The Shirt

   Between the two of us, my husband and I have six kids and five pets. Married just a few months ago, we found ourselves to be a modern, yet more hippie-version of a Brady Bunch. School events, extracurricular activities, and even the daily shuffle of everyday life such as cooking meals to feed a family of eight can lead one into what feels like a juggling act. From the time the sun rises and the younger ones start pitter-pattering their toes on the floor wanting milk and breakfast, cartoons and stories, we're put into a routine of multi-tasking and a constant state of going and doing. And this state of doing things with hardly a breath or thought in between (except when sneaking away for a pretend bathroom break) occurs until we say the words, "Lights Out." Just kidding. It really occurs about an hour after we utter those words, because after that particular phrase actually comes the hardest part of the day, fielding questions of "why" and hearing the other following complaints: "But we're not tired yet." "But I'm hungry now." "He's being too loud." "I have to pee again." "I can't sleep without a cookie." "I need you to read me a story." "I can't fall asleep." "Can I please just have a cookie?" Yet, when the last child has finally drifted off to sleep, my husband and I, despite our initial reaction of collapse, rally and offer each other silent high fives in the air and share a glass of wine. Just kidding again. We have six kids. We share a bottle of wine. It's our time to discuss the day's events, the news, politics, our dreams, our passions, and especially given the fact we're still in the honeymoon phase, it leads to what Marvin Gaye might refer to as our "Get it On" time.

   Having kids is delightful. Having six kids is six times the delight. It's rewarding, fulfilling and the best decision I've made with my life. At the end of the day though, when they're deep in Dreamland, I look forward to that time with my husband. It's a time for release, to be free, to express our passion and to let it all go. And regardless of the routine, it still manages to be new and spontaneous also. Then unable to move anymore, we fall asleep in each other's arms, all to wake up and to do it over again. Squeaking floors, doors sliding open, dogs whining to be let out, the sunrise peeking through the blinds. "Daddy, what's for breakfast?"

   On one particular morning, in the middle of all of the doing and going, we managed to get breakfast out while pleasing different palates and picky tastes and started cycling the kids through the shower. My husband decided to slip away to the pharmacy then while I got started on laundry and keeping our toddler busy. When he returned, he found me folding laundry into stacks on our bed. Removing his shirt and letting it drop to the floor, I made a flirtatious comment as he flung himself on the bed, shaking my piles like towers in an earthquake. Grunting at my verbal advances, he appeared mortified and not himself.

   "Babe. It was awful."

   "What? What is going on?"

   "Well I went to the Pharmacy…"

   "Yeah?"

   "And there was this pretty girl that works there. And I was standing in line behind this guy and she just kept giving me the WEIRDEST look."

   "So?"

   "No. You don't understand." He paused then, sat up, shook his head and sighed with his shoulders hunched over.  "She just kept staring down at my shirt, then looking back up at me and was like… so disgusted, Babe."

   "Well maybe you just read it wrong. You're a handsome man. Why are you feeling like this?"

   "Babe."

   "WHAT?! I mean, why does her opinion matter anyway?"

   "I felt my shirt and it was like… crusty. And kind of like, folded out like a tent."

   "Huh?" I could see him trying to lead me into what he didn't want to actually say, his eyes getting wider, his nods leading me into a moment of understanding, but I was just left baffled.

   "Well then I looked down and there was this… like… swirl of white stuff all over my shirt."

   It was then that I looked down at the shirt that he'd just stripped off and memories of the night before flooded back into my brain. Hot and steamy, ending with our number one choice of birth control: The "Pull-Out" Method. And when you're an exhausted parent that doesn't want to get caught naked in the hallway retrieving a towel by a possible midnight snacker, you do what any other exhausted parent would do. You wipe it all off with a shirt.

   "Oh God."

   "I KNOW!"

   "You didn't." Sudden realization. He did. His face said it all. "Did you just turn around and come home then!? Did you have a sweatshirt? Your jacket?"

   "Nope." He hung his head in defeat.

   "So you STILL STOOD IN LINE!?"

   "Well I needed to pick up that medicine and I thought it might be even worse if I just left."

   "NO."

   "I know."

   "Did she SAY anything?"

   "No. But she knew. I mean, you can't really hide a cum shirt."

   "OH MY GOD."

   "Babe, it's the SAME gal that ALWAYS works there. She knows my NAME."

   "Well at least they have privacy rules, right?"

   He looked back at me with no response.

   "Maybe she thought you'd spilled potato salad on your shirt or something."

   "Then smeared it all around and let it dry?" His eyes pleaded incredulously at me, his hands flung up into the air, exasperated.

   And then I did what any loving spouse would do. I provided comfort. Forgetting about the piles of laundry set around us, I climbed in bed beside him, swung my arm around and rested my head onto his shoulder.

   "I'm sorry."

   "I just can't believe I did that. I was being quick…" I could see him replaying the events over and over in his own head. "I just picked up the shirt, put it on and went."

   "Well at least you didn't make breakfast in it."

   He turned his head to look at me and let out a grateful sigh of agreement. And then all I could do was laugh. It began as a chuckle, but once escaped, could no longer be contained and grew contagious. Throwing ourselves onto our backs, we laid side-by-side, the tears pouring as we laughed.

   "What are we doing with our lives?"

   "Living."

   A smile stretched across his face and he leaned closer to plant a kiss on my forehead.

   "Shall we go finish cycling the kids through?"

   "Yeah. But Babe?"

   "What?"

   "Let's use a towel tonight."

   "Okay." And with a new joke between us (and the pharmacist of course,) we went on to tackle another day.