A Public Display

On this Valentine's Day, I am going to post something that I started on Valentine's Day, 2012, but never had the guts to post. Because I try to avoid PDA. On the internet. Kissing in public is totally okay with me.

But, in the spirit of the day, I will divulge the half-baked tid-bit I wrote three years ago:

I don't know how to talk about Brad. I have been trying all day and I can't. Anything I try comes out too cheesy, too personal, too braggy. I write strictly humor and misery. I do not deal in joy. And so I have no tools to convey my feelings.

So I will just say this: 

When I started to date, I remember being advised to "date someone that makes you want to be a better person."

I didn't realize that as a guilt-addicted perfectionist, my drive to be a better person was already--by itself--enough to propel me through several lifetimes of improvement. Well, improvement and maybe severe depression. Brad was the only man I dated that made me want to be me. With him I am comfortable in my own skin.

Happy Valentine's Day to the man who calls himself "the luckiest" after he's come home from a long day at work and the kids are running loops around the stairs, screaming, and dinner is not done, and I'm still wearing pajama pants and a sweatshirt.

He obviously has it backwards.

Hide and Go Seek

If you follow me on Instagram, maybe you remember this year-old gem:

That is Rose. At my feet. She is either insisting to be held since the dinner-making which is requiring my attention is significantly less important than her, OR, she is objecting to the disgustingness which she will soon refuse to eat at dinner time.

Either way, it was not super fun. 

These days, Rose has a new tactic. The minute I approach the stove or the sink, or (heaven-forbid) the kitchen-aid, the child runs to my legs. She clings on for dear life. And with a sweet smile she pleads, "Mommy, ho' ju."  It's a pretty hard request to deny. But it's also really hard to ignore the cries of three other starving children waiting for you to cook them breakfast. It's even harder to flip a pancake while holding a two year-old on your hip.

So.

I invented a new game. It's called "Hide Spiderman."

Observe:

Spiderman hides, and Rose spends 3-5 minutes looking for him (during which I cook, and add ingredients, and stir a little), she finds him and rejoices and jumps up and down, and then I hide him again.

This trick works so well that I'm spending more time in the kitchen. I've baked 6 loaves of bread this week. (The drawback is that I have eaten an entire loaf every day this week. So... I'm also growing a muffin top. Bonus.)