Morbid Mondays

Dear Second Wife,

Let me just reiterate: I am planning on living to at least 80 years old. I want to hold grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I want a candy dish at my house with really hard candy inside for all the little kids when they come to our house. I plan on cooking meals for all of our family and being completely ignorant of all the scrambling going on behind me in my own kitchen to keep the whole house from burning down. Real Gil will mow the lawn until our grandson gets hired to do the job, and we'll watch from inside, wanting to get every penny's worth out of him. We are going to pass gas, talk about our ailments, and never take another fish oil capsule as long as we live. We're going to read and pray and putter around like we're busy.

I don't plan on giving even one little bit of this to you, but I also know that "Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails." (Prov. 19:21) If He so chooses, the gang is all yours. And all the beautiful chaos of life that comes with them.

But until then, picture me like a territorial toddler with my favorite toy. Don't touch it. Don't touch my stuff. I'm just not feeling the love today. In fact, this just might be my last Morbid Monday. It's exhausting.



But I'm nothing if not practical. And controlling. This week, a few things popped into my mind that you should probably know...

• I think we have overdue library books, and I have no idea where they are. Check Punkin's basket of books in her bedroom. If you can't find them, I am thinking this is the perfect time to play the "widow-married-me-I'm-clueless" card and hopefully that will get you off the hook. Or at least out of the library fines. You can blame it all on me - the wife that wanted literate children.
  
• If the Little Man takes a really long nap, you can always use Sugs to wake him up. She sneaks in to get some missing item and will no doubt wake him up with her three-year old definition of quiet. Just this week, I heard her "sneak" in to his room, wrestle with a few toys, and then, before you know it, the little guy is awake and grumpy. Unaware of my dismay, Sugs marched out proudly with arms full of toys. "I woke him up, so we can go to Gramma's house now. And he wasn't even mad at me. He's just screaming." And so he was.
  
• If you venture to the public swimming pool, make sure you take food with you and three pairs of goggles. Also, wear a one-piece suit so that Sugs doesn't start the fire and brimstone talk. We still don't know where she got this. Oh, and believe the kids when they say they need to go to the bathroom. They do. And you don't earn any Mother of the Year Awards for ignoring bathroom pleas at the public swimming pool.
  
• It has never crossed my mind that you might have children of your own. I suppose that will just have to do, if indeed Real Gil marries you. Sigh. In an effort to help the transition go well, might I recommend a "special box" for each of my children, in which they can put any of their extra special things that they don't want to share with your kids? Punkin' will need to put her Legos, MagnaTiles, and lots of art supplies. Sugs will cram in as many weird outfits as she can, usually consisting of leotards, tutu skirts, and princess dresses. (And she has the audacity to criticize my swimsuit?!) The Little Man loves his dump truck. Don't even try to touch it, and certainly don't let your children touch it. He truly will become the wicked stepbrother if they do. And if you do, you will become the wicked stepmother, and not by any sabotage on my part. It will be solely by your own doing. Do. Not. Touch.
• I have known for quite some time that Real Gil does not like the crock-pot. Slow, convenient cooking just doesn't work for him. Or at least my recipes in the crock-pot. With Queen K's amazing carnitas being the only exception, he says that everything that comes out of it tastes the same - shredded. Fall-apart moist just isn't how he wants his meat. So, if you march in here with one of those suckers all ready to plug in, you just might want to march it back out. OR, you can cook with it and make me look even better. Totally up to you. By the way, Queen K will be guest blogging sometime in the near future. She is one loyal gal and she happens to like me. Perhaps not such good news for you. But she loves Jesus so she'll have to get over it and love you. Maybe she'll even give you the only crock-pot recipe that satisfied.
  

In the meantime, I'm off to cook and clean for this family of mine. Key word: mine. Yes it is, and like a three-year old in a tantrum, I say you can't have it.

Much Love,
The Still Kickin' First Wife