Pink Prickly Pear

He knows where the sugar is.

 

Shower me with blood diamonds and chocolates!

A couple of years ago, Mr. Pear and I needed a low security pin number for some account or another.  He suggested "62599"

"62599?  How am I ever going to remember a totally random, irrelevant number like that?"

Mr. Pear, as I think I've mentioned before, is a little more sensitive than I am and he looked a little hurt by my response.

He quietly said, "There's nothing random about 62599."

"62599?"

He paused at intervals as he repeated the number, "6...25...99..."

"I have no idea what you're talking about..."

"June 25th, 1999"

Dawning recognition, not to mention embarrassment, on my behalf, "Ohhhhh!!!!! Our anniversary!"

So I suppose it should come as no surprise that I completely forgot it was our anniversary yesterday.  Completely.  As in, I went out to dinner and a movie with 3 girlfriends last night, while he and mini-pear played computer games and ate hot dogs and leftover fruit salad from the stinky fridge.

But this morning, when the parking attendant at Legoland handed me my dated parking pass, something in the far reaches of my brain said, "June 26th?  There's some significance attached to the end of this month, isn't there?" 

"Ohhhhhh!!!!  Our anniversary!"

Not that he remembered it either;)  When I got a moment, I texted him the 9 year old news.  I know.  We romantic types put you all to shame.  He immediately responded that he would get right on the purchasing of physical manifestations of his love.  Because that's what it's all about, isn't it?  Blood diamonds and child labor chocolates!  South American Roses!  Yeah, baby!

In all seriousness though, it gets better every year.  We look back on the good times together and laugh, we look back on the bad times and know that, no matter what life throws at us, we'll get through it together.  I want many, many, many more years of this.

The internet as emotional yardstick, geometry-girl, and is there a mathematical formula for one's personal poop velocity?

I live with a total maniac who refuses to let me take her picture anymore!  Thrasher!

She may be a total maniac, but we've been having a lot of fun over the last couple of mornings, making a quilt for her baby brother.  Mini-pear (A.K.A. geometry-girl) has been arranging and rearranging the squares into various patterns.  Too many choices!  Here's my initial idea:

But then mini-pear suggested stripes:


We also liked off centered concentric diamonds:
 

And lots of smaller diamonds:
 

I like  seeing how many different variations we can come up with, but I'd also like to make a decision soon.  My grubby little mitts are craving the meditative qualities of hand-quilting.

Speaking of making things for baby brothers, I got sucked into the vortex of online cloth diapering discussions and product reviews.  Mini-pear's diapers are long gone, happily recycled onto friends who have undoubted recycled them further along their happy little eco-friendly journey.  I know we used pre-folds and tried various covers, but I can't for life of me remember which brand eventually worked.  I think I'll probably just make our own pre-folds and wet bags, but I'd love to remember which covers worked so well.  Some of them really didn't, and I don't want to make that (expensive) mistake again, but then so much is dependent on factors as variant as leg chub, and the degree to which your baby enjoys unfastening velcro, and the velocity of one's excrement that perhaps what worked for mini-pear wouldn't work for - gosh, we need to come up with a pear moniker for the boy!

*****

I also live with a nerd.

Mr. Pear and I were reminiscing a bit this morning.  We had some friends back in DC who used to throw down some wicked theme parties.  For Truck Stop, we went as a couple of long haul bible thumpers.  For part of our costume, we got those iron-on fuzzy letters and made Truckin' for Jesus t-shirts.  Mr. Pear pointed out that we went to that party nine years ago, "You were just a couple of months pregnant..."

And then, in a softer voice (that I'll swear was almost choked up sounding), "The internet was so young back then..."

The internet: an emotional yardstick for nerds.  Cute nerds with shiny,floppy hair who massage my lower back upon request, but nerds nonetheless.

 

Let me count the ways...

It didn't snow, but look!  Mr. Pear's beard is so neatly trimmed!

This morning he had a little remnant of his breakfast caught in there - nothing slimy or gross - a mere crumb. 

He leaned in for a kiss, "Ack!  There's something in your beard!"

He gives it a swipe.  Wrong side.

"Just get it for me!"

"You get..." I reach over and flick it off.  It's all I can do for the man who recently picked the sodden tissue remains of a toilet seat cover off my arse.  Yeah.  It's like that.  He made no comment, just gently supported me with one arm, while reaching around and unpeeling the offending bits of paper with the other.  Don't worry, I don't generally require such assistance - this was post-surgery a few weeks, me tottering around at the hospital not quite myself.

Just one of the reasons he makes me a very happy lady;)