"The Cute Chronicles"

Forget the search for the Fountain of Youth. I have discovered the Fountain of Cute. It’s my wife.

My wife exudes cute, there’s no denying it. Sometimes it's overwhelming. I take notes.

“When are you going to write that column about the cute things I do?” she asked me recently, as I have been threatening/promising such a column for a while now. Today looks like the day.

So here, in no order (for there can be no order to such cuteness) is

The Column About The Cute Things Christina Does, Or Has Done.

* I often share with my wife the colorful rural sayings I’ve absorbed throughout my life. Some of them are pretty obscure, so the wisdom doesn’t always stick with her right away. Luckily I’m not afraid of repetition.

Recently I told her that my mother used to say, in response to someone who was upset about something, “Well, he can get glad in the same ol’ drawers he got mad in.” Not a bad little koan; it’s simple, direct and contains underwear references.

A few days later, Christina repeated this aphorism back to me, only somewhere in the translation it had become: “Sad pants can be happy pants.”

* Believe it or not, I can sometimes border on being annoying. Christina is the Border Guard. She stamps “approved” on my papers, signifying that I am hereby granted entry into the Land of the Annoying.

Last week I was drinking apple juice. I was also annoying her. I can’t recall the details, but it probably involved me hovering over her, demanding that she laugh at my jokes while she was actually trying to do something.

She said, quite seriously, “Barry, where’s your apple juice?”

You know, like you would say to a child, “Where’s your Binkey?” if you were trying to distract them from crying or pulling your hair or playing with the kitchen knives.

“Where’s your apple juice?”

And it worked.

* Christina talks to inanimate objects. Out loud. She asks chairs if they want to be in the living room or the kitchen. She asks rocks, before skipping them in the river, if they want to go into the water.

Oh, she also repeats the object’s answers out loud. I realize that it sounds slightly psychotic, but it really is quite adorable.

* My Spanish is rudimentary at best, but Christina knows even less than I do, so I often try to impress her with my bilingualism.

For some reason, the word “entonces” makes her laugh, whether I use it properly or not. Laugh at anything I do and it’s a safe bet that I’ll do it again and again. And again. I’m just that way.

Christina doesn’t technically drink coffee, at least not from her own cup. She drinks my coffee. From my cup. When I make my morning cup of coffee, I always give Christina the first sip, as everyone knows the first sip is the best. It’s our morning ritual.

Yesterday morning, I handed her the cup so she could take the traditional first sip. As I did so I said, “Es tiempo del primero sip, entonces.” She laughed. Harder than you would think. She spit the coffee out. Knowing the wrath it would incur if she would have spit it back in the cup, she kinda let it run down the front of her shirt instead. Her lower lip was like a cute little spout with a solid, pencil-thin stream of brown liquid flowing from it. Very precious.

* Despite my repeated (and patient, I think) tutelage, my wife refuses to sing the correct words to “Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting.”

* On a recent vacation we came upon a field of cattails. Christina had never “experienced” the unique plant before, whereas I had a back yard full of them as a kid.

I seized the opportunity to turn her on to the many fun things you can do with a cattail, mainly holding it up like a torch and unraveling it as you run, thus creating a big swirling cloud of white cattail fluff behind you. I demonstrated, humming the Olympics theme as I did so.

Then it was her turn. Her unraveling while running technique was perfect, she just neglected the rather key detail of holding the cattail up and away from her, and instead held it in front of her. After three steps she was covered in fluff, sputtering and sneezing.

I was forced to lie down in the field to let the wave of cute fully wash over me.

* When Christina makes toast, she takes a bite out of the corner of the bread before putting it in the toaster. The tiniest, cutest little bite.

It’s like a signature. A little signature of cute.

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