Even when no one is looking

Sometimes as you move through your days getting kids out the door with lunches in hand and signed permission slips, you’re just happy to have the boat afloat and headed in the right direction. There’s little time in those long days to reflect on the bigger picture of life and how your kids see you. You’re mostly just doing the best you can.

If I had the time to sit quietly and think, I might spend a moment or two wondering what my kids have learned growing up in our house. I’d wonder what they’ve learned about how difficult being a parent is, the stress of being a grown up paying a mortgage and the struggle to balance a career you’re proud of with a family that defines and centers you. I especially wonder how they see a marriage. Maybe I wonder that because I grew up with divorced parents and don't really have memories of what a marriage looks like.

But my children are old enough now to be forming impressions.  And they live with a married couple. A married couple that is far from perfect and regularly bickers about some seriously stupid stuff. We do periodically bicker about stuff that’s actually worth bickering about. But mostly, we just bicker about who does the dishes more often, whether or not I hid his favorite gray winter hat and why we have to fold laundry at 10pm instead of just going to bed.

The paparazzi decided it was important that my lunch bag and a random water bottle be included in this out of focus shot.

Recently my husband and I were goofing off in the kitchen. He’d come up behind me and hugged me. It probably started out as crazy person bear hugging because that’s a game he and I play. And he probably squeezed me too tight to “adjust” my back because that’s another game we play. But mostly I was just walking through and he hugged me.  I don't remember any particular reason for it or what either of us said.  I just remember he hugged me and I received the hug and enjoyed it.  Just a quiet moment.  No more, no less. 

And then we looked over and discovered the paparazzi had been watching us.

Naturally, grown adults that realize a camera is out will immediately spring into photo mode.

Naturally, grown adults that are complete lunatics will then move on to making weird faces at each other including sticking their tongues out as if licking each other is their standard greeting.

Why, yes, that is a giant hole in our kitchen ceiling?  Can you say, "Plumbing issue?"

And naturally once they've greeted each other appropriately, grown adults that are complete lunatics will go WWE and see if we can get someone injured by playfully shoving each other around.

I like that the paparazzi stepped up her game adding random fingers to block part of the shot, too.  Gives her work an air of authenticity few professional photographers ever achieve.

But then we're going to bring it in for a hug. Because there is love. On good days and bad. In sickness and in health. Til death do us part.

I don't know what made the crazy 10 year old paparazzi think there was anything photo worthy going on to make her pick up the phone to snap pictures.  But it kinda sort warmed my cold black heart later seeing them. 

Because I hope that's what my kids have learned living with us.  It’s not perfect. It’s sometimes ridiculous.  But there’s always love.  Even when we think no one is looking.

Dinner was great but the note was better

My husband and I recently celebrated our 10^th wedding anniversary.  Anniversaries generally aren't a big event in our house.  By the time we got to anniversaries 8 and 9, we both forgot.  Forgetting 8 shocked us both.  I remembered at work a couple days after and called him.  Forgetting 9 was less of an event.  We realized our mistake over dinner and laughed.   But there was no forgetting 10.

My husband and I have had a running joke for 10 years about the vow renewal ceremony we were going to have on our 10th anniversary.  The vow renewal ceremony my husband made the mistake of committing to while planning our wedding.  His theory being there was no need to go big on the wedding since it was a given we'd be doing another on our 10 anniversary.  

 

My husband isn’t into big fru fru stuff so it surprised me he thought we’d do that.  I mentioned that and he said it again and upped the ante saying he'd plan it.  He also offered to make a scrapbook of knick knacks from our wedding.  He is not a man that scrapbooks.  He was clearly delirious when he said it.

I'm not the least bit embarrassed to report how fun it's been fun asking him how the planning has been coming over the last 10 years.  It's another in the long line of games he and I play.  Highlights include the time we moved and he tried to suggest we get rid of the box that contained the wedding knick knacks he's supposed to be scrapbooking because he didn't even recognize the stuff in the box.

But the vow renewal has been the best running joke that got exponentially more fun the closer we got to  the actual 10th anniversary.  For the last year I've been asking how many days I should take off work and whether or not we'd need passports to get to our destination nuptials.  My husband enjoyed assuring me the planning was seamless.

A couple sweet ladies at work gently pointed out to me that there would be no secret vow renewal.  I gently pointed out to them that I've been married to him for 10 years.  No one knows better than I do that there's no secret vow renewal in the works.  Duh!  But why let that cramp a perfectly good long running joke?

