Some stories

Today's word count: only 464. But I entered this evening almost too exhausted to think and was having trouble putting thoughts together. So around 1:30 I went downstairs to get the sheets out of the dryer, only to discover that while I put the sheets into the dyer, I never turned the dryer on!

Why were the sheets in the dryer? Because I washed them, obviously. That's a good thing to do somewhat regularly (or so I hear), but we had a special reason for washing them today.

You see, Phoebe joined us in bed at some point in the night, as she usually does, and she was a little difficult to settle. And she kept squirming and sniffing. And I didn't think anything of it, really, beyond, "Why is she so sniffly?! She can't have a cold. We just got over the stomach flu!"

But, like, whatever. Kids pick up germs everywhere. If we had to have the sniffles, we'd get through that, too. If only she'd settle down and sleep!

Finally (after much nursing and squirming and sniffing), she fell asleep. 

And when I woke up in the morning I realized that she had not had the sniffles. Oh, no. She was suffering from a bloody nose. There was blood all over my pillow, all over the bed, all over her, all over...me. 

So the sheets had to be washed. 

But at least she doesn't have a cold, right?

The sheets are drying right now, and I can't focus to write another word of academic drivel, so I'll tell a few stories here.

Story #1:

Andrew and Miriam both have white bases for their electronic toothbrushes. Mine is blue. Rachel's is black. The little kids' toothbrushes are different as well. But Andrew and Miriam have the same handle part. 

When Andrew saw that toothbrush in the bathroom at the beach house, he assumed that it was his toothbrush, so he used it...every day...the entire vacation...only to discover while packing up that his toothbrush was still in the toiletries bag. 

Once home he decides he'd better admit his horrible behaviour to the owner of the toothbrush, so we're out for a family walk...the big girls are walking nearby and the little kids are running up ahead...and Andrew says, "So, which one of you has a white-handled toothbrush?"

"I do," Miriam said. "Why?"

"Oh, because I accidentally used it while we were at the beach house. I saw it on the counter and thought it was mine."

Miriam, naturally, was rather grossed out by this confession. But it just got worse and worse as he described that he didn't realize this until the very last day of the vacation. 

I honestly don't know why he even bothered telling her. I think he thought he could absolve his conscience by coming clean, but allowing her to live in ignorance would have saved her some grief. She was horrified (and replaced her toothbrush head as soon as we got home). 

Story #2:

Speaking of confessions, Andrew thought it would be a good idea to ask if Miriam could play the organ at the Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine. They could not, however, find a priest to ask. They even—in jest—jiggled the doorknob of the confessional booth, thinking that they were locked and empty. 

Well, they were locked, but Grandpa is sure he saw someone come out of the booth, so someone had been attending confessional. 

We were talking about it much later in the day while we were playing cards (the game we were playing was Hand and Foot, and I was probably winning) and Rachel, trying to be funny, said, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I jiggled some random guy's knob..." and though she had been trying to be funny she had not intended to be funny like that.

"Rachel!" I gasped (in much the same voice as I decried Taylor Swift when I found out she has a bit of a sailor's mouth).

"What?" she asked, while everyone dissolved into laughter.

Then the meaning dawned on her. 

"Oh, no!" she said, quite embarrassed to have used such a phrase (in front of her parents and grandfather, no less). "I didn't mean that at all! I was talking about literal doorknobs, I swear! It's not my fault English has so many innuendos!!"

Story #3:

We were driving home from the art museum (little kids in Grandpa's car, big kids and baby in ours) a few weeks ago and Andrew turned on a Taylor Swift album. I'm not much of a Swifty, though I've heard some of her music here and there. And I know that she has some gentle swearing in her earlier songs but this was a more recent song and I was quite shocked when she dropped an f-bomb.

"TaYLoR!" I gasped.

So now that's what Rachel and Miriam say whenever anything might be remotely scandalous.

Story #4:

We had sandwiches for dinner one of the evenings we were at the beach. We got some little hoagie rolls and lunch meat and cheese, cut up some lettuce and tomatoes, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

After helping all the kids fix their sandwiches, I went to make mine and was surprised to see that the tomatoes had all but disappeared. I only put a little sliver on my sandwich and wondered aloud about where all the tomatoes had gone.

Andrew looked sheepish. 

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said, trying to hide his sandwich from me.

"Do you...do you have...tomatoes on there?!" I asked.

"Yes," he admitted. 

"Excuse me?!" I asked. "You put tomatoes on your sandwich? Willingly? Since when do you do this? How is this even a thing? We've been married how long and I've never seen you put tomatoes on your sandwiches! In fact, you usually pick them off to give to me. What is even going on here?!"

"Okay," Andrew said, taking a deep breath. "It all began in February..."

He'd treated himself to Quizno's for dinner one day when he was working late on campus. H'd gotten a sandwich, but he forgot to take the tomatoes off before eating it and...it wasn't terrible. 

"And then when I was in Quebec..." he said.

He had a hamburger one evening while he was away at a conference and this burger came...with a tomato. He decided (having had a tomato-laced sandwich previously) to just muscle through it and...it wasn't terrible. In fact, it added a certain je ne sais quoi to the meal—a tangy, salty, moistness that he wanted to experience over and over again. 

The boy was hooked. 

He had to get his tomato fix on every sandwich, but he'd been sneaking them in so that we wouldn't tease him about it. Well, it did not help his cause that the whole story came tumbling out of him like he was admitting a sordid affair. We teased him mercilessly. 

But to be fair, I haven't seen him eat a tomato in 18 years of marriage! I didn't think I'd ever live to see the day where he'd be stealing my tomatoes! 

Now, he has no desire to just munch on tomatoes, or anything like that, but he does find them to be an important component of sandwich building. 

I'm just glad he's finally beginning to see the light...