One quick, funny, slightly mortifying story, and then this PMSy, tired mother is going to bed.
Like I’ve mentioned, Mark has been doing this new job for over a month now and we are getting a rhythm down, a routine established to help give some structure for our kids and for our weekends. Therefore, weekends include a “quiet time,” which because they are 4 and 6, is rapidly becoming non-essential, and us parents are the ones who need some quiet time mid-afternoon on Saturdays and Sundays, not our dear offspring.
And it’s worth reiterating, we don’t see each other at all during the week, hence we relish our alone time. So, we put them in their rooms, shut the doors and tell them to play quietly until we come to tell them it’s ok to wake up. Most of the time, this works and due to their rooms being the only electronic-free rooms in our house, they usually fall asleep out of “boredom” surrounded by actual toys. Well, we were going to find out they don’t always go to sleep.
I think we both intended to lay in our bed, do some snuggle bunnying and then grab a quick snooze in the quiet moments. Well, thanks to ending a really good, really smutty book series earlier that morning (He fixes pancakes, I read. Totally fair.) and the fact that my husband is a guy and I’ve never not seen any guy horny, let alone this one whom I’ve agreed to love, cherish and snog til death due us part – snuggling led to some very heavy petting. All under the covers, but a little ardent with maybe a dirty limerick or two being exchanged in the heat of the moment. Well, apparently we got a little too consumed and did not hear our son’s door open, nor did we hear the footsteps pad up the hallway. So into it we were (yes with the door open), we were not interrupted until we heard, “When you guys are done fooling around, can naptime be over?” We look up to see our son standing calmly in the doorway asking a very prudent question.
Gasp. Shrivel. Panic.
“Uh, in a little bit buddy. Mkay?”
Ga! Forget college. We have a therapy fund already started, but really then maybe not, he really didn’t seem all that bothered – but then he could be repressing the whole thing and will be waking up in cold sweats at 16 wondering why rhyming anatomy words creep him out.
True story. OK – maybe our dirty talk doesn’t rhyme, but go with me on this one.
PS – Check me out on Goodreads, where you can find all the books I allude to. <—-