To my dearest

There's not much I can say to Joe that doesn't set him off. Because of that, I just don't talk to him much. Understanding my reality, if I were to fire off a letter to him to feel him out right now, it would probably sound something like this:

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Joe,

Hey, how about steak for dinner tonight? You seem kind of irritable. Is everything OK? We probably need to talk about the house stuff. Are the Pens playing tonight? We can talk about it Wednesday if they are.

xoxo
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But in my fantasy (blog) world, the letter would surely sound something like this:
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Joe,

I am on the cusp of buying a house. With or without you. Are you on board or not? It will make or break my mortgage payment, so you need to open your mouth and actually say the words. Your driving around looking at houses while acting bored isn't giving me any clues.

I know you want a newly constructed house. One that costs over $200,000. I understand you were probably shopping for a woman who would let you reach that goal. But you got me, and then you helped to add a kid to the mix. Get over it. I'd like to actually DO things other than work to pay a mortgage. Things like, I dunno, miniature golf, or even get a cheeseburger from McDonald's once in a while. Maybe I'd even like to buy a magazine from time to time. If that's not too much to ask.

Since you've made it clear that your $180 cell bill and $200 cable bill aren't exactly about to disappear if we get a new house. Why should they? Since you have me to pay them now while you send your money to your adult children.

I'm glad you love your son. I love to watch you goo and gah all over him. But you know what? When he cries, he probably wants picked up. Or put down for a nap. Or rocked and loved. Or fed. You know where the bottles are. Don't assume that every whimper means he wants his mom. Handle it.

I'm glad you love my daughter. Next time she does something you don't like, tell her yourself. You wonder why she has no respect for you? Because you can't stand up to a 5-year-old. It doesn't piss me off that you want to correct her. What pisses me off is when you correct her for stupid shit. Like being a 5-year-old. They do experiment with light switches. It's their nature.

I'm glad you liked your dinner tonight. You probably wouldn't have told me if I didn't ask. That steak... yummy, huh? And you got noodles, fresh asparagus, a tossed salad, bread with olive oil dipping sauce... within a half hour of arriving home. That was enough time for you to read your mail and get into your jammies, right? Because I wouldn't want to race out of work to pick up the kids, feed the baby and get dinner ready too early tomorrow night.

That pot you cleaned after dinner while I put everything away, thanks for that. Glad you fit it in before your Penguins game. It saved me so much time so I could make three lunches for tomorrow and finish the laundry I couldn't knock out last night.

And the fact that you went to bed early -- and without saying anything -- was a bonus. I hope you never take away from me the baby's last feeding, at midnight, because I live for it. I mean, who can resist being dead tired and dealing with a fussy baby?

And this life could be mine forever! I cornered you for a wedding date, and Memorial Day is great. Since Easter didn't work for you. But I know what you're doing... you're trying to surprise me. On Memorial Day, you're going to say July 4. And then on July 4, you're going to say Labor Day. How cute that I have to guess which major holiday you're going to settle on. And it's going to kill you to book shit during a holiday weekend. You're always going that extra mile.

Like when you used to sit on the couch with me and watch TV. When I was pregnant, I appreciated that you gave me that little bit on the end of the couch while you sprawled out and I rubbed your feet. Now I have the whole couch to myself because you hate the slipcover you insisted on getting. But things seem to work out for us like that.

I can't thank you enough for cutting out the sex. What a waste of time that was. And where did it get us? You are so right about that.

I like all these things you don't do for me. What confidence it inspires. I get to balance the traditional -- doing everything your momma did for you when you were a kid -- with the contemporary -- holding down a career too! Please don't think you have to do the same. I can fix the leaky faucets and get my own oil changed. I wouldn't want to burden you. What kind of woman would I be?

But about buying a house... I'm putting my foot down. Since we're putting the mortgage in my name, I have to be somewhat smart about what I can afford since no one else seems to be alarmed about what a stupid mistake I'm about to make. I might eventually realize that the only reason you want such a big house is so that you can find a hiding place to brood and be mad at me at will. And I'm not so keen on financing being kept in the dark for the rest of your life.

I appreciate your insistence, though, on who I should call about insurance and what questions I should ask. I don't know how I'd learn a thing doing this if it weren't for you bossing me around. You are the perfect mentor, helping me to do it all myself, when many like you, who know how to do it, would get frustrated and take over the task. You are the best. At something.

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Ah, that's more like it.