Last year, it was mind blowing that the running joke was quickly approaching its deadline. It was not mind blowing that we ended up celebrating without a vow renewal.

We had something better instead.  A night out alone.  That almost never happens.

Trip to the grocery store alone?  Sometimes.  Walking the dogs around the block before bed alone?  Almost every night.  But sitting down to a meal in a nice restaurant by ourselves after 6 pm?  It’s been years.

Since it was the big 1-0 anniversary, we did it up in style.  I’m not joking.  We went to Morton’s Steakhouse and our bill was a ridiculously pretty penny.  I told my inner cheap skate to shut the hell up and enjoy because you only hit 10 once.

Holy crap the food was good.  Best meal of my life.  My husband and I marveled at how perfectly they cooked asparagus.  It takes very little to impress us but I don't think I've ever had more perfect asparagus.  Every piece I've ever eaten before in my life has either been too mushy or too hard. Morton's does it better.  For that matter, they do everything better.

Special anniversary menus! Don't we feel glamorous?

The bread they give you before the meal had some tasty crap in it, the au gratin potatoes were 52 times better than any out of the box Betty Crocker crap I’ve ever eaten and our steaks were so good it felt like a crime to not shovel the entire thing in my face.  There was even some fluffy lemony thing for dessert.  Nom.  Nom.  I ate the hell out of every single thing they put in front of me.

I also dressed up for the occasion.  At work, I wear black slacks and sensible shoes almost every day.  I also pull my hair back in a bun and am a walking alpha female all day.  With the perfect excuse to break out of the mold, it was fun to take my new figure for a test drive in a dress. My husband was appropriately impressed. 

I love that the paparazzi got our legs in focus but not our faces.  And, yes, those are actual heels.  On my body.  Go figure.

Over candle light, we said sappy stuff to each other.  We waxed nostalgic that for reasons that elude us we seem to like each other more today than we did the day we got married.  Plenty of people can't say that.  It's a humbling thing to realize.  I know for sure we love each other more today.  His smile is more dear to me.  His strong arms give me confidence.  His humor makes everyday more fun.  And he lets the chinks in his armor show just enough that I know he’s human.

Is he perfect?  No.  Hell, no.  But why should he be?  I’m not.  I’m hella imperfect.  To heck with perfection.  Be happy instead.    He’s a keeper. 

So's our life.  And after dinner, this old married couple headed right back to it.  The life that comes complete with a crowded bathroom.  

And kids that take our stuff for their own.

We are blessed with health and happiness.  No other anniversary present required.

Except then I found the hand written note he put together after I fell asleep and left on my nightstand for me to find the next morning.  It listed 15 things he loves about me.  15 wonderfully specific things in his chicken scratch on a silly piece of loose leaf college ruled paper that ended when his hand got tired.  I know because he wrote that on the note, too.

Best. Thing. He. Ever. Gave. Me.  Hands down.  My engagement ring may be worth more at a pawn shop but the note is a priceless treasure of the highest magnitude.   Holy crap every big lug of an Italian Stallion should write one for his wife.  She will go to bed thinking she loves you only to wake up and discover she loves you three times more than she did the night before. 

 

Here's to 10 more years and the scrapbook and vow renewal he still owes me!

Let's get ready to rumble

My husband and I behave like 12 year olds on a regular basis.  I subject him to mandatory cuddling and anonymous heavy breathing phone calls.  He locks me out of the house in the snow.  I host family meetings in the bathroom while he's trying to go to the bathroom.  He performs whole monologues as if it's a psychotic crotch talking.  It goes on and on.   And it's the norm.

One night recently while surfing Pinterest and seeing one too many tall skinny drinks of water doing some crazy difficult yoga pose, I got it into my head that I wanted to see if I could do the bridge pose.

Do not be fooled.  The weight of the upper half of my body is entirely supported by my giant melon sized head resting on the floor.  My legs had the lower half under control.  The wet noodles I call arms not so much.

And if there's a question of physical prowess taking place anywhere within a 1 mile radius, the Italian Stallion is on the scene to demonstrate his proficiency and crush your soul.  I took a good 2 minutes figuring out how to hold my hands and how I was going to leverage my booty upward and what limp noodle muscle was going to do it.  He just pops right up into it and all but back handsprings up out of it when he's done.  We get it.  You have muscles.  Blah blah blah.

Some people might segue directly from bridge pose to some more restful soul searching relaxation type poses.  We're insane in the membrane so naturally we got right up on the bed to get our wrestle on.  Back before we had kids, this was just the stuff of legend we'd laughingly chat about later with friends over dinner.  Now that we have our own personal paparazzi, this magic is documented in pictures while she's laughing at us. She's nine years old and can recognize the train leaving the station for crazytown and that it should be captured for eternity. 

