Leaf Angels

Last night, the tail of an entirely too short weekend, my husband and I decided to end our two days of family time with something magical! Okay, so it wasn't really "magical," what with >30> degree weather and the flickering streetlamps provided by the magnanimous United States Army, but it was nice enough. What sounds more romantic than a moonlit winter walk, anyway?
Bundled up in fluffy white coats and an assortment of mismatched hats, my family of 3.5 (okay, so .5 was technically the only one not wearing a fluffy coat and a hat -[s]he was curled up nice and toasty in my womb -the mooch) set off down the darkened streets of our neighborhood. It wasn't long before my not-quite-two year old daughter's nose was red like a cherry in her stroller, and my own cheeks were scarlet with the frigid exercise. Only my MP husband, freshly returned from two weeks camping in "the field," felt at home in the crystallized air.
Nevertheless, my daughter and I felt completely lighthearted at stepping out of the little apartment at last, and the crisp, cold air felt refreshing like a shower gone cold (I must not be the only one who enjoys that now and then). It was already a good start to a romantic family outing (you will discover that I have two versions of romantic, the "between a couple" kind, and the "story book" kind. The version I am referring to is, of course, of the "story book" sort, since my whole family is involved, not just my husband and myself), sure to become a fond memory to recall for many years to come. That is, until reality snuck in it's stupid head.
I was loopy and joy-drunk with the sparkliness of the stars, the clouds of breath I kept puffing from my nose and mouth, and the shining eyes of my wondrous daughter. Like an ADHD child at Disney World, I twirled around and flitted from one subject to the next. My ever patient and enduring husband let me talk his ear off as he searched the sky for constellations. However, I soon joined him in his quest, quickly pointing out the Big Dipper.
Now the first argument begins. After discovering the famous Big Dipper, I turn around to find its cousin: the Little Dipper. I instantly point out a constellation that looks exactly like the larger counterpart, but about a fourth of the size. John shakes his head and tells me that the Little Dipper is about the size of a quarter when looked at in the sky, and he knew because he had seen it that small himself. I of course, am cursed with knowing everything, and I argue that he is crazy because this is the exact same constellation I have been calling the Little Dipper for my entire life.
We banter back and forth, throwing out random "facts" we recalled from High School and my father, trying to gain the upper hand in this meaningless confrontation. After a while, the romantic feelings struggling to regain footing, we gave in, calling a truce and deciding this battle just wasn't worth the blood. We pointed out a bright star and declared it Jupiter (whether it was or was not) and decided the stars were prettier as a glittering mass than they were in constellations anyway.
By this time we had happened upon a huge field of grass, led down to by a gently sloping hill. I instantly had to demonstrate what sledding would be like to my beautiful little daughter. Without warning my poor husband, I yanked the stroller from him and zoomed down the hill with it, provoking squeals of laughter from AshleyBella and myself. I then race back up the hill by myself and roll all the way down, stopping at the wheels of the stroller. Covered in autumn leaves and wet grass, I turn, grinning, to my aghast spouse.
John is an intelligent, left-brained kind of person, God bless him, and his favorite virtue and greatest downfall is his immaculate organizational skills. I swear, the man has furrowed the wrinkles in his brain with a plow, organizing them into comely, straight rows. Everything has a place and a purpose, and our place and purpose is using everything for its intended place and purpose. This, I hope, helps explain his reaction a bit better.
He stands there on the sidewalk, staring at his wayward, lunatic wife, with a mixture of confusion and... well yeah, confusion. After a few beats, he asks (so appropriately, so hilariously, so cutely ), "Why did you leave the sidewalk?"
Now is the time I quote my replying remark, which is undoubtedly witty, funny, and the rootbeer to his wine. Well, I actually do not remember precisely what I said, but it ended with me running around the field like a mad woman, pushing Ashleybella's stroller in front of me while screaming "Get Daddy, Bella, get Daddy!"
My husband, since he is obviously smarter and more... I believe the word I'm looking for is "tame"... definitely wears the pants in our relationship, and he could have ended the craziness with a single word or action.  Instead, John (my awesome hero) leaves the sidewalk and joined me in the field, taking the stroller and chasing me as Ashleybella held the flashlight like a helicopter's spotlight. Have I mentioned I adore my husband yet? Because I do!
