Of Fudge and Family

My wife plunges her spoon with firm determination into the jar of fudge frosting. She seems half-crazed as she wriggles the utensil around in the chocolate. Coarse words spew from her lips as she grapples with the laws of physics; trying to balance the entire jar atop the small confines of her spoon. Ultimately, she adjusts her wrist just so and pulls up a heaping mound. The moment has reached its crescendo. I take a step back knowing that there is nothing I can do. Her eyes close and a faint moan escapes her throat. Seconds later it is over. There is a release and I know deep down in my soul that I have lost her again.

At some point in our marriage, I came to understand that my wife would not be entirely faithful to me. My competition came in the form, any form, of chocolate. I was consoled by the knowledge that she would only turn to this philanderer when she had reached her breaking point. In the course of our young marriage those times have been generally limited to events related to our children.

We have two boys and at the risk of sounding like a pathetic, over-enamored, self-absorbed father, they are truly wonderful, gorgeous beings. Which turns out to be a tremendous asset for them after they have fulfilled their daily mission of destroying our home.

“Honey, it’s how they express themselves. Just look at it.” I say to her as we stare at the large, black blob the children have drawn on the new beige carpet. “Using charred wood from the fireplace is really quite clever.”

“Horsey!” Our youngest says to us beaming with pride.

“You know it does kinda look like a horse,” I say, turning to my wife who already has bolted for the kitchen. More fudge.

Cleaning up after the boys is only part of the problem. It turns out these kids need to be fed as well. But that’s actually a fairly simple proposition. All that is required is milk, fruit punch, bananas, peanut butter, frozen vegetables and pancake batter. Granted, we may not be a family driven by high culinary delights, but our kids seem to be growing so, that’s a win.

At any rate, we do feed our children. They, in turn, sit at the dinner table, with blankets wrapped around their necks. One is Batman and the other Robin, although that seems to rotate, and I am not sure why. They shovel food into their mouths with their forks while hurling more food at each other with their free hands.

“Hey, you boys stop that!” I say to the dynamic duo as they stare each other down. It’s a brief face-off, and I am left with the distinct impression that dinner’s uneasy peace is being held together by the threat of mutually assured destruction. “If you two can’t keep it together you’re both going to your rooms!”

No sooner do the words come out of my mouth that the truce ends and food returns to its natural state of motion. I look over to my wife who has stepped away from the table and is already closing the freezer drawer and holding a cartoon of ice cream. I don’t have to guess the flavor.

There are moments in our marriage, between the charcoal drawings and the food fights, where we actually find time to make love. These are rare and admittedly sometimes brief moments, which remind us that we are actually two souls that had, at one point in time, wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of our lives together. And while edible projectiles may not have been in the original vision, when we are alone like this there is nothing left to doubt.

The other night we have finished a wonderful moment together and my wife looks over to me with dreamy eyes and tells me she loves me. This is a good thing as I am a man, much like all men, who needs constant validation. And as I received these words, I take stock in my situation. Life is good. Time for a nap. I close my eyes and smile.

My wife sighs. I look over to her and see a tear fall down her cheek. “What’s wrong?” I ask her. The answer is, of course, a simple denial. Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine. Go back to sleep. I ignore these words as I have graduated from Marriage 101 and know quite well that sleep is the last thing I should do.

I ask again, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she says again, this time with a little less conviction. I press on, stroking her hair. “Really honey, what is it?”

She turns her head and looks at me. “I’ve just been thinking about how wonderful it would be if we had a little girl.” She is smiling, a warm, delightful smile. I smile back. We kiss and then come together.

Moments later, I stare at the ceiling trying to imagine how the dynamic duo would handle their new partner in arms. My wife shifts a little. She is asleep, a peaceful sleep, the smile still on her lips. I shake my head and hold her a little closer.

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