It's my Birthday, though.

My birthday was on a Thursday night and no amount of offspring was going to keep me from putting on a dress and going out to get some attention.

Husband did not want to come because he "wanted to spend time with the kids" and "finish hanging up the laundry". I'm sorry he makes all your husbands look as good as Tiger Woods. The man works 164 hours a week and when he gets home he says, "I'll hang up the clean clothes, I know you think there are terrorist scorpions playing in them."

Click here to know my scorpion hell.

Husband is a saint.

Son is a christian. A big one.

Whenever I put him to sleep at night, he always wants me to say a prayer. I keep the prayer as generic as I can because being insincere makes me want to punch myself in the throat. It usually goes something along the lines of this:

"Dear Jesus or God. Please keep everyone we like happy. Please let me and everyone I like not have nightmares about fireballs or people I like not being safe or happy."

Then Adrian chimes in something he's been thinking about:

"and please let my Mama not say another cuss word."

(His guinea pig that has emotional issues bit me while I was giving him water. If that doesn't deserve an Oh Shit, then I don't know anything that does.)

other examples of his prayer endings:




"...and please let us give that homeless man our house"



"...and please let Mama remember to buy batteries and gogurt tomorrow"



"...and please when I ask for something that you promise to give it to me. Like money or being a super-hero"



"...and please let Daddy not slap Mama on the butt again. ever."



"...and please let my sister not bitch-slap other kids at school tomorrow" (I may have embellished this one)




The night of my birthday was his most heart-felt and honest prayer he had ever articulated.



I had on a little black dress and was leaving the house with too much lipstick, bright pink 24 inch shoes, and told Husband I wouldn't be home until 11. I gave the both the kids a hug and thanked Husband for being super-Dad.

After I left, and Husband was putting Adrian to bed, he gave his even more awkward version of a prayer than mine:



"Dear Father God. Thank you for giving us things that make us happy. Thank you for oreos. Please let everyone stay in bed and not pee the sheets or have bad dreams. Amen."

"Wait, Daddy. I need to pray for Mama.........................................

..................

...........Please let Mama not meet any boys tonight that are cuter than Daddy."

Then he gives Husband a reassuring pat as to say "There ya go. I feel your pain, buddy."

Husband says "Um.....Amen...?"

"Because, God, if she meets boys that are cuter than Daddy then maybe someday she will have another son and then he would be my step-brother. Me and Daddy don't want me to have a step-brother. Amen"

"Well. I guess that's a damn good prayer, Son"

"And please let Daddy not say damn."

Amen.