A couple of weeks ago, we went out with some other couples who we love but never seem to be able to get the stars aligned to go out with. But due to the supermoon phenomenon (or some great follow-through on one of the husband's parts), we were able to all go out together sans children.
We camped at this poor waiter's table for 4 hours. Not exaggerating by one minute. It was so nice - for me. Now don't take any of this the wrong way. Being a mom is the greatest career choice I've made. But what person can say (of any job/career) that they love their job every single day, especially when it's a 24/7 gig? (PS. You're lying or on some controlled substance if you said you do.) So let me just begin by saying that it was such a nice break. Some people get 15 minute coffee/smoke breaks (seriously though, who even smokes anymore?), some people get an hour for lunch. I get none of those, so I save up my break time to earn myself 4 hours at a table with adults.
It was some seriously enlightening and enjoyable conversation. But (hopefully) unbeknownst to the other couples at the table, periodically throughout the night I was getting kicked under the table.
What?? Who would dare kick moi? And live to tell the tale?? Yes, it was my beloved eternal companion Ernesto. The funny thing is, I knew exactly what each kick meant. Some said, "you're monopolizing conversation", others kindly reminded me not to interrupt, while still others complained, "really? You're talking about that?"
I love those kicks under the table. I'm slightly anemic, so the bruises they leave, I'm not so much a fan of. But seriously, I needed those. My social filters are all mucked up from the murky waters of baby talk, disciplining and 1st grade arguing that I engage in on a constant basis as part of my aforementioned employment. On a daily basis, I'm the kicker for the most part (metaphorically speaking - don't go trying to turn me in to social services - I don't actually kick my kids), trying to keep my little ducks in the straightest line possible. Consequently, my social skills with adults on a good day are somewhat lacking, and on a bad day, just suck.
But who else could get away with kicking me without physically or emotionally hurting me? (Or getting hurt in retaliation, for that matter) If one of my sisters did it, it would be because they're bossy, if it was a brother, it would be because they're jealous and/or have turrets, if it was a friend, it would be because they're judgmental, and anyone else would not live to give an explanation. But because it was the one person who is 100 percent on the same team as me, it was okay.
One of our topics of conversation was remarriage if a spouse died. (Enter the eyerolls from my sisters & judginess from some of my sisters, and maybe some others who know my personal opinion on this subject). However, in light of this post, I hope this would do a little to explain why I personally would not remarry. I'm not projecting this on anyone else, nor making a blanket statement on what is right for any or all people. So no comments on that. "No annoying sounds" (from the movie Despicable Me, because my life is based on movie quotes).
I have been tremendously fortunate/blessed/had pity showered upon me that I am married to the one person who can put up with me. Think about it. How many spouses get annoyed with something the other is saying and berate them in public? Or interrupt? Or do any number of things to control the conversation. How could anyone ever top how great of a match I'm in now?
Not even Yenta the Matchmaker from Fiddler on the Roof could do it.
I tremendously admire people who have the fortitude to wade back into the turbulent waters of the singles scene and have success. My mom is one of them, and my hat's off to her for surviving & finding a great man. But I know me. I can hardly stand myself on a daily basis, so I know how amazingly lucky I got. I've swum that river once, made it out in one piece, and will be darned if I'd ever do it again.
This is in no way intended to be one of those sappy 'my husband is so wonderful blah, blah, blah' posts. I've read those before. Blech. No thanks. Sorry if this caused any queasiness. I'm honestly just trying to A. Really let the people who bug me to blog what really goes on in my brain so that they'll stop bugging me to blog and B. Write how much I just love getting kicked by my husband.
So here's to the kicks under the table and the only person in the world allowed to give them. (I would try doing it to him if only I let him get a word in edgewise...) And next time you go out to dinner with us, pay no attention to what goes on under the table! :)