We join our heroes in the midst of battle.  Much like our dog.   

I'd pretend he smelled food or something but truthfully we just have dogs wandering through our lives.  Why should a wrestling match be any different?

My husband is strictly forbidden from using his superior strength against me.  Unfortunately his strength has little to do with his ability to evade which is also above average. This time around he went with the classic avoidance technique employed by children everywhere that involves going limp and sliding down and off the furniture. Well played, my friend.   

I countered with the classic hold on maneuver.   That's cool.  Just enjoy the ride.  Go with the flow.

Your opponent is going to count on you to give up at this point.  But you're already on the train.  Go with it.  Why give in now?  The night is still young!  Use the opportunity to get your arms under and around and lock your hands together to solidify your position.  Because, in your head, you're winning.   And that's what counts, isn't it? 

Then you wait them out.  Eventually they will get tired of their face in the filthy carpet.  When you're standing up, your carpet never looks or smells that gross.  When your nose is literally in the middle of carpet fibers, you'll realize it's time to vacuum. 

This is also a good time to get your hand around his head.  There's a lot of vulnerable places to work with up there.  Exploit them.  Gently. Or not.  He's a man! He can take it!  Kidding.  Maybe!

You're grown adults rolling around on carpet by this points.  And if you're down there anyway, why not utilize the opportunity to get some stretching in?  I am to physical therapy what George Costanza was to Architecture. Which is to say, I like to periodically claim I know what I'm doing.

Lean in to it.  Yes, your knee is supposed to crank to the side a bit.  That's good for it.  Trust me.  I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night. 

I call this the lean into it.  It involves trying to touch his forehead with his knees.  It helps if you have a random dog come by to make out with the patient.

Your patients will appreciate that you care enough to really get into your work.

Finally, just crank the patient's butt off the ground as high as you can.  Feel free to recruit your kids to each take a foot.  This move is excellent for those hard to reach places including your upper lumbar and parts of your spine most trained professionals never think to work the kinks out of. 

The more dogs you have up in the patient's face the less likely he is to notice that you are about to shove him through a reverse somersault.

But remember, kids.  Don't try this at home.  Because you're a kid and you're not supposed to be doing that.  You are supposed to be standing over your parents laughing at what idiots they are.  Feel free to photograph it so the whole world can see while you're at it.

May the Force Be With You

Since having children, I've discovered that I'm a bit of a Halloween nut.   My husband probably didn't realize what he was in for until we had children and I started brainstorming group costume ideas in September.  I'd say he's acclimated but we still seem to go through the same exercise every year.  It's the exercise where he resists being part of the theme right up until 5:00 pm on Halloween and then looks suitably confused that I have not bought him a relevant costume.  The first couple years I had a costume minimalist plan for how he could easily participate last minute.  In recent years his resistance has grown so I've left him to his own devices.  So at 5:00 p.m. on Halloween as we're standing in our bathroom bickering, I generally just point out that he kept saying he didn't want to dress up.  He then explains that he changed his mind now that he feels left out while everyone else if frantically getting ready.  I then explain that he should remember this next year. 

Cut to this year and my husband is out of town for the two and a half weeks before Halloween.  Absence makes the heart grow fonder.  It also weakens your resistance to costumes.   Next thing I know he wants hit a costume store on the way home from the airport. Come again?  Who are you and what did you do with my costume minimalist?

King of the costume minimalists was prepared to go full Obi Wan but the costume shops don't stock that.   I know.  What is America coming to?  The costume minimalists was forced to settle for a Jedi Robe and a light saber.  Which is okay.  Because I think we can all agree the adults (I'm supposed to be Luke but most people guessed Obi Wan) are just the window dressing anyway along with the little doggie Yoda and the giant dog pony Jabba the Hut (sign around his neck).

Darth's mask had sound effects.  A better parent would have humorous video to prove it.  I suck so all I have is this photo of Darth trying to use the power of the dark side to get me to hurry up and let him trick or treat:. 

/div> Leia's costume came with a cheap rug of a wig but for a change his sister's long and easily tangled brown hair finally came in handy.  She was amazed that everyone knew exactly who she was.  How do you explain "iconic" to a nine year old?

 

And, yes, we do realize Leia didn't have a light saber.  So sue us.  We took some dramatic license and decided Leia was going to be one touch chick.   The sort of touch chick that looks the dark side in the face and laughs:

 The kind of chick that can take Darth down:

Much candy was bestowed on them. And it was very, very good to be them.



