Crooked Pigtails

Reason number 98032 I love my husband

He cleans the shower.

Understanding

I didn't sleep well last night.  When the phone rang at 7:30 this morning, I really wanted to ignore it, cover my head with a pillow, and go back to sleep.

Damn caller ID!

It was S, calling to tell me that his car had broken down on the way to work and that he needed us to come and pick him up at the repair shop.  In the best of times, I am not a morning person.  On mornings when I have had little or no sleep, let's just say, you probably don't want to be on the other end of the telephone line, at 7:30, when my kids are still sleeping, and there is no reason for me to be awake other than to answer the phone that you caused to ring.  I went back to sleep for another half an hour, until Miss H woke up, before dragging myself and Miss A out of bed and going to retrieve my stranded husband.  No, I am not really that much of a bitch; it is what S and I agreed I should do.

The girls were thrilled because a) Daddy was home today and b) they got to ride in the van to go and pick him up, and make a trip through Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru for bagels with cream cheese while still in their pajamas!!  What could possibly be better than that? 

A little while ago, S and I were watching the Red Sox game and he mentioned, casually, that I was less than enthusiastic this morning when he called, and I said that I was very tired, and what did he expect calling me so early in the morning, and he said he was sorry that the he had had car trouble, and I said that I knew it wasn't his fault, and he said that he wouldn't have given me a hard time if I had called him, that, if fact, he would have come to get us right away, and are you ready for what I said to him?  Are you?  Are you sure?

And I said:  of course, you would come right away, because you should come right away, because I am a woman!

And then there was silence while we watched Jason Varitek strike out for the fourth time of the game.

Then...

Him:  I can't believe you just said that!

Me:  Me either.

Him:  So, we're done talking about this?

Me:  Yup.

Him:  But, we both understand, right?

Me:  Yup.

Him: Only, I am never allowed to say it?

Me:  I think the Red Sox are going to lose this one.

A little help

So that S and I can, after nearly ten years of debate, finally, put these issues to rest and, {once you tell him that I am right and he is wrong, so that he can mend his foolish ways} restore our marital harmony: 

Please tell him us:

1)  When fixing a bowl of corn flakes, which is the proper order: cereal, sugar, milk or, cereal, milk, sugar?

and,

2)  For iced drinks which comes first the ice or the drink?  Fill the glass with ice and pour the drink over?  Or, pour the drink and plop the ice in?

Next, we will come up with a global warming solution.  First things first.

Reason number 134 I love my husband

Every single time, for what seems like months now, that we have seen a trailer for the movie Cars, his eyes have lit up, his posture has changed, and he has promised the girls (after, first, convincing them that they want to see a movie about cars!) that we will take them to see it in the theater.  His consistency in this has been so relentless that when the commercial comes on Miss A screams "June 9th!  June 9th!  June 9th!" while she and Daddy do the going-to-the-movies dance.

Largely due to this gleeful dance, I have come to accept that we are going to spend a ridiculous amount of money to see an animated film about cars.  So, you can imagine my surprise when I called him a few minutes ago to discuss the show times and he said, "Oh, is that today?"

Reasons number 2 and 3 why I love my husband

Because he is a great Daddy.  Because he is a huge softy.

When we were newly pregnant with H, my husband's best friend's five year old daughter got her ears pierced.  S expressed to me that, if we had a girl, he would not allow her ears to be pierced until she was 16.  I remember we were walking in Boston Common as we were having this conversation, and I remember laughing and asking him how old our son would have to be in order to pierce his ears.  He stopped walking and looked at me as though my flippant attitude had rendered him unable to take another step.  I'm serious.  And he was.

I apologized and assured him that I am not an earrings on infants or toddlers kind of gal; promising to never, at any age, pierce our child's ears without his knowledge and/or consent.*

Over the years, our stance on ear piercing has evolved, shifted.  I think it first came up again when H was about three and a half.  At which point, I expressed my desire to have her ears pierced; not immediately, not for a couple more years, but sometime.  S said she would have to be 12.  I argued that, if there were to be a specific age, eight seemed more reasonable--but, also, that when/if she began to inquire, we would need to begin to consider.  He agreed, as long as she didn't begin to inquire until she was at least eight.

