Christian and Anastasia Grey…….After the Children
Little Charlie on my hip, I’m shouting at Teddy and Phoebe to stop hitting each other when Christian arrives home from work….late.
“Cripes, we’ve got only 20 minutes to get to Teddy and Phoebe’s soccer practise,” I say, annoyed.
“Can’t Taylor take them?” says Christian. He looks tired. His face is pale, dark circles under his eyes. There’s a small but noticeable red stain on the shoulder of his white linen shirt. It’s strawberry jam from Phoebe’s breakfast. He’s gone around all day like that at work and nobody told him. Sheesh.
“Taylor is not raising our children. We are. We are taking them to soccer,” I snarl.
He looks at me, his eyes hungry.
I flush and bite my lip as my inner goddess slowly raises herself up off the floor where she was napping beside a pile of unfolded laundry.
“Is that Mrs. Jones’ chicken pot pie I smell?” asks Christian hopefully.
Oh. He’s hungry for food and not for me.
My inner goddess collapses back onto the floor and falls into a deep sleep, a small dribble of drool slipping down her cheek.
We gather at the table and I serve up the much anticipated chicken pot pie for everyone but myself.
“None for you Mrs. Grey?” Christian asks, his expression as cold as ice.
“I can’t eat that. It’s not part of my Dukan Diet plan,” I answer.
“Eat, Anastasia!” he commands. He’s so bossy.
“Carbs are a hard limit for me,” I retort. “Do you want me to lose this post-baby belly or not?”
“Fair point well made, Mrs. Grey,” he answers, a slight smirk on his face. “I. Love. You. Even. With. Your. Massive. Stretch. Marks. And. Cellulite.”
Phoebe suddenly screams as she gets hit square in the face with a fistful of food.
“Teddy! How many times have I told you not to throw your food!” Christian growls. “You know how I feel about wasted food!”
Christian’s face hardens, as if he’s recalling something unpleasant.
Oh, Fifty. My sweet, balding Fifty who has the beginnings of man-breasts.
I place my hand on his arm. His face is impassive as he leans in close to me.
“You smell divine…..Uh…Actually you smell like sour baby formula,” he says. “And there’s a pea in your hair.”
“At least I have hair!” I snap. “Unlike you. And I really wish you’d do something about that wart on your foot.”
“My hand is getting twitchy Mrs. Grey,” he growls salaciously.
“Empty promises,” I respond, rolling my eyes in his full view. “We both know there’s nothing in the playroom anymore except a Barbie Dream House and a Thomas the Tank Engine set.”
The loud crash of Teddy falling off his chair stops our conversation.
Later, after the kids are tucked away in bed, I wander to the great room to find Christian at the piano. The sound of Barney’s “I love you, you love me” fills the air.
“I can’t get this freakin’ song out of my head,” he says.
“I’m heading to bed.”
“Shall I join you?” he murmurs, his lips hinting at a smile.
“No. I’m just really bloated and headachy, and Charlie will be awake in a few hours for his bottle,” I reply, my inner goddess snoring loudly.
“Ok, I’m going to catch some scores on ESPN before turning in,” he says.
I give him a quick peck on the cheek.
L’il Girl Talk
“Being sexy is a good thing, isn’t it?” says The Oldest, age 9. “Uh, what is sexy?”
* Apologies if this column is confusing to those who have not read the 50 Shades of Grey Trilogy.