Wrong Brained

During the course of our aforementioned, continued and drawn-out
Organizational Extravaganza, we ventured into the kitchen. I was
excited to get rid of the clutter, move out things we never use and
take inventory of what we have. The Boy opened the cabinet that
contained glasses-- one of the few I was pretty sure did not need to
be reorganized-- and looked serious. "Okay, tell me if you agree with
me. I'm thinking the plastic cups should be on the top shelf." This
is when I knew I had just committed to more than I had planned. Five
days later, only the top cabinets have been tackled.

"But why?" I humored him. "That's where they'll have the most chance
of breaking."

"What?" he laughed, "That's what you think? My reason was because
they get the least amount of use. I can't believe the differences in
how two different sides of the brain work."

And sometimes, that's all we are. Two halves of a whole brain,
piecing it all together.

This morning, after he had fed and dressed our daughter, in a pink and
green gingham dress and pink flip flops she'd rather eat and praised
her for saving her poop for the daycare provider, he packed the
bottles up and whisked past me with a kiss and an 'I love you' while I
muttered about all the steps inherent in my getting out the door.

"I have to get cash for Aunt Nae," I said, reminding him that no task,
while with the baby, is a simple one. "I have to go get the car, pack
the car and get her in her car seat only to drive three blocks, get
her out of the car seat to go to the ATM, then put her back in the car
to drop her off at day care, then I'll actually be on my way to work.
And you? You just take your coffee and put your top down and drive to
work without a care in the world," I flung my hand over my head in a
frolicking motion for effect. "As soon as you leave, to anyone who
might pass by, it's as if you don't even have a family."

To which he replied, "That's not true. I think about you the whole time."