Partners in crime to fighting crime?!

Todays writing prompt was to write about a best friend, a trusty side-kick, or your partner in crime. My husband is all of these and more. We have been married for almost 9 years but have known each other for almost 19. We met when we were 20 and had many moments of being partners in crime that I am not going to share with you (this time). But as of late any crime for us is in the sense of crime fighting. Mainly exercised when putting our daughters to bed at night. Don’t laugh, this is crime fighting at it’s finest because our two sweet cherubs are masters of deception and trickery. True mastermind criminals.

From bath time, to brushing teeth, to jammies, stories and into bed where sleep won’t take over for another 20 minutes (at least) is a masterfully constructed and executed plan of attack and counter attack. My husband and I, we are often the bad cop good cop fighting these two sweet faced master minds. These two beings (for being under four feet tall) can wear you down! Like almost to tears, hands over your ears, feeling like your brain may explode, worn down. Torturous question and answer sessions that go on and on and on. Routines of last drinks of water, having to go potty to scratchy jammies, to being too hot or too cold are frustrating beyond belief. Excuse after excuse and reminder after reminder and then the lovey-dove talk about how they adore us. It almost gets you to read the one more story, sing one more song, you know the special song you made up just for meeeee…

But my husband and I are a force to be reckoned with. We have all the answers and we rattle them off with lightning like precision. And what we don’t know (because the questions are nonsensical gibberish designed to stall sleep) we make up the answers. We know where they got their creative extensive imaginations from. Us! They can’t beat the masters. We can get a water bottle refilled, a potty break, and new unscratchy jammies changed out in less than 30 seconds flat. We can corral like cowboys of the wild west and we are immune to tears. We sing the special song like trained songbirds, we kiss the little noses and we call it a wrap. We turn off the light and lay in wait. Quiet measured breathing like a metronome lulling them to sleep. We hope. We pray. We promise to all forces of heaven and nature that we will not lose it. We breathe deep. We air high-five each other (and flip the occasional bird) toward the bedroom video camera. We know the other one is holding the monitor at close watch waiting to see when the eyelids close and to make sure the one in the trenches is holding up. Like a true partner would.

We created these beings together, we remind each other they are only half of each of us. Only half. We are the wholes of ourselves and we are manageable. We can handle them. Well, together we can handle them. We had no idea the skills we would need for this parenting gig. So to my trusty side-kick, my partner in ex-crime, now crime fighting bad-ass, my bestie of all besties. I salute you. We fuckin’ got this! Oh, by the way it’s your turn in the trenches… I’ll stand watch! I got your back.

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