12 posts tagged “aaron”
Aaron was - quite understandably - rather concerned when I called him at 9:30 this morning in a state of significant distress because I couldn't figure out how to uncork a bottle of wine. He was probably already making a guest list for my intervention before I explained that I needed it for my turkey brine.
A rare night out tonight - our first date in at least six months, maybe longer. Nothing exciting - dinner, awkwardness as we struggled for topics that weren't about the kids or Aaron's work, before we found our groove; then talking and laughing and connecting while we sipped coffee, shades of the romance that's been buried under layers of daily life. Also: went to Target and shopped for Christmas pajamas for the boys. Ah, romance.
"One of my neighbors posted a quiz that calculates how many cannibals you could feed."
Aaron turned thirty this weekend, a milestone of superannuity I've been gloating about since his birthday last year (because thirty is so, like, old!, at least when the gloater is twenty-seven); and to celebrate I threw him a 1978-themed party. This translated mainly as "disco," since Saturday Night Fever came out in '77 and disco fever was still going strong when Aaron was born (this according to Wikipedia, since I wasn't alive then, which I believe I've mentioned). We urged guests to come attired in late-70s clothing, and I was pleasantly surprised when nearly all of them did.
What with my being on bed rest, followed by being awash in that motherhood hormone cocktail that renders inconsequential anything that doesn't directly relate to delicious baby toes, I've let my appearance slide down my personal priority list until it came to rest somewhere just above cleaning around the bathtub with q-tips and an old toothbrush. So while I was busy nibbling Peter's wee phalanges I let my hair go something like six months without so much as a trim, and my sculpted short cut grew into a sort of amorphous shag. Today, finally, I managed an hour to myself and the presence of mind to spend it on an eyebrow wax and a haircut instead of slurping down a frappuccino with a library book like I usually do when I find myself childless and out on the town; and when I checked myself out in the rearview mirror driving home, I was satisfied to see that I no longer look like a stylistically-challenged werewolf.
"Okay, it says to shape it into a loaf about nine inches by four to five inches."
Aaron is looking at me with a wide-eyed look of horror and fascination that he usually reserves for when I'm trying to explain the plot of Passions, because I have just walked into the living room carrying a fork, a tin of ground black pepper, and an opened 28-ounce can of diced tomatoes. I am sitting on the couch, I have added about three tablespoons of pepper to the tomatoes, and now I am eating them. With gusto. And the fork. I am trying to justify this to him, but he is just not understanding that what this baby needs right now is hot and sour soup and the Chinese place closed an hour ago and the only thing in our kitchen that the baby would accept as a substitute is canned tomatoes suffocated in black pepper, WHY IS THAT SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND??
"I've gotta run, sweetie. That ground beef is on the stove - will you just drain it and put it in the fridge?"
If he didn't know it before, he'd better realize that there is no better proof of my devotion to him than that I am LETTING HIM READ THE NEW HARRY POTTER BOOK BEFORE ME.
Saturday will be Aaron's and my sixth wedding anniversary, as well as the tenth anniversary of the day he awkwardly asked me, over the phone, if I would be his girlfriend. At age fifteen I had quite the rich inner fantasy life, but I truly had no idea ten years would bring me to this point. I have had the unlikely blessing of marrying (quite young) my high-school sweetheart, an amazing man who provides for me and takes care of me, who puts up with (and even encourages!) my wackiness and quells my mood swings. My husband is an amazing father, a tender lover, and a steadfast friend. He loves me when I'm grouchy, and he swears my flabby, stretch-marked body still turns him on (I wouldn't have believed him, but, well, I've seen proof*). Even though we are broke and tired and stretched too thin, even though some days we frustrate each other so much that we want to strangle each other or slam the door and go marry someone who isn't a pain in the ass (i.e., is fictional), we still talk (or shout) through our problems, and we still go to bed together every night, and he still kisses me goodbye every morning. Even if I'm grouchy, or I haven't yet brushed my teeth.
So I'm pretty sure I'm the luckiest woman in the world. Aaron, I love you. Happy anniversary.
*Wood. (Har!)