Communication

So, The Queen and M&M have a play date today on the other side of the world from Castle Erickson. Daddy Hawk's office just happens to be on the way from point A to point B. Add to that the fact that The Queen and I are going to be playing volleyball (okay, The Queen is playing...I am doing my retarded labrador retriever imitation) with folks from work tonight, and it just made sense to carpool today.

Daddy Hawk and M&M have a pretty good morning routine going. I get up at 5:30ish (depending on how late I was stupid enough to got to bed) and go take care of immediate needs while trying to prevent certain bodily noises from waking up the entire house. After Daddy Hawk's morning inspection of the porcelain throne, M&M is usually stirring. So, after she gets a clean diaper, she and I head off to the kitchen for her morning cereal bottle (3 parts formula to 1 part rice cereal). After that, I head for the shower and M&M finishes her bottle following which she decides that the back of her eyelids are much more visually stimulating than the pre dawn darkness. Sometime between 7:00 and 8:00, I leave the house to brave traffic.

Adding The Queen to this routine.....changes things....a bit.

We did manage to leave the house (the first time) at around 7:00 this morning which is a pretty good accomplishment in and of itself given that The Queen is not a morning person. However, as The Queen's chariot was warming up we have the following conversation:

The Queen: It's cold [ed. it was 39 degrees with light wind gusts]. Would you go get my gloves?

Me: Where are they?

The Queen: In the closet.

Me: Where in the closet? [ed. it's a fairly large closet mostly stuffed with The Queen's attire]

The Queen: Left side as you walk in the door on the right side.

Me: Up, down, middle?

The Queen: Middle.

Me: Okay.

I get out of the car, shiver a little at the cold and wind, unlock the front door, go to the master closet and locate a pair of black, women's gloves in the middle of the shelves on the right side of the left wall as you enter the closet. Turn out the lights, lock the front door, shiver a little at the cold and the wind and hop back into the chariot.

Me: Here you go sweetie.

The Queen: Those aren't the right gloves.

Me: Your kidding.

The Queen: No. I wanted the brown gloves. There were three pair sitting there.

Me: You didn't say anything about which pair you wanted? You asked for gloves. I brought you gloves. Me man...one pair gloves.

The Queen: I don't want those.

Me: So, you want me to go back and get you the brown pair, right?

The Queen: Yes, please.

I get out of the car, shiver a little at the cold and wind, unlock the front door, go to the master closet and locate a pair of white mittens with some black design knitted into them and a pair of light tan gloves, not brown mind you...tan, in the middle of the shelves on the right side of the left wall as you enter the closet just under where I found the black gloves. I see no brown gloves. She asked for brown gloves. There's NO brown. I decide that she clearly does not want white with black for she said brown and grab the tan pair in the hopes that they are in fact the right pair (given that they are my only remaining option). Turn out the lights, lock the front door, shiver a little at the cold and the wind and hop back into the chariot.


Me: Are these the one's you want?

The Queen: No.

Me: [brow furrowing, dark clouds gathering]

The Queen: I'm just kidding. Yes, those are the ones.

Me: Those are not brown. Those are tan. Barely a shade darker than white.

The Queen: [pointing to a small...tiny really...tag sewn into the glove at the wrist] See, there's some brown.

Me: [putting tan gloves next to brown purse] This is brown...that is tan. You need to use a little more specificity in your communication [ed. there is some delicious irony in this statement...trust me.].

So, anygloves, the drama of the hand warmers is settled, and we merrily trundle off to Starbucks for our poisons of choice (iced tea for me {yes, I know I am weird for drinking iced tea when it is 39 degrees out. I blame my mother} and decaf coffee for her). I get out of the car, shiver a little at the cold and wind, go into Starbucks, get our drinks, go back outside, shiver a little at the cold and the wind and hop back into the chariot.

The Queen: Where's M&M's coat?

Me: [holding up a pink winter coat] Right here.

The Queen: No, the red one with the pink stripe.

Me: Back at the house. Do we need to go get it?

The Queen: Will the pink one be warm enough?

Me: I think so.

The Queen: Well, I don't want to make you late for work.

Me: [suppressing a chuckle] It's okay.

Start the car, head in the general direction of home and work (Starbucks was a mile away from the direct path to work, but there is no Starbucks convenient to my commute until you get almost to the office).

Me: Did you remember to get the foccasia bread [ed. for the play date lunch]?

The Queen: Uhhh...no. I have mommy brain really bad.

We get back to the house. I get out of the car, shiver a little at the cold and wind, unlock the front door, go to the kitchen, get the foccasia bread and the red coat with the pink stripe, turn out the lights, lock the front door, shiver a little at the cold and the wind and hop back into the chariot.


The Queen: Did you get M&M's sippy cup with juice?

Me: No. I thought you said the diaper bag was ready.

The Queen: It just dawned on me.

Me: Where is the sippy cup?

The Queen: In the dishwasher [ed. which happens to be dirty because it was not full and I didn't run it last night.].

Me: What kind of juice do you want for her?

The Queen: Apple juice.

Me: Should I warm it up?

The Queen: Yes, please.

[ed. bear in mind that we both have the giggles at this point with The Queen adding sheepishness to her voice and me adding my best droll, long suffering husband voice for effect.]

Me: Anything else?

The Queen: No.

Me: You sure?

The Queen: yes.

Me: [holding up the house keys] It's your turn.

The Queen: I don't want to.

Me: Uh uh. I'm going to sit here and relax and enjoy my tea.

The Queen: I hurt [ed. The Queen has not been feeling well of late dealing with a chronic infection that is resisting our efforts to kill it.].

Me: Okay.

I get out of the car, shiver a little at the cold and wind, unlock the front door, go to the kitchen, warm up some apple juice, turn out the lights, lock the front door, shiver a little at the cold and the wind and hop back into the chariot.


Believe it or not, I made it to work more or less on time.