You women make my husband laugh. I can talk about all kinds of horrible child raising incidents, like Marc accidentally slinging Muppet out of his chair onto his head in a moment of anger or me letting him poison himself because I’m too damn lazy to toss out my birth-out-of-control pills or hide the booze higher than eye level. I got nothing but support, the ole “we all have bad days". But at the mere mention that I speak French to my kids and whoa! Bitch slaps from the peanut gallery. And the fact that you’ve all sort-of made Marc’s point for him (gee fucking thanks by the way), that we do need to speak more English around here (first, because his ‘poor’ English is suffering—second, for the kids), has just made his head so big that I swear I’m going to have to stick daggers in his eyes to deflate it back down to size.

Actually sticking daggers in his eyes feels more like a recreational activity than a ‘deflate his head’ one. Anyone else want to play?

Last night we went out to eat as a couple again. I know, this is the second time this month. Something is obviously wrong with us. Actually the last time we went out was the first time in I don’t know how long that we were able to get through a meal in a public place without threatening to kill each other. It was really very nice. We sat and talked and ate like human beings who have more in common than breathing oxygen. Last night was like that too, with the added bonus of holding each other’s hands at the table. And that went noticed by the owner, our neighbor, who had planned this nice Saturday evening theme meal for Valentine’s Day and there we were, in a somewhat-crowded restaurant, THE ONLY ONES holding hands. Hard to believe we’re sometimes three words from doing battle through our lawyers, but we’ll just chalk all that up to pregnancy hormones and male stupidity.

We talked last night, clearing the air a bit more than we’ve been able to do around here, and finally getting MY points driven home where maybe they’ll do some good. Marc had another class last week on communication and was doing a really good job of actually listening, hearing, AND understanding what I was saying. Of course, this is probably due to the fact that I had my mouth stuffed full of cock, but hey, if it works, right?

(And yes, I’ve been trying all day to figure out how to use that expression since we were eating coq, or, truth be told, coquelet, but having my mouth full of baby cock just seemed a bit too strange, not to mention I don’t want those people Googling that and ending up here because of it….shit, that’s probably going to happen now anyway.)

So the lines of communication have been cleared a bit, quite a bit, and DAMN! That feels so good. And then, icing on the cake, Marc took charge of the monkeys for most of the day today and they were ABSOLUTE MONSTERS! Finally! Usually when he’s got them they are the most perfect, angelic, sweet, darling babies. Today, bless their sweet darlin’ hearts, they were themselves. And as he’s done such a good job these past few days of listening, hearing, AND understanding, I took the opportunity to drive the BIG POINT HOME.

“Just a question, Marc.” (loud screaming in the background by one monkey as the other is getting into something supposedly off limits)
“What?”
“Now do you understand WHY?”
“Why?”
“Yes, WHY. Why I’m so tired at the end of the day even if I’ve done ‘nothing” in the house? Why, when you walk in the door and start complaining that I’ve done nothing, I want to kill you? Why somedays even breathing is an extra effort? WHY!?”
“Uh, yeah, I think I do.”

‘Nuff said.