My husband cares for me. He truly does. He just doesn’t always phrase things the prettiest way.
Since my Mr. Wonderful only works 5 minutes away from home he comes home for lunch. Today, as we were sitting down to leftover chicken and Italian sub he looks at me and says, “You are going to take a nap today, right?” I replied with, “I’m trying not to be cranky. Why do you think I need one?”
This is what I expected him to reply. “You were up with the sick 21 month old for most of the night. You were trying to sleep with her on the couch, and not being able to sleep much yourself.”
This is what he said. “Your face looks all washed out.” [It does, but I’ve been avoiding mirrors all day.]
To which I replied, “Thank you, you look like death warmed over yourself.” I didn’t really think so. I wasn’t even looking at him. It was a long night after all. I was trying not to be cranky.
I would love to take a nap. It is nap time after all. Here I sit, blogging away.
Why? You ask? The 21 month old is playing here on the floor. Apparently her 45 minute snooze while everyone else was eating revitalized her. The 3 and 5 year old are blissfully sleeping.
Oh, that I were too.