And for anyone dying of curiosity to witness the madness in previous years:
2004 - Wizard of Oz
2005 - 50's girl (Still looking for a hard copy photo to scan)
2006 - Barnyard

 

Chicken, cow, big pig, mini sheep hidden behind the pig, bunny rabbit and farmer.  A baby in costume is seriously cute but that chicken doing the chicken dance and clucking all night got giant handfuls of candy and even strangers stopped to take her picture. 2007 - Garden
2008 - It's Raining Cats and Dogs
2009 - Football game
2010 - Under the Sea

 

A mermaid, a sailor, a lobster dog, Shamu the giant whale dog and a fireman.  I like to say the fireman was there to put out the bonfire on the beach.  But he's also pretty great proof that the kids really do pick their own costumes and are not required to fit into the theme.  Oh, and a mad scientist with a giant wacky afro wandered into the photo.  The mad scientist did not appreciate when I suggested taking a shot without him in it.  So I suggested he remember that, too, next year.  

2011 - Books
I have looked everywhere and can't seem to find a photo to save my life.  Everyone was a character from a different book.  We had a fairy from Rainbow Magic (specifically Destiny the Rock Star Fairy), Iron Man, the Cat in the Hat, Pippi Longstocking (complete with braids sticking out to the side courtesy of wire hangers inside the braids). 

Pardon me. I'm just going to rub your beloved blankie on my crotch because I'm insane.

If I can see part of the bed between your arm and your side of the bed, you are a bed hog

Things I've heard myself say to him

"You could stand to be a little more of a songbird." Said after I serenaded him with a made up love song to the tune of The Brady Bunch theme song and then tried to convince him to serenade me back. Have I mentioned I regularly subject my husband to off key renditions of made up love songs while he's trying to watch Kansas City SWAT? I know. He's a lucky guy.

Fifteen facts to make your Friday complete

1. My mother is concerned that my readers, all 3 of them not counting her, will think she's nuts for being concerned about the quality of the easel she bought our children. Specifically, she will have you know it got a measly three star rating on the Toys R Us website and several reviews mentioned structural issues. So there. She didn't mention it in her email but I'm pretty sure she'd also like the Internet to know that only ungrateful, good for nothing children make fun of their mother's gifts on their blog.

2. Yes, those were in fact gun range targets my babies were drawing on. But don’t worry. We rarely if ever conduct shooting practice in our living room. We have them because my husband’s job requires him to have a gun. Periodically his employer even requires him to take it to a gun range and prove he can hit the broad side of a barn. I’m told he’s actually very good at hitting the head of a pin. I’m sure he could bore the universe with further details but I sadly know nothing. Nothing except that the old papers work great on the easel until I can get myself to a craft store.

3. I found our new giant pony puppy’s long lost twin! Except for the eyes I guess. Next time we get a lab, I totally need to find out where to sign up to get one with a pretty blue eye.

4. My husband walked by the newest Kindergartner's room while she was playing. It was messy so he asked her what happened in there. She told him, “Just go away.” Too bad she didn’t slam her bedroom door and lock it too while she was at it. That combined with this recent picture I took of her and I figure we know exactly what to expect when she turns 16:


5. I have listened to 80s classic “Heat of the Moment” by Asia at least 26 times in the last 5 days. I’m concerned that I’m addicted to driving while listening to the opening verse.

6. I’m concerned that Jason is going to pick Melissa not Molly on The Bachelor.

7. I’m concerned about the fact that I’m concerned about Jason potentially picking Melissa not Molly because it's a stupid show and none of the couples stay together anyway so what does it matter.

8. Except, dude, how sweet and charming does Molly seem and he spent the night with her in the tent and he thinks she's the best kisser and how could anyone not pick her after all that. And seriously, when the hell is Deanna finally coming back. Not that he should get back with her because, dude, she let him get down on one knee and then stone cold dumped him and claimed she was going to be with that other dude forever and he'd have to be a twit to spend even a moment torn between her and anyone else but this is The Bachelor and we all know he will in fact spend many moments torn on the issue so we can, in fact, conclude that he must be a twit.

9. See why I'm concerned. Way to many thoughts on such a stupid show. I know.

10. My husband got coffee at McDonald’s last weekend. They either jacked up his order or used the same pot to make his coffee that they use to make tea. From two feet away with a lid on it, I knew it was tea. Because my gag reflex momentarily kicked in. When I say I can’t stand tea, I really mean I can’t stand tea.

