DO-mesticated

Curt and I are, what my brother Russell would sneer at, domesticated.

We are both dancing around.
With separate headphones and music.
Me cleaning, happily.
Curt slicing, dicing, frying, and boiling chicken.
(We are starting to follow Aunt Em's good example and only buying meat that "had a good life.")

Well, the only chicken I have so far found in Jefferson City that remotely meets this criteria is the organic free-range chicken at Walmart.
A WHOLE chicken.
Filled with stuff that fills chicken.
With smaller breasts (so very Un-Hollywood) that didn't grow so big the poor stupid thing couldn't walk and isn't laced with "rib meat" (whatever the heck THAT is).

Just looking at the mound of raw meat would've been enough to send me flying out to buy the first BAG of processed chicken I could find and who cares if the darn thing never saw daylight it's a giant bag for $6.99 and rib meat sounds healthy and my aren't these large breasts? (If I had a penny.... just kidding).

Enough about chicken.

The thing is, THIS is what makes/keeps us happy. Happily doing domesticated stuff. Stopping every once in a while for a quick kiss or story. Making our little house/world better. Anna is snoozing in her "tobbler bed". (Oops, just realized I didn't tell the story of that transition. Will do so soon.) We are blessed and happy with what we have despite the fact that our bank account is dangerously low. Again. A few days in to the pay period.

We are NOT going out to drink or dance like other 30ish people I have seen in the two (yes only two) times I've been in a bar in the past year. It was the SAME group of post-frat-party-lost my mojo in college-don't know how to get on with life gang. Both times. In the bar.
That is not a life.

I'll tell you what a life is.
A beautiful daughter safe, healthy and happy in bed.
The Beatles, Micheal Jackson, and music from Slumdog Millionaire on the SAME playlist.
Finishing My Sister's Keeper today for the second time.
Curt making mock moaning sounds when he eats the chicken liver he just fried and acting like I'm uncultured for not taking a bite.

Life.
Domesticated.