Vocabulary Fail

Eric was playing with the kids while I made dinner today. Lee was trying to climb everything, and Dylan was working on a puzzle with Eric. Some altercation occurred between them, because Dylan's indignant high-pitched voice suddenly soared over to me in the kitchen.

Dylan: "You're not my Daddy!"

Eric: "Yes Dylan, I am."

Dylan: "No, you're not! You're not my Daddy!"

Carol: "I assure you, he is."

Dylan: "No, he's not!"

Carol: (joking with a wink to Eric) "Are you saying Mommy's a slut?"

Dylan: (does not know what this word means) "No, Daddy's a slut!"

I thought this statement was hilarious and started giggling in a gleeful manner. Then Dylan got angry with the world at large.

Dylan: "Daddy's a slut! Mommy's a slut! Lee, you're a slut! YOU'RE ALL SLUTS!!"

After that much repetition and reinforcement of the newly acquired word "slut", I think we might have some trouble with his preschool in the near future.

I'm Not Into This

After this long, something fairly momentous must have occurred for me to think to myself, "I should blog that." And here it is:

What is it with my generation and marathons? It has become increasingly clear to me over the past couple of years that marathons are a big deal. It seems everyone I know is training for one, planning to train for one, running their first one, running their first half-one, running a bunch of half-ones with the goal of running their first whole one sometime soon, somehow getting Tiffany's necklaces for running one, having people make documentaries about them training for and nearly failing to run one, impressing their future spouses by riding their bicycles alongside their love interests as they run one...the list goes on.

This trend horrifies me. I have always had a fondness for sitting which is only surpassed by my fondness for lying down. The mere idea of running for four or five hours at a time makes me so tired I feel I need to...well, lie down. It also kind of makes me want to vomit. Back in high school when we had to do that 15-minute run, I remember being so out of breath I was wheezing like a sick old man. I had a Scarlett O'Hara moment where, as God as my witness, I would never go running again. And so I haven't.

But seriously it's all over Facebook, people are crazy about marathons. So congratulations to all friends and family who self-flagellate with this extreme form of physical achievement - I will never in a million years be able to join your ranks. Perhaps one day I will proudly post pictures of a sweaty sex-a-thon Eric and I had. Then it will be your turn to vomit.

Magic Rod

I got mastitis this weekend. It sucked.

If you're wondering what mastitis is, it's a breast infection. Somehow, bacteria gets inside a milk duct, and what results is a clogged, inflamed, red, and very sore funbag. You come down with severe flu-like symptoms, and it really knocks you flat on your back. It's one of those things to be wary of as a breastfeeding mother.

I'm still not completely over my battle with this thing, as my right boob is still sore and unhappy, but almost all my flu-like symptoms have gone away and I feel much better overall. I have my fingers crossed that I'm on the mend, because then I won't have to take any antibiotics. I like to save those for very special occasions only.

This illness really put a damper on the weekend. Today is actually the 10-year anniversary of the day Eric and I went on our first date, as well as our 5 1/2 year wedding halfiversary. We had planned to do something to celebrate, but that all went quickly to hell. Eric has been wonderful this entire weekend. It's a lovely anniversary celebration for me, in a way, because he has spent this time reminding me of all the reasons why I love him, and why going on that first date with him was the best thing I've ever done. Meanwhile, I've spent the weekend making him wonder why he ever signed on to this gig in the first place. His flat-chested Chinese wife gets a boob disease where they finally swell up, and he can't even touch them.

Here are all the great things Eric has done for me this weekend:

- let me sleep for endless hours

- kept the kids away from me as I slept for endless hours

- played with the kids

- fed the kids

- changed the kids

- brought me lots of water refills

- recruited his parents to make homeopathic drug runs

- kept the kitchen clean to keep my mood up if I decided to venture downstairs

- encouraged me to take long, punishingly hot showers

- cut up apples for me to eat

- put both kids to sleep

- brought Lee to me whenever he was hungry, so he could help drain my boob

- after the kids were asleep, sucked on my infected boob himself to try and help me drain off what Lee didn't get (calm down, it's just milk)

He was really great.

He also suggested repeatedly that my mastitis might be more quickly healed with the help of his Magic Rod. I think that since it was big anniversary weekend, he had been looking forward to some guaranteed sexytimes. He was probably just trying to salvage what he could of the occasion.

Yesterday:

Carol: "I'm going to take some of this vitamin C and echinecea before going to stand in the shower. Hopefully it helps make me better."

Eric: "You know what can make you better? My Magic Rod."

Carol: "Your parents are still here."

Later that night:

Eric: "Do you want to read your book down here or do you want to come to bed?"

Carol: "I definitely want to come to bed."

Eric: waggles eyebrows

Carol: "No, Eric. I'm still really tired, I need to sleep."

Eric: "Magic Rod can help!"

Today:

Eric: "The kids are napping. I'm going to make some tea. Do you want some tea?"

Carol: "No, thanks."

Eric: "Do you want to take a nap?"

Carol: "Yes, I totally do. But no sex! I really want to nap."

Eric: "Let me cure you with my Magic Rod!"

Five minutes later, in bed:

Eric: pouncing painfully on Carol's infected boob "MAGIC ROD!"

Carol: "OWW!! Get off, that hurts!" twists away and turns her back

Eric: grabs Carol's hips "Very good. You are presenting."

Carol: "I am not presenting!"

Eric: "Magic Rod works just as well from behind."

This is the man I started dating ten years ago today, the man I married, the man with whom I have two beautiful little boys, and the only man I want to see every morning for the rest of my life. Not only will he take care of me and make me laugh when I'm sick but even with deformed breasts, and gross flu-breath he makes me feel sexy and wants to ply me with his Magic Rod.

Happy Anniversary, babe. I love you.

But really, keep that thing away from me.

Eric is Mistaken

My old roommate Gloria moved to New York City several months ago. I love to make fun of her because she's a good sport, and she does things that are funny, but the truth is she's brilliant and incredibly successful. She finished her PhD about a year ago, and has been turning down job offers all over the place, just waiting for the perfect one. I guess that it finally came around, because she took this insane job on Wall Street, leaving me so she could move to Manhattan where she now lives in some ritzy neighbourhood in a building with a doorman where they gave her new granite countertops and reglazed her bathtub before she moved in. She works long hours during the day, and then goes home to sleep in a huge pile of money that's loaded each night onto a solid gold bed frame by a team of trained unicorns. I swear this is true.

We hadn't hung out a whole lot in the past year, because she was busy with consulting work, and I was busy being pregnant/having hemorrhoids/taking care of a newborn, but when I got the news that she was moving, I was surprisingly devastated. Don't it always seem to go?

Anyway, she called a couple days ago so we could gossip about people we both knew, and it was really nice to chat and catch up. After we hung up, I went to find Eric.

Carol: Hey, so when the weather gets a little warmer, I want to take a trip to New York to hang out with Gloria.

Eric (very enthused and excited): Yeah, totally!

Carol: No, not with you. Just me.

Eric: Oh. (unhappy)

Carol: You can come next time.

Eric: Hmph. (sullen and grumpy)

Poor Eric. This is what happens when we have kids and you go away for guys' weekends, bachelor parties, and the occasional bike race. Mama cashes them in for girls' weekends in New York City.

I can't wait.