Author Archives: Becky Bean

Happy Anniversary, Bean

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Dear Bean,

See, this is the problem I have with anniversaries.  I should be getting ready for a wonderful, romantic evening with you, where we go out to dinner, or a movie, or something anniversary-ish like that.  It would be really fun to go out and celebrate the fact that four years ago we were exchanging our vows inside of a too-hot courthouse while my mom channeled her inner paparazzi and took pictures of your ear wax. 

Unfortunately, life is too busy.

I’ve got tons of stuff to do work today – I don’t think I’m going to get it all done in time before my boss comes back, and that’s stressing me out.  I suppose I could try to make a big, fancy dinner to show you my love, but I made plans with a friend to meet up at Westminster Mall and let the boys run around and get their energy out.  Besides, I’m not really in the mood to cook, and you’re going to be stuck sitting through whatever boring class it is you have on Wednesday nights (Strategy and Policy, I think?) and you won’t be home until late. 

If this were a movie, when you came home from class I’d be there to greet you at the door in some kind of filmy negligee, my hair shiny and straight, my mouth quirking at the corners as I lead you into the bedroom by your tie (I know you don’t actually wear a tie to work, but just work with me here.) 

Unfortunately, I’m not a night person – I’m a morning person.  By the time you get home, probably after 10:00 pm, if I am still awake I will be tired and grumpy.  My hair will be in a messy ponytail, and I won’t be wearing a negligee.

In fact, come to think of it, I don’t even own a negligee.  I look stupid in them – they don’t make them for women who are tall, so they don’t fit quite right and just look awkward on me.  I’m sure if I bought an expensive one it might fit better, but  I can’t see wasting that much money on something I’m barely going to wear.  I could get a decent pair of jeans for that price, you know.  I guess I could go buy it at Walmart…. But honestly, lingerie from Walmart just sounds kind of gross.  Besides, if I told you where I bought it from you’d probably get angry at me “supporting the Chinese”, and the mood would be ruined.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah.  So, it doesn’t really matter whether I have anything sexy to wear or not, because I’m going to be too tired by the time you come home, and you know I get grumpy when I get tired.  In the interest of honesty, though, if you were to come home early from class it probably wouldn’t get much better.  I’m in a grumpy mood today.  It doesn’t seem right to be grumpy on our anniversary, but there you have it.  I’ve been waiting for my grumpiness to lift so I could write you a sweet, loving, heartfelt note, but it doesn’t appear to be going away anytime soon.

It’s not for lack of trying—I’ve actually been trying to come up with sweet nothings all day long.  You’re really good at writing love notes—- me?  Not so much. 

What, do you don’t believe that I’ve been trying?  Well, I have. After almost eight hours at work, here is what I have come up with:

Dear Joe,
I don’t like you at all today.  But I do I love you, even though you really got on my nerves when you wouldn’t let me use your cell phone last night.  Still, we’re married, and we’re stuck with each other through good, bad and annoying, so here’s to another year.

Love,
Becky

PS:  Heat up the rest of the cold spaghetti in the fridge when you come home tonight.  We need to eat it before it goes bad. 

I also came up with a couple of poems:


Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
It’s our anniversary
I’m irritated with you

Roses are red,
The boys’ boogers are green
Now leave me alone
I’ve had too much Bean

Violets are Blue
Roses are Red
Hooray.  We’re still married
Now I’m going to bed

Yeah.  Sorry.  I did warn you that I was grumpy.

Anyways, that’s all I’ve got today…. I know it kind of sucks as far as love notes go, so here are a couple of pictures of things you like to make it a little better:

Happy last-anniversary-spent-living-in-California.


I love you,
Becky

Knives Make The Best Baby Spoons

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The DragonMonkey’s sitting on the kitchen counter, eating popcorn.

Our counter tops are pretty tall.  I’m not really sure how he even got up there.  I guess I’m a little impressed.

