Friday, March 25, 2011
Excerpt #9, from pages 46-47 of "Stream of Consciousness"
I was so glad Jen was going to bring the mud-pie tomorrow for dessert. But after thinking it over, I should have asked her to just bring some non-fat frozen yogurt. I might have to bring mostly one suits on this cruise. It’d been quite awhile since I’d worn my bikinis. I’d just have to crank in a bunch of sit-ups later tonight. That would totally even things out, right? Okay, maybe not, but whatever, I was going to soak in the sun’s soothing rays no matter how many post baby pounds I’d gained. And I wasn’t looking too bad actually. It was just those few stubborn folds that refused to go flat no matter how many times I made it to the gym each week.
So let’s see. Where was I in my book. Opening folder: “Hug the Grass.” Okay, here it is. And we had… okay, so I ended with the John Keats’ poem. So, now I have to think up something else about that crazy rat. Hmmmm… I definitely need to pump some U2 in my earphones. Pause. Writing. “Uno, dos, tres, catorce…”
Okay, fingers to the keyboard, you can do this Renee. Get it together, at least a few more paragraphs before bed. Here goes:
“Well, the roses paid off Hon. I’d always heard that women in their thirties were better in bed because they know what they want. I guess it’s true. My woman knows what she wants,” Josh said with an enthusiastic smile on his face.
“Oh stop. I’m blushing. You’re still as cute and sweet as the boy I dated in high school. But, seriously, I had a great time too. I will love you for all of my life, even when our lives get psychotic and crazy. You know, like every day for the past seven years, ever since we had kids, come to think of it,” I said with a revelatory expression.
“Earlier this week, you chatted me about how you haven’t had much time to write with all of the stuff you’re doing for the kids, so give me a honey-do list today and I’ll try to help ya out some,” he offered in a compassionate voice.
“Thanks Babe. Do you have a whole notepad that I could write it all out on? Seriously, where do I even start? Why can’t the laundry wash itself? If only the garage could organize itself or the cluttered attic for that matter,” I complained.
Josh could tell that stress was overtaking me, so he grabbed me for a dragon-breath kiss. Then we began to kiss like we were teenagers again, except more skillfully and passionately. It was a reminder that we were still a sure thing. The chemistry was alive, even after seven years of dating and thirteen years of marriage.
After about ten minutes of blissful and uninterrupted snuggling, Josh retreated to the kitchen to mix up some pancakes with his own secret flair of apple sauce and baking powder for extra fluffiness. About fifteen minutes later, I joined him downstairs to get my coffee brewing. After a long night, I needed the caffeine rush more than ever. Within minutes of hearing that breakfast was ready, the wild ones joined us downstairs with their mouths wide open.
“Who wants whipped cream on theirs?” I asked, while carrying a fresh plate of Mickey Mouses and some bunnies, along with a few dinosaurs and lizards.
“I want a bunny please,” announced Katie in her sweet four-year-old trill.
“I want a T-Rex,” Grace asserted with a bit of six-year-old attitude thrown in.
“Well, this should do then,” Daddy said as he handed her a pancake that looked more like a hippo than a dinosaur.
“I’d like one Mickey Mouse and two lizards please,” Jake announced in his very mature seven-year-old voice.
Josh carried some fresh orange slices to the table in the hand-made ceramic bowl we’d bought a few months earlier at our church’s marriage retreat up in the mountains. Its pure black color made it simple and modern. After a few rounds of fresh squeezed orange juice, flavorful strawberries, and lots of creamy butter with warmed syrup, we spent the rest of the morning digesting quietly. I checked my email. Josh read the business section of our local Riverside newspaper while Katelyn read a Disney Princess book, Jake enjoyed the second volume of Ordinary Boy and Grace read one of her favorite Magic Treehouse books. It was surprisingly quiet in the house; even the rats were complying with the morning’s nonchalant agenda.
So let’s see. Where was I in my book. Opening folder: “Hug the Grass.” Okay, here it is. And we had… okay, so I ended with the John Keats’ poem. So, now I have to think up something else about that crazy rat. Hmmmm… I definitely need to pump some U2 in my earphones. Pause. Writing. “Uno, dos, tres, catorce…”
Okay, fingers to the keyboard, you can do this Renee. Get it together, at least a few more paragraphs before bed. Here goes:
“Well, the roses paid off Hon. I’d always heard that women in their thirties were better in bed because they know what they want. I guess it’s true. My woman knows what she wants,” Josh said with an enthusiastic smile on his face.
“Oh stop. I’m blushing. You’re still as cute and sweet as the boy I dated in high school. But, seriously, I had a great time too. I will love you for all of my life, even when our lives get psychotic and crazy. You know, like every day for the past seven years, ever since we had kids, come to think of it,” I said with a revelatory expression.
“Earlier this week, you chatted me about how you haven’t had much time to write with all of the stuff you’re doing for the kids, so give me a honey-do list today and I’ll try to help ya out some,” he offered in a compassionate voice.
“Thanks Babe. Do you have a whole notepad that I could write it all out on? Seriously, where do I even start? Why can’t the laundry wash itself? If only the garage could organize itself or the cluttered attic for that matter,” I complained.
Josh could tell that stress was overtaking me, so he grabbed me for a dragon-breath kiss. Then we began to kiss like we were teenagers again, except more skillfully and passionately. It was a reminder that we were still a sure thing. The chemistry was alive, even after seven years of dating and thirteen years of marriage.
After about ten minutes of blissful and uninterrupted snuggling, Josh retreated to the kitchen to mix up some pancakes with his own secret flair of apple sauce and baking powder for extra fluffiness. About fifteen minutes later, I joined him downstairs to get my coffee brewing. After a long night, I needed the caffeine rush more than ever. Within minutes of hearing that breakfast was ready, the wild ones joined us downstairs with their mouths wide open.
“Who wants whipped cream on theirs?” I asked, while carrying a fresh plate of Mickey Mouses and some bunnies, along with a few dinosaurs and lizards.
“I want a bunny please,” announced Katie in her sweet four-year-old trill.
“I want a T-Rex,” Grace asserted with a bit of six-year-old attitude thrown in.
“Well, this should do then,” Daddy said as he handed her a pancake that looked more like a hippo than a dinosaur.
“I’d like one Mickey Mouse and two lizards please,” Jake announced in his very mature seven-year-old voice.
Josh carried some fresh orange slices to the table in the hand-made ceramic bowl we’d bought a few months earlier at our church’s marriage retreat up in the mountains. Its pure black color made it simple and modern. After a few rounds of fresh squeezed orange juice, flavorful strawberries, and lots of creamy butter with warmed syrup, we spent the rest of the morning digesting quietly. I checked my email. Josh read the business section of our local Riverside newspaper while Katelyn read a Disney Princess book, Jake enjoyed the second volume of Ordinary Boy and Grace read one of her favorite Magic Treehouse books. It was surprisingly quiet in the house; even the rats were complying with the morning’s nonchalant agenda.
Labels: excerpt #9, Stream of Consciousness
