Phone Numbers

Husby came bounding in from work this evening, to find me turning the meatballs over in the pan with one hand, holding our six week old daughter with the other, and feeding her with a bottle propped up against my chin. Our oldest daughter was standing on her step stool in front of the microwave, cheerfully pouring water from one bottle to another with marginal success. (She was "helpering".)

As is his custom, bouncy Husby adds to the cacophony with stories about the latest adventures in corporate finance. He interrupted himself and asked me if I'd heard from my Dad.

"Huh?" I tried to infuse my question with as much distracted irritation as I could to remind him that I was truly doing at least four things at once.

"I sent your Dad a text message and I haven't heard back from him yet. And hey, how do you do all that stuff at once? I can feed the baby and do something else at the same time too, as long as the other thing that I'm doing is watching tv." Hilarious.

It's magic, pal. That's how I do it. Tons of fairy dust and duct tape, Coors Light and moxie, that's what is holding this whole thing together. Instead of sharing this thought, I smiled beatifically and raised my eyebrows at him to indicate that he should continue with his bewildering line of questioning.

"Did you watch the news today?"

I had, but not since the morning.

"Well, Slumdog Millionaire took home a ton of Oscars. And something tremendous happened in the financial market that I wonder if your Dad knows about."

I knew about the Oscars, hadn't I been watching all day to see the "hits and misses" of Oscar fashion? I had no idea what tremendous thing happened in the business world, so I waited for him to tell me with a sense of trepidation. No gnus is good gnus in the market these days...

"So and so bought Such and Such, isn't that amazing?" He now had his phone out, to check if Dad had answered his text. I reminded him that Dad was visiting my sister, who lives in Mississippi. Cell phone reception is spotty in her neck of the woods. He could call my sister and reach them that way.

"What's your sister's phone number?"

"Seriously, I have no idea. Go get my phone. She's speed dial #5."

He was still flipping through his contact list. "Is her area code 614?"

"I have no idea. She's speed dial #5."

"Uhm...is her area code 312?"

"Honey. Listen. I have absolutely no idea what her phone number is. She is speed dial #5. As far as I'm concerned, her phone number is 5. I push the number 5, and she answers. Her phone number is 5."

Sheesh. He finally found my phone, pushed the number 5, and got a hold of the gang in Mississpi. Eureka.

(for the record, Dad did know about the market thing, and the meatballs I made for dinner turned out quite well. Those details don't really impact my story, I'm really just bragging about cooking a dinner that didn't turn out like the bottom of my shoe.)