11. We hit the Outback for dinner tonight because nothing screams "Let's not do dishes tonight" like Friday. The kids decided they wanted to sit on the other side of the booth together for a change. We so rarely go anywhere without the kids that sitting on the same side of the booth almost felt like a date.

12. In fact I may or may not have forced some mandatory cuddling on my husband right there in the booth.

13. And the waiter may or may not have arrived with our salads just as my husband was attempting to wrestle away from my cuddling clutches. And since the entire restaurant probably thought we were insane by then, we may or may not have held our napkins up in front of us like a curtain to pretend we really were alone. And the newest Kindergartner may or may not have served as a buzz kill announcing that she could hear everything we were saying during our pretend candle light dinner on the other side of the pretend curtain.

14. The writers on that show Damages are very talented. Just when I was starting to lose a little interest they’ve sucked me back in. I can’t decide who killed that wife. I also can’t decide if the husband’s a good actor, a scumbag, an innocent victim or maybe a little of each.

15. Since watching the post Super Bowl episode of The Office, I've been torturing my husband every night before bed asking him to describe how he feels when I walk in the room. Sometimes I like to conduct practical exercises by actually entering a room and then quizzing him on his feelings at the exact moment he saw me. I know. You wish you could be married to me. Sorry. Taken.

The Story of My Life

I'm the girl at the office that never knows the weather unless it's going to snow. Because I don't care about the weather unless it includes the potential for a paid snow day. Today, several coworkers tried to burst my bubble and tell me there was no chance of snow. They were wrong:

It may not look like a lot. Especially if you live somewhere that gets snow more than once a year. But just roll with me. There's snow. It's cold. Where I live that's enough to potentially close my building tomorrow.

Oh, wait. Hear that noise? That's irony raking fingernails down a chalkboard. Because I have a date with destiny in the form of a work related matter that has to be taken care of tomorrow. Do or die. The entire city could be on lock down and I swear to you my boss will be blowing up my cell phone to explain why I'm going to have to dig my way out with a teaspoon and hike uphill 10 miles through the snow to get to the office to make sure it gets taken care of. Because her boss' boss will have already blown up her cell phone to explain how the sky will open up and swallow the office whole if we don't. I'm not even joking about the cell phones blowing up. It's an exceptionally time sensitive matter. It's also the opposite of optional. It is the story of my life that it may fall on a snow day.

As it is, the matter is wildly unpopular and will require arm twisting to get anyone to agree to do it. So how the hell am I supposed to get anyone to drive into the office on a paid day off to do it? Right. The odds of that happening are so slim I'm actually rooting against a snow day. Which means the apocalypse must be upon us because there can be no other rational explanation for the queen of snow days rooting against a snow day.

At least my husband is amusing. While I was outside taking that photo of the snow, he mooned me out our front window. Here he is afterwards looking proud of his cleverness:

Here's part 2 of his cleverness when he decided to lock me out in the cold:

He pulled his shirt up over the lower half of his face to increase the "I'm a raving lunatic" quotient of the shot. You'd be amazed how high that quotient is without any effort on his part. For example, I wish there was a photo of him pretending to unlock the door and laughing when I fell for it and tried the doorknob. But that's okay. Because every minute I spend outside is just an extra minute he gets to cuddle me until I warm up. Lucky him.

It's his lucky night

My husband's in the bedroom playing chess on the computer and trying to think up ways to get out of cuddling with me later. Little does he know he'll be saved from that fate by a little thing called Project Runway. I figure I'll let him brainstorm anyway.

I'm not even sure I'm physically capable of cuddling that man tonight. My neck is currently jacked up and wreaking havoc on my ability to sit upright. I think it's because I sat in a crappy chair during the first of my three meetings today. My husband thinks it's because I sit in meetings period. He seems to think I should meet less. It's obvious that man is not in management. Because no meetings = the end of the world as we know it. Must meet. There are efficiencies to brainstorm. And my every fleeting thought to share. Someone in the other building might not know I had tacos for lunch. Quickly. Everyone to the conference room.

On top of my jacked up neck my husband and I both currently think we have sinus infections. I'm pretty sure neither of us have one. 9 times out of 10 there's nothing wrong with us that a solid night's rest under the influence of Ambien couldn't fix. We just like to describe illnesses to each other to see who's more ill. Last night, I had a migraine and just the thought of turning lights on was making me nauseous. Tonight we both had symptoms that included pressure and wanting to lay down on the floor and never get up. He tried to trump me by asking for Sudafed first. Luckily, I had the neck pain to fall back on so I won.

