Our favorite kid books these days are all about Edith. Edith is the lonely doll, from the series by Dare Wright, which has been around since I was a little girl. Ruth loves Edith, and Henry loves the pictures. We never get tired of Edith's predicaments, nor do we tire of her petulance. When I was a kid she made it somewhat fashionable to be a scowling, pigtailed brat. Because it was cute. It got results.
Of course when you grow up and you continue to get the petulant label attached to your bad mood you quickly learn that no one takes you very seriously at all. The results are not quite what you're looking for, ever. But sometimes the resolution is surprising and wonderful. Such is my life. Life as a doll.
When I don't get taken seriously I go from petulant to insolent in about half an hour. It's not an easy transition and it's a tough hole to climb out of. Jacob saw it coming a mile away. This is where being a good friend has come in handy for him over the years, for he understands where my mind is going and how to lure it back.
He woke me up at midnight with warm chocolate cake. Cake and Irish hot chocolate. Cake in bed for me is like how most women feel about buying cute new shoes. I love cake.
We shared the cake and he offered a day, probably Monday, to look forward to, in which we would do nothing but take the kids to the lake for a picnic. Just the 4 of us. And that I did need more sleep and he just...well he just was worried. He traced his finger across my forehead and tucked my too-long bangs behind my ear and commented that I never wear earring anymore.
I pointed out that he didn't need to be so worried about my earrings. They're in an Altoids tin in my jewelry box. I just usually don't bother with them. In case he swallows one.
He laughed again. With cake in his teeth. I laughed too when I saw that. And the rest of the cake rolled off the plate halfway across the bed. He picked it up with one hand and threatened to throw it at me.
Oh it's on now.
I am so bad. Under the guise of being injured (find that silver lining Bridget) I asked him to cool it and I kneeled against him and asked for a kiss. Who's not going to oblige a kiss right then? Especially when I looked oh so stupid in a camisole, underwear, bedhead and cake? What an ensemble! I should go out like that.
He closed his eyes and was giving me one of his earth-tilting kisses, and I pulled back and grabbed his hand, smushing it into his nose. The hand that was holding the cake.
Those sheets will never be the same. He had cake in his ear. I possibly had cake in places I can't talk about in public.
We made amends in the shower.
Which brings me back to needing sleep, because we had to change the sheets in the middle of the night.
Did I mention I love cake?
