When the alarm went off this morning, I rolled over with a scream. "Yeeeooow!" Then a giggle. "I'm James Brown!" My husband, who understood that the scream was directed at my aching back and not at Eddie Money's singing on our clock radio, chimed in with "I feel BAD!" We both lay there giggling for a while.
Sometimes I worry that he doesn't really love me; I mean, he keeps bringing me cake and chocolate even though I desperately need to lose weight. (A paranoid whisper in the back of my brain shrieks "He's trying to kill me!" but I stifle it with chocolate.) But who keeps eating the chocolate, after all? [Total aside: An astute observation from our 4-year-old on this subject has become an aphorism around our house. "Chocolate makes the crying stop." So it does.]
And then there are moments like this morning, and Christmas morning when I explained why I bought him the Pirates! game even after reading some bad reviews and after he'd taken it off his wish list: Secretly, he still wanted it. I knew that, and I want to show him that I love him. But more than that, in these moments, when nobody else in the world can follow our reasoning, we know that we understand each other. And that feels good.