Earlier today, my husband remarked to me (totally out of the blue, too), “Whatever happened to ‘Even though we ain’t got money’?”
I was working at the dining table. The baby was beside me in his booster chair. My second child was on my lap. He’s almost five and it’s really hard to type with his head right in front of my face and my arms having to go around him. The two of them were watching “Signing Time” on one side of my laptop screen while Word was open on the other side. They were eating the butterscotch blondies I’d baked. It was from a mix, but I swirled copious amounts of Nutella on top to make it different and dang if I didn’t convince myself that that made it as good as from scratch. My eldest was on my left, eating an apple and telling me in her theater voice (projected to ring throughout the house) all the drama in Animal Jam, the online game that she’s currently obsessed with.
Things were actually quiet. I’d much rather just focus on the kids, but I’d long accepted that I had to do my little bit in contributing to the family income. That’s not to say that I don’t complain. Because I do — quite a lot, in fact. But I’m trying to tone down the negativity. Even I’m getting bored with it. So, I wasn’t complaining or getting my emo on as I’m prone to do when I’m overwhelming myself with guilt and grief over my lackluster performance in my various present roles.
So my husband walked behind me and said that. “Huh?” was my eloquent reply.
“Our supposed theme song, remember?”
Oh. “Danny’s Song” by Kenny Loggins. I was crazy over that song. “Well, the sentiment was from a clueless girl who knew beans about life.”
He snorts out a little laugh.
“OR! Or it was from some rich and famous singer who made it sound romantic to young dimwits like me!” Why was I getting excited? I was insulting myself.
I guess my husband was continuing our conversation from last night. The one where I was going on about why my friend who copied my biology homework, flunked math, and never even experienced being an honor student had five thriving businesses and was worrying about export credit financing and giving millions to charity for tax benefits while I’m saving up to buy a crummy laminator and paper shredder.
Our pillow talk has become discussions on finances, parenting, finances, parenting, finances, and gossip. There must always be gossip. You know it’s over when you stop sharing gossip. Gah. Don’t believe that. I’m just being facetious. That’s what I do. I’m an incredibly tiresome person, if you can’t already tell.
Technically, “Danny’s Song” still applies. There’s no money. We’re still in love. Chain of love, tear of joy in the morning, blah, blah… still good. And I know that things are gonna basically be okay… I’ll just go and tell my husband that. I bet he’ll say “Huh?” At least, it’s still the same day.