Let me just say: Monday night gave me the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a LOONNNG time. I mean, wow.

I started a new session of Huntsville Bootcamp, which was part of it.  Getting to a bootcamp session at 5:30 in the morning?  Will tucker your ass out pretty quickly.  And I’m trying to go primal, so I hit a pretty hard slump around 3:00.

Later that evening, after I’d made pad thai (I know, not exactly primal, but family meals come with baby steps), Tony and I climbed up into my bed to watch tv.  Must’ve been about 6:45 or so, as we were winding down for his bedtime routine.  He doesn’t stay anywhere long, so I was BLOWN AWAY when I woke up at 9:15.  Lord knows I hadn’t been woken up by Tony getting down, and the baby LET me sleep, as did his daddy, and MAN.  I woke up feeling .. I don’t know, like I’d slept?  For the first time in months?

I stayed up long enough to watch RHoNJ (click the link for the recap at MamaPop) and then we were back in bed and asleep by 11:00.  Usually, I wake up around 1:00 or 2:00 with a ZING!, just a little fleeting JOLT that gets my mind running and suddenly it’s 4 am and I’ve got to get up in an hour.  Instead, I slept SOUNDLY through the night.  And on into the morning.  I literally didn’t even flutter my eyes until 10 a.m.

I wandered around till noon or so, groggy-headed and amazed.  I hadn’t slept that well in .. jeezum crow, like, forever?  I literally felt like I had been drugged.  Like I had been given serious pain meds.  Something.

That Bootcamp is really something, I thought.

Later, Bryan told me that he’d had awful dreams and didn’t sleep well at all.  “I’m amazed,” I said, “I slept like the dead.”

He just kind of looked away and said, “Yeah, you were definitely out.”  Usually this means I was drooling and snoring, so I didn’t pursue it much further.

I asked as we were sitting down to dinner what his dreams were about.  “Oh, God, they were awful!” he said, shaking his head.  “You and I were having this heated argument, and you walked away from me and then fell headfirst down a staircase.  And you were crumpled up at the landing and all I could think was Hm, that’s not like her to do that.  And then I woke up and was just sweating and palpitating from it.  I tried to cuddle with you, but it was dark, so we bumped heads or something.”

I (naively) focused on the dream, and we laughed about how I’d either have thrown myself down the stairs in anger or been a total klutz and fallen on my own feet.  Ha.  But I slept so well.  Whatevs.

So later last night, as we were having pillow talk, Bryan apologized.  “For what?” I asked.

“For hitting you so hard last night.  You had to have been sore today.”

Say what now?

“You know.  When I tried to cuddle with you.  I headbutted your nose pretty hard.  It kind of hurt my head.”

Oh.  So THAT’S why I slept so well.

I was suffering from a mild, BAD DREAM INDUCED, concussion.

Oh, but y’all, I’m tired to the Nth degree.  Which I’m not sure is how that’s actually written, but I sang it once in a performance piece from City of Angels, which is a really cute show that should be done here locally.  It’s not even about that horrid movie with Meg Ryan and Nicholas Cage, although when Bryan and I met, I had hair just like Meg’s in that movie, and we often looked like we were dressed as those people.  Except I never wore a lab coat, since she was a doctor and I?  Am not.

AND NOW I’M RAMBLING.

This weekend was the sort of non-weekend weekend where it was gone before it came and Bryan suddenly exclaimed on Sunday night, “OH, CRAP, WE HAVE TO GO TO WORK AGAIN TOMORROW.”  Because, yes, it surprised us all.

****

Saturday was a Derby Day, and while I love them, they do a number on me.  Talking for four hours straight is a lot harder than it sounds, actually, and I am the only person I know who can injure myself walking on my flat feet.  Four hours on pressed concrete in chucks really REALLY does a number on an old person’s joints.  I wonder if I’d be better off learning to skate and doing that.  Or at least wearing Heeleys.

(SRSLY, AM DEBATING BUYING HEELEYS FOR THE BOUTS.)

Good news, though: our Raging Rockets kicked some Big Easy tail!  It was such a nail biter, though, and I almost pulled my hair out from the stress.  Announcing for the Dixie Derby Girls makes me as panicked as I would be announcing for the Crimson Tide, fo sho.

****

Sunday was Father’s Day and I realized in a panic that I had thrown the Father’s Day cards away.  Yep, because I am that sort of awesome.  Bought ‘em earlier in the week and got too cocky about being prepared and shit, and sure enough, tossed ‘em cause I thought they were trash.

SO.  There’s that.

****

Spent all weekend cooking, too.  From homemade pizza to old-school monkey bread to chocolate chunk muffins to fruit pizza .. I felt like I lived in the kitchen.  Which sounds like I’m complaining, but I’m totally not.  I love my kitchen more than any room in my house, and I love cooking.

****

Father’s Day gifts consisted of things that the boys could do with Bryan.  I tried to explain this concept to Tony, who was dead set on a different gift:

Me: What present should we get Daddy?
Tony: A BUCKET!
Me: .. a bucket?
Tony: A BUCKET!
Me: .. I don’t think he really needs a buck..
Tony: A YEYYOW ONE!
Me: Tony, Daddy doesn’t NEED a ..
Tony: DADA A YEYYOW BUCKET PRESENT!

I still don’t know.

