Captain Me Planet

This is not as bad as it sounds. 

So.  We told Private One the intimate details of how babies are created a few weeks ago.  After nearly vomiting, he rallied, digested, and has gone on his merry way.

Untill today.  Today, he asked me why married couples (because that’s the context in which we’re teaching him the Lord gives us the greatest blessings in this area) have sex,  if they don’t want a baby.  How can a baby be a surprise?  He pondered.  Just don’t do it.  He said.

So in addition to the basics, he got a quick rundown on how birth control can work, or not, and how we are created for this act, aside from the reason of having babies.

And I was just getting over it from the first time you told me about this!  He moaned. Now you tell me people want to do it?!?

Flash forward to this evening.  He wants us to elaborate just a bit.  OK, he says, so people want to do it.  I thought they just had to get used to it if they want a baby.  You know, get over how gross it is to have kids.

Um, no. 

And he goes off to bed.

7 minutes later:

Mom.  Dad.  I have a question about sex.  Okeedoke.  We’re all up in it.  Shoot.  We’re cool here.  Open, honest, Godly communication. 

Um, do you guys do it, or do you want to get pregnant again, or what?

Well, son, we, um, do it.  Yesserie, we do it.  With nothing whatsoever to do with wanting another baby.

He blanches.  And maybe starts to gag.  And nervously laugh.  Why?, he pleads. 

His father answers.  Because it’s fun, son.  It’s just great fun.

He looks confused.  How can it be fun when the very thought sends shivers up his nearly 11 year old sweet spine?

The Colonel thinks fast.  Um, son.  You know how you just love Frankie’s Fun Park (a local arcade, pizza, go-cart, skeet shooting sort of birthday/weekend place)?

Yeah.  Frankie’s rocks.

Well, sex for adults, who are married and love each other is like a Frankie’s Fun Park for grown-ups. 

The first Private is stricken.  Fun like Frankie’s?  For adults?  Sex???  You mean like Frankie’s Sex Park??? Groooooooosssssss, Dad! 

Yeah.  Like Frankie’s Sex Park.  But better.  And no tokens or game debit cards.  It’s all free.  Trust us.  You’ll see.  But prayerfully, not for a good, long while. 

After that, he willingly went to bed.  And we haven’t heard from him since. 

then a happy day to you.  One day late.

My day of honor started out like this:

Sounds slowly infiltrating my brain, that had been resting so beautifully under the sun streaming in the window, bouncing off the rippling waters of Lake Lure.  Sounds that rose in a cacophony, mosquito like in quality, when the bug gets closer and closer to your ear before it dawns that you are indeed about to be bit…I was there, no you weren’t, yes I was, no I was, that’s my spot, I want to be by Mommy, but I was, it’s my spot, no it’s mine, no it’s not, yes it is, no it’s not, move, no, yes, no…

…our two youngest, arguing over who could crawl in bed and rest by me on one of the 3 days a year I get to sleep in with NO guilt.  So, naturally, I handled it thusly:

Do you realize, I began so calmly, that in your effort to bless me with your sweet little selves, you’ve managed to WAKE ME UP to the sounds of bicker bicker bicker?  On one of only 3 days I get to sleep in with no latent guilt of not doing my job of tending to your every need and desire, while the good Lord above works the kinks of selfishness out of me, by giving you to me, so that I  must never think of myself, or that I may be tired, or would like to pee without telling you how many rings Saturn has, or how nice an actual hot cup of coffee would be, instead of the repeatedly nuked one I always have because I get your seconds and thirds of breakfast first, or about how you get all the new clothes, and took my beautiful belly button far far away to never be the same, and how you are convinced that you are each planets about which I was created to spin…GO AWAY.

So.  They did.  But then, I couldn’t go back to sleep.  Drat.

We ate breakfast out.  I did not cook.  Or clean the dishes.  For that, I am grateful.  We drove home from the lake.  Without our friend’s very whiny spoiled and grating precocious 3 year old.  Very grateful here.  And at home, although I cooked something because it was just what I wanted for dinner, the Colonel and our Privates did their best to serve me.  I received 3 fantastic presents, and they did mess duty.  The Colonel took full charge of bed time, and the day came to a close.  And although he stayed up till 3 am working, he made sure the kitchen was clean when I came down this morning.

A good man, he is.  And I’m glad, if I have to learn that the world does not spin around me, that I can do it with him, and these 3 character builders, called children, who qualified me to have such a day, in the first place. 

The Colonel is home, resting on our crappy ancient eccletic vintage sofa.  Fairly comfortably.  The operation took about an hour, and the Colonel proclaims Versed the best thing ever.  We asked if we could bring some home.  They said no.

So, now, after the drug run (we did get hydrocodone), and the grocery run (my Colonel wanted mint chocolate chip ice cream), and the Arby’s run (he also wanted a giant roast beef and curly fries with ranch dip), and the Atlanta Bread Company run (I figured after all that, I deserved my favorite ever sandwich of Waldorf chicken salad), he is watching episode after episode of King of the Hill.  His favorite ever show.  

Today is Colonel Day.  Maybe I should get a small procedure. 

Thank you for the prayers.  Everything went so smoothly.   I’ll be here, serving my nasal-y challenged guy.  Gladly.

I know a few of you who stop by here once in while are of the praying ilk.  That being the case, I’d like to put out a request. 

The Colonel will be having surgery this Friday morning, outpatient, but surgery none the less, with a general anesthetic, and that makes me a bit nervous, for his deviated septum, which in his case, is extremely deviated, and if you knew him, you’d know this to be suiting, and you’d know that I’m specifically praying for his abominable snoring to be alleviated, along with his ongoing headaches and occasional vertigo, as earplugs aren’t all that sexy, which, if you know me, you know I wear them.  Every night.  And I still often kick him, ever so gently of course, half the night.  

In the meanwhile, I’m getting the children to their grandparents’ in Atlanta, and dusting off my short short white nursing uniform, with the plunging neckline.  Not really.  But I will be free to tend to the recovering Colonel as necessary.  Thanks, Mom and Dad. 

Remember the gaping hole (after the disco, the eggs, and the belt test) in our kitchen floor?  It is gone.  Kapuut (is that how you spell kapuut?).  Because my Super Remodler Husband rocks.

Here is proof:

And then, just because he is gorgeous, Private 3 the other night…on his Remodel God daddy.