On preschool nights Ellie has the worst time falling asleep. So many thoughts and conversations are swirling around in her little head and she just can’t shut them up.
I’ll read her a story (hopefully one that does not include Barbie) and get her all snuggled in bed and she’ll keep popping her head up, remembering a mermaid Katie brought in for show and tell or how the new boy didn’t know the rules (“He got up when we were in the circle, momma!”).
By the time her eyelids start drooping, I’m pretty sure she has given me a play-by-play of her entire school day.
I came downstairs one night, particularly exasperated at the length of time it took for her to fade and my husband just stared at me, smirking.
“Apples and trees, my friend.”
I looked at him in exaggerated horror. “What are you implying?”
“I’m just saying that as soon as I walk in the door you start throwing words at me. You brain dump and so does she.”
I adamantly denied such a slanderous accusation while the thought poked around in the back of my mind, hitting a nerve or two—as things like that do when they’re rooted in truth. Still. How dare he mention it? Isn’t it like an unwritten rule to not call your wife out on her annoying habits when she is already annoyed? It should be included in Not Being Murdered By Your Wife 101.
Whatever.
We binge watched The Americans on the couch and I forgot about it while I was thinking about how much more my husband likes present-day Kerri Russell over Felicity-era Kerri Russell (major bonus points there for not being ageist).
When we climbed into bed and he started setting the sleep timer on our TV, whatever was happening on the HGTV show I had flipped on reminded me of my playroom organization struggle from earlier in the day.
“Oh, I was thinking. What if we order a bench that has room for baskets underneath to put under the windows? That way we can use it as storage and as seating when we have a bunch of people come over and nowhere to put them.”
“…”
“That reminds me. Have you spoken to your parents lately? I was wondering if they’re planning on coming up this weekend because I was lost on Facebook before—by the way is every single person we know pregnant right now? There must be something in the water… Anyway, I was lost on Facebook and I saw that somebody posted that there’s this thing for kids going on at the art museum and… well, I don’t really know any of the details, but I was thinking maybe we should take the girls. Unless it snows again. Is it ever going to stop snowing?”
“…”
“Are you even listening to me?”
“I’m waiting for you to wear yourself out.”
“Jerk,” I said, rolling over. “I think I’m done now anyway.”
“I doubt that.”
“Wait, I just remembered one more thing…”
I hate when that bastard is right.
This post is part of my 52 Essays project. This year I have set a goal for myself to write one finished piece every week(ish). I’m not sure what you can expect from them because I’m sort of winging it. Some will be good. Some will be less good. Hopefully you’ll love them. Maybe you’ll hate them. We’ll just have to wait and see. 😉 8/52
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Hi! I'm Jen, a freelance writer and girl mom who loves reading the newest children’s books as much as I love a good psychological thriller. I believe fiercely in the power of kindness, empathy, and really good quality chocolate. When I'm not knee-deep in glittery crafts and girl talk, you can probably find me sprawled out on my couch in the middle of a Netflix marathon with dark chocolate smeared on my face. The struggle is real. 
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