Category Archives: Married Life

Really, Bean?

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I have family coming into town tomorrow.

My dad is here in the states, visiting from Thailand, and I’m finally going to get a chance to meet my new stepmom.

My uncle is also coming up to visit.

After they arrive tomorrow the Bean and I are heading over to downtown Portland, to go to some uber-fancy Christmas party for his work. 

It’s all Filet Mignon, formal wear and fancy champagne flutes.

And guess who has a giant new hicky on her neck?

(PS:  I take back all the bad things I ever said about people who take pictures in bathrooms – it’s harder than you think.)

The Bean and I were…. uh….. “folding towels”, and I was like, “Yeah!  You fold that towel!  Woohoo for towels!   Folding towels is great!  Go laundry!…… wait.  WAIT.  STOP.  DID YOU JUST GIVE ME A HICKY?”

But by then it was too late.

Seriously, who even gives hickies anymore? We’re 31 years old, Bean.   Nobody is going to buy the whole “I burnt myself with a curling iron” excuse.

If anyone asks me about it, I plan on telling them, “Yeah, my husband – that guy over there – gave it to me during a vigorous towel-folding session”, and then refuse to elaborate.

Unless it’s my dad that’s doing the asking. 

In that case, I burnt myself with a curling iron. 

Performing for an Audience

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Dear DragonMonkey,

Mornings are nice, aren’t they?

Your daddy and I think so, too.  Sometimes, mornings can be very, very nice.

Anyways, I have a little favor to ask:

The next time you wake up super early, can you make a little more noise?  I appreciate that you are trying to be quiet so you don’t wake The Squid up, but once you’re downstairs can you…. I dunno… announce your presence a little louder?

Sometimes when I, uh, hug your Dada, I get a little distracted and I don’t always notice you opening the door to my bedroom.

It has come to my attention that I also don’t notice it when you cross the room and climb up onto our extra big king-size bed.  What can I say?  Sometimes your Dada can be very distracting, indeed.

So, to help your poor old Mama out, can you please, please, pretty please make a little more noise?

It’s a little disconcerting to be in the middle of, uh, hugging, only to see something out of the corner of my eye, turn my head sideways, and see you a little over a foot away from my pillow, staring silently with wide eyes.

Actually, scratch that.  It’s not disconcerting.  It’s creepy.  It’s creepy as heck, and I’m pretty sure that image is going to be burned in my head for the rest of my life.  To be honest, I’m not sure who needs more psychological help at this point – you or me.  

It really didn’t help that you’ve taken to sleeping in your underwear – you looked like the world’s tiniest little pervert, kneeling there in your skivvies, silently watching us.  

Please, kid, for the love of all that is holy – please, just make a little more noise?

Love,

Your traumatized mother