|best couple shot ever! we love taking pictures together!!! so much fun!!!|
"Rob, you home?" I asked.
I looked in the bedroom and then the bathroom. As I walked in, I saw him in the tub taking a bath, just laying there completely still. Never a good sign. Rob only takes a bath when he's working out something in his brain. It's his thinking chair.
He looked up at me and said, "Hey."
I was blissfully unaware of him at this point, the endorphins must have been kicking in. I looked at myself in the mirror in front of the medicine cabinet. My face was completely red and splotchy, but I felt good. I went back to the living room and started taking my shoes off. I watched Rob walk down the hallway, wrapped in a towel, still thinking about something.
He looked at my and asked, "Did you stop blogging and writing because of me?"
Ha! This is what's bothering him? "Ehh, no. It has nothing to do with you. I haven't stopped blogging. Or writing. I just took a break over the summer. The kids were driving me crazy. It's really that simple."
Still, he looked distressed. "I just feel like you have a lot of regrets."
Whaa? Where is all this coming from? "Of course I have regrets," I responded. "It boggles my mind when people say they don't have regrets. What, are they perfect? They never made a mistake? There's a million things I would tell my 18-year-old self if I could. Most people would." I started thinking about all the movies about time travel because it's such a universal dilemma . . . Back to the Future, Peggy Sue Got Married, Back to the Future Part II! Tons of movies. I can't be alone in this.
He was still acting weird for the next 15 minutes, asking me all these bizarre life questions. Especially at 8am in the morning. That's when he confessed.
He needed a notebook for a meeting today and found one in my dresser. It was a notebook he received a while ago from work with his company's logo on it. Perfect, he thought. But before he put it in his backpack, he flipped through it to make sure it had a few blank pages. What he found was my handwriting. One day last April, I used the notebook as a journal. 14 pages worth of stay-at-home-mom angst. He read every page while I dropped the kids off at school this morning.
When he showed me the notebook, and told me he read it, I didn't even remember what I wrote in it. I could have written anything 6 months ago. I scanned it over and found page after page filled with garbage about how "No one knows the real me!" Stupid shit like, "I've been writing so much for my blog that I've been losing track of myself. It's not that what I write online is very different, it's just not exactly me. It's so damn edited." Basically it was 14 pages of self loathing rubbish I would never want people to read or care about in the first place. That's why I put it in a journal. With a rubber band around it. And forgot about it for six months.
I explained all this to him until he realized the ridiculousness of the situation and apologized for being so weird.
Before he walked out of the door he said, "This would make a good blog post." I certainly agree.
As a peace offering, I'm expecting him to bring me home a diary with a lock and key. With wild horses on it. He just better not read what I'm going to write about this event. It ain't going to be this nice!