Allow me a moment to set the scene for this post.
I'm in our kitchen, ignoring whatever is dirty & hanging out on the counter until it gets thrown into the dishwasher. I'm working on my third bowl of rice pudding. Seriously, I ate at least 1/2 of it by myself tonight. (At some point, I'm not going to be burning a free 500 calories a day and will need to seriously address this addiction to sugar.) I was letting the boy type his email at the table in silence as requested so that he could concentrate on the point he was making. I'm thinking that I haven't blogged in a few days, but right now, what is there to post about? Abby spent 24 hours puking repeatedly, about 15-20 times, literally. Between 2:30 a.m.-5:30 a.m. on Sunday morning, I lost count. And at the end of DAY THREE, I'm done with it all and worried that she has consumed the caloric equivalent of one bagel since Saturday at supper. I'm staring down into my white, sticky goo liberally interspersed with chocolate chips, and I think that maybe I'll blog about chocolate. I might have enough to work with on that one.
Then, I park it in the recliner to throw out a couple of emails before I crash for the night with a book, and the boy starts talking to me again (earlier email done, I guess), and he manages to talk about both science fair and running in the same short conversation. This is after I ever so lovingly poked some gentle fun at whatever episode of Star Trek he was watching earlier. And then I realized that I have a blog post spontaneously happening. Here it is.
Why are we married? It doesn't make much sense if you put it down on paper. Did you catch my references to running, science fair and Star Trek earlier? In the first 18 years of my life, I had no interest in them or little connection to anyone who did. A couple of weeks ago, we were talking about a track meet that Ben's girls were running in, and I was throwing down the lingo with the best of them. Half-jokingly, I concluded with something to the effect of "Yeah, and I'm disappointed in myself that I know this." I still don't much care about split times and what a medley is and why a burst of speed is like an explosion of power. And I care even less about science fair. And (shockingly), even less about Star Trek. Actually, that one trumps them all. Blech. But I like the boy. And I like talking with and listening to him. And what else are we going to talk about: diapers, tantrums and nap times?
He indoctrinated me into the NFL and I fostered him in the joys of MLB. He taught me that white cake with white icing is good, even delicious, and I showed him that brussel sprouts can be yummy (that one seems lopsided). He introduced me to track meets and I encouraged him to read something other than science fiction. All in all, our interests seem pretty disparate yet they're also fairly cohesive. It just kind of works with our personalities; we're the antithesis of needy and that's kind of cool for us.
He's the oldest among his siblings while I'm the youngest. Birth order is probably a lot of the reason why we're down with being married to each other. And I guess that it's better not to marry your clone. So I'll keep on cheering for scientists-in-the-making and attending track meets. He did figure out how to extend a layover on our flight home from our honeymoon so that we could catch a Braves game in Atlanta. That was pretty sweet, and he earned some wifely support for that gesture. I'm still drawing the line for Star Trek. It might take a Braves season ticket for me to support that hobby.