lucy’s fault.
My mom was keeping an eye on the girls while I was “working out” in the basement. They were playing Store and feeling uninspired by their wooden play money’s lack of authenticity and so they broke open their bank to use the real stuff. My mother told them not to do it. She told them to put the money away. They did not listen and Phoebe had an Abe Lincoln snack.
*Generally, I “work out” during nap time or when Dave is home, but he’s currently in the middle of a seventeen day work bender, which means he’s only home for about 8 hours every four days and during that time, he’s sleeping or going to softball meetings or bringing kids to my Kindermusik class which is why my mom was watching the girls. So, technically, I guess it’s Dave’s fault. I also blame fitness.
Jan
13
How to Make a Little Girl Feel Special
by Leslie
“This is for you, mom,” Lucy told me as she slid a piece of paper across the counter toward my mixing bowl.
I looked at her scribbles. “Is this a note?”
She smiled and nodded her head. “Yep! For you!”
“Cool! What does it say?” But she was already down the hall placing another on Dave’s desk.
After notes were delivered to Julia and Phoebe, she retired to her room, pen and paper in hand.
A moment later, the door squeaked open and she called, “Anyone who wants to write me a note can just put it right under the door!”
The door slammed and then it was silent.
“Hey Dave?” I called. “One of us better-”
“I’m already on it,” he interrupted, holding up a folded piece of paper. He cleared his throat, pushed it under the door and gave me a wink as he walked back to his desk.
I heard her muffled, “Oh! A note!” before she burst out of the room shouting, “Mommy! Mommy! I got a note! A NOTE!” She pushed it into my hand, “What does it say?”
I opened it and read it to her.
Her cheeks swelled with a smile as she fumbled with her notepad and scribbled her response.
“Daddy! Here!” she shouted, running his way, her note held high. “I got your note. I got your note. Here! I answered you!”
“Can you read it to me?”
“Dear Daddy, I would like to eat graham crackers and drink milk with you. Love, Lucy.”
“Sounds like a plan then.”
She could hardly stand to sit and eat dinner. She smiled at him across the table as her pasta grew cold. “I really liked that note you sent me, Daddy.”
And after dinner, when I’d whisked the other girls up the stairs for a bath and bedtime, Lucy enjoyed the privilege of staying behind for milk and graham crackers with her Daddy.
Jan
12
The greatest thing I’ll ever learn
by Leslie
When I glimpse my backside, you know, when I just happen to find myself in front of a mirror with a craned neck, I get a feeling of, well, I guess, horror. Shock. Dismay. That’s how I look from behind? I shudder. My husband sees something different. He sees something that calls him over to the kitchen sink when I’m washing dishes to caress those hips I curse. He doesn’t see my cellulite thighs or a rear end that resembles furniture rather than a body part. He simply sees the woman he loves and he kisses the back of my neck and breathes in my ear, “You’re beautiful.”
Love is a powerful thing.
But sometimes, I am selfish. I flinch and shrug him off. I all but tell him he’s wrong. “Ugh! No I’m not. I look awful.” I don’t deserve that kind of attention. He’s just trying to make me feel better. I think this as if trying to make me feel better is a bad thing. I think this without considering what he deserves.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not frigid or entirely cold-hearted. It’s, well, hmmm….
Dave has a real soft spot for the movie Moulin Rouge in which the final line is, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” It’s relevant. To us. To me. For most of my life I’ve believed that the greatest you can do is give of yourself – to love. I’ve tried to be a loving person, especially a loving wife, all the while carrying an I-can-do-it-myself-I-don’t-need-your-help sort of attitude. Look at how I’m not selfish. I’m giving! I have a generous heart. I don’t even ask for anything in return! But I’ve begun to realize how I cripple the people that care about me when I don’t let them help me and love me back. I’m realizing because I feel it any time Lucy gets hurt – physically or emotionally – and she thrusts a back-off hand toward me and shouts, “NO! Go away!” I feel the ache, the hurt, the want to hold her, to love her, to comfort her and lessen the bad – to make her feel better. And I wonder how many holes I’ve punched in Dave’s heart as I clumsily tried to protect it from my bad. How many times have I wriggled out of his arms, turned my face to wipe the tears, put on a smile and said, “I’m alright. Just let me get back to…” anything else but this…to loving YOU?
I’m amazed at Dave’s capacity for love – to express it – and his persistence in it. When he reaches out and says, “I love you,” which he does at least three times a day, my response rebuttal is often to put a hand to his chest, which is the sweetest way to keep someone at an arm’s distance, and say, “Not as much as I love you,” as I dance away. It seems playful, but it’s about as tender as telling him that I am rubber and he is glue. Next time he reaches out, I’m not going to run. When he tells me I’m beautiful, instead of denying it, I’m going to try and see it. And when he says, “I love you,” I’m going to let him do it. Even if I feel like I don’t deserve it, because I think that’s when we both need it the most.
Dec
20
Dave often asks, “What’s for dinner?” and at least once every other week I say, “Meatloaf.”
He asks, “What kind is it? It’s All Coming Back to Me Now Meatloaf? You know, the kind that gives you heartburn? Or is it Eat ‘em and Weep? With extra onions.”
And then, he sings, “I want you. I need you. But there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna eat you…”
Also, “I would do anything for love, oh I would do anything for loooove, oh I would do anything for love, but I won’t eat that.”
Then he sings “Paradise by the Oven Light.”
All the while, I roll my eyes and accuse him of hating my meatloaf.
Last night, because my usual meatloaf dish was in use, I used a smaller one. This was a bad idea because while it was cooking some grease spilled over the side and into my hot oven which produced an enormous amount of smoke and that triggered the smoke alarms. This woke Dave from sleep and gave him the opportunity he has been waiting for our entire marriage.
“I guess that one’s your Bat Out of Hell Meatloaf, huh?”
Stuff I Do
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Stuff You Should Do
You know, Stuff.
