So i apologize for not posting in quite awhile. I’m kind of trying to get my life together after graduating, so i’ve been busy, and kind of drunk a lot, and in the process of making a boy i love into my manfriend.
anyways, this is an Ed one shot involving children. And this is a really weird idea, but this actually happened to my step sister and her husband, and i thought it was hilarious, so i wrote it out with Ed.
Enjoy! and i hope to be able to post more frequently from now on.
I love you all, as always, and i’m VERY grateful for your support, and for the fact that you all haven’t unfollowed me!
The Dairy Incident: An Ed Sheeran One Shot
It’s going to go down as “The Dairy Incident” for the rest of our lives. For every year that we remain married, for the rest of the time that we are alive, we will be reminded of this incident many times, in many ways. I will look at him, from across the room, reminiscing of some completely off topic memory, and a certain thought for feeling will trigger it. On some level, we may resent each other for it. It will always come down to it. There will always be that small jab, the miniscule twist of a knife of that incident that will work its way into every fight. It’s not even a monumental incident; we were both just very tired.
I had been up to my elbows taking care of our littles all day. He had been touring all year. But it was a simple request from me to him. “Ed, on your way home from the studio, could you please pick up the milk and eggs?” (I should let you in on a small backstory. In our city, there is a local business that provides dairy and food that is both organic and not treated by any kind of chemicals. Eleanor is allergic to the chemicals in milk that you buy from the supermarket, so we have to buy them from this local business, that takes care of orders in their house)
We have two. And before we had two, we were convinced that we could have a small army of children to take care of us forever. But two, as of now, is definitely enough. Especially when our two consist of a three year old who wants nothing more than the attention to be completely on her and her growing vocabulary and accomplishments, and a one year old who spends all of his time spitting one syllable words trying to make sense of the English language. These are our children, the two individuals who we care about more than ourselves, and each other. And it’s a good feeling. Ed’s one of those people who has this belief system that childhood shouldn’t be about dressing littles in designer clothes, or making sure that they have $200 dollar toys. It’s about spending as much time as possible with them, and making sure that they get to chase after the ice cream truck, and playing for hours in the park while getting their tiny hands and feet dirty. It’s about family move nights, frozen yogurt trips, vacations to the beach, and camping out in the backyard. It’s not about material possessions, but living in a house knee deep in memories.
I had asked him to pick up the milk and eggs at the grocery store on his way home from the studio. I had meant to pick them up yesterday, when I received that oh-so-obnoxious reminder on my iphone that keeps me at least, a tiny bit sane. But I was sidetracked by the constant reminder that Oliver’s in that stage where he’s trying harder than ever to put everything and anything in his mouth. And when I say anything, I really mean dangerous things like rocks and sharp objects. And it’s in my best interest, if I plan on seeing Oliver grow up, to keep him away from these dangerous things. So I asked Ed to do it, to pick it up, and as easily as I forgot, he forgot. That was on Saturday, and it is now Monday evening, and we are still without milk and eggs, and we find ourselves in situations where we can’t get to the grocery store.
“We need to talk about this” I tell him, in the most serious voice I can muster after a few drinks, “Ed, it was one simple request.”
“Baby, I’ll do it tomorrow” he mumbles, shrugging me off, “Eleanor won’t die without milk and eggs”
“I’m a crazy wife, I know, I get it.” I shake my head, “but like, god dammit, Ed”
“Yeah you’re totally going to use this against me at some point” he nods, “like, damn, this is a good soufflé, but no thanks to you for not getting me those damn eggs”
“Exactly. The dairy incident of 2013” I shake my head.
“What is it that pisses you off about it? That I just didn’t do it yet? Or because I didn’t do it when you asked me?” He asks, “because it’s 10pm on a Monday evening, both of our kids are asleep, and I don’t think that you want to go on a drunken adventure to that guy’s house to get some organic dairy”
“Just that I asked you on Saturday to do it” I exhale loudly, “I don’t want this to be a fight, Ed, but cut me a break. I take care of those kids while you’re gone, and I can’t even get a minute to myself, and when I do, I’m reminding you about getting milk so Eleanor doesn’t die”
“Well let’s go then, alright??” he covers my hand with his across the table and squeezes, rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand. “you can divorce me later.”
I watch in disbelief as Ed gets up from the table, and heads over towards the door of the nursery. At 10pm on a Monday evening, Ed Sheeran is going to wake up our sleeping children to take them on an adventure.
“Ed” I call out in a loud whisper, shaking my head when his hand meets the doorknob
“We can’t just leave them here, and I’m not going alone!” he tells me, stubbornly, his brows furrowing. I roll my eyes at him, watching him disappear into the dark room, exiting a few minutes later with a sleeping Oliver in one arm, and a sleeping Eleanor in the other. Moments like this, regardless of the circumstances, melt my heart. Seeing Ed as the proud papa, toting around our babies, makes me want to marry him again and again, day after day, just to reassure me that this man will never change. I see Oliver begin to wake up, squirming ever so slightly in Ed’s arm, and I make my way over to them to relieve Ed of both children, taking Oliver in my arms.