Regardless, Tony finally offered up that he thought Bryan should get a “People”, which equated to a Little People truck set that came with two “My Bill”s, which is what all of his figures are called.  Always “My Bill”.  Which makes me afraid that I listened to Carousel to often with him in the womb.  They are all named My Bill or People.

****

Tony and I spent the afternoon together yesterday, with his Ear-Nose-Throat appointment.  It’s THE MOST AMAZING THING, to have this little person suddenly able to hold entire conversations with you.  He was a God send through the appointment, which had more prodding and poking and discomfort than most 2.5 year-olds would tolerate.

As a result, he visited the toy drawer in the office and grabbed a plastic turtle and a plastic snake.

Which he promptly named My Bill and People, SWEAR TO GAWD.

****

Okay, I have a question.  Tony is starting (STARTING) to use the potty, but at daycare only.  He freaks THE HELL OUT if we try and do it here, and I think it’s because of the diaper barrier.  He wants to remove the diaper himself, but he doesn’t know how (or he can’t, one of the two), and if we try and step in we get a MELTDOWN OF MICHAEL BAY PROPORTIONS.  Does this mean we switch to .. underwear?  Is that where we are right now?  Cause I have to tell you, I almost have too much shit to do than worry about clean underwear for ANOTHER living being in this house.

Bryan is not a spontaneous kind of guy.  He’s just not.

He finds comfort in routines.  I’ve known this about him since .. always, really .. and while I dance between routine and WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT TO DO, he’s always happily bunked down in the camp of routine.

So last night, I took him out for his birthday.  I had really high hopes.

I had planned to take him to the Melting Pot, since the girls and I ALWAYS go there, and he says everytime when I come home, “I don’t ever get to go to the Melting Pot,” and I thought, Well, he’s right.  So let’s stop that bitching right there.

And then, most excitedly, Nonna (my momma) had arranged to spend the night with Tony so that we could spend the night out.  THE ENTIRE NIGHT.  We never, EVER do this.  It’s literally been since early December that we’ve done that.  So I made reservations at the Westin, mere steps away from the Melting Pot, and was just giddy with the luxury of it all.

Well.

When I finally told Bryan what his birthday surprise plans were, he .. he wasn’t really happy.  First of all, he didn’t want to stay at the Westin.  He had a free night at the Comfort Inn.  Which, okay, fine.  Sleeping is sleeping, and we could sleep anywhere and still be happy.  So I canceled the reservations at the Westin.

Then, about one course into the Melting Pot, he decided that he really hated fondue.  And we should never bring his parents here.  And he’s just not good at fondue.  And his stomach was getting upset.  And..

And I?  Was about to cry.

Because I had built up such hopes for this ONE night.  This one night, for us to have TO OURSELVES, which we NEVER get, and I wanted it to be new and exciting and fresh and something fun.  And it was just not going that way.

“Don’t get mad at me,” he said over the boiling oil.

“I’m not mad,” I lied through my teeth.  Damn.  For someone who considers herself an actress, sometimes I’m a freaking open book.

We sat there in silence for a minute, me stewing and him .. hell if I know.

“Should we see a movie?” he asked.

“I don’t even know what’s playing,” I answered.  I didn’t want to see a movie.  Hell, if I wanted to sit in silence, we might as well just go back to bed.

We walked over to the movie theatre, and weren’t impressed by the choices, so we left.

I was still upset.  And I was tired of being asked what I wanted to do when it didn’t really matter.

“What if,” he started.  Yes, I thought, let’s just go back to the hotel and watch tv.  THAT’LL be fun. “What if I got a tattoo tonight?”

I think I gave myself whiplash from the WHAAAAA?! that followed.  I know I must’ve illuminated.

And that gave him pause, and the backpeddling started.  “Well, we probably don’t have the money right now to do that..”

“Bryan, you don’t know that.  Let’s go have it priced out.  You’ve already gotten one picked out.  LET’S DO IT.”

“But the money..”

“We just saved a ton by not paying for a hotel room.”

“But we could..”

“I’m over the BUTs, Bryan.  We’re going.”

Bryan had picked out a very simple but cool design of a Ghost Light, which is an invaluable tool in theatre.  You are never supposed to leave a theatre dark, for many reasons.. namely so that no one falls off the stage, but there are darker, more superstitious reasons as well.  So you always leave a ghost light running.  It’s also a nice thought that you’ll never totally be in the dark.

He had it placed on his shoulder, while the artist worked out my design for my neck.  I stood beside him as they started the needle up and watched him flinch when it touched skin.. but he never made a sound.  He stayed motionless through the whole thing, and?  IT IS FREAKING SEXY, IS WHAT HIS TATTOO IS.

He wandered around while my tattoo was done, trying his best to not turn green at the sight of having a detailed, shaded tattoo carved into the back of my neck.  Not gonna lie.. it hurt like a BITCH.  But like all ink and most childbirths, the pain is momentary and the love of the result is forever.

We left the shop, having spent only half of what we saved on the hotel, so Bryan was happy.  He had done something new .. something downright scandalous .. so I was happy.  With both of us happy, we grabbed some hot Krispie Kremes and headed to the hotel.

Bryan spent most of the night and the next morning grinning from ear to ear.  “Thanks for making me try stuff last night,” he said.  I was so proud of him.  So, so proud of him.  I know he hates getting out of his comfort zone.  But he did.

I might just make a spontaneous guy out of him yet.