Although it's not whether you win or lose. It's about how many symptoms you can complain about before your spouse loses interest and walks out of the room.

Things My Children Have Actually Said to Me

"You're not a whore, Momma. You're a Care Bear."

On the bright side, at least my 4 year old doesn't think I'm a whore. On the downside, yeah, well, pretty much the whole thing. Although it's funny. But not water cooler conversation funny. Because people inevitably want to know where she picked up the word "whore." Whatever. Like they've never amused themselves by calling their spouse a whore. And they'd probably have me believe their spouse's imaginary girlfriend doesn't have a name either. Nice try. I wasn't born yesterday. I know normal.

Secrets from our marital bathroom

One of the idiotic games I like to play with my husband is stalking him around the house. I used to just periodically trail along behind him going from room to room. Eventually I upped the ante and began appearing in the shower behind him fully clothed.

My husband enjoys his bathroom. If this house is his castle, the toilet is his throne. He reads in there. Makes phone calls. Assembles bookcases with one hand in the dark while curing cancer.

He also likes to announce when he's going to visit the throne. It's generally sometime after dinner. When the newest 4 year old was little she'd follow him in there. Then one day it seemed like a funny joke to cram our entire household into the tiny bathroom with them. Two dogs, two kids and me. The Rottweiler put his face in my husband's lap while I stood over him discussing the weather.

It became a running joke. We called them Family Meetings and the newest 4 year old would periodically announce them and gather the dogs up herself. And sometimes she'd run ahead to make sure we didn't get locked out:

The lock on our hall bathroom door is very difficult to pick. Not that I've tried. Or succeeded. I'm just saying if someone was going to pick that lock it looks like it'd be pretty hard. It might even require taking the entire doorknob off. Just saying.

Although banging on the door is fun, it doesn't always work. So one time we wrote a note and slid it under the door. Sort of like a ransom note. Only without any kidnappers or requests for money. So really it's nothing like a ransom note but it was funny. So we taped it to the back of the bathroom door for posterity:

Nothing says "Hang out at our house!" like weird notes taped to the back of the bathroom door. Fortunately, we're practically recluses so it's not a problem. Although my in-laws did stay with us last week. But they're very familiar with our special brand of crazy and that note is the least of their worries.

I'll not be ignored

I feel as thought I’ve been in a bit of haze for several months now. Maybe I was depressed. Maybe I had lost my way. I’m not sure. But I had a breakthrough today. I successfully filled out tax related paperwork and faxed it off. Then I scheduled three doctor's appointments, called the insurance company to get the run around on prescriptions and filled out my 2008 calendar with birthdays and holidays. I haven't been this productive in months. It's crazy. It's like I'm a new girl. It's sort of awesome. I hope it lasts.

In honor of exiting the haze, I've started actual projects. Because when I'm not in a haze I start to think there are 28 hours in a day. Currently, I'm swimming through hundreds of photos to select pictures of my kids to use in a calendar to give to all the grandparents. This is my third year in a row to make it. I'm developing a bit of a following. That's if my mother counts as a following. She comes right out and asks me to keep making the calendars. Last year, she even made a point of requesting one with color photos. I know. Gotta respect someone that knows what they want.

I've also been doing laundry, washing dishes, shopping online for Christmas presents, researching kindergarten programs and starting my new job. I tried to get some cuddle time in too but my husband claims he's tired. I guess we'll see about that. It's hard to sleep with a crazy woman talking in your ear. I've also found turning the bedside lamp on to be very effective. Not to mention a finger in the ear. And pulling the covers off him. I'm like the chick in Fatal Attraction who won't be ignored. Only less creepy. Obviously.

Date Day

My husband and I were both off work today. We deposited our children in safe hands and headed off just the two of us for the afternoon. In the land of two small children, that's called a date.

Because we are both exceptionally casual and lazy, we had no plans for our big date. We ended up having soup, trolling a mall and playing Ms. Pac-Man. We also spent 45 minutes picking out the perfect remote controlled helicopter for my husband. And as much as I'd like to say buying remote controlled toys is some sort of anomaly in our relationship, we have two remote controlled speed boats at home that say otherwise.

A couple years ago, we came up with the bright idea of racing speed boats in our swimming pool. I'm sure 12 year olds regularly come up with that idea but lack the funds to finance the operation. When you're a grown adult with money in the bank, all you need is a nearby Toys R Us. Those two boats are now decorative pieces on a shelf in our garage. We clearly needed a helicopter to go with them.

