In honor of Valentine’s Day: I love books and my kids. Notice I don’t lie and say I love random “kids,” but my kids. Your kids are loud and messy and annoying. Mine are loud and messy and annoying and caused me pain as they came into this world.
I don’t always love books and my kids at the same time, especially if it involves reading the same book to the same kid over and over. Susan and Spot’s favorite lately? Susan calls it the toilet book; you may know it as Love You Forever.
If I have to sing-sing I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always; as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be one more time . . .
Now that I think about it, that book should probably be banned for the guerilla tactics it promotes. Though I do love the section on teenagers: they have strange friends, strange clothes, and listen to strange music.
I stripped her and tucked her up with me and submitted to the usual enquiring fingers.
Translation: poke in the eye=I’m so happy to see you; fingers in the mouth=I love you. Maybe there’s something to this baby sign language after all.
Then I wondered how she’d gotten wet. Sally’s in charge when mom abdicates, and she had no idea.
Then I saw the toilet bowl, smirking at me from the bathroom.
And I thought Susan’s lipstick incident this morning was bad:
I think the Terracotta Rose Bronze Shimmer shade goes especially well with the green snot.
Dick came home and folded the laundry that has been slouching towards the ceiling for days. And set the table, without being asked. The remains of our dinner are still sitting there, near the sink full of dishes, like sullen reminders of behinded-ness.
He did put the kids to bed, saving me at least one reading of that toilet book. I’ve spent the time well, composing a Valentine’s ode to my sweetheart, exactly ten years after our first date.
I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you when you remember to take out the trash; as long as I’m living, my baby, honey, sweetheart, lover, partner, companion, joy, friend, second self you’ll be.
I’ve entered this post in Scribbit’s (A blog about motherhood in Alaska) Write-Away contest. I’m trying to think when’s the last time I entered a writing contest. Oh, I remember. BYU, Founder’s Day contest. Dick got second place or something and we went to a nice award dinner. The judges misplaced or misunderstood my entry, I think. Ah well, ’tis the burden of genuis to be misunderstood, right? Preemptively I-didn’t-want-to-win-anyway much?
You should enter too! First prize is an Alaskan cruise. I wish.