The difference between you and me is that you want to make the bed before you have breakfast, or at least very soon after, while if it were up to me I'd make it once every three months, on a very good day.
Also, you clip and clean your toenails almost on a regular basis; do you schedule that in your planner? I pull my excess toenails off with my bare hands while I watch TV.
You fold your dirty clothes before getting in the shower. To your continued annoyance, I don't.
You have a bazillion lists that you cross off, or check off, after each item is completed. I make lists sometimes, because I want to be like you, or pretend I am very efficient, and then I never look at them again.
You like movies with bad guys and fire. I love "When Harry Met Sally".
I like to share and you like to have your own plate, or drink, or sweatshirt. But honey, you are getting better with this.
You want chocolate ice cream and I want something more like strawberry cheese cake. I think you hate ice cream with fruit and pie pieces in it.
On children, you think of car space and house storage and, admit it--living in a perpetual BABY STAGE. You gag when you change Ethan's poopy dipes and you can't stand crying. If you could, I think you'd have those spongy sea green ear plugs of yours surgically implanted for the first year or so of our children's lives.
When I think of children, I remember the warmth of pregnancy and the smell of my baby's hair, like apples and powder.
On money, you look like at the big picture, I look at the the penny. I like the way you look at money. It keeps me from going insane. I don't pick up pennies or nickles or dimes even when I see them on the ground anymore; I leave them for some other poor soul who is freaken out about nickles and dimes.
When you watch Ethan you feed him a whole meal at meal times and have a routine for nap time (snack, stories, milk and blankie, lights out) and when it's time, give him a bath. I'm sure you wash him well, in all the creases. I think this is all amazing, and I am learning from you even though it feels very unnatural for me to mother this way. I see it works, Ethan is happier, so I try.
When we are out, I always want a Starbucks; you want a meal.
Your birthday, Christmas, and anniversary cards to me are always the cartoon ones, with a short "Love you!" note at the the end. Mine to you are mostly pictures of sleepy puppies or a peaceful, still scene with a long, drawn-out, hand written love revelation inscribed on the inside. I have learned they mean the same thing despite the apparent difference in mood and fore thought: I love you.
You like the bathrooms squeaky clean. So do I. I just don't like making them squeaky clean.
You take time to notice things, like the busted floor board or the disgusting lint and soap buildup behind the washer and dryer. I notice these things months, sometimes years, before hand and wait for the day that you notice so that we actually do something about them.
At Home Depot, you love shelves and shovels and lawn fertilizer. I like to look at the square paint samples. Remember when we took Truman there and everyone kept saying, "Look at the puppy!" And last time when we shared a hot dog?
I am a touchy person. You are not. Enough said.
I am teaching you to hold my hand and you are teaching me ways to make life cleaner, simpler, healthier. It's all good.
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