flipflop_diva

My husband is a great guy, a great husband and a great dad. He works hard to try and give the kids and me a good life, but he also always makes times for us — to just sit and talk to me or to get on the floor and play Legos with Ellie. We all take walks together, we eat together and, in the summer, when the temperature nears 100, we go in the pool together.

He is generous, he is kind and he has a great sense of humor.

But for all of his wonderful qualities, there are times (actually, many, many times) in our life together where all sense of reason and common sense just go flying out the window. I like to refer to those as his ‘Omg!David!’ moments.

And it’s not just the times where it’s more an accidental series of incidents that seem to only happen to him, like losing his wedding ring three times in two years — once, just walking down the street; the second in the pool at the hotel in Cabo, where we were on vacation with my whole family; and the third in the lazy river on our weekend getaway before Ellie was born. (He now has a five-pack of rings stored safely in a dresser drawer in case he loses any more.)

Nor is it moments that could just be explained by inexperience, like the first time I left him alone to dress Ellie and he put her bloomers on over her pants instead of under them.

But it’s just moments where the only thing left to possibly be said is simply, “Oh my, god, David.”

One of my favorites happened around the new year. We’d been watching The Mandalorian, and Ellie really liked Grogu (or Baby Yoda, to those who don’t watch). David had bought me a little Grogu for Christmas that makes noise and goes to sleep and spreads out his hands. Ellie liked watching it and talking to it.

David, as we were watching Ellie watch Grogu one night, decided to be funny and changed his Starbucks profile name to Grogu, so when he placed orders through the app, that would be the name called.

I told him I was never going into a Starbucks with him again, and he just laughed and said his new name was cool.

Fast-forward a few days later and we decided to get some Starbucks to go with our Saturday morning breakfast. David took the dog and headed out to pick up our drinks while I stayed with Ellie. He returned twenty minutes later looking sheepish.

I asked him what was wrong.

“I forgot to change the name on my profile back,” he admitted. “So I told them I had an order for David, and they couldn’t find it. They looked everywhere, and then I checked my account, and I had to tell them it was an order for Grogu.”

He shook his head. “It was so embarrassing.”

He changed it back a couple minutes later and has not attempted to do that again.

Another particular favorite happened just about four weeks ago now.

Every Wednesday night, after we put Ellie to bed, I put on the same pair of shorts and tank top and have David take a photo of me, standing in the same spot each time, so we can track the growth of my baby bump.

It’s definitely more pronounced this pregnancy than with Ellie, but that’s common with second babies and I started off heavier than I did with her.

But four weeks ago, when I was 20 weeks along, David took my photo and then was staring at it on his phone, comparing it to photos from the past weeks.

Finally, he looked up at me.

“I think you’re a good size right now,” he said, “And I think it should stay like that.”

I stared at him. “You know it’s not going to stay like this, right?”

“No,” David said, “I think it’s as big as it’s going to get. It’s about the size from last time.”

I tried again. “We have 20 weeks to go. The baby doesn’t even weigh a pound yet. It’s definitely not as big as it’s going to get.”

David frowned, like he did not think any of these were good points. “Really?” he said after a while, still very doubtful.

“Really,” I said.

He didn’t say anything right then, but spoiler alert — it’s been almost four weeks since then and there is definite growth.

Another classic conversation happened when Ellie was first learning how to walk. I had taken her to the doctor for her normal check-up and had been talking to her pediatrician about child-proof locks for all the cabinets, especially in the kitchen and the bathrooms.

Her doctor had recommended getting magnetic ones, and I told David I thought that was a good idea because none of our kitchen cabinets have handles on them.

He looked confused at the whole process. “But how do they work?” he asked.

I explained how they go on the inside of the cabinet and on the doors so the force of the two magnets keeps Ellie from being able to open them and get inside.

David scratched his head, still looking confused. Finally, he said, “I get that. But how do we open them?”

I just looked at him. “Because you’re stronger than a toddler?”

I’m still not sure he was convinced.

There are so many more stories — from conversations (like the time he proudly explained how he had run a marathon and then ended it by saying “It was a 5K”) to actions (mowing over the internet cable probably fits in here) — all of them equally amusing.

Sometimes, I think I should write a book with some of them. It’d be a best-seller and we’d be millionaires (since that whole lottery winning thing has yet to work out).

Instead, I usually just shake my head and sigh. At least life is never boring when David is around.

Non-fiction. I should have mentioned that I think he comes by it genetically. When Ellie was turning one, David's mom flew out for her birthday. But before she came, she asked me if it would be okay to wear a faux fur coat or if Alexa (our dog) would think she was meat and eat her. What do you even say to that?

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