And come to think of it, where the heck did he find popcorn, anyways? I don’t remember making any recently. And yet, there he is, with a bag of popcorn in his lap, legs dangling lazily over the edge of the countertop, happily munching away.

This is a drastic improvement over the scene I walked into five minutes ago.

Five minutes ago I walked into him shoving a knife into his brother’s mouth.

“Here ya go, Squid! Peanuh buttuh! Yum!”

“STOP!” I screech.

“No, mama,” he says, annoyed at my obvious ignorance. “No ‘stop’. Yook.” If he knew how to physically roll his eyes at me, he’d be doing it.  He has an open jar of peanut butter under one arm and in his other hand is a butter knife with a glob of peanut butter on the end.

The Squid stands patiently in front of him, mouth gaping like a tiny, peanut-butter smeared baby bird. It’s on his cheeks, it’s in his hair, it’s on his shirt, and it’s smeared liberally around his open mouth.

“Yook,” he continues patiently.  “I feed da Squid peanuh buttuh.” His hand comes up and he starts to shove the knife into his brother’s mouth again.

My heart stops. Admittedly, it’s only a butter knife, but still.

“NO! STOP!” I swoop in and grab both the knife and the jar out of his hand and place them on the computer desk, out of reach.

“Nooooooo!” howls the DragonMonkey, heartbroken and screaming in frustration.

“MWEEEEEEEEHHHHHH!!!!” shrieks the Squid, suddenly inconsolable.

“I don’t care,” I say coldly.  “No, I’m not giving it back.”

I am an evil, heartless woman, and from the sound of their desolate howls, they both know it.

I do the best I can to explain why shove-the-knife-into-your-brother’s-mouth isn’t an appropriate game, but they’re both too upset to really listen.  I clean them up as best I can, and then leave them alone for a few moments so they can get over their broken hearts.

I pick up my Nook and perch on the edge of the computer chair, trying to get to the end of the chapter before they heal from their sorrow and I need to monitor them again.  We have the house kid-proofed… how much trouble can they get into? Besides, if I’m not really sitting in the chair, but just kind of leaning on the edge of it, so it doesn’t really count.

It’s a good book and a good chapter, and it sucks me in.

I’m brought back to reality when Squid tugs at my knee.  I glance up suddenly, taking in the DragonMonkey’s new perch, the mystery bag of popcorn, and then the Squid, who is patiently watching me.

I look at him for a moment, and silently he points to the peanut butter on the desk in front of me.  I look at the still-open jar, then back at him.

“Da.”  It’s his version of please. 

I glance at the peanut butter, the silverware drawer (which is in a completely different room), and then at the DragonMonkey, who is oddly quiet, lulled into a brief moment of inactivity by the novelty of sitting on a forbidden surface.  If I move, I’ll have to tell him to get off the counter, and the brief, rare moment of peace will be broken.

“Da,” repeats the Squid quietly, staring at me with equal parts patience and hunger.

I glance again at the DragonMonkey, but he’s calmly staring off into the distance in another direction, absorbed in his thoughts.

I pick up the jar of peanut butter, and then the knife.  The Squid opens his mouth and waits, eyes locked on mine.

Oh-so-carefully, using only the rounded tip,  I feed him a scoop of peanut butter.  He slides it easily off the knife with his lips, with a practiced ease that unnerves me, and in that moment I realize I will never, ever be able to judge another parent for the rest of my life.

But you know what?  Those three minutes of still, quiet peace were so worth it.

 
In other news… have you guys seen the countdown-to-Oregon clock?  It seems like we just broke triple digits, and now we’re only 52 days away.  Craziness.  
In preparation for the big day I’ve been reading up thunderjackets, and calming collars, and medicines and whatnot…  we will be traveling for two days with a nervous/neurotic dog and two cats who have never really been in a car before.  What kind of drugs/medicines/goodies do you recommend we get to make it go smoother?