My hubs and I, we have been married now some eight years. Six of those years have been blessed by the presence of Blonde, then the Red. We knew what we were getting in for, we thought. We understood.
We had, basically, a year and three months of marital IT’S JUST US. The rest of it I was either pregnant, giving birth, holding a baby, or toddlered.
I don’t know if you recall your first year and three months of marriage, but, well, we have a code word around here for nookie– we call it “extreme cuddling.” We were very extreme back then.
Or at least, that’s what I remember. I don’t know. My memory is perhaps a bit skewed. This is how I remember marriage pre kids:
“Good morning world! I have awoken by the chirping of sweet birdies outside our window. What, hark! My eyes openeth on their own.” (Not sure why the Shakespearean talk; sleep and bliss do that to me, I guess.)
“Good morning my sweet beloved! Why yes, a cup of coffee would be lovely! What a darling.”
“Yes, cream and sugar. Is this French pressed? Thank you, my sweet prince.”
“Could you pass the crossword puzzle dear? And a pen?”
“Perhaps later you would like to: see a movie, go to the bookstore, visit a coffee shop, walk through piles of leaves, ride tandem on a bike while singing ‘Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head’ or dare I say, all of the above?”
“Oh, you would like to participate in extreme cuddling? But of COURSE! What AN ABSOLUTELY GREAT IDEA! ALWAYS AT THE TOP OF MY LIST. ALWAYS.”
I just read this over to the hubs, and he asked me if I was married before I was married to him. Funny.
Anyhow. Now. Kids. They’re here. Like all the time. I do love the little buggers, but they have seriously done a number on our extreme cuddling. Now, Nookie has been relegated into one of two ideologies (and I realize by even labeling nookie as an “ideology” it implies a heck of a lot of theorizing about the topic occurs before, well, IT occurs). Again, when the hubs read this part his eyebrows shot up off his face in agreement, and he shouted “I KNOW! SO ANNOYING!” and stalked off. Funny.
Ideology one: Attempt nookie like a British soldier in the 18th century.
How, you ask, does extreme cuddling make me think of my 10th grade history class? Bear with me. The Redcoats, from what I remember, had an extremely regimented battle plan. Line up, formation, and proceed. I am pretty sure it was every Friday night that they attacked, with predictable regularity and a lot of fanfare. Generally sometime between Blue Bloods and Letterman.
You get the idea. Here is Redcoat method:
Yep. Dazzling, isn’t it? Nookie post-kids in Redcoat style is, well, Fridays are on mark.
But you know, the British lost the war.
So THAT’S why I suggest to you:
Ideology two: Nookie like you’re Rambo.
Basically, you need to understand guerrilla warfare to really embrace The Rambo Method.
Guerrilla warfare (as defined by Momsie): Just attack any old time and with no warning. Sweaty head band and a lot of unintelligible muttering is a plus. Drop down from trees. Set traps. Gear up a lot. Wear tank tops. Glower. It works, like a charm, every time.
So basically, the Rambo method looks like this:
Seriously, go for the Rambo method. It’s a lot more fun. Invest in some camouflage face paint and forget how to formulate two syllable words, and it is on.
You get bonus points if your flirtations are accompanied by Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger (I know, wrong movie) and involve lines like:
And: “Nothing is over! Nothing! You just don’t turn it off! It wasn’t my war! You asked me, I didn’t ask you! And I did what I had to do to win!”
That one might be a bit much?
At this point the hubs has stormed back in and has asked to revise my calendar a bit. Always accommodating, I did allow it, but I am not sure his version is any more accurate:
I think it’s also very important to note: When the hubs and I do participate in extreme cuddling, this is NOT the takeaway image:
Incidentally, if you would like to have a primer on how to safely label your shenanigans, go here. You won’t be disappointed. Personally, I like “getting congress in session,” but it has too many syllables.
Oh well, the kids know the finanaces aren’t any of their business, so sometimes we just “have to talk about finances.” A grown up gotta do what a grown up gotta do.
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