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May 02

Why I’d marry him all over again

Relationships are complicated.  And there’s really no way to figure out what ties people together.  Children and bank accounts, shared responsibilities and obligations.  One thing I never doubt with Marc is that the two of us are a team, a partnership, working together towards the same goals.  It’s been an absolute, undeniable reality from the very beginning with us, and it only gets stronger as time goes on.

But there’s more than just the teamwork thing.  It’s more than just the kids and the obligations.

Julie dumped out the last of my cream this morning.  I always have two, sometimes three cups of coffee in the morning and usually at least one and sometimes two in the afternoon.  I have a migraine tendency (I know, the coffee doesn’t help it in theory, but not having it makes it a hell of a lot worse), and I’ve got one today.

I got up bright and early, got the kids dressed, fed, brushed, and out the door.  We’ve got my stepdaughter Sarah for a couple of days, so there was an extra body bopping around and an extra lunch to pack.  I got them off to school, and came home to a sad and miserable Julie.  No real reason, just sad.  So I picked her up, gave her a snuggle, and brought her into to make my second cup of coffee.

One of her all time favorite activities is “mixing.”  Just, literally, mixing stuff.  So I made the coffee, and let her mix.  To cheer her up.  I don’t normally prop the child up with a cup of hot coffee and an open container of cream, and believe me, I won’t do it again.  While she was mixing, I was loading the dishwasher and not precisely paying attention.  When she sweetly inquired if I liked more cream in my coffee, I wasn’t paying attention.  I agreed, yes, Mama does like cream in her coffee.  Then she dumped ALL the cream EVERYWHERE.

Tears ensued, because not only was she wet with cream, she had completely ruined the coffee.  Marc came to assist, took over cleaning while I comforted (which is actually a thing we do – that’s our standard mode of dealing with vomit as well, I take the kid, he takes the puke).  By the time I got Julie calmed down and dressed, Marc had dumped out ALL the coffee, the cream soaked cup and the remaining coffee in the pot.  There was no coffee left for me, no hope of salvaging the cup by dumping half out and pouring in black to restore coffee equilibrium.  It was gone.

I was so sad.  So headachey and sad.  I’ve been trying to coax the girl into going shopping, which I need to do anyway, so that I could get more cream and fix the coffee deficit, but she’s adamant that she doesn’t want to go.  I’m bigger, and I could drag her, but really, when you’ve got a migraine, dragging a 30+lb screaming toddler is so not what you want to do.

He brought me coffee.  Even though he’s running late, even though we’re all budget conscious and trying to save money, he bought me coffee from down the street and delivered it to me.  Four motrin later, I can open my eyes and the pain in receding.

I adore Marc Cohen with every fiber of my being.  And while I love my life with him, our three beautiful children, my wonderful stepchildren, our apartment and our bills and all the other reasons that we’re together – at the end of the day – he’s just awesome, and he loves me and I’m incredibly grateful for it today.

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