I finally figured out why women dry their dishes.
It has always been an inigma to me. Why dry your dishes if the air will do that for you? Do you really have so much time on your hands that you can stand by your sink and dry those dishes? I never thought I did.
But I figured it out today.
Women dry their dishes so that for at least one singular moment in their day, both sides of their sink are empty. And then they stand there and enjoy that moment, basking in its glorious warmth, and hurry away--so they don't have to witness the heartbreaking moment when one of the gremlins puts something dirty in the empty sink.
And if they're OCD enough, they'll wash that offending dish quickly, and swipe it dry, and hide it away--just to have one more moment. One more moment of an empty sink.
Before the gremlins return.
My sister visited the other day and brought me these.
Aren't they glorious?
I love love love fresh flowers and houseplants. Especially when they're not the result of a quick trip to the florist (though in a pinch I'm not picky.) Recently quite a few friends have visited, and every once in a while, one of them brings me a bouquet--once it was just some daffodils wrapped in tin foil.
It's not something I've ever once expected Nick to do for me. He has, a few times, but where are guys supposed to get flowers? I mean, sure, they can stop along the road and pick some wild ones, and pray they don't get shot, but the idea of swiping a debit card for flowers ruins the affect for me. The flowers that come from someone's backyard are the ones I like the best.
It has kinda become an unspoken thing between God and me. When someone comes into my home, and brings me flowers--shoot, even it its just a branch from their maple tree--I always hear God whisper to me. It's as though they're straight from Him, not to discredit the thoughtful soul who actually performed the delivery.
So when Amanda walked through the door with these bee-yoo-tee-ful blooms, I smiled to myself. It was just the right moment for my Father to remind me that He saw my heart and was in love with me. That He didn't take me for granted.
And they'll sit there on my counter until they pass on...and I never get sad when I throw the dead stems away. I know it won't be long until my dad sends me flowers again.
I'm pretty sure I'm having a boy today. He kicked me yesterday for the first time. I was momentarily surprised...and before I could stop to think I muttered "easy there, buddy." Then I felt badly that I could have called a baby girl "buddy". This is why I have to find out and why I could never wait until the delivery. I have an innate need to speak to my children in utero in a gender-specific way. I called Aly "baby girl" for months, often through gritted teeth while I was digging her heel out of my ribs. I often talked to Nick about "his daughter" when I had heartburn or had trouble getting up from the couch.
It's never in a derogatory way though. It's usually in an affectionate way--Nick and I still call Aly "your daughter" or "that girl's mine," depending on whether she's got peanut butter in her hair or she just sweetly hugged one of us. I'll say "did you grab diapers for your daughter?" on the way out the door. It's our own little language of intimacy--and I gotta find out what gender this new guy---I mean, kiddo--is so I can introduce him or her to the family lingo.
So today I'm having a boy. But tomorrow I'm going to think about all the stuff I'll need if it is a son, and I'll begin to think girl.
Because that would be easier. :)