The way to love someone
is to lightly run your finger over that person's soul
until you find a crack,
and then gently pour your love into that crack.
~Keith Miller

Friday, July 29, 2011

This morning when I woke up, before I stretched and strained to hear the birds chirping, I said "I have a full day of housework to do today." Last night was wings night, a tradition that has carried on from when I was unavailable to cook dinner on Thursday nights because I was teaching ... now I go with and we all pile in to a large booth and share onions rings and answers to trivia questions. Buffalo Wild Wings ... fun. Afterwards Yo Mo (yogurt mountain) and a bit of shopping for the girls ... Four is at camp this week ... somebody thinks all their clean underwear made it in to her suitcase ... I doubt it. At Target the girls scoot off laughing, their heads close together. V is almost as tall as her big sister. Husband asks me if I need anything ... I say maybe a cuticle stick and we head over towards the nail tools. Suddenly he says he is going to buy the cheap razors ... He is tired of those high end blades that I buy ... and I just laugh and say "Good luck with that ... " because I was thinking about how he never ever ever not once since I've known him ... never rinses out the blade or the sink after he shaves ... gunky blades don't perform well, no matter how much potential they started out with ... Gunky blades belong in the waste basket ... disposable blades make sense ... all I was trying to communicate with my light hearted good luck response was, I hope that works out better for you. This morning I should be thinking about how nice it is that he shaves, but today I am thinking about foam in the sink. I'm thinking about foam in the sink, because his answer last night to my censored response was ... "I will have good luck with that because I'm the one who pays for things around here." that didn't even make sense to me ... but I didn't ask for clarification as he walked off. Last year me would have followed after him cajoling him out of this little funk ... this year me continued looking for a cuticle stick ... they didn't have any ... then I briefly wondered if I need to put a larger waste basket near the bathroom sink ... then I thought I might sit in Starbucks and wait for everyone ... but I didn't want to order anything and I didn't have my purse with me anyway. He really does pay for everything around here. This morning I am notified that this is his last white t-shirt. You know ... How could you say that any nicer? He needs me to do a load of whites. I say I will do that first thing so he doesn't have to give it another thought. I actually had a basket of whites starting yesterday ... yesterday morning I did a couple of loads while I tried to prepare for that interview. This is what rubbed me wrong ... raw ... I don't like the clothes draped over the bedroom chair ... spilling over on to the floor ... the shoes kicked off ... several pair not even beside their mate ... I don't like the loose change tossed down with tiny pieces of trash and papers with notes that may or may not be important. I don't like the toilet paper rolls in the floor ... I don't like the foam in the sink. He tells me he is running late and will put on his tie when he comes home for lunch ... when he comes home for lunch hoping for, expecting, something delicious to appear ... and freshly laundered t-shirts to be folded in his drawer ... and that bag of dress shirts dropped off at the cleaners ... and the house ... and the walkway ... and ... . This is the secret life of housewives ... it never ends. Yesterday, during the interview, I was asked how I would respond to working with a student who threw up during the lesson ... I said I have a background in changing diapers ... throw up would be a step up ... no problem.

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