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| There was a fountain here a sec ago. |
Emma and Dan have left. Boo.
However, we no longer have 8,000 glasses, cups, and mugs in/on the sink/ dishwasher/ countertops. (Flynn girls pride themselves on hydration.)
No one is making me laugh like a loon by announcing “Hey, brotherrr” (a la Arrested Development) every time someone enters the room.
But then again, no is giving me palpitations by making me wonder what train stop they’re taking home/if the alarm is properly set/did someone grab an umbrella for the flash monsoon? (This must be what it’s like to have kids…in their mid twenties.)
Seriously, in the past…couple…of years, I’ve totally forgotten what it’s like to stay out past 9:30pm. I mean, I did it. There was a time when 6am was considered time for bed and not a toddler’s brekkie. After all, Peej and I spent the formative months of our friendship in a late night show that ended at 1am. So obviously we had to get a drink around 1:30 or 2am. And you couldn’t leave before the Tamale Guy showed up. (See? The Mexican food’s not just a pregnancy thing.)
But these days, it’s just another planet which I no longer orbit. Perhaps in a different solar system.
When Dan and Em suggested going to see an improv show at midnight, I actually laughed. But, as it turns out, these things still happen. (Go to bed, people!) On Friday night, after the four of us watched The Soup- which, uh, is the Schoeny late night event…at 9- they left for the 10:30pm I.O. show and stayed for the midnight one as well. By 10:30 in my house, we had watched the last forty minutes of Good Will Hunting, half an episode of House Hunters International (in Italy!), and fallen fast asleep…where we would remain until midnight. Then we groggily dragged ourselves upstairs to bed and remained there until the smallest and loudest of us needed bacon at 6:30am.
That said, we had a lovely, quiet morning (except for one impromptu mix CD dance party)- and even that wasn’t until 10am. (Sorry, Em and Dan, who didn’t wake until 11am. Hope you liked the ceiling music.)
I’m pretty sure I just sent a dozen people running to refill their birth control prescriptions. But– and here’s the kicker- P.J. and I were early-fall-asleep-on-the-couchers way before we were even married. Homeboditude (read: lameness) knows no age. But the age thing doesn’t exactly help.
Speaking of baby-related perks, I’ve been having more than my fair share of hormone dreams lately. These are a joy (for P.J.) and I can’t tell which my tolerant husband least prefers:
A) The dream in which I have an epic relationship with someone whom I’ve not-so-quietly crushed on for the past few years. Most recently, Alexander Skarsgard of True Blood fame. I like him a lot. Now, these dreams aren’t the kind where you wake up and wonder if you should mention anything to your faithful and devoted husband. Nope, these are the five hour sagas wherein a love affair begins, comes to fruition with a full blown Ikea jaunt, has each and every step along the way (even the Saturday Afternoon Listening to Vinyl On the Couch, Wondering Who’s Gonna Make the Hamburger Helper phase) and its eventual breakup. All of these in EXTRAORDINARY detail. By the time I woke up from this dream the other morning, there was no question about whether or not to tell Peej. I was downright mournful (of my painful breakup with Alex) and contrite (about living with another man while carrying the first’s child).
P.J. really didn’t want to hear about that one. But he may actually savor those mornings over the ones where the other option has occurred-
B) P.J. is a jerk. A real meanie. For example, the other night, Dream P.J. was getting high in bathrooms with girls that looked like young Heather Grahams and Did. Not. Care. that this made me unhappy. Later in the dream, he changed religions to one where he could no longer be in the same room with me. (I have no idea why this was stipulated, it just was.) He also told me that I was stupid. (Because my worst dreams involve second grade insults.) This was also a really lengthy dream, so Peej got the pleasure of awaking to me glaring at him. I seriously had a good mad on for my first hour of the day. Which, admittedly, is not fair. But come on, Heather Graham?
I never said I was easy to cohabitate with. (In fact, I may have even suggested the opposite.)
None of these things (complete 180 of schedules/nighttime habits/things you couldn’t possibly know for which to apologize in advance) are included in marriage vows. Part of me thinks that this should be amended.
The other part wants to gleefully wait and watch people find out for themselves.
Says the girl who has been married for three years…and has people watching her to “just wait.”
In a nutshell, I’m a lame-o, I watch fabulous television, babies make you get up early, we consume a lot of bacon, pregnancy is crazy, illicit dreams are an excusable sin, and I have unfair rules and standards.
Also, I miss my sister and her boyfriend.
(Hey, brotherrr.)
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