Day One...

My wife and son, along with my wife's best friend and her kids, have piled into a mini van and hit the road for their annual trip to North Country. For those keeping score, that's two women, a seven year old, a three year old, and a year and a half year old. I will hang back and retain my sanity hold the fort down.

Not to worry, I have a list of projects to complete and some television to catch up on, and I’m wasting no time getting started. But first, supplies.

I hit up Walmart where I buy a family size box of Apple Jacks. I like Apple Jacks because they’re nutritional (hence the Apple), and yet still delicious. It’s a cereal that straddles the line between healthy and tasty and at 14 months shy of 40, I feel an air of maturity as I pass up the Cocoa Pebbles. I grab milk and beer and I head for the register, proud of myself for just getting the necessities.

Back at the house, I begin project number one, polishing up my son’s floors. I get a coat of polyurethane down and open the windows, thinking, maybe I should have done that in a different order. But I wanted to get this done first so that any fumes would be clear before my son was back. Hopefully those flying elephants will be gone by then as well.

With the dogs walked, the shopping done, and the first coat of poly on the floors, I take a hiatus from the whirlwind of productivity that is swirling throughout the house with the fumes. Time for a movie. This is 40 (I’m noticing a theme here). When the movie came out, I remember thinking that I wanted to see it. Now, two years later, with four servings of Apple Jacks crammed into my bowl; I decide to do just that.

Settling in with the dogs, it seems I've forgotten just how long movies are, and I’m maybe a half hour in when I remember that I should water the plants. After all, I wouldn't want my wife to come home to find all of her flowers wilting and starved, so I pause the move, water the garden and get sidetracked when I think of how much my son loves the hose. Then I return to the movie.

This is strange. I’m so used to my evening routine with the fam. Play, his dinner, play, our dinner, play, bath, scream bloody murder, bed. Repeat. Now I’m lost without it, it’s just…..shouldn’t I be enjoying this more? Usually, I’m dreaming of spare time and now I have a block of it, all of the silence I could wish for....and it’s weird.

But seriously, how did I used to sit down for an entire movie? Before the kid, my wife and I would watch marathons of tv shows and movies. But now my brain is just not used to sitting and I can't shut it down. I feel this nagging need to be, *gulp*, productive. Thanks a lot, honey...

The movie is funny, but I don’t finish it, I have all week. Tomorrow, I’m planning to paint the entrance way, so maybe I can catch the rest of it while the paint dries.  

I'll keep you posted.

Third Trimester Romance

I've been told several times that romantic evenings will become scarce once the baby arrives.  And I've already noticed that as the pregnancy has progressed, our idea of romance has “progressed” as well.  Progressed as in changed dramatically.  Between work, being uncomfortable, and being exhausted, Anne has been unable to focus on little else as she enters the third and final stage of creating life.  But last night, as the dust settled, I saw her smile with delight.

Let me explain, our house is a fixer upper that we bought two short years ago and slowly--through constant weekend projects--have been able to update and modernize.  But we still have a ways to go.  To make a long story short, there was no dishwasher.  Not a big deal for the two of us, but adding another human to our household changes things a bit. 

About four short months ago I found one on sale at Lowes and brought it home thinking that my wife would be impressed with my initiative.  Four long months later, the dishwasher had become a piece of furniture in the sun room, greeting her every day as she walked inside, (I barely noticed it).  The dishwasher spoke to her, Hello Anne, go ahead and set your pocket book on me!   Look at all this mail I’ve collected, (I hear it with an English accent). Hardly a day passed without her asking me a simple question, a six word sentence I have come to loathe:  Have you called about the dishwasher?

So I took matters into my own hands.  Installed the dishwasher you ask?  No, I called a guy, and he installed the dishwasher.  Yesterday I came home with flowers in one hand and dishwasher detergent in the other.  We ordered Chinese food and enjoyed a romantic dinner at the table with the enchanting sounds of power tools buzzing in the background.  At 10pm our handyman came up from air….mission accomplished; I can proudly outsource my position as dishwasher to the mechanical box under the counter.
 
Our house, our lives, and our relationship are undergoing many changes, from the insignificant and slight variations, to the big time, game changing, scary as hell variety.   Last night's dinner was a perfect example, as it is definitely not what I would have envisioned as a romantic evening when we began dating four years ago...it is much better.