For the first time since I've known him (Okay, probably in my entire life--because before he loved me--there was my MOM who loved me just as much, but that's different.) I picked the meat off of the boiled turkey. I love soup made by boiling turkey and chicken down. That Man among men has always gotten rid of the yuck for me. The yuck is of course the guck, the slimy disgusting stuff, and the bones. Yesterday, in a gesture of nonchalant goodwill I picked the bones clean. The funny thing was as I was sorting through the primordial goo (Or is it post-mordial?) I kept smelling this delightful citrusy smell. I wondered if someone had put some lemon juice in the pot when I wasn't looking. It was a delightful smell. Delightful is not something I normally connect to boiled turkey. Cold slime does not elicit delight. Yet there was this unmistakable smell--a favorite among smells for me--that got me through having my hands covered in cold slime. The I realized my children were eating oranges directly behind me. Eating may be a stretch--taking a bite or too and then putting them wherever they felt like it would be more acurate. The bliss of that smell. I can't describe how it makes me feel. That smell not only got me through the slimy hands, but the distinct feeling I have that my children think that I am a piece of playground equipment that can be molded at will into anything from a bridge to a post around which a lively game of peek-a-boo can be played. This is true even when I'm wrist deep in slime.
Thank you oranges.
Thank you babe.
Now I know like never before that you love me.
By the way, you're welcome.
See, I love you too.