So we all know my date went right in the crapper last night. By the time my second wind wore off and I was ready for bed at 1am, my husband had woken up from his power nap and wanted to know what had happened to our date. My response was to roll over in my most unflattering pair of sweatpants and old P.A.L t-shirt and go to sleep.
This morning all my kids woke up at once, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like squirrels on crystal meth and I felt like I had the worst hangover in the world, even though all I had to drink was water and Dr. Pepper. It took forever for me to log roll myself out of bed and even at that, I just rolled into the living room and laid on the couch. I gave the baby a bottle and some dry cheerios, turned on Nick, Jr and tried to muster up the energy for a run to the bagel store.
For some strange reason, my pervie husband found this extremely attractive. He decided he was going to make his best effort to woo me out of my crusty sweatpants and reclaim date night, only on Sunday morning.
Firstly, my husband has no game. It is sad really, but my friend Paul and I did some research on this. Men that are really good-looking don’t have to work at having game because women are always throwing themselves at them anyway. Whereas my friend Paul, who I happen to think is very cute, but he says no, can charm the pants off of anyone because he has spent years honing his skills.
Secondly, I suppose he has never met his sons, CB and CB jr. I can’t even go to the bathroom without an interruption and this man thinks he is going to get a few minutes alone with me? I do believe he has lost his mind.
So my poor husband spent the morning pursuing me around the house, trying to persuade me to give up the drawers. Now I knew it wouldn’t work and that it would never happen. Even if we could sneak off for a while, I would be distracted by the oldest brother torturing the youngest brother or the baby waking from his nap or the big one beating on the door to tell us something that he thought was important.+
I don’t know if I was delirious from exhaustion or if I thought his wooing technique was so pathetic that I found it funny, but I caved. We snuck off and tried, I mean really put our best efforts in to have ten minutes of intimacy. We tried for over an hour and did not succeed. It was quite possibly the most horrible experience since the last time we tried to squeeze some lovin in during the day.
First, Quinn came knocking, five different times at five-minute intervals to snuggle, ask me to put the straw in his Capri sun, tie his shoe, tell me had to poop and just to say hi. It was actually funny and cute. He clearly went to the same CB school as his brother.
Then Liam is no dummie. If Geno and I are alone in our room, something is going on. He thinks we are either talking about stuff he wants to know, planning a party or arguing and he is not having it. So now all of a sudden, he has to put clothes in the hamper, tattle on Quinn or wants to tell me about some b.s. going on at school. He was relentless.
Then, as if on cue, the ladybug woke up. And now I have the female equivalent of blue balls. And no one is going to get laid later because none of the adults in this house can stay up past ten and we all know the Game of Thrones is on tonight. It is nothing short of a miracle that I managed to get pregnant with child two and child three. What a way to close out a weekend.