I watched a couple kids over the weekend as per the Marriage Conference and there being a general lack of single people around, I was asked to by Nancy, regardless of what people may be thinking in their heads... Have I ever even seen Rachel around a small child? But I have been around two small children now.

On Saturday, I woke up on the couch to Isaac yelling my name from his bedroom. I thought it was still around 4a.m., (it was 7:30)
"MISS RACHEL, I WET THE BED!"
"No you didn't, you are wearing a pull-up." I told him.
"Oh. Can I get up now?"
"I guess."

And I realized, when you have kids, not only do you work all week to put their needs first, but you also have to do this all weekend. And when you were twenty two, you could wake up late, eat waffles, go back to bed, and then watch OnDemand all day until you apply your face and go to church.
I heaved a sigh of relief that I am still twenty two, and I vowed to let my poor future children watch as many episodes of Alec-Baldwin-narrated-Thomas-the-Tank-Engine as they want on Saturdays. But also to teach them to read when they are four. Maybe this will even things out.

"You are married, right?" Isaac asked me at lunch time.
"Ha! Noooooo. Definitely not."
"You are married!" He yelled at me, and put on his pouty face, which he does whenever you contradict anything he says.
"Nope. If I was married, I would be at the marriage conference, or at home watching my kids. Why do you think I am married?"
"BECAUSE YOU ARE MARRIED." He yelled back.
"Okay."

Sometimes, after a glass of wine, I think I am married. To Bob. I think Bob and I live in Holladay or Salt Lake, and that he is kind enough to me to never think about getting a dog. I don't think about how we ended up married, but we accidentally did, and I sleep well at night because of the gun sitting on the night-stand. We do not have a car-port, because car-ports are terrifying. Car-ports are always the beginnings of my worst nightmares ending in me chopping at the brachial or carotid arteries of a bad guy with a car key.

I think I dream this dream because of reading my friend Kristie's blog, and she seems to live in a gingerbread house and writes her life in lists of things she's living through with her husband.

Bob, maybe if I had let you ask me to dance instead of running and hiding in the bathroom, we could have had this life together. But you are fine and I am fine too.