Sometimes when it’s -20C with the windchill and you pretty much have to coat your face in a liberal layer of vaseline before walking your daughter to school because otherwise you’ll end up with an unattractive case of windburn that will startle you every time you walk by a mirror (“why do I have a hideous rash? what am I allergic to now? oh right, winter!”), there’s nothing for it but to follow several of Maui’s fancypants resorts on Instagram. Last week one of them posted a photo of a beach wedding, with the caption, “Marriage is the sunset of love.” Er … I’m not sure if their social media person really understands what the word “sunset” means. Marriage Is the Sunset of Love is going to be the title of my self-help book for unhappy couples. Sample chapters:
- I Think I’ve Made a Terrible Mistake
- Why Do You Never Listen to Me When I Talk to You
- Mark Is Just a Friend, I Swear
- At Least Mark Listens When I Talk
- Kids, This Is Mommy’s ‘Special Friend’ Mark
I think I promised to tell you about how Zach broke my nose. Have I mentioned before that he has a giant head? It’s literally off the charts in size. A few weeks ago, he was sitting in my lap and threw himself back, at which point the crown of his head connected with the bridge of my nose. It was remarkably painful and I had some bruising around my eyes for a few days, but I never went to the doctor, because … sometimes I am not a smart individual. I finally went last week, mostly to get some antibiotics for yet another sinus and inner ear infection, but the one benefit of my possibly broken nose (it was too inflamed and swollen for my doctor to determine if it actually was broken or not) is that it earned me a referral to a specialist (which I have been requesting since last winter, most of which I spent on one kind of antibiotics or another) who will hopefully be able to solve my chronic sinus issues. When it really hurts, I tell Zach, “You broke my nose!” and he usually ambles over and, after announcing “I kiss it!” plants a moist one between my eyebrows. I think at this point I can safely say that toddler saliva is not the cure for a broken nose.
I picked Ellie up from a playdate last week and the poor girl was tired and brokenhearted from leaving her friend, as she almost always is after a playdate (that girl loves HARD) so it was understandable that when she said she would like a treat when she got home and Zach told her the chocolate was all gone, she burst into tears and said, “Don’t ever say that! It is NOT NICE to say the chocolate is gone!” and proceeded to sob for the rest of the drive home. I think that was Zach’s first introduction to one of the most important and immutable laws of the universe: don’t ever tell a sad girl there is no chocolate.