These past few days I've been inspired to blog conversations I've recently had with Paul. For the most part I've resisted, lest there be blood and fire and locusts. (In other words, he might be kind of annoyed if I start telling the internets).
But then I realized, holy shit. I've been having conversations. With my husband. That hasn't happened in, oh...about 18 months. A period roughly the shape and size of our son.
You see, our kid isn't in daycare right now - Paul works nights and I work days, and we juggle the jailkeeper duties between the two of us. So I see him for about 5 minutes in the morning when his son punches him in the face to wake him up, and then for about 5 more minutes in the evening when we're all cramming food into our collective maw and Paul is trying to shit and shower and shave at the same time. Our conversations pretty much consist of, "Hehasn'tpooped-YourMomcalled-Henappedforanhour-Pleasetakeoutthetrash-Whatdoyoumeanthedoghasn'tbeenoutallday?"
But for the past week Paul's restaurant has been closed for renovations and he's been at home. So I took a long weekend and we just had happy family time.
(It took about 3 days to adjust to that).
(Which left us one whole day to enjoy it).
And I was all, Oh YEAH. I remember you. You make me laugh and think. You're actually pretty fun to be around. I guess there's a reason I got knocked up in the first place, hey?
And then I thought, um...we're trying to add ANOTHER
time suck bundle of joy into the fray? Is that a good idea? I might not even recognize him by the time we emerge. He might be all warty and shrunken. And I might be...all warty and shrunken.
But the conversations that WE have, I want us to have as a family. I want to all sit around the dinner table, all of us, and get opinions and stories and facts from all quarters, and laugh and talk and be friends for at least that one hour. And then dad will burp loudly and mom will roll her eyes and the kids will giggle when he winks at them. And everybody will go off to their busy lives, homework or housework or
blogging hobbies, knowing that they're part of a fabulous thing.
I know that this ideal exists, because I had it, growing up. I'm almost positive it's still achievable.
So the chaos will roll back in this week, our conversations will return to their abbreviated state and half of them will end up as texts. But eventually Xander will go to daycare and we might take another vacation, and we'll have at least TEN minutes a day to talk to each other. Maybe X will even contribute more than "Baaall!" and "Woof!".
And my kids can grow up with the ideal, too.
*Nana Mouskouri has nothing, nothing at all, to do with this post. I'm just dying of curiousity to see if anybody remembers she exists and is googling her. So, if that's how you got here, HI! I know nothing about Nana either. Sorry to entangle you in my little experiment. Feel free to go here.