I suppose I can’t write a blog about chaos and comfort without giving some credit to the guy who rides the wave with me. So, Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you this, An Ode to Mr. Scrambled Eggs.
My Dearest Mr. Scrambled Eggs,
When I start to lose the reins (which never happens), life has a way of reminding me how far we’ve come, how lucky we are, and why you’re the only person I want in the seat next to mine on this crazy train.
- When I shuffle into the door, a panting, sweaty mess, with one kid riding my calf, one kid sobbing in my arms because he fell asleep while I was sitting in traffic and no longer remembers anything about his life, and lunch bags, grocery bags, and blankies precariously dangling from my arms….and there you are, carefully setting 4 impeccably-plated dinners on the dining room table.
- When I walk past those 3 quickly-snapped photos (which you hung for me after I couldn’t get those stupid $1 frames to stay in place) of the 4 of us on a bench in Asbury Park, gleefully eating vegan ice cream in our winter coats on a day so very blustery that even Winnie the Pooh would have given up and gone home.
- When you work one of the dreaded 20-hour Friday shifts, walk in the door resembling a (still stunningly handsome) zombie, but sleep for a mere 3 hours because, “I don’t want to miss any weekend time with the kids.”
- Every time I walk into the living room and see Grace climbing you like a jungle gym as you calmly explain, “Grace, I’m not a jungle gym…” and do absolutely nothing to stop her.
- When Vince gives you a 20-minute, “I just ate 17 ice pops” level of excitement tutorial about dinosaurs, and you not only patiently listen but also muster up your “Wow!” face every time he rattles off a fact that is either a.) Untrue or b.) Actually quite boring.
- Whenever I start violently hurling my clothes at the wall because everything is too tight, and you sneak up behind me, wrap your arms around my waist and tell me all you see is a beautiful woman…and I snort that you need to get a stronger prescription for your contacts, and you roll your eyes and throw your hands up in defeat….
- Whenever I forget about all those snug-fitting pants that are angrily balled up in a corner and start craving something crazy like an avocado milkshake- even though you just sat down to watch that tv special we taped 2 months ago- you disappear and magically reappear 20 minutes later with an avocado milkshake.
- When I come home from one of “those” days- the ones that include hourly text messages with various explicit phrases and fantastic scenarios detailing why we should just “quit our f*&%ing jobs and move to New Zealand!” (I hear they have great schools)- and you’re waiting in the doorway with a very large glass of Apothic Red.
- When you come home from one of “those” days, and I’ve warmed a towel, chilled a beer and left them in the bathroom so you can take a nice, long, “Eff you, Wednesday” shower, but the first thing you do is put your head on my shoulder, close your eyes, and exhale.
- When you say things like, “You know the only bad thing about tacos? When they’re all gone.” Seriously, I want to marry you all over again.
- When you find yet another cheeky way to avoid participating in any of my attempts at a date-night selfie.
- When, during one of our beloved educational road trips, you insist on driving around for an hour while the kids nap in the car, giving me ample time to wander through a historic library and drool over literature like tweens drool over a boy band…
- When I finally collapse into bed at night, turn over to switch off the light, see our wedding picture hanging next to the $5 “My Happy Place is With You” painting I impulse-bought at Big Lots, turn back to see you snoring next to me, and realize that frilly little sign is the truest thing I’ve ever read.
You will notice that, as you are fastidious about organization, I’ve prepared my long-winded tribute as a bulleted list- much like the PowerPoint presentation I created and read aloud to you during my crusade for Baby #2. But I digress…
Thank you for always knowing how to calm the storm.
Mrs. Scrambled Eggs