My husband's been perfecting his flying skills all evening. Before dinner, he was perfecting his take off. The key is to go straight up. You know, just in case you lose your mind and feel the need to get your own remote controlled helicopter. Now he's practicing buzzing my head. He's also gotten very good at bringing it in for a landing on the the computer desk in front of me while I type. I'd like to write more but quite frankly the draft from the helicopter is blowing crap in my eye. So I'm going to go be ridiculous with my husband. Feel free to do likewise. It's nice.

I'm really busy

One of my nightly rituals, is watching a few minutes of television before bed. I used to be stuck watching whatever crap was on at that time. Thanks to my DVR now I get to watch any crap I want.

If my husband likes the show I'm watching, he'll lay down and watch with me. If not, he'll typically sit at the computer three feet away and check email. He's been having trouble the last couple weeks deciding if he likes Damages. It's the FX show with Glenn Close as the wenchy lawyer. My husband's been half watching all season. By half watching I mean sitting with his back to the television and turning around to watch the exciting parts. I get to fill in all the blanks for him. Who's that? Does he know about that other guy? Is that her husband? He's like the annoying guy at the movies asking the person next to him to explain everything. You know. The one you want to throttle. Except he's not a confused twit, he's just trying to get by only half watching a show.

I let him get away with this because the aforementioned DVR lets me rewind when he talks during the middle of important cross examinations. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for when I talk during the fourth quarter of pretty much any football game that involves someone on the 20 yard line with 3rd and long. Because rewinding football should not be necessary. Ever. Because it is football and therefore, by definition, significantly more important than 93% of the things that could possibly come out of my mouth. But I digress.

Once I'm done watching television, I turn the television off and tell my husband I'm going to sleep. That's my husband's cue to come over and give me some sugar before I go to sleep. I will accept a kiss but cuddling is preferred. My husband enjoys pretending he doesn't catch on to the cue. I enjoy taking great pains to point it out to him. It's another fun game we play.

Before we had a computer in the bedroom, I used to call him on his cell phone in the living room to announce I was going to sleep. One night he lingered in the living room too long so I called and told him it was a good thing he didn't come in the bedroom earlier because I was really busy and didn't have time for him anyway. "I'm really busy" is now sort of legendary in our house. It's also passive-aggressive code for "You suck for taking so long. Get the hell in here."

I've also been known to block the caller ID and call and ask him what he's wearing. Sometimes I just breathe into the phone. When I'm done, I like to leave the phone on his side of the bed for him to hang up. Last night, he put the phone on top of my head and told me I should put it away when I'm done. I looked at him, picked up the phone and told him to hang on a second. Then I pulled the covers over my head, dialed his cell phone and explained to him that as much as I'd like to put the phone away I was really busy so I couldn't. And then I put the phone back on his pillow.

Who knew being married could be so much fun?

My husband laughs in the face of Tylenol

When my husband and I were first dating, we had a conversation about things we know we're especially good at. I always think it's fun to hear people evaluate themselves. And the more random and useless the skill the better. My husband didn't immediately grasp the concept of the game though. He attempted to tell me he's pretty good at everything. I explained that that was an incorrect answer. You're supposed to list stuff you're "especially" good at. You can't be "especially" good at everything. By definition, to be especially good at something you need to have stuff you're not especially good at.

That conversation lingers in the history of our relationship because I gave him some examples to get him started. The first one was Ms. Pac-Man. I think I'm above average at Ms. Pac-Man. Except then my husband claimed he was above average at Ms. Pac-Man, too.

We stopped for pizza shortly thereafter and there was a Ms. Pac-Man machine right next to the cash register. Game on. Clearly. My husband barely got out of the second round. I set a new high score on the machine. Now he understands how to compile a list of things he's good at. He started by eliminating Ms. Pac-Man from the list.

He has many other skills however. Skills I openly acknowledge I suck at. Skills he clearly excels at. My personal favorite is his tolerance for pain. If my husband were a car, he'd be a big Hummer. And his engine light would be on. But he'd just keep on driving and driving despite the light. The light would be a minor issue and maybe he'd plan to have it checked the next time he got the oil changed but why stop. And the gears grinding and the smoke coming out and the sputtering and gasping? Yeah, sometimes that happens. But still, no need to stop. Because, really, it's not impairing his forward progress. It's just pain. And, I guess, meant to be endured.

