Somehow...I don't know how, Nic and I are completely caught up on Maslow's heirarchy of needs which has created this happy/feisty atmosphere in the house this morning as opposed to the normal threating of the kids with maiming if they dare ask for anything as absurd as a bowl of cereal before 7 a.m.. Nic took advantage of this mood by blaring some of his favorite music...PHISH. He rarely subjects me to the torture...but he was feeling his oats today. He has a near reverent regard for this band. He was in the kitchen with this silly grin on his face, pouring raisin bran and playing air guitar as I sat on the couch involuntarily plucking my eyelashes out one by one. I have to admit though...I do get a nostalgic coma-like feeling from this music because he listened to this band daily when we were dating and I was so crazy-go-nuts in love with him that I probably would have eaten a dead elephant foot if he offered it to me - and enjoyed it. And there are the occasional bursts of quirky lyrics that are hard to resist...something about "Give the director a serpent detector, a molerat deflector, a rivet reflector, a cushion confector, a hormone collector, a picture of nectar..." It's hard not to enjoy that...it's like hating Shel Silverstien...not possible.
Anyway...I thought a few bites of icecream might help get me through this morning ...and as I pried the shrink wrap off of the carton, Nic remarked through a mouthful of cereal, "Isn't it a little early to be hitting the sauce?" To which I replied with one small glance which communicated a thousand words such as, "I am eight months pregnant wearing a pink flowered moo-moo because that is all I can sausage my body into and even though I just ate an orange and a plate of tuna casserole I will now eat some icecream if I dang well feel like it. And each bite will increase my virtue and beauty." And because we are basking in this twilight zone of unnatural contentment on this rare morning...I think he believed me.