A woman whose blog I read (I’m one of those darn lurkers, sorry, trannyhead) had a little contest yesterday. And the point of the contest was to spread the term “green beans” far and wide across the blog-o-sphere.
And many people came, and saw green beans were good, and wrote their own green beans story.
I used to write a lot about green beans (not online). I used to partake of a lot of green beans. I love, green beans, truth be told. But — and many of you know the story — you have kids, the hormones are crazy, you work full time, and suddenly sleep looks a lot more attractive than green beans.
Well lately, regarding the hormones anyway, green beans became something I loved again. My husband and I have difficulty getting enough green beans because of our schedules — he is often coming home when I’m asleep. Additionally, the room we like best for making green beans does not currently have a door. Which is a problem when your 4-year-old wants the door to her room, which is across the hall from your green bean room, kept open at night. I guess in case she needs a quick get-away from the shadow monsters.
We have resorted to making green beans in other rooms. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all. We have even had green beans when our younger daughter is napping and our older daughter is resting in front of the television. Once, and I’m slightly ashamed to say this, but we had very, very fast green beans when the girls were downstairs with the babysitter, before we went out for the night.
But quick green beans and green beans when one party is exhausted are not the best green beans in the world.
So I was looking forward to coming to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving, where the room we usually sleep in has a door. And a very nice bed. And my husband and I would be on similar schedules. I was going to get me some green beans.
Unfortunately, it looked as if my craving for green beans (a craving that is even stronger in DearDR) was going to be thwarted.
First of all, my parents’ had a lot of overnight guests. Aunt and Uncle Redhead were sleeping in our usual room. My father said we could have the fold-out couch in the living room or the basement with the blow-up bed. Inflatable mattress notwithstanding, the basement room HAS A DOOR. We picked the basement.
And then, although we thought Bun was going to sleep in with my parents, my father suggested that it would be better if she slept downstairs with us because he had to get up for work at 5:30 in the morning. There was still hope, as the basement is divided, and we could still shield Bun from green beans. Now, DearDR and I just need to go to bed around the same time, and not drink too much wine, but just enough.
And then, more green bean-related tragedy. While I was settling my older daughter in her bed for the night, Bun woke up crying. DearDR lay down with her on our mattress. And they both fell asleep.
As my sister and I changed into our pajamas, I lamented that Bun was asleep with DearDR. “I need some green beans,” I lamented. She clearly had no idea what I was talking about.
Although afraid of waking a sleeping Bun, my choice was clear. Carefully, I moved Bun into her pack ‘n’ play. I closed the folding door, and gently woke the sleeping DearDR.
And we made sweet, sweet green beans. Despite all the obstacles, our goal had been reached.
We hope to reach that goal a couple more times this weekend. I don’t care if we green bean that inflatable mattress flat. Green beans are good!