For real. Danger is everywhere. I am writing this in bed, after eating a piece of mulberry pie. And Shawn thinks that I might die. He hasn’t said it. But I know he’s thinkin’ it.
Mulberry Pie Try
Why does he think I might die? Because I ate mulberry pie. We have a couple of mulberry trees in our yard. I LOVE it. It reminds me of summer and my childhood being on the farm and being able to pluck wild blackberries straight off the vine and pop some of the sunshine right in my mouth.
Shawn is not a fan. He does not trust things that he doesn’t know and he doesn’t know mulberries. To be honest, I didn’t know them either, but when we happened upon them, I figured trying just one of the blackberry look-a-likes couldn’t possibly kill me. I popped it in my mouth and watched with delight as my shadow, Sophie, followed my lead. Later, when Sophie spilled the beans about our sweet find, Shawn did a lot of head shaking, finger-pointing, and reminding us how people get dysentery and die from eating things in the wild.
Tonight I made a mulberry pie from the mulberry trees in our yard. He obviously didn’t think that was kosher. But he doesn’t understand the merit and challenge of foraging and being able to make something delectable with a mere 6 cups of sugar (just kidding). I picked the mulberries with my kids and then MADE A PIE. That basically means I am a “grancher” right? Living off the land?
Dang right, I am.
But then as it was baking, Shawn said there were probably worms in it. I told him to relax and that anything that was in those mulberries died a slow death at 400 degrees. He didn’t stop me from eating it, and he didn’t stop me from feeding it to the children, but I know he’s on standby waiting for symptoms to begin. He’s ready to save the day.
Safety Inspector Shawn
My husband is the best guy with LOTS of wonderful qualities that I could never, ever measure up to. But he’s also the guy that makes us aware of every possible thing that could potentially kill us. That’s just him. He’s super Dad. Always mysteriously in the right freaking place to make sure the kids aren’t drinking the carpet cleaner solution we left on the counter (actually happened), use a hooked pointer finger to fish out a lodged suction cup from the throat of a small child (actually happened), or to arrive in the nick of time when our three year old played near unfenced pool (actually happened).
He’s the resident safety inspector. And he has an INTENSE job as the safety inspector because of ME. My middle name is “shoot first, aim later.” (If you are a regular reader of this blog, you no doubt have read “The Concrete Pole Fiasco” which is about an accident that my husband predicted, I argued with him about it, and then less than 12 hours, I fulfilled his prophecy. Or maybe you read, “Fiasco Deuce” which you can probably surmise is more of the same.) I came by it naturally. I don’t like to sit still, don’t like to be bored, and ran wild and free and unsupervised on the farm during my childhood. I like adrenaline, competition, adventure, and tomfoolery that most people find annoying, including my husband.
Survival of the Fittest?
You can see how we can be polar opposites. How did that come to be? Once, in college, our therapist told us that my personality was like the waves in the ocean and Shawn’s personality was like the calm pond. He was the ying to my yang, and he was here to even me out, maybe even keep me alive. Yeesh. Let’s unpack that a little. He suggested that sometimes we SEEK out people who are our opposites because it is a method of SURVIVAL. And I GET it. Apparently, my unconscious knew I needed him.
My Unconscious: Shirley
Maybe my unconscious is a middle-aged woman named Shirley, who is a single mother and likes to play bingo on the weekend at the local American Legion. She loves diet coke and can’t go more than 10 minutes without a Virginia Slim. She knows the perils of dating the bad boy. I can totally see Shirley saying, “Oh, girl, he’s cute but what’s even better is that he can KEEP YOU ALIVE. You HAVE to marry him. You AND your future kids are gonna need him. Mmmmhmmm. You need to live past 25, girl. Go talk to him, do it, do it!” So, maybe there IS something to this. Bad boys do have a certain allure to them, all that mystery and brooding silence. But my guy? He’ll follow me around and make sure I know the perils of accidental electrocution, dry drowning, and death by mulberry pie.
Unfortunately, I am not a quick study. I had two helpings.