uh, just kidding, Blay.
Being a person who is all for delegation, I am letting someone else write about how they embarrass themselves. I don't know if I've formally introduced Blay, but she has been a friend since the teen years (you know, about 5 years now), and I believe I've mentioned her here before. Those of you who know her know why I call her Blay, and those of you that don't know her should, because she's a lot of fun! She is another friend, like Lob, who I believe I chiefly bonded to in high school because we had these things in common: 1) we ate. you know, real meals. that wasn't normal. 2) we were lazy. And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. And not only is she fun, eating, and lazy, but I've discovered that she's also great for coming through in times of crisis. And I don't just mean the little stuff, like realizing that we should always sit together on awards day, so that we would never again be the only individuals left in our respective pews by the end of the ceremony, I mean the big stuff. It's like her mind is especially keen in picking up stupid behavior. I don't even have to explain. But then she can retract her brain from thinking in dumb sympathy with me, and be the voice of reason.
Anyway, I'm not doing her justice right now because it is past my bedtime. So I'll cut to it - here's Blay's Christmas story:
Special Christmas Memories
Ah, Christmas. For those of us who live far away, this is a wonderful time for family and friends to reunite and cherish the short-lived time together. This year, in particular, was special to me because of my new daughter, who arrived into this world 2 months prematurely and would certainly have perished had she been born, say, 50 years ago. She couldn’t eat on her own and gave us the fright of blood in her stool when she was only 3 weeks (or negative 4 weeks) old. I’m proud to say that she is now a gluttonous 17 pounds and a super happy 9 month old. I could go on and on bragging about what a great drooler she is or what an exploratory palette she has, but we’ll save bad mommy stories for another time. Today, I would like to share a tale of Special Christmas Memories.
Since my husband and I are on a holiday rotation, my parents were excited to have Christmas with us this year. For Christmas dinner, we went all out with the goodies – turkey, ham, greens, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, sweet potato pie, etc etc. My mouth is now watering. What was I saying? Oh yeah, so we had this fantastic spread and my parents invited their dearest life friends. One family was comprised of Uncle John, Auntie Ellen and their 24-year-old son, Jonathan. We’re not actually related to these people, but refer to them as Uncle John and Auntie Ellen because that’s practically what they are to me. Uncle John went to college with my mom and they have been family friends since. He never had a daughter and has always treated me as his. The other group was the Sellars, who are also lifelong friends of ours – we used to do our annual Sky Valley trips together every winter. For those of you who are unfamiliar, Sky Valley is the GA “ski slope.” Basically, you get out there in your sweater (yea, in GA in the wintertime, you don’t necessarily even need a coat). You ski perilously down small slopes which are essentially just sheets of ice made by an ice maker (which they refer to as a “snow blower,” but I swear they only make ice). Anyway, you get the point – these are friends, but practically family. Then there’s my mom, dad and 27 year old brother. Well, Annabella had a fun day and just needed to be given a bottle and put down so that we could start the culinary festivities. I took her up to my bedroom where my mom had graciously purchased and set up a crib and sat down to give Annabella her bottle. For any of you who have babies or have ever put a baby down, you know this can be one of the more boring moments. Unless, of course, you’re one of those people who watches your baby in amazement at what they’ve become and reflect on the miracles of life while feeding your baby the nutrients it needs to grow. Whatever. For me, this is a time when I have to sit in dim lighting, almost perfectly still, making little to no noise and wait for the baby to drift off into her slumber while I try not to fall asleep myself. Add to that the smells of the delightful treats downstairs wafting up into my room and you have one bored, hungry lady looking for conversation or food. Enter my husband. He comes to check in and I grab him in conversation. Ladies and gentlemen, what is the best way to keep a captive male audience? I used the wisdom of women through all time and talked to him about sex. Here’s how it goes:
Brian is about to leave the room when I desperately call out: I had a dream last night that we had sex.
Brian (turning, with interest): oh yea?
Me: Yea, I was in the bed and you had just come in from swimming or something. You had no shirt on and you looked really sexy. And then we had sex.
Brian: Cool. Oh yeah, and next time you tell me something like that, you should make sure the monitor’s off.
The monitor refers of course to the baby monitor. This is the moment when your heart sinks, your stomach gets that incredible knot and you pray, nay, you beg God that the receiver downstairs is off. Brian leaves to go downstairs and I am stuck upstairs wondering, wondering, wondering. Finally, I put Annabella down to sleep and walk downstairs. And the worst possible outcome awaits – the baby monitor is on full volume. I can hear Annabella’s breathing in the monitor so there’s no question any words whispered would be heard. No one said a word to me – the dinner prayer begins and I whisper to Brian
Me: So…?
Brian: Yep. On.
Christmas dinner ensues with not a word uttered about my dream.
I would like to add here that when she told me this story in person, she said she had been putting a lot of emphasis on the word "sex" - I do believe she was flirting with her husband. Also, I would like to make it clear that her family and guests were all sitting around the dining room table, quietly, with the monitor on the table. Turned all the way up. Her brother was apparently amused, while every one else pretended nothing had happened. That always makes it worse, doesn't it? When no one acknowledges that your clothes just fell off or something? Oh, that reminds me... I know a story Dolly needs to tell...
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