Hope you all had a Merry Christmas. I have four words for you:
I GOT A ROBE.
If you haven't seen this hilarious video clip shared by my dear friend and hilarious blogger, Suz, please check it out now so you understand the significance of my robe gift. I'll wait.
I couldn't stop laughing after I opened the robe. After everything was opened (thank God we don't have a dog. Turn the page, join us. I'm not anti-animal, just allergic and still referring to the above clip), I shared the SNL video with my people. They laughed their butts off too. Maybe a little bit too much.
I haven't worn a robe in FOREVER. Curly thought I needed one.
I throw on workout clothes the minute I wake up, so
no soup for me no robe for me. Back when I spent half the night breastfeeding someone or massaging someone else's knees (*explanation below), I threw on my robe and then showered during the 10 am showing of Sesame Street. Sweet Jesus, thank you for Sesame.
I'm not sad that my robe-wearing days are over - born of a too-tired-to-function necessity. Lounging sounds delightful, but it isn't in the cards for me.
(*explanation: looking at toddler Ed here with the constant TAP TAP on my shoulder in the middle of the night, "MOMMY, MY KNEES HEWRT." No joke, I sometimes hauled the world's largest baby aka Tank into Ed's bed where I served double duty: MILK FOR YOU AND IF YOU LAY BEHIND THE BABY AND PUT YOUR LEG UP HERE I CAN MASSAGE YOUR KNEES TOO.
HELLO, Ed's father is/was a PT . . . guess whose tired-ass self finally dragged Ed to the doctor? Not coach. Ed needed inserts in his shoes for his knock-knee issues. Ahem, and guess whose side of the family that trait stems from? Not mine).
Coach and I don't really exchange gifts. So I thought. He always says he doesn't need anything. I get him a few things. Like Peter Millar pants. Bought on sale. Can't resist those. I mean when they're on the sale rack, not on Coach. OK, maybe both.
I bought him a file crate (in addition to Millar pants). I hoped it'd clear up the paper/journal organization nightmare that surrounds his recliner. He started to set it up but was like: WAIT, WHERE DO THE FILES GO?
Me: Well, you get those hanging file things. They hook on here . . . (trails off as Coach becomes annoyed). What?
Coach: Those don't work (SAID NO ONE WHO KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT ORGANIZING EVER).
Me: OK then. Send it back, but figure out another system because your papers can no longer be kept all around your chair.
I then sashayed around the house spreading more Christmas cheer.
On the 20th Coach and I went to church before the kids were awake. I broke out some new booties I bought myself. They're Josef Seibel. Feel like slippers.
Coach: Are those new?
Me: Yes. I bought them yesterday.
Coach: What? You got them yesterday? Why wouldn't you give them to me to wrap up for you? You usually do that.
Me: Um, because you still end up taking the kids to get me something at Target. (translation: he is fooling no one here. The kids KNOW he doesn't shop. He says the kids insist on coming up with ideas for me and they want to be involved in shopping for me . . . SO WHY ARE WE STILL FAKING THEM OUT WITH THE STUFF I BUY MYSELF AND WRAP MYSELF?).
He's a man, so the mystery element here is implied.
In addition to the robe, I opened my booties that I took off in the garage and hid in Ed's locker after we got back from church until Coach could wrap them. Curly was awake in the kitchen when we got home, but didn't question why I was entering the house in my socks.
|I know, cute, right?|
On Christmas Eve, he couldn't remember where he hid my booties for a little while. I was like - why did you bother hiding them? He's a wonder, and he's all mine.
After I opened a sweater (something I also bought myself), Coach hopped up to turn the oven timer off in the kitchen.
The kids all leaned in close and shout-whispered to me: WHY DOES DADDY DO THAT? WE KNOW HE DIDN'T BUY THAT FOR YOU.
Mini: I was with you when you bought that.
Me: He thinks he's fooling you. (eyerolls all around).
Coach also got me a desk chair. Previously my PT husband directed me to balance on a giant yoga ball while I type. Necessitated by low back pain after sitting on a chair. The question: why is my PT husband now advising me to sit on a chair? It hasn't been assembled yet. I'll report back.
A potentially hurtful drama with my side of the family put a damper on Christmas evening. Twas a misunderstanding that was straightened out the next day. More later. During the icky-feeling, my kids and Coach were super supportive which restored my temporarily misplaced warm and fuzzies.
In good news: The used shit I bought all worked out, the kids loved their stickers from Red Bubble, I've slept like a log 3 consecutive nights, the laundry is all caught up (not sorted, but clean), and we've been eating huge delicious meals as if we might lose the privilege of eating very soon.
Added bonus: enough leftovers so that I do not have to cook all week.