For about a year now, H has periodically expressed her interest to pierce her ears; she celebrated her sixth birthday last December.  The first few discussions were quickly disposed of as soon as pain was mentioned; she wanted the pretty earrings, but then Daddy would tell her to forget it and besides, do you realize that it hurts really bad?  And we would not hear about earrings again for a while.  But, recently, several of her friends have been getting their ears pierced.  I don't know what to attribute this  phenomenon to--- something in the water? Spring in the air?---I only know that we were suddenly bombarded with 1st grade little girls and pierced ears.

She is not eight, but it is time to begin to consider.

We were walking through the mall Palm Sunday afternoon, searching for appropriate Easter shoes, when, completely out of the blue, H asked to get her ears pierced.  I told her to talk to her father; I was on a mission for Easter sandals and wanted the conversation squelched.

But, he said yes!

{Actually, he said fine, but, that didn't have the same impact in print as yes--and it means the same thing, after all.}

I was stunned.  H actually started to go into her whiny, beg mode before realizing that she had just miraculously crumbled a wall of access to the holy land of bejeweled ears.  I sat my family on a bench in the middle of the mall under the guise of needing to discuss the issue further, but, honestly, I was trying to slow my own heart rate; I was suddenly in a panic.

{Never before had I been placed in the position where I was the one having to consider stabbing a permanent hole in our child's ears; I had always been able to hold my own emotions at bay, behind the safety of my husband's, it was our unspoken agreement--he was my emotional protector, he was the "bad guy"--but, in a single, perfectly timed moment H had crumbled that safety and Daddy had said "Fine".}

S and I listened to our sweet daughter as she explained to us that it would only hurt for a minute, that she understood the after care, and that she even knew which earrings she wanted: her birthstone. 

She suddenly seemed so grown up.  I was nauseous.  I hugged her, perhaps a little too closely, and then we went to Claire's Boutique to pierce her tiny ears.

The store only had one employee working, so we decided that we would come back, after school, the following day when there would be two.  We wanted both ears pierced simultaneously; we didn't want H to end up with only one pierced ear!  H was disappointed, but understood.  I was thrilled.  I was certain that she had posed the question, just as she had a dozen times previously, never anticipating that her daddy would give her permission; I knew once she slept on it, she would change her mind.

When I tucked her into bed that night I told her that I was very excited for her (chest tightening, can't breathe! please tell mommy you've changed your mind) and explained that it was her decision to make, that she didn't have to get her ears pierced if she didn't want to, that it would be OK if she changed her mind, and that the important thing was that she now had permission to get the pierced when she (read, I) was ready.  She said OK and I kissed her goodnight.

In the morning she seemed apprehensive.  We talked about it on the way to school.  I told her that maybe she shouldn't tell her friends just in case she wanted to change her mind; I didn't want her to feel pressured.  When I dropped her off, I was certain that she wasn't going to go through with it.

I was wrong.

We met S at the mall after work on Monday.  H practically ran full sprint toward the store; she was so excited.   Come on, A, I'm getting my ears pierced!

There was only one employee working.  I questioned her, explaining that we had been told she would have a colleague with her and she gave us a lame excuse about someone calling in sick---after she had already told us that she was "it" that day.  H was crushed.  She started wailing.  Not in a bratty, I want my way, sort of wail; it was the wail of a heart broken child, of total disappointment.  She had been promised something that she didn't think she could go on another day without.  S picked her up and she buried her face in his neck.

We drove an hour, to another state, and had her ears pierced.  My husband went from "she has to be 16" to driving an hour to get her ears pierced before I could catch my breath.

Like I said: great Daddy; huge softy.

________________________________

As for the actual piercing: it went well.  She never faltered in her determination, she chose her birthstone earrings and she jumped up into the chair.  Our little girl now has very pierced ears.  Those details are for another day.

*Besides, I was certain that we were having a boy, rendering the entire concept a moot point.  Only, we have a gorgeous, girly-girl daughter; two of them, in fact.  The concept has been far from moot.

Reason number 998987 I love my husband

Standing in the kitchen moments ago, while attempting to tell me about the radio program he was listening to, in the car, on the way home from work this evening, the program in which someone evidently farted loudly, and on-air, the man was laughing so hard that he could barely breathe, requiring a solid ten minutes, chocked full of stops and starts, in order to recount the story.

Again, ladies, try to contain your jealousy, he is all mine.

Reason number 1298983 I love my husband

We had a leaky pipe under the addition. 

He fixed it.  No plumber, no Sunday morning, triple overtime, repair bill.  One trip to Lowes.  Fixed. By. Himself.

And he is all mine.