The Post My Husband Doesn't Want You To Read

Let me set the stage for you...

July 4th weekend. A camp site. The morning. Everyone slept like babies in the tent. David plays with the kids so I have time to write. I sit at my computer at the picnic table with the cord plugged into an outlet in a log that also gave us a steady stream of water...okay, the camping wasn't all that rustic. So, sue me. There is bright sun, blue sky, dew on the grass, parachutes tumbling in the breeze over our heads, the smell of pine and river and grass.

I'm working on the book. David is piling the kids into the car. He is taking them to the mountain store where there is food and supplies and an array of toys in the side yard that they love to play with. This is my time to write. I am excited. Grateful. We are all excited about what we are going to do.


Edie is so excited to go on another adventure with Daddy that she forgets to have boob and I am thrilled because we are trying to totally wean her off by the time she turns three, which is, like, in a couple of weeks. And I tell David to reward her with M&Ms at the mountain store because my tactic has been to give her "three M&M's" (because she is almost three and three is the magic number) every time she chooses to forgo breastfeeding.

Basically, I have been hiding a huge bag of M&M's in the freezer and dolling out little secret rations to her every time she gives up breastfeeding. Yes, I am bribing my child with chocolate as a way to wean her. Someone call La Leche. Or Al-anon. I can give classes on this kind of enabling.

But it's been working, so if you scold me in comments, I'll just swear at you or something. I don't mess with what works. Anyhoo, I tell David to pick up the M&M's and the kids pile in the car and I write for, like, what seems like hours in the big blue day. And it's paradise.

And then, David comes back and the kids are uncharacteristically FREAKING OUT. There are tears in the pool. Screams in in the tent. Agony everywhere. Children are like falling to the ground in uncontrollable spasms and making shrill demands as if we were their servants. They are like small, mangy, growling animals. I barely recognize them. I am ready to trade them for a camel and a good milking cow.

This is when my husband looks at me and says in the most matter-of-fact, tone imaginable, "Look, Kim...we can't do this anymore. They can't have M&M's for breakfast."

Okay, so skip to the conversation where I ask, "Um, they only had M&M's for breakfast?" and he says, "Um yeah, you told me to buy them M&M's" and I say, "Um yeah, but I didn't say they could have M&M's for a breakfast and um, like, I give Edie three, not...30 for a reward." And he says, "Well, you didn't say THAT, you said buy them M&M's and you know, you never said, 'Feed them breakfast and give Edie three M&M's as a treat...You should've said that."

And now I realize it. And I start laughing so hard I can barely talk - I get like that, where something strikes me the right way and I am hysterical with laughter and David has absolutely no idea why - and through the tears I manage to say, "Oh my God, this is going to be THE. BEST. BLOG POST. EVER. You fed the kids M&M's for breakfast. BWAAA-HA-HA..."

And I'm on the ground now. Unable to speak and I'm kind of holding up one finger, telling him to wait, I'll recover momentarily. But I'm gasping for air and clutching my side. And that's when he threatens to withhold sex in protest. And, of course, this is the last thing I want. 'Cause I like the sex with my husband. A lot. But I'm still laughing so hard there is spit coming out the side of my mouth. And I'm already writing the blog post in my head.

xo YM