Six Years Ago Today (and an unfinished tirade on the obliviousness of men)

I started this several weeks ago, and didn't finish it.  Now I cannot remember what was the moral of the story, but I'm still going to post it, even unfinished ...

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 Sometimes when I cannot sleep, I find respite in looking through old photographs.  Ironically, they are from a time when I was mostly depressed and lonely and living in a state park (not in a tent, as I used to tell people who gawked). 

I remember this day like it was yesterday.  We had a major plumbing problem (thank you very much Mr. Weeping Cherry Tree), and Brian had rented a small backhoe loader to help alleviate the problem.  (I never really understood what he was doing, but it seemed like one of those times when you just keep your mouth shut.) John-John (2.5 at the time) was beyond fascinated. 

 

 I often wonder how ALL of us parents feel as though we have meandered away the "good years" when they were _____ (fill in the blank -- sweet, chubby, wide-eyed, fascinated by diggers, etc.).  But I know that we all do it.  In fact, sometimes NOW, when I'm rocking Sam or watching movies with him or watching him throw Cheerios into the nether-regions of the dining room, I think about these "good years" and I wonder about the relativism of the word "good" in that scenario.

 Because it can't be just me that finds parenting to be like having an eternally drunk houseguest, right? 

But I digress ... I actually intended to write tonight about Husband. 

Bless. His. Heart.

I swear to goodness that he could sit at the dining room table reading National Geographic while the house burned down.  (I would swear to God, but my mother always told me that it was bad to do that, so I can't do it even now ... although I always wondered why it was bad if one were sincere ...)

For the past few months, this has not been an issue, for Brian coached basketball in the fall and soccer in the early spring and was rarely home before 7 p.m.  But now, for the first time in months, he is home during The Dinner Hours. 

Those of you who keep up with this blog (and my life in general) know how I loathe The Dinner Hours, a time when very little seems to go right in my house & mind.

And so having an extra person here during that time somewhat throws me off.  I'm thrilled to have the help, and annoyed that someone is coming in and taking over my domain.

Tonight was no exception.  I was cooking something fabulous (noodles with pre-made pasta sauce), Sam was running about obsessing about various lost, microscopic toys, John-John was trying to make sense of the spelling patterns of words such as "book, boot, soup, & south"  (go back and read that list again with your thinking cap on), and Brian was reading his new edition of National Geographic.

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This is all I wrote that night.  Sadly, I cannot remember what happened next, but it did not involve a house burning down.  Let this be a lesson to all you Contemplators of Having Children: This is Your Brain on Kids.

OUS,
k