Yellow Roses
My husband brought me two dozen yellow roses yesterday.
At 5:30 p.m., he took our three sons to a movie. My baby went to sleep at 7 p.m., so I've been alone in my quiet house so long that I have started to worry that my menfolk have been in a devastating car accident somewhere and that the seatbelts failed and somehow, my boys were ejected from the car and are now in a ditch somewhere.
Okay, not really. But it has been weirdly quiet here. I have two television set on "American Idol" and I kept switching rooms as I wander about cleaning and putting stuff away.
My throat hurts still from this cold. Now I feel a little bit bad that I wasn't more sympathetic to TwinBoyB last week when he had this cold. I am a terrible nurturer sometimes.
Anyway. My husband either senses when I'm close to the edge or he reads my journal. I'm not sure which. At any rate, he's a good husband and a good person and he makes me laugh out loud almost every day.
Last night, when I got home from a movie ("Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"), he was sprawled on the bed upstairs with the thick book about dogs that we bought when we first married. We used to go through all the breeds, imagining which dog would be perfect for our family. Three and a half years ago, we bought Greta, a Newfoundland. After two years, we had to return her to the breeder when she nipped two of the children. They still have scars. I wrote about this a long time ago, so I won't go on and on about it.
The fact is, last September, just after Babygirl turned one, I drove Greta two hours north to the breeder's home under cover of darkness and returned home to my broken-hearted boys and Greta's empty crate. My husband said, "That's it. No more dogs." He told me he never wanted her to start with, that it was my idea, that it was a bad idea. Well, it was a good idea, but the timing was off because two months after Greta arrived, I became pregnant.
YoungestBoy still misses Greta. When I'd mention that YoungestBoy had cried about Greta, my husband would say, "No more pets." But last night, he happened to be the one to hear YoungestBoy's cries. When he put YoungestBoy to bed, he put Big Dog on the bed (a huge stuffed animal) and Little Dog (a small stuffed animal). YoungestBoy burst into tears and cried for five solid minutes. Those five minutes prompted my husband to begin researching dog breeds so his boy can have another dog.
That sums up my husband. He is soft-hearted and generous and kind. He is the calmest, gentlest person alive.
But YoungestBoy hasn't mentioned Greta today, so we will move forward without a dog. For now.
Here is the last picture I took of Greta, as she was celebrating Babygirl's birthday with us:
At 5:30 p.m., he took our three sons to a movie. My baby went to sleep at 7 p.m., so I've been alone in my quiet house so long that I have started to worry that my menfolk have been in a devastating car accident somewhere and that the seatbelts failed and somehow, my boys were ejected from the car and are now in a ditch somewhere.
Okay, not really. But it has been weirdly quiet here. I have two television set on "American Idol" and I kept switching rooms as I wander about cleaning and putting stuff away.
My throat hurts still from this cold. Now I feel a little bit bad that I wasn't more sympathetic to TwinBoyB last week when he had this cold. I am a terrible nurturer sometimes.
Anyway. My husband either senses when I'm close to the edge or he reads my journal. I'm not sure which. At any rate, he's a good husband and a good person and he makes me laugh out loud almost every day.
Last night, when I got home from a movie ("Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"), he was sprawled on the bed upstairs with the thick book about dogs that we bought when we first married. We used to go through all the breeds, imagining which dog would be perfect for our family. Three and a half years ago, we bought Greta, a Newfoundland. After two years, we had to return her to the breeder when she nipped two of the children. They still have scars. I wrote about this a long time ago, so I won't go on and on about it.
The fact is, last September, just after Babygirl turned one, I drove Greta two hours north to the breeder's home under cover of darkness and returned home to my broken-hearted boys and Greta's empty crate. My husband said, "That's it. No more dogs." He told me he never wanted her to start with, that it was my idea, that it was a bad idea. Well, it was a good idea, but the timing was off because two months after Greta arrived, I became pregnant.
YoungestBoy still misses Greta. When I'd mention that YoungestBoy had cried about Greta, my husband would say, "No more pets." But last night, he happened to be the one to hear YoungestBoy's cries. When he put YoungestBoy to bed, he put Big Dog on the bed (a huge stuffed animal) and Little Dog (a small stuffed animal). YoungestBoy burst into tears and cried for five solid minutes. Those five minutes prompted my husband to begin researching dog breeds so his boy can have another dog.
That sums up my husband. He is soft-hearted and generous and kind. He is the calmest, gentlest person alive.
But YoungestBoy hasn't mentioned Greta today, so we will move forward without a dog. For now.
Here is the last picture I took of Greta, as she was celebrating Babygirl's birthday with us:
posted by Melodee at Tuesday, March 23, 2004
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