We were on vacation with some great friends a few years back when some comments were made concerning how loving I was to John (the sarcasm was not appreciated by this girl - I really am nice to my man. Just not in a public way. I have a reputation to protect.). The conversation started with one of the husbands said something along the lines of "Woman! Make me a sandwich!". And it was correctly suggested that if John said something like that to me the reply would be "Make your own dang sandwich!".
I confess I do not pray often to have a servant's heart...something to think about for tonight.
Now before this true story is told, I am VERY NICE to John when the kiddos are around (like, 98% of the time). Most ridiculousness is saved up all day for after all the midgets are in bed. Or not within earshot. There are many, many years ahead where they will experience The Mommy in my flawed nature. So keep in mind there has been NO EXTERNAL INFLUENCE as you read.
Fast-forward to tonight, 7ish years later. Ainsley and I are sitting down to eat some kickin' brownies and John is giving his baby girl some grief because she wasn't diving in right away to the mess of chocolate. And, after about 5 minutes of ribbing, this is what happened:
John: If you aren't going to eat that brownie, I'm going to eat it!
Ainsley: You can get your own brownie.
The delivery was perfectly blase'.
I'm so proud.
Her poor future husband.
John just reminded me I forgot to include my silent, double fist-pump, cheering that took place in the background. I did do that.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment