potpourri

A few days ago, Marcus came striding into our bedroom with a tell-tale jingling sound following him.  He pulled from his pajama pants pocket four bottles of pills and threw them to the bed as he climbed in.  He sighed, "I look like a damn cancer patient!" This response caught us both by surprise and good chuckle was had.

This same man came home today with a fire under him and proceeded to move all the furniture so he could vacuum underneath.  By Marcus' definition, this is real vacuuming.  I try to check the vacuuming chore off my list about once (gasp!) a week.  He always notices but often will ask me, "did you move stuff?"  This is when I gesture towards the squirming poo machine on his playmat or Tornado Sue busily emptying her Lego box over the fresh carpet and say, "Yes, I moved them and that should be good enough!"

Same day and with the same fire, Marcus is doing the dinner dishes.  I help by stowing away the perishables (we had fajitas, if you wonder).  For whatever reason I am singing Paula Abdul's "Opposites Attract".  I find that I still remember the words to this song, and am quite pleased with myself.  Marcus could care less until I take "two steps forward" and dance up on him Night at the Roxbury style, only to have him crack the tiniest smile.  He's always a tough crowd, but I find it keeps my own comedy sharp.