For my mother-in-law, Barb. She has a terrible nose bleed and is going to the hospital.

My mother did the same thing in May and was fine.

Barb has an aneurysm which makes it…I don’t know.

Thank you.

on Vitamin B.

Awoke this morning feeling a little crumpled. Was sniffling a bit last night. Am now sneezing. MUST get a good night’s sleep.

Tomorrow is Einstein’s Protege’s 10th birthday. The Protege’s mother just remembered some things she needs to prepare.

“Oh Bodder” to quote a Bean quoting Winnie the Pooh.

and I like it.

After a rather long slump. I have been a cooking machine. Friday and Saturday I made a week’s plan then went shopping Saturday afternoon. Lived to tell about it and started cooking Sunday.

Sunday: made a vegetable chowder from scratch.
Monday

Ok I’m not going to burden you with all the details. Just know I have seven meals in the freezer and two in the fridge. I am over a week ahead!

Do you understand what that means?

I was up until 1 this morning. I knew it was time to go to bed when I realized my finger was dangling over the keyboard as I tried to remember where the exclamation key was. I got into bed all chatty and giggly. Paul managed not to smother me with a pillow which, I must say, showed a lot of restraint.

“I wonder if it is the Vitamin B spray?”

“Well that or speed,” he mumbled.

Finally I fell asleep and awoke at the regular time not terribly tired.

And here is the exciting (only in my pretty head) part, every day I look forward to cooking the next meal. I am doubling or trebling everything I make. Somehow I manage not to constantly rub my palms together through out the day when I think about our frozen stash.

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe

Sorry about that.

And I am doing laundry.

Oh Vitamin B how I have missed ye! We will never ever be separated again.

The thing is exhaustion is just a part of who I am. Right now I might simply be experiencing normal. What if I start to feel what it is like for a normal person on an energetic day?

Buckle up.

In the midst of writing the following light hearted post Paul said something that reminded us of his senior year of college. (I told you he kept interrupting me.) I remembered something in particular that I had never understood and asked a question. We started talking about the situation. I’m not going to go into details because they aren’t really pertinent. Just know nothing morally wrong was done, he just made a choice that hurt my feelings and set in motion a series of events that eventually led to our breaking up.

We talked a little about that year and the very challenging situations in my family and in his. I wanted him to say he was sorry for hurting me or to reach out and tell me that he was so glad that we made it through and that I am his and he is mine. I wanted him to tell me he chooses me. I would have probably taken “You sure are pretty.”

He said he was tired and that he was going to bed and asked if I was coming. I said I didn’t know if I wanted to sleep with him anymore with a dramatic, haughty tone. (Good, good, joke about being hurt when you really are hurt. Those of us in the biz call that being passive aggressive.)

“Oh!” he laughed and went to bed.

I really was hurt. There was a time where that sort of thing would have had me all worked up. Many times I have gone to bed in that state. I would scrupulously avoid contact with him. If his foot brushed up against mine I would snatch it away so that he would KNOW that THINGS WERE NOT OK.

But once, lying in the disharmony our pillows inches apart, I wondered, if you measured, how far the true distance between us would be.

Miles.

Why?

I thought I knew: his smallness, unkindness, selfishness.

But aren’t you committed to love him regardless?

Yes.

Why won’t you reach across?

Breath catching, I knew I was afraid.

But why?

He’s going to reject me.

That’s ridiculous. This is your husband. He loves you. He chose you. He chooses you. Why are you afraid?

And I could see that all the stuff I thought was between us, the detatchment on his side, the lashing out then holding back on mine, when all the artifice was stripped away was really only fear.

Won’t you reach across? It’s less than a foot. It’s within your grasp.

It seems so far.

I remembered the science museum we visited annually when I was a child, Impression 5. There was a tunnel you could walk through that had all sorts of different surfaces. The path changed so that at some points you were walking on gravel, then creaking boards, then brick, I can’t remember it all. The walls were covered with objects for you to touch as you passed, probably to try and guess what they were. I wouldn’t know; I never touched a thing. I pictured sharp and dangerous objects. It was all I could do to walk through the tunnel. I don’t know why I did. I hated it. I wasn’t phobic, just extremely scared. Whenever I got to the creaking boards I was afraid to step, picturing myself falling, the rough boards cutting open my shins. But I couldn’t stop. It was a popular exhibit so there were always kids behind. I had to keep going so I hustled almost running through. I didn’t experience all that it was intended to be. I didn’t reach out and explore. I stumbled forward with my arms either hugging my sides or stretched out to defend me from imaginary threats.

But it was a stinking children’s museum. It had to be safe. It was meant to be fun, pleasurable.

Yes.

Oh.

Are you still afraid?

Yes.

What will you choose?

And I decided from then on I would risk and reach across any separation between him and me. I would not wallow in pity. I would not choose fear. I would choose love.

Tonight I get to do it again. The grace is that I am not afraid. I know when I get into bed our pillows will probably be less than a foot apart, as always.

And if I push mine closer there won’t be anything separating us at all.

That would be my husband talking after he spun and then holstered his finger “gun”. He is being silly. Anyone who has witnessed the big man in a mood knows you need to smile and keep some distance or risk being hurt. As mentioned, he is very tall and when he starts flailing around it can be dangerous.

Just an hour ago he was soberly paying bills while I was dancing around the kitchen. I kept interrupting him. Finally I remembered what it is like when you are trying to do something and someone keeps interrupting you with inane comments. I am a mother so I am really clear on this. I stopped talking to him and concentrated on finishing the three (count em baby!) meals I was making. I saw him looking at me, “I’m kind of in a silly mood tonight.”

“I noticed.”

“I guess I have some energy. I wonder why.”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s because I got out of the house today,” the kids and I met friends for lunch, “or maybe it’s the Vitamin B spray finally kicking in.”

“Could be.” I decided to stop torturing him.

After we got the kids in bed I started working on an article. Soon Paul was ramming around the kitchen and yelling down the hall to where I sit. The tables had turned.

“Do you realize when one of us is in a goofy mood the other one is always the straight man?”

“Oh, that’s the way it has to be. If there isn’t a straight man…” He threw both of his hands in the air and shook his head.

It was too scary to be considered.