If a brain meet a brain coming through the Vyde.

I am constantly learning from my husband. I learn more some weeks than other weeks, but there is never a dull week where my brain is not challenged by something inside his brain. They are not dueling brains. They are working-together brains. Good thing, too, because these two brains are housed right on top of each other in this tiny apartment where two cats tell us exactly what to do at all times. Funny how their itty bitty brains control our much larger human brains. We are at their mercy. Late at night is when we are most prone to kitty cat brain slavery. The doling out of kitty treats, the scraping of the litter box, and the filling of the many water glasses around our apartment that caused one friend to muse that our interior decorating mimics the ideas in the Mel Gibson movie Signs. We’re all waiting for alien brains to fall from the sky. I hope they’re cat alien brains that know how to fill their own water bowl and don't drink from the toilet.

It is late at night when the big Mr. Husband brain and the slightly smaller but still equal in every way Mrs. Wife brain meet to brainstorm and come up with ideas. Mr. Husband is building a video game. Besides his strong desire to date the girl at work who would not date, this was one of the first things I knew about Mr. Husband. He is building Vyde, which I have pronounced “Veed” from the beginning since my sometimes smaller brain has a knack for mispronouncing words. I think it’s a gift. In grad school, they didn’t agree. When we met, I googled him. Any man who is interesting must be highly googlable, too. My Mr. Husband was not necessarily highly googlable, but he did have one entry: a blog. Hm. Kind of interesting. I’d never met anyone with a blog: http://www.vyde.com/.

I perused the site, keen with interest and looking for his history so my greedy eyes could snatch it up and store it in my smaller brain that did not yet know his larger brain. I did not yet have confirmation that his brain was anything more than a veiny capsule. I did not know yet that his brain was a thinking man’s brain. I was on the hunt for evidence of brain magic. What I found perplexed me. My girl brain did not understand what his big man brain was wrestling with: video games, web based components, API architecture, and arbitrary leaps across the grid. My feeling-much-smaller-than-normal brain was swimming in the unknown. It was also swimming in intrigue with a genuinely piqued interest and a big need-to-know-more factor.

I went to my sources. I asked Dowling. I asked Moser. I asked Baugher. All seemed to say the same thing. This big man brain is working on something overwhelming and nearly impossible (the “impossible” sentiment can be accredited alone to Baugher, who makes Hardy and his “Hap” look like a carnival ride with cotton candy and no cares in the world). My sources all scratched their heads. My main concern, though, was, “can it be done?” Nearly impossible is not impossible necessarily.

Last night, the two of us put our big brains together and I helped Mr. Husband with his story. Vyde must have myth. Vyde must have story. This is where my smaller brain swings into big brain action and concocts story after story, stringing them together as we talk and laugh about the details. Some of the funniest discussion in the world. Some of the best times in our shared life are when his brain comes and asks my brain to help him out, challenging my sleeping brain to wake and grow into spaces girl-brain never imagined before man-brain knocked. I’m happy to oblige Mr. Husband, for his big-giant-enourmous-man-thinking-at-all-times-always-logical brain is reason #46 for why I married him. And it is so very important to be inside his brain for some part of the day—to take part of my day and set it aside to learn about what’s making Mr. Husband tick. He makes my brain a little bit bigger and cozier indeed.