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After a while you learn…

Two professional women: both married with kids and both juggling clients, reports, potty training, packed lunches, chores, dogs, cats, errands, husbands and …”what was that you said? SEX?”
That three-letter word that once was so frequent, so liberating, so yummy has been sidelined in a sea of life, work and snot.
It is time.
Time to put sex back on a pedestal by injecting some extra spice into our relationships.

After a while you learn…

There’s a poem by Veronica Shoftstall that I received in 1996, my freshman year of college, when email was still relatively new. It was just the ticket for an 18-year-old girl three states away from home for several months dealing with the sadness and drama of a long distance relationship that was doomed from the beginning. I didn’t know it was by Veronica Shoftstall until tonight when I searched for the one stanza that has always stuck with me after I – as I have many times in my life – repeated the line in my mind.

My own garden…and the only action I saw this week.

“You must plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.”

The mission this week was relatively simple, so simple that 14-year-old boys and girls everywhere have managed to do it – both dodging adult supervision and finding a place even if they don’t have a 1600-square-foot home and two SUVs at their disposal. Mr. Lee was a little down on it (no pun intended), saying that he would get to third, but that we would have to go all the way. I felt just like that 14-year-old girl with the boyfriend trying to push me to go “all the way.”

He discussed different ways to make it qualify without making him have to “stop” before running home. In these discussions, it was funny to discuss the technicalities of third. Remembering that the Duchess comes from the land of footie and not baseball, I discussed it with her Monday morning to determine what qualified. We acted like 14-year-olds when I said the word “fingering”, which makes me cringe even typing it. I mean seriously, was that ever in our vernacular? Just try saying it out loud without feeling that shock of embarrassment down your back. Do it, not problem, but say it? Ick.

Anyway, despite finding plenty of sexual innuendos this week, the best of which came from Dora the Explorer singing “scratch your balls with your kitty cat paws” in the kitty cat dance, Mr. Lee never made the move.

But because he works nights, he did make the move to the bedroom, just not for that purpose. Yes, I cut him a lot of slack because he’s nocturnal. However, I also work and suffer through being married to someone that works nights. 

Case in point: we have a schedule that shows all the kids’ events for the week. It contains 66 squares, some of which are “Dinner” or “Mr. Lee goes to work”, and others like “Pick up Lee 3”. I color coded it to help determine whether the missus or the mister is responsible. I’m magenta and he’s a dark blue. Of the 66 boxes, only 13 are blue.

Yet, he still has the audacity to tell me how he hates that his days off are spent taking care of the kids. No. Shit.

So, my days off this weekend were spent cleaning the bathrooms (he has NEVER in our seven years in this house done that), picking up after the kids, getting the kids dressed before soccer on Saturday, preparing snack for soccer, going to soccer, arranging playdate for Lee 1 while I took Lee 2 to an adorable Hansel & Gretel birthday party, doing laundry, doing trash, separating laundry, putting kids to bed, fixing hair, going to Mr. Lee’s aunt’s house, laying out clothes for church, laying out clothes for school, dealing with a baby that won’t sleep, etc., etc., etc.

And all of this is fine, truly. I love being a mom and taking care of my kids. However, it’s the fact that in devoting my attention to everyone else’s needs, Mr. Lee sometime fails completely to take the time for mine – and I’m not just saying sexual gratification, I’m saying because I have a damn post to write that he has known about for a week. He can make time to get to his aunt’s barbecue (which I enjoyed), but the 15 minutes required for a hard core makeout session for this blog is not worthy of the sleep he loses.

Which is why tonight, as I was taking out the trash (his job), I decided to plant my own garden. And at Mr. Lee’s suggestion, am writing out my mission fulfillment for him to execute to the T tomorrow, which he promised he would do as I was tucking him in (yes, I was still sweet despite my frustration).

“Even though he was tired from mowing the lawn, Mr. Lee cleaned the dishes after dinner and put the kids in the bath. While they were bathing, he finished folding the laundry as I put the kids to bed. As I emerged, he met me in the living room and French kissed me the way you did in high school – so your face actually smelled like spit afterwards (gross now, but you loved it then), and happily obliged to do the mission without complaint. And although he was tired from his lack of sleep and all the work around the house, he didn’t once mention being tired. Not once all night. It was soooooo hot.”

 

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  1. […] last week’s frustrating strike out, I was ready to tackle this week’s mission full force, partially because the […]

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