Saturday, August 6, 2011

mr. & mrs. dulanberg.

it really depends on the day.

but there are days.

like today.

when i just like dreaming. of him.

dreaming of him.

as we finally purchase a brand new sofa for our home. strapping it onto the trailer we borrow from the slightly odd but oh-so-delightful-neighbors mr. and mrs. dulanberg.

getting through the front door will be tricky.

but we'll do it.

because we just do stuff like that.

dreaming of him.

teasing me about my obsessions.

as i once again change around the living room artwork. and bring home a new 'surprise' rug with a zesty indian flare that i just absolutely could not resist.

and when i organize the dishwasher by color, size and material. and insist on purchasing fresh flowers weekly for the vase by the bookshelf.

dreaming of him.

as he flips off the lights to hop into bed.

at least, that's what i think he's doing until the room goes silent and he disappears.

playfully i yell out his name, my legs squirming under the sheets.

yup, i know what is coming.

he'll make just-quiet-enough-growling-noises at me in the dark. i'll squeal for him to stop (but really, this is my favorite bedtime game). pitch black. i won't be able to see where he is...

and there i will be. hiding under the covers, laughing hysterically...just waiting for the moment when he will jump up out of nowhere.

and smother me with kisses.

dreaming of him.

he'll tell me that i'm wrong. and that he disagrees.

i am right, he'll say.

we'll argue about it.
i'll probably get annoyed. maybe even pissed.

we'll throw around some sarcastic banter.

have an ongoing competition of who can pull out the wittiest of the witty comments and comebacks.

and never really decide who the winner is.

dreaming of him.

who will respect me. my opinions. my choices. my life. me as an individual. me as a best friend. me as a spouse.

and my cooking
...that will get better with time. i promise.

dreaming of him.

holding our new baby girl.

sitting on that same sofa, cradled in his masculine arms.

he doesn't know that i'm watching from doorway. he doesn't know that i catch that precious moment when a protecting, most loving of looks sweeps delicately across his usually-hard-to-read face.

i see his jawline tighten as he stares at that tiny creature.

and a small tear fall from his sun-tanned cheek.

he looks up to see me--his wife--just standing there. exhausted. my blue eyes hidden by dark circles, followed by a stained white t-shirt, accompanied by the-oh-so-sexy-post-baby-grey-sweatpants (you better believe i'm staying in my vicki-c.'s sweats for as long as i can possibly can get away with it after having my first child).

he smiles and says, 'she is ours.'

i smile back.

deep breath.

yeah, somedays.

somedays. somedays i allow myself to dream.


from keen.