Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Starts at Point A, Ends at Point Something Else.

My big guy is sick.   :(

Remember when staying home sick from school used to be the coolest thing ever?  I'm pretty sure one of the best times from my childhood occurred when I had chicken pox in 8th grade.  I can't believe I waited until 8th grade to get them, but I did.  The thing that made it so awesome was that 1.)  I was actually old enough to stay home by myself, and 2.)  I was actually old enough to enjoy it.

Friends from the neighborhood would come by after school, bringing me homework (blah) and all sorts of other amazing things.  At the time, we were getting ready to move out of our house, so we had let our above-ground pool in the backyard turn sort of green.  A couple of the guys who lived behind me went cast-netting off one of the bridges and brought me a ton of fish to put in the pool.  The next day, they delivered me a bunch of canal turtles.  I would take bread outside during the day and sit on the diving board, feeding the fish and turtles.  I'd write fabulous notes and love letters, full of 8th grade angst and hearts in red marker and leave them outside for my friends.  I'd watch tv all day, eat macaroni and cheese, play Ms. Pac Man.  It was seriously awesome.

Aidan is home from school today with a fever.  He just finished a plate of waffles and is now relaxing in bed on the internet with the Military channel on his flat screen tv.  Despite the 15'x33' backyard aquarium and the red markered love letters, I'm fairly certain he's got it better than I did.

Yesterday marked the 2-year anniversary of "Poker Night," aka the night I met Richard.  We both can't help but get all sappy and sentimental as we reminisce about what might have been, or if we'd ever met if it wasn't for that fateful night.  I'm so happy to say that I've truly married my best friend.  People say that, but they don't really mean it.  I've seen friends of mine, the "compulsive break-up artists," I'll call them, who change their relationship statuses on Facebook once a week, and the next thing you know, they're "engaged."  What the blank, people?

I've heard my friends say that "not-fighting" is unhealthy in a relationship.  People can't believe that Richard and I don't fight.  When you have a totally open line of communication, what is there to fight about?  Because we know each other so well, we each know what the other will do in a given situation.  I don't worry that he's going to be out "doing me wrong."  If I did, I wouldn't be with him.  We don't fight about money, because everything is out in the open.  We don't fight about child-rearing, because we're both completely compatible in that aspect.  If I am disappointed in him or he in me, we immediately talk about it and get it worked out, as it can only be chalked up to a miscommunication or an error in judgment on either of our parts, but these things are completely minute.

For me, it could be something like, "Ohhh, I had a rough day with the kids and I thought you were going to call me before you came home so I'd know to put dinner on."  And he might reply with, "Oh babe, I'm sorry, I totally spaced it and then my dad called and then I called my brother and my last call was only 15 minutes from home, I'm sorry!"  And then I might say, "Well, please try to remember next time because I really wanted you to stop at the store and grab formula."  And he'll say, "Okay, babe.  I'm sorry.  Do you want me to go get it now or do you want to take a break from the kids and go to the store?"  And that's that.  Maybe it sounds boring to some people, but at this age, do you really still "fight" with your best friends?  You don't, because you realize that they have their lives and you have yours, and it's no different in a marriage.

Ugh, look what I went and did?  Someone call "Posts Gone Wild," because this one is out of control.

You've lucked out:  it's just about time for me to head to school where I'll be discussing "The Short, Happy Life of Francis Macomber."

Getting the funk out,