I'm immediately agitated as I rolled over and feel air where "Rocky" should be in the morning. I'm cursing him for ruining my sleep as I hear what would appear to be someone scrambling what I assume is eggs in the kitchen. The sizzling of something on the stovetop lets me know that I haven't been completely abandoned. My baby was making me BREAKFAST! I stumble into the kitchen to lay my head on his massive chest and breathe him in. He scolds me for getting out of bed but wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead.
TLC2, the weekend early-bird had already woken me up two hrs prior for his breakfast of french toast sticks. So, with nothing else to do, I climbed back into bed, and waited for breakfast to be ready. I watched "The Fabulous Life of "Paris Britney Lohan" " on VH1 until "Rocky" walked in with steak–n-cheese omelet and pepsi in hand. I ate and watched the show, smiling at the knowledge that all the money, baubles and $200/1oz jars of face cream in the world couldn't buy the happiness that I was feeling at the moment.
We finished eating and "Rocky" went to get dressed for church. I have been slacking in my classes damn near all semester and Sunday was my cram day. He left out and I showered and put in my "Study Enigma" clothes: shorts and tank top.
I set TLC2 up with Spiderman 3 and Go-gurt in his room and cracked open my Calculus book so that I could take my exam online. I spent the next four hours sucked in the world of Calculus, Verizon, Tila Tequila and The Hills. (I realized that I had no virus protection on my computer and wanted to order some. Unfortunately, none of the idiot, human or computer could help me)
Two hours into my work, I started dinner – pot roast, roasted potatoes and corn on the cob. "Rocky" called me from his mom's house to check in and make sure I was doing what I my work and gave me kudos for finding a way to fix a static problem we'd been having with the phone.
I watched my recorded episodes of "The Real Housewives of Orange County" as I folded the clothes from the previous day.
"Rocky" called again a few hours later from his cousin's house just as I was finishing eating dinner.
Rocky: "Babe, remember that night we were going back and forth with the riddles?
Me: "Uh huh . . ."
Rocky: "What's that one you told me that I liked?"
Me: "The one about the rabbit? What's invisible and smells like carrots, that one?
Rocky: "No, I don't think that's it."
Me: "The one about girls who work at Hooters?"
Rocky: "Nah, My cousin just told me that one, it was another one you'd said."
Me: (laughing at the mental image of these grown as men telling each other these silly as jokes/riddles): "I don't know hun."
Rocky: "Alright, don't worry about it. I'll be there in a little while."
Me and TLC2 try to watch the rest of Daddy Day Care, but decide we don't have or want to. He escapes to his room to watch Spiderman for the 89th time that day and I make chocolate chip cookie dough for later. (Usually I just buy the ready-made Pilsbury ones, but with the Betty Crocker "just add " one, I can take some of them damned chocolate chips out.
"Rocky" comes in, TLC2 takes a bath, we read two Spiderman books (he's obsessed I tell you) and I put TLC2 to bed and jump in the shower.
I bake the cookies and "Rocky" and I eat them as we watch Family Guy.
He gets up get us a cookie refill and asks if TLC2 had any cookies. I tell him "No, because he didn't finish his dinner." I turn the volume on the tv down as I hear TLC2's door squeak. Minutes later, "Rocky" comes into the bedroom looking guilty.
Me: "You gave him a damned cookie, didn't you?"
"Rocky": Huh? Nah, babe. . why you say that???"
Me (getting up to go check myself):" Cause I know you"
Sure enough, I look in on TLC2 and he's munching away on a cookie
I come back in the room shaking my head, knowing my son and what will happen next.
Sure enough, five seconds later, in walks TLC2 looking for his cookie pusher for his next fix.
"Rocky" tells TLC2 that he gets no more snacks because he didn't eat all his food. TLC2 concedes, but I know the battle will finish tomorrow. "Rocky" wins (for now.)
"Rocky" and I spread out on the bed for a few minutes before I suggest we play "I declare War". I know I have to work tomorrow but I try to prolong sleep for as much time as possible. He kicks my ass in record time and we give up on cards for the night. He tells me I need a Scrabble dictionary so we can play that. He knows I don't have one, but is aware that my mom does.
Him (reaching for the phone): "You need to call your Moms"
Me (bluffing): "Call her yourself. . .(201)___-____
He dials the numbers, asks for her and proceeds to have an entire convo. I ignore it for the most part, just knowing that he did not really call my mother, who has a clue, but no proof that I'm actually with someone seeing as how I've been refusing to confirm or deny any rumors concerning such that have been going around my family for weeks. Also whom he's met only once or twice (FIVE YRS AGO) and wouldn't know him from Bob down the block.
Ha ha, the jokes on me, he DID call her.
She and I speak briefly as I hear my Step-dad in the background with his Barry White-voice and laugh to match. "Tell him he gotta do more than just call the mother. We wanna know he treating our baby alright!"
(This sentence in itself is disturbing seeing as how my stepfather has never refered to me as "our" anything. Growing up it was always, "Wilma, your daughter down there trying to burn the kitchen down" or "Wilma your child and her friends in there tearing up the living room." But never, EVAH, has it been "our baby". Not that my step pops doesn't love me/us. But he's just not that warm, fuzzy, family type. Or at least he wasn't. That is, until TLC2 was born, then he started getting all mushy and shit. . . I guess preemies have a way of doing that to people. But I digress. . .)
Me and Mother hang up and I look at "Rocky" in (pleasant) shock. I do not believe he really called her. Guess now I've got to share my secret. Not like I'd been hiding him. It's more like protecting everyone. My family gets attached quickly and shit doesn't always end pretty with me and guys. I'm still mad that my sister asked my HS sweetheart to church years after he and I had separated on bad terms.
They just don't know how to let go like I do.
I'd been planning on bringing him to "family" Christmas anyway . . . from the sound of my mother's voice, now I don't really have a choice but to. Guess it's time to stop being stingy and share my man with my family.
We lay down again and he gets a comb and combs my wild hair gently.
Him: "When you gonna braid your hair, Babe? In the morning?
(Every few months I give MY hair a rest from the weaves, braids and perms and live by half-wigs for a few weeks as I am now. I cornrow my thick-only-manageable-after-hours-of-attention-a-few-inches-passed-my-shoulders-lengthed hair throughout the week and take cornrows out during the weekend. Since it was Sunday night and my hair was unbraided "Rocky" was concerned.)
Me (eyes closed): "Yep"
"Rocky" (sitting up): You already be running late in the mornings. Get up.
I comply and sit up to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, comb in hand, waiting for me to take my seat on the floor between his legs.
I get a pillow to sit on and lay my head on his knee as he parts and cornrows my hair.
When he was finished, I went to sleep and dreamt about the sun's reflection on the water
Damn, I miss feeling like I did in December 2007....
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