Our poor kitty is doing just fine, thank you. I particularly enjoy the thunks as she drags herself across the kitchen floor. And how Junior tries to pull her leg off as he screams, “That’s mine! That’s mine!”
Yes, everything belongs to Junior these days, including things that are melded to other creatures.
But let’s get back to me. I didn’t even get a chance to write about our weekend in Assachusetts (oops, did I forget the “M”?). We stayed with friends at their beach house. As purdy as their beach house was, it was very small.
Like, when we pulled up to the house, our car was bigger.
Our friends let us use their guest room, which was generous of them, but the minor caveat—that Chuck and I had to push twin beds together if we wanted to sleep together—was a major pain in the ass. Nothing says personal hell like sleeping in the fucking crack.
Even though Chuck promised he wouldn't push me into the crack, it's where I spent most of my time. I kept telling him that it wasn’t imperative we spoon, but he chose this weekend to get all soft on me.
“I’m not sleeping apart on a holiday weekend!”
Silly Chuck. I guess he hasn’t referenced his Nuptial Manual lately. It clearly states that on holidays celebrated with heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, you spoon. On holidays celebrated with explosives and fire, it’s perfectly acceptable to sleep wherever you want as long as you get a good night's sleep.
By the second night I was scoping out other places to crash, like the bathtub and roof. A hotel room was also an attractive option, though our friends wouldn’t hear of it.
Oh how I wanted to hear of it.
Did I mention that our friends forgot to mention that their other friends were also staying with them? Junior bunked with us, which meant he had a bird's eye view of us from his Pack 'n Play.
He woke up at 6:10 both mornings.
“Hi, Mommy! Whatchoo doin’ Mommy? What's that? Bird’s fyin’! Juice, mommy? What’s Dadda doin’ Mommy? Whatchoo doin’ Mommy? I took a nap. Dadda's sleepin'. I want some juice, Mommy. What's that? Juice, mommy? What’s Dadda doin’ Mommy? Whatchoo doin’ Mommy? I took a nap. Bird’s fyin’! Whatchoo doin’ Mommy? Juice, mommy? What’s Dadda doin’ Mommy? Whatchoo doin’ Mommy? I took a nap.”
After I pulled myself out of the crack, Chuck and I walked Junior to the beach so he wouldn’t wake up the rest of the matchbox. You know who else is at the beach at 6:15 a.m.? Other parents of kids who wake up too early at their friends' beach house.
We made some nice friends; I think next time we’ll stay with them.
Note: In all the hubbub I totally forgot to mention the winner of the numbers! Congratulations, Baby News.