Just call me Mike Tyson

I won't go into all the details but Luke has been a sick little boy since last Thursday.  And it's been emotionally hard and exhausting on him.  And us.  And me especially because a) I'm his mama and when he hurts and cries, I hurt and cry and b) I don't function well on minimal sleep...stress management is not exactly this mama's forte.  Now that he looks like he's on the mend, things are getting back to normal a little at a time.

Last night though...Kelsey and I crawled in bed to go to sleep.  Except instead we left the light on and talked for almost an hour.  We ended up laughing so hard and it was great to just goof off before bed.  We got to laughing about a story from waaaay back when we first moved in together - and of course, I was all "that's hilarious.  I'm so putting it on the blog" and he rolled his eyes as he tends to do when I declare what's making the cut onto the blog.  So....this is me.  Putting it on the 'ol blog. 

[AND..... SCENE!]

When Kelsey and I first moved in together, we lived in a "transitional" neighborhood.  Which really was my way to convince myself that living on the edge of the ghetto surely had potential to get better.  And I'm talking straight UP ghetto, like I've seen the neighborhood on the show Dallas SWAT.  Who would have thought, right???  We actually really liked living there mainly because it was soooo different than anything either of us had experienced - well that and we were literally on the cusp of a really, really nice part of town, but that's besides the point. 

Anyways, this house was a little bungalow style house with a huge gameroom added on to the back of it.  It was like 20x20 big...and we thought it was so cool except for the forest green carpet.  But we made it our movie room.  And we used it.  A LOT.  Oooookaaaaay, like for hours on end.  Every weekend.  And one night, we watched a special on boxing and the comeback of....someone.  I don't remember who anymore.  BUT basically, for THREE HOURS(!!!!!) we watched this documentary on boxing.

It was inspirational.  It was motivational.  It was a really feel-good story packed with a some serious punch (pun intended- ha!).

So, the show ends and we are fired up.  We are kind of dancing around with our "guard" up and laughing and dodging fake punches.  Just goofing off.  And then I I had this genius idea

"BABE!!!!  Wait.  Let me go get a pillow and I'll put it in my shirt and you can actually see if you can hit me!  I bet I can totally dodge your hits"

And Kelsey laughed and thought it was the most ridiculous thing ever.  He would totally hurt me for sure.  BUT, he decided that if he put some shoes on my hands he could hit the bottom of the sole and it would absorb the blow. 

Let's pause for a moment while I acknowledge that I know we sound so weird.  Mmmmkay.  That's enough awkward silence.

So anyways, there I am with my running shoes on my hands.  Kelsey said, "Now make sure you keep your arms really really straight....like tighten them up as much as you can...."  So I am standing, arms out in front of me, hands flexed, shoes sticking straight up and I'm flexing with all my might.  And Kelsey takes one jab and my hand flies back a little.  We laugh uncontrollably.  He takes another and it's the same thing.  Laughing, laughing and...

Let's pause again and acknowledge that my husband out weighs me at this point by....oh, let's just say he's about 2.5 or 3x my size.  Mmmmmkay, continuing....

As we are really getting the hang of it, he gives it all he's got (he still swears he was at 20% but)... my hand goes flying back (with the shoe on it) and knocks me in the face, dropping me to the ground like a stack of bricks.  I was sure my nose had exploded on my face.  I had images of black eyes and swollen lips.  And somewhere in my mind, I thought about how nasty the freaking carpet was that I was laying on. So there I was, laying on the gross carpet, bawling and wondering how long it would take to recover from my nose job I was sure I would need.  Kelsey sat down with me feeling terrible.  He would never admit it now, but I swear he was crying about to cry as he kept saying how sorry he was. 

So, anyways, that's the story I went to bed thinking about last night...smiling and laughing at the idiots we were (and sometimes still are)!  Taking care of sick babies is serious work, but having fun times to laugh about -- and knowing that there are so many more-- left me laying in bed awake for quite a while, thinking of all the memories we still have to make.  As a couple.  As a family.  And what a good feeling that is!

But, poor Luke.  He better hope his daddy will teach him to keep his guard up because mommy is clearly not the expert!