Great time

So, we had a great time last night.  The shrimp marinara came out GREAT.  The rolls were yummy, but they kinda fell flat.  Literally.  Either because the yeast set up for too long (didn’t realize that we were out of eggs until I had already started and the hubs forgot to tell me, so had to wait for him to get home with more eggs) or I’ve just lost my touch. It’s been a while since I made yeast rolls, so I may need to retweek my recipe.  I’m gonna check on that.  But they were good, even though they didn’t come out right.

As for the rest….well, we had a great time.  ^__^  One thing I can say for sure about the last several weeks, it’s some of the best sex of our lives.  Which is saying something, because it’s like our favorite hobby and has been since we first got together.  I say it like that because the hubs and I didn’t start off dating, we started of “sleeping together” and him living with me.  Of course, that didn’t end up lasting very long – though his cousin and his wife that we spent many a weekend with would argue that we took forever to admit what everybody else already knew.

Strangely, for the first time in my life, I’ve dreamed about holding my son (well, sons, actually) in my arms.  I have the same dream twice now – last night and the night before – of lying in a hospital bed, holding two newborns, my husband standing next to me grinning, and my Momma crying while she smiles.  I even dreamed twice of my sister coming in and she and my Momma fighting with each other over my bed.  (my sister is from my father’s first marriage, and through many circumstances, they don’t get along…in fact, I’m genuinely the only thing they have in common since our younger brother really doesn’t know her at all)  I see these two little heads with auburn hair and big feet.  Big feet matter because my father has CMT, a type of muscular dystrophy passed from mother to son to daughter.  I could be a carrier and could pass it to my sons.  But a sign of CMT is small, flat feet.  When our boys are born with big feet, we’ll know that they’re safe.

Do I think this means I’m pregnant?  I don’t know.  I’m not going to get my hopes up and I’m definitely not going to stop trying.  Do I think it’s a prophetic dream?  I never claim that a dream is prophetic until after it shows itself more than hopes.  But I can hope.  Especially the hair.  I think my great-grandfather would get a kick when he looked down on us.  ^__^

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