Most nights I lie down in Hank's room for a few minutes when he goes to bed. This is a nice time in many ways, as I get to stop moving for the first time in a while and Hank shares what's on his mind. (Last night's tidbits were, "Mom, I know what snot is for and also what its real name is," and "Dad says one of the hardest things of all is to imagine what it's like to be somebody else." Both important topics for reflection.) Then, after he falls asleep in mid sentence, I have a few minutes of quiet reading time.
So while this is a good part of the day mentally and emotionally, somehow biologically or physiologically (biorhythmically?) it has some not good effects. I lie down pleasantly full from supper--not too full--and feeling good about the food choices I made all day. I get up wanting to eat All The Things. Somehow in that few minutes, I shift phases from having been sufficiently nourished for the day into someone who would gladly rob a Hostess Twinkie truck. It's a good thing I don't have a gun.
It's a particular desire for something sweet that I know has to be related to tiredness and is not a dietary need at all. I don't have much of a sweet tooth at other times. Usually there is no junk food in the house, phew! So I can be satisfied by drinking my nightly cup of tea and maybe eating a few almonds. Those cocoa almonds are good for this.
It's possible that this is my body telling me I need to be going to bed at that time, but I am a terrible and habitual night owl.
Anyway. I'm coming to how the marital dialogue portion of this story. But first a detour through another part of our bedtime routine in this house. You'd might as well move in.
Matt and the kids have nightly wrestles up on our big bed. But the term "wrestle" is now a sort of catch-all for a range of activities that includes, but is not limited to, charades, trivia, tickling, interpretive dance, and physical challenges. It is their thing and I never witness it, I just hear the hollering and thumping. It has grown and gotten more ritualized and complicated, to the point where he now makes bets with them about different things and, the following day, doles out small rewards for amazing feats. I'm sure it's normal to have one's children perform for treats?
Which leads to the fact that he bought a bunch of 90%-off Christmas candy and hid it on a high shelf in the book room, for parceling out to them over time. Like, a really high shelf that I can't reach, and I wasn't even sure exactly which shelf it was.
So the other night I stumbled downstairs, having grown drowsy in Hank's room and developed a fairly raging craving for one small treat.
I cut right to the chase, "Where is that candy you got? I want one piece of it."
And he smiles and starts to get all "Oh you want candy! Well let's discuss this situation." Like, not in a lascivious way, or not only that way, but he's all ready for us to have the little kitchen flirtation moment we have after the kids are in bed and we can relax out of our day roles into different roles. I can change from having been super competent all day to wanting to be indulged and he can refocus his attention away from work, and then we can move on with our pursuits, severally or together. You know the kitchen moment I'm talking about.
But I had a monkey on my back and I did not want to play. I was like, "Give me the candy. Give it to me now. Please." Which he thinks is hilarious. And I can see how ridiculous I am being but I can't help it. I said, "GIVE ME THE CANDY. I don't want to play." And now he is getting the candy down from the shelf, while attempting to poke gentle fun at me and I am not having it, so I escalate by saying, "I don't get it. Are you hiding the candy from the kids or from me? Or from yourself? I DON'T GET THE WHOLE NARRATIVE OF THE CANDY."
"Oh ho!" Now he is just enjoying himself. "You don't get the narrative of the candy? Is that your PhD talking?" And then I am just wounded because that is a totally normal way to talk about something. Everything has a narrative of what it is and why it's where it is and oh never mind! Give me the candy.
Then, perhaps wounded himself by my stiff-arming his attempts to be playful, he brings the whole bag of candy into the kitchen and sits it on the counter. I take a piece and punish him by avoiding eye contact. Until two seconds later when I come to my senses and look at him and shrug. I apologize for being a crazy person. And somehow the whole thing serves as our kitchen moment anyway.
He has been married to me for almost seventeen years.
What are y'all up to? Any narratable kitchen moments?