I finally run out of breath, and the chase comes to an end at the edge of a much steeper hill on the other side of the field (I am sooo sledding on that thing this Christmas). A sidewalk lines the side, and we follow it through some spooky trees infested with deer and the like. John, totally and out of nowhere into the spirit of Halloween, shines the flashlight into the trees, hoping to catch a reflection of a pair of eyes hidden within the foliage. Nothing would make him more gleeful than to scare the bajeebees out of his wife on the eve of the most redundant holiday ever.
While we certainly hear the familiar dainty footsteps of at least one deer, his flashlight fails to conjure it up, and his wife (who, by the way, holds no special grudge against the animals except for the fact they are bigger than me and more numerous than birds on this ridiculous army post) does not grace him with a single shriek of terror.We finally leave the forest and come out onto the street again.
After a while the excitement ebbs and we are walking like any boring family on moonlit streets in the middle of the night. We argue a little on and off about unimportant matters I really do not remember now. The romanticism seems to vanish.
Then, on one road, we discover trees that have managed to keep at least half their leaves, not yet disrobed for the winter. The tiny insane person within me whispers a suggestion that sounds pretty fun, and I am off again, leaving my husband in bewilderment. He watches with one eyebrow raised as I dump myself into a small pile of leaves beneath a yellow tree and begin sprawling my limbs like a starfish and closing them again only to repeat two or three times. He tries to convince me to get up and go on with the walk (what will the neighbors think of us, rolling around like hooligans on their lawns?), but I have to show him my masterpiece!
I leap up to reveal the autumn version of a snow angel -a leaf angel.
There was one thing we agreed on about the leaf picture, and that is that it looked just like a butterfly! That's where the agreement ended. I thought dumping myself under every tree until we reached the house was great fun. John thought it was time wasting, obnoxious, and silly. Of course, I thought so too, but we had different feelings towards the description.
I would make my leaf angels, and John would roll his eyes. I would pick a yellow leaf from a tree and hand it to Ashleybella, saying it was a flower. John would inform us both it was actually a dead leaf. John would innocently comment on the weather, and I would go off on a tangent. The night was definitely on its way down the drain.
Before long, John and I had reached a breaking point. He was tense from work, and let's face it, any fellow military wives out there, the Army (or Navy, Air Force, Marines, whatever) totally brainwashes their victims -I mean, soldiers- until they forget how to relax or have fun. It is the family's job to remind them to be human now and again. Therefore, totally in love with and feeling kind of bad for my stiff husband (not like that, you perverts -that was later), I took John's hand, kissed him on the lips, and asked him to make a leaf angel with me. It took some prodding and a lot of effort, but he at last took a deep breath, smirked, and followed me to the nearest leaf pile under a tree.
As we lay their waving our arms and legs around like goofballs under the amused scrutiny of our daughter who found her warm blankets and stroller just fine, thankyouverymuch, both of our tension began to melt. We laughed into the sky beyond the branches of the above tree, and I swear, we could totally [not] hear the stars singing [it would be cool if we did, though, right?]!
By the time we got up and continued our walk, the romance was back and the night was perfect! Even when the pregnancy induced night sickness kicked in and Ashleybella threw a fit, we were happy enough just to have ended on such a pleasant note!
After all, what is more romantic than a moonlit winter walk?

Greetings!

Hi, my name is Kimberlee, and welcome to my blog!
Here I will be posting relevant and irrelevant tangents on a day in the life of me -mostly (I'm sure that clarifies quite a bit for you). Seriously, though, the intention is to provide information and support for people and loved ones living with, bothered by, or curious about Tourette Syndrome by expressing my own discoveries and epiphanies through trial and error (and the occasional "right"); ditto about being an Army wife; ditto about being a new mommy; ditto about being an under-acknowledged aspiring author; ditto about being an overall klutzy drama queen.
If you would like to provide comments containing your own advice and feedback, I will read them and maybe even post them! I love to hear back from people!
By the way, you may have noticed that I have taken little care with the tone in which I write. I believe every written media requires a certain level of sophistication one should stick to, whether it be novels, newspapers, or essays. Blogs are the exception. One should be allowed to type like a valley girl, for goodness' sake, without being penalized for it on her own blog. Prepare yourself, therefore, for some down to earth and possibly side-splitting wordage here: the foyer of what I know as my own little world.
Sounds like fun, right? So... here we go!