At home for my sister’s wedding, I made a joke that I bought the highest heels I could find to wear for the wedding, because SoldierMan hadn’t come and “I could wear whatever I wanted.” The joke fell flat, because no one understands inside jokes except the people inside them.
Yes, at home and for special functions, I wear flats. Pretty sandals, usually, or at most kitten heels. SoldierMan is what we call “infantry sized,” and if I wear 5 inch heels, it makes our pictures look off, to me. (And you know how I feel about properly composed pictures.) Apparently, that’s considered some kind of an unreasonable concession, even within marriage. #whyimnotafeminist
We went to the beach to go snorkeling the other day. It was the first really sunny day we’ve had here in a while. Hello, rainy season. Unfortunately, as soon as we got to the beach, Baby G reached the breaking point of exhaustion from several weeks of activity, teething, and inconsistent sleep schedules. So she had to take a nap. Immediately. On me. And only on me.
So I sat down in our little beach chair and let her curl up on my chest. SoldierMan stayed on the beach with us, while everyone else got in the water, and kept the umbrella shade over us, passed me water, kept me sunscreened where I couldn’t reach because sleeping baby, and eventually set up a little towel palate so I could set Baby G down and cool off. He hovered over us.
The next day, we had a quiet day at home to “recover” from the long, hot day before. How did he spend it? Mowing the lawn. Cleaning up after the dogs. Moving Baby G’s playset and watering the grass where it had set. Pruning our plants. Doing laundry. Then we took the dogs to the vet.
He has been shuttling my relatives back and forth across Oahu, usually nearly 2 hours a trip. He had the house cleaner than it’s been since we moved here when I came back from Oklahoma. This morning, he squeezed me and whispered “Happy Anniversary,” before getting out of bed, taking Baby G downstairs, and fixing her breakfast, so I wouldn’t have to get up.
So I have 3 sets of high heels to my name, and they may each get worn once a year. Maybe. Do I “miss” wearing heels? Nah. That’s a man I’ll wear flats for.