Pact

While my Mom was here we smuggled Juju into the theater to see The Vow. We left with more mascara on our cheeks than still on our eyelashes. It was not exactly the feel-good movie of the year. Premise of the movie- Girl and Boy married and are madly in love. Car accident. She smacks her head a good one and completely forgets all about him, their life, and everything about the last five years. Boy spends the rest of movie trying to get her to fall in love with him again. Maybe I would have liked it more if I didn't know it was based on a true story, but I just found the story sad. Aaaand I'm totally hormonal, but who's noticed?

Later that night while I nursed Juju and while he was half asleep I woke Husband up to make him swear a pact. No matter which one of us smacks our head a good one, if for some reason we lose all memory of each other or our lives together, we will stay married and stay together- loveless marriage or not. Because lets be honest... as the haggard, out of shape, mother of three, I'm in no condition to go out on the prowl seeking love. Love does not take out the garbage. At least we will still have a healthy dose of respect for eachother and know we are fulfilling our responsibilities. He nodded, mumbled something, and asked if he could go back to sleep. I'm pretty sure it is still legally binding.

I also felt like I needed to start keeping a journal. The chick in the movie wished she had, thinking it might help jog her memory. I can hear it now...in a Young Women's lesson or testimony meeting near you... 'Keep a journal! You never know when amnesia will strike!' Well, I didn't start one because we are kind of boring right now. If you are new to the game of life, boring is good.

That was last week.

This week I came uncorked more than once and had to call in Husband as reinforcement for the day(s). I decided I needed a project to focus on and started cleaning out my craft room. Then I found out we are just waiting for budget approval for an international relocation for six months (and until that happens, that's all I can say). For the week-end topper this morning Porkchop broke his collar bone. I'm feeling a lot less boring. And I couldn't have managed without my Right Hand Man.

All week I've reconsidered the notion of a journal. There might be important conversations I'm having with my four year old that I might forget. Like Scrunch announcing, "I like that you have three children, Mom."
"Oh, you do, huh?"
"Yeah. But there are still two missing."
"Oh, really....what's the next one?"
"She's a girl."
"And then the one after that? That's only four."
Very annoyed and clearly disappointed, "Ugh. That one is a boy."

I'm not saying Scrunch is right, but wouldn't I want it recorded if she was???

I also need to remind myself regularly in my new journal what a bloody genius I am!

I conned him into marriage the first time with my eighteen year-old hard bod. Then, in a moment of weakness (or REM sleep. whatever), I made him swear an oath that he would stick around even if he didn't recognize an inch of me. And boy there are moments in the mirror lately that I don't even recognize myself.

As for me, I'm not so worried. I would know I loved him after I needed to convince him that we did not need to go buy nightlights for every room in the house so Porkchop wouldn't trip again in the middle of the night, and after watching him patiently squeeze frozen Gogurts for him all afternoon, and seeing him willingly play the game of Life and Candyland with a four year old (stick a spoon in my eye!). Plus, I'm no shmuck. If Scrunch happens to be right, there will be a boat load of trash that will need taking out!