Oliver makes life easier to fall in love with. He’s a tiny little human being, with the softest skin I have ever felt in my entire life. His tiny hands and feet grab and kick at anything they can find, and his chubby little legs throw him into the world, at alarming rates. He falls down, gets up, picks up whatever he can, and tries to put it in his mouth. It’s kind of scary and adorable all at the same time. He cries when he’s tired, and hungry, and just uncomfortable, and he laughs at the most ridiculous things. Like the way Ed blows raspberries on his tiny baby belly, tossing him up in the air and carefully catching him, and when Eleanor shares her beloved popsicles with him. I hold him close to me, swaying with him in my arms, trying to coax him back into that unconscious baby sleep he loves so much.
“I married a baby whisperer” He chuckles, watching as Oliver falls back asleep,
“nah, they just know who their mama is” I tell him, “I have two people who will always need me”
“Three” Ed corrects me, as he picks up the car keys sitting on the kitchen table, tossing the keys to me, “I’ll always need you.”
“You’re sweet” I smile at him, heading towards the door, “you might convince me not to divorce you by the end of this”
“That’s the plan.” He chuckles. It’s an acquired skill to be able to talk loud enough to hear, but soft enough not to wake up sleeping children. I think ours take after us with their sleep patterns. Specifically, they are just as cranky as Ed is when he’s woken up out of a dead sleep for no reason. Which is why we’ve perfected the art of a loud whisper. That’s how we have most of our conversations. Ed usually gets in late. Oliver and Eleanor end up in bed by 8pm, and by the time 9pm rolls around and Ed makes his way into the house, we spend a few hours talking about our days, eating reheated dinner, and trying to convince ourselves that we aren’t losing each other to parenthood, despite the cheerios that end up down my shirt, or the baby food that ends up on his clothes. Marriage is hard. Parenthood is harder. It’s hard to go from dating to being married. There’s more commitment, more expectations, more rules. And when you throw some kids into the mix, it makes staying together that much more important. I came from a broken home, and I was convinced that I’d never get married. I couldn’t fathom the idea that maybe someone would want to wake up to me every morning for the rest of their life. I had no idea anyone would even want that. And then Ed came along and convinced me that he’d love me forever, and that nothing would make him happier than having kids. And I love that about him, because you don’t find people like him often. And when you do, you need to hold on to them.
One of my favorite things about papa Ed, is his ability to maneuver sleeping babies into carseats without ever waking them up. I think it has something to do with how many times I made him take Oliver out of the house whenever I was sick a few weeks after he was born. I couldn’t get a single ounce of peace and quiet and Ed would put him in a stroller and basically just walk around the neighborhood with him until he was sure I was asleep. Have I mentioned how much I love this man?
We finally get the littles loaded up in the car, and we make it an ASTOUNDING 5 miles before Eleanor’s awake.
“mama, why are we in the car?” I glance in the rearview mirror back at Eleanor who is rubbing her eyes, a frown on her face, “Is it morning?”
“not quiet, love” Ed responds, turning around towards her “we’re going on an adventure”
“I like adventures” she squeaks, clapping her hands together
“It’s a quiet adventure, E” he tells her, putting a finger to his lips, “Oliver’s not invited”
“Oh, it’s a secret” she mimics his movements by putting a finger to her lips, and Ed turns back around in his seat, winking at me.
We make it to the house where our milk and eggs are, and I turn the headlights off, pulling into the driveway as quietly as possible.
“I forgot my ski mask” he jokes, and I punch him in the shoulder, “Kidding”
“Just go open the garage door, slip inside, get our stuff, and get back in the car.” I tell him , “piece of cake”
“yeah, okay” he grumbles. He turns back towards me, and presses his lips hard to mine, and I can feel the smile on his lips as he pulls away, “if something happens to me, know that I love you”
“I’ll tell our children about you” I reply, in the most dramatic voice I can muster without laughing.
He opens the car door, and shuts it behind him quietly. I watch as he quietly jogs to the garage door, pushing it up just high enough for him to slip under. I watch him get down on all fours, before rolling under the garage door like some kind of Russian spy. I laugh into my palms when he does it, and my eyes direct from him to the house attached to the garage and the lights that are now on. I suspect that they heard the garage door, and as Ed comes rolling back out from under the door, he’s got milk and eggs in his hands and he’s yelling at me.
“Drive” he yells. I put the car in reverse, just in time for him to practically throw himself back into the passenger’s seat, and I back out of the driveway and speed down the road.
“what the hell?” I ask him, my eyes wide as he catches his breath.
“Oh, nothing, I just always wanted to make a dramatic exit” he laughs, shaking his head.
“Papa you’re funny” Eleanor giggles at him.
“thanks doll” he smiles back at her
“I love you” I tell him, shaking my head in disbelief, “thank you”
“anything for you” he takes my hand in his and presses his lips to the back of my hand.
This will go down as the Dairy incident of 2013. It will have started off as a fight. And it will end with laughter every time we think about it. I will remember this forever, and it will live in my heart as a positive memory, of Ed making a complete ass out of himself just to prove a point to his crazy wife.