Sunday, March 22, 2015

Wherein I realize that I married my High School English Teacher

 When explaining Mr. Graff's sense of humor, I like what his Team Lead told him at a performance review, 

"You have a dry sense of humor, with a touch of discontent. I love it!" 


If Mr. Graff's humor is dry, mine must be wet---bubbly and expressive. When we were doing recommend interviews to get married, the Stake President did a double take and thought something like, "How on earth are THOSE two ever going to work?" 

How does it work? 
Well, it does, quite nicely. 

In high school, I had a crush on my English teacher, Mr. Jordan. He was tall, smart, dark-haired and blue-eyed and liked interesting, random things. He could paint pictures with his words. And there was just an edge of discontent in his humor. 

I once witnessed Mr. Jordan engage in a verbal sparring match that left my ears burning. She, another teacher, hoped to get his attention by conversational duel. He casually side stepped her argument, she lunged on the attack, and he parried in such a way that it disarmed her. Even after she left, the tension clung to the room like an extra layer of atmosphere. He smirked.

It was brilliant. 

Add mental agility, dry humor, to a little discontent and you get Mr. Graff. And it's a little funny to realize that I married [someone like] my high school English teacher. I like him. Mr. Graff, that is. 

We had a hot date. We re-tiled the bathroom floor. Oh yeah. 



I drank copious amounts of Mt. Dew, hoping to get buzzed (three hours of sleep just isn't enough). I was nauseous and giggly instead. Next time, I think I'll try Red Bull. [I don't think 'buzzed' is the word you want.  Maybe emphasize 'tired'.  And how little you drink caffeine and why.  And that your SiL wants to video tape you if you ever do drink Red Bull.]




We finally grouted the floor around one in the morning. 


It's beautiful. 


In other news: 

Joe is starting to put food up to his lips! He demanded my smoothie and then put his little fist into it and shoved it in his face. Different textures of foods need more coaxing. 



I walked into the kitchen for a few minutes and came out to find Caleb surrounded. [Couchquake victim!] 


I love his hair. 





And here are my helpers, washing the window. 



Got to love them. All of them. 



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