Fight! Fight! Fight!

Here's something disturbing:

Last night the Double B and I were sitting next to each other, each reading from our separate toys. I read a blog written by a grown man about the time he accidentally pooped his pants while on his morning run. Now, I appreciate humiliating humor as much as the next person, but it is really the Double B who thinks poop stories are funny. But this guy was just cracking me up. I was pretty much in hysterics, and each paragraph was making me laugh harder and harder. The Double B asked what was so funny, and I said "Hold on," letting him know I needed to finish the story but I would definitely be sharing. I just couldn't wait to read it to him so he could have his funny bone tickled. I finished, sighed, caught my breath, giggled. And then, I read him the story while guffawing. About half way through I realized he wasn't laughing -- in fact, he was kind of frowning. I asked him if he didn't think it was funny. He said "Not really." All the wind left my sails, because it was hilarious and he must be suffering from a chemical imbalance or something. I mean, this is a #2 story, Double B!!! What's your beef?!? Anyhow, I just read the highlights of the last half of the story, laughing my way through. He didn't even crack a smile. I stared at him and then said "You're weird," or something like that. He looked at me and said "You're weird," or something like that.
And I sat there in utter confusion.
Has the time come that I enjoy bathroom humor more then my husband?
What does this mean?
What is the world coming to?
Is the spark gone?

Many deep and profound questions. Somehow, thinking about this story while taking the children to school made me think of last Sunday when this afore mentioned Double B made a rather pitiful attempt of taking Katelyn to her nursery class, and when she cried, brought her right back to me to take her because I'm "so much better at it." Of course, this meant Katee Jill thought she had won the victory, and so when I took her we had a major wrestle that involved her hanging onto the door frame while my arms were full of primary supplies and she tried to pull down my skirt. She succeeded a little, too. But I won the war. Oh, I won the war. It's okay if everyone saw the front of my slip and I stepped on that ladies toes pretty hard. These simply are the casualties of a hard battle. All while the Double B sat peacefully in his Sunday School class. Recalling this as I drove had me grinding my teeth a little. By the time I was out of the school parking lot, the Double B and I were in a fight! Even though he was at work and I was in the truck and there was no communication involved! I was so mad at him! And then I thought, "Hang on, Crazy Pants. Maybe you are the one with the chemical imbalance."
And then we made up, and we're made up to this day.

It's spirit day at the elementary school. They are supposed to wear red or black. Liv doesn't really have any red shirts, but this morning she wanted to wear her sparkly disco-ball-esque red dress with the black velvet jacket. Sure. Why not? It is September after all, it's not like we're trying to pull off sequins in August. She felt so lovely. In fact, she told me "I look so nice -- everyone is going to see me and go (gasp!!!) 'That girl is so beautiful!!!'" Naturally, I assured her that they would. She really is just that beautiful.
I also informed her of her wonderful kind heart and bright mind, as well. Don't worry everybody. But I do tell her often how incredibly beautiful she is -- because she is -- and for all those people who think you shouldn't tell a little girl she is beautiful, you're missing the boat. She is beautiful on the inside and beautiful on the outside, and I want her to know it! Hopefully some of that happy feeling will carry over into adolescence (here's shooting for the stars, Marie). I want my daughters to have more confidence in their physical selves then I had. And that is my opinion for the day. You are so welcome.

Well, it's Friday. And this afternoon is our practice for the primary program, which is this Sunday. Sometimes I doubt myself as a primary chorister (could it be because I still don't really know how to correctly lead music for all my practicing? I'm disabled in music leading, I think it's okay for us to just say it), but you just gotta keep trucking. I try to make it fun for the kids, and I try to teach them memorization skills, and I try, try, try really hard. That's got to count for something! But I will be happy on Monday to tell you how it went instead of informing you that it's coming.

May the Force be with you.

Miss Ewok

So sorry (but I'm sort of just saying that) you have to see inside this mind of mine,
Marie.