They say that children sap all of the spark out of marriage because everyone ends up so exhausted from the maw of modern parenthood. I have no idea what “they” are talking about. Jeff and I have a lot to offer new (and experienced) parents when it comes to keeping those embers hot enough to make you want to toss aside your Kindle version of Fifty Shades so you can act out scenes from Dirty Dancing while naked. (And I am not talking about the “I carried the watermelon” scene, if you catch my drift.) All you need is your cell phone and at least one serviceable thumb to text your Beloved.
Here’s how Jeff and I steamed up the airwaves with our passion the other day when Simon and I were waiting downstairs for Jeff and Sadie get in the car for our
daily weekly Costco run:
(*Jeff’s comments, texted when he was trapped beneath Sadie’s sleeping body, appear in white bubbles; mine are in blue.)
It’s totally got a William Carlos Williams feel to it, right? It’s poetic in that it seems to concern solely the prosaic details of one family’s Saturday afternoon. But if you look deeper, you can see underneath the quotidian veneer that Jeff is sending me signals about how he plans to ravage my body as soon as (1) Sadie wakes up and gets the hell off of him, (2) I get back from Costco with Simon, (3) he rinses Sadie’s urine off his body, (4) we feed the kids frozen strawberry smoothies for dinner, and (5) I take my Zoloft.
Can you see it? Can you feel it?
I almost feel guilty because I wonder if we are contributing to global warming with all the heat we generate. Just in case, I contribute to Greenpeace.
Now that I have shared this intimate snapshot of my marital relationship, I have a few requests:
- Please don’t tell Simon I referred to him as “Son,” because it sounds so impersonal– like I forgot his name.
- Don’t tell my kids or that freaky must-buy-organic-fruit mom that we buy our strawberries frozen. From Costco. (And, since that secret’s out, I will disclose that we blend the strawberries with Benadryl and ruffies so we can get some sleep.)
- Don’t tell my kids or the police that I was texting while driving, BECAUSE THAT’S DANGEROUS.
- Don’t hate me because I keep it hot & steamy with my baby daddy.