Cleft In Twain

Yesterday was the Ides of March and six years to the day from Hubby's and my first date. Yes, we remember those silly little things but don't really celebrate them with anything more than an "Oh, by the way, Happy Anvil Nursery," pause, smooch, move along to fry our bigger fish. It shouldn't have been an auspicious beginning since it occurred on such an historically unlucky day but hey, whatever. It's only bad for the king who dies. It's great for the next guy in line, right?

The Beans had a perfectly happy playdate yesterday with another set of twins-- super-cute little boys born just three days after the Beans. These twins are also consonantly-named, and, like the Beans, one's just a little lighter-toned than the other. Hubby and I really enjoyed the parents, too. Very cool people, just like us ;)

For some reason, though, I was under the impression that Hubby knew these guys, but he met them at the same time I did which was yesterday as we approached the park. I've made a mental note (which I'm certain to forget) to double-check next time we're heading out the door whether or not we're going on another blind playdate. Alas, I don't think this will be the final surprise Hubby springs on me, but at least it's better than the last one and not as bad as the one he gave me this afternoon, either, when he broke a glass bowl cleanly in half.

When Hubby and I got married I kind of expected, albeit stupidly, to eventually feel like I knew my husband. After six years, I can say that I know to expect the unexpected. How to describe Hubby in general? Enigmatic is too strong a word and not even close to the mark. He's very easy to understand, though certainly not simple. He's easy-going yet still frequently high-maintenance. He's mostly happy-go-lucky yet occasionally petulant when he doesn't get his way. He has stratospherically high standards to which he holds himself and is ridiculously obstinate so in short, I guess we're made for each other since only we can annoy, amuse, abuse and adore each other all at the same time in so many different ways.

Confused yet? Don't worry, I'm right there with you.

Last July-- not even a year ago-- I encouraged my suddenly non-schlubby Hubby to join a cycling group. That's BIcycling, not MOTORcycling. When he and I met in college, his bike had just been stolen from his doorstep and he was bummed about it. Last May, one of the members of my mother's club offered up an old one and I responded with interest, promising that if Hubby didn't use it, that I'd donate the bike to Uncle Mac's school for adults with disabilities. After a couple of months in the carport, Hubby surprised me and took the gray-and-pink bike on the road and he hasn't looked back. He's now got killer legs, a decent tan in the summer months, a ton more energy, and his team is racing throughout the Spring. He's gotten really involved in the cycling club and is making a lot of friends in the cycling community and that's how he learned about our new friends with twins. He likes to go on the weekends, both Saturday and Sunday mornings which I don't totally love AT ALL, but hey, he needs a break sometime, right? Don't get me wrong, I've really been trying to support im through it but seriously, I feel sometimes like strangling him when he's all gung-ho to hop on the bike and pedal away with nary a backward wave on the weekends when I could so very much use ONE morning off, so the issue has been a bit of an obstacle. But, I guess I didn't know just how truly invested he was in the whole cycling thing until last week when he sprung the surprise.

Remember, I had my foot fixed two weeks ago last Thursday. Everything's still held together with stitches and therefore I have to bathe sitting in the shower stall of our bathroom with my foot sticking out the sliding door, leaving it ajar to suck in all the frigid air in the bedroom down low, where I sit, and let all the happy, cozy, steamy warmth escape up top. It totally sucks. And you know what happens when a woman tries to shave her legs in the cold. So, imagine my surprise/ shock/ horror/ resentment when Hubby announced his intention to go leg-hairless. My Hubby? Sans leg shag? I couldn't even imagine!!!

If you've never met Hubby, I have to tell you he's an Uber-Guy. He's never even looked at a Zima without laughing. Chardonnay will NEVER cross his lips and while he can quote Shakespeare with more ease and accuracy than I, he's also the guy who picked up another full-grown man off of me and set him bodily on the bench above us after the drunken idiot fell on me at the 2003 Big Game at Stanford, scaring the poor schmuck so badly that he behaved himself quietly for the rest of the game. Hubby is way more Hemingway than Hugh Jackman and he's always, always, ALWAYS been the guy in the relationship. You know what I mean. And I love that about him! And now, when I find myself so disgustingly unappealing in my Frankenboot and furry legs, he's going to go get in the shower, stand there in the nice warm stall with that delicious wam water cascading all over himself and out-sexy me!

I'm mostly over it now, on Monday. I still can't really think too much about it, nor can I look at those glistening gams in full light because it just gets too real. A couple of my girlfriends were appropriately sympathetic, goading me on with the man-hate and I really appreciate it. Guys don't get the mom thing and what the hell is he doing, leaving you like that AND going and shaving his legs, yadda yadda yadda. But I've decided to make the most of it. In spite of the fact that all of our kids are doing excceptionally well, I have to say that the past 2.5 years have been something of a personal low for yours truly. I've battled post-partum depression, a formerly-rocking-now-wrecked-body, the professional and financial stresses associated with my career going crash-and-burn and the subsequent home foreclosure along with the shift from busy full-time real-estate agent to the mind-numbing isolation of a full-time stay-at-home mom who finds herself on the consuming end of a few boxes of Girl Scout cookies too many.

Fortunately, as soon as the foot's healed-- probably next month-- the weather should be better. I'll get myself a bike, get the Beans a trailer and get myself back into the shape in which I can better appreciate myself. I harbor no illusions that Hubby will stay home while I go out and ride, but rather than letting my resentment fester and grow and divide us, I'll get out there and not kick his ass, but at least work until I can hold my own. As for Hubby, he'll continue to surprise. One thing I know I can count on, though, is the fact that he'll always be there to offer a hand up, just like he's been there through all the crap leading up to this moment. And that'll be good because if I ever try to climb up those slippery legs I'm going to slide right back down. PLOP!!!