There is no finer example of my husband's view of pain than the time he got dental work without pain medication. He said the dentist gave him a shot to numb the area locally but that it didn't work. He kept waiting thinking it would eventually take effect. Only it didn't. So he just sat still the whole time the dental work got done like there was nothing out of the ordinary going on. Um. Yeah. That's pretty much beyond ridiculous. My husband claims the dentist was sorta impressed when he found out. I'm thinking my husband is confusing "impressed" with "creeped out" but who knows.

Being married to someone with a high pain tolerance is interesting. It's a plus when there's a painful task that needs to be performed. Like, say we go on The Amazing Race and someone needs to chop off their finger with a butter knife to win a million dollars, that's all him. On the other hand, complaining to him that you have a headache is sort of pathetic. I feel obligated to preface all my complaints with, "Look, we can't all have dental work without pain medication." That's what you call a show stopper. Dental work. No pain medication. You do the math. And feel free to tell me your most random useless skill. And be sure it's one you're especially good at. Because I'm not afraid to call you out and show you up at the nearest Pizza Hut. Just ask my husband.

I'm not ready for football

Football season has officially begun. I know this because my DVR is currently being held hostage by my husband. Not because he's recording the game or anything. He just likes watching football in the bedroom where my DVR is. It's unclear why football viewing in the bedroom is preferable. I tend to think it's related to my 420 thread count sheets and divine pillowtop mattress. But I think he also likes to say the screen is bigger in there.

Indianapolis is playing. Which is fine. Whatever. I like Peyton Manning. I especially like when they show clips from when he hosted Saturday Night Live. Him coaching the little kids is my favorite. But I'm sort of over Peyton Manning. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I sat through the Super Bowl again this past weekend. The NFL channel was kind enough to replay that for our viewing pleasure. Or at least, my husband's viewing pleasure anyway. I mostly talked right through it and blocked his view of the screen. At least it included Prince's halftime show. I only wish there had been a halftime show during the Ultimate Fighting Champtionship (UFC) fight we watched last night. And the night before that was some reality show about minor league scrub UFC fighting. Dudes were competing in some tent thrown up at one of those Home Depot parking lot carnivals. I swear one of the guys was getting his hand taped up next to a snow cone stand. And he was talking about himself in the third person. And wearing a cape. Insane.

Wait. My husband just came and hugged me and thanked me for being so understanding about relinquishing the television. Now he's taking the dogs outside. Halftime! Has to be. That remote is mine.

Secrets from our marital bed

My three year old conned my husband into thinking she was sick yesterday. Instead of going to daycare she went with him to run errands, get pancakes at McDonalds and lay in our bed watching television. I'm thinking they watched SportsCenter for several hours. And maybe the history of the eraser. I'd make fun of my husband's taste in television except I actually watched several episodes of Pirate Master. I clearly have no room to talk.

Our three year old must have dozed off at some point during all that quality television viewing. I suspect that because tonight at bedtime she tried to talk me into letting her sleep in our bed instead of hers. I informed her that her father and I barely cram ourselves into our bed and it would be a shame for her to be crushed to death between two idiots jockeying for position in bed.

We share a queen size bed. We are both certifiable bed hogs. He's a broad shouldered fella. His broad shoulders like to encroach on my territory. I'm prone to sleeping at an angle. My legs find their way to his side a lot.

We used to play tug of war with the sheet every night too. I started making the bed with two queen size flat sheets. One for each of us. People think that's odd when I tell them but it's like the best idea we ever came up with. And by "we" I mean me. We've never played tug of war since. For awhile we even had two comforters on the bed. My husband eventually noticed the difference between his comforter and mine. His being bachelor pad 180 thread count sand paper. Mine being 520 thread count snuggly goodness. Next thing you know he's a thread count snob and my duvet is community property.

Every couple months he suggests getting a king size bed. Every couple months I tell him I love him too much to do that. I once read a story about the increased chance of divorce for couples that have a king size instead of a queen or full. My husband's prepared to roll the dice on that risk. I'm prepared to cling to that flimsy story for the next thirty years to maintain the warm fuzzy closeness of our marital bed. Besides, it'll take more than a king size bed for him to escape me.

Speaking in code is fun

My husband attempted to tell me tonight about a potential hunting trip he got invited on over my birthday weekend. It's several weeks away and he started out trying to figure out if we already had plans that weekend. He does this because I am his walking talking Day Runner. I even store social security numbers.

So first he asks, Do we have anything going that weekend? This is code for: I've got options that don't include diapers or sippy cups. Give me the green light to lock those plans in. But I just bought those football season tickets so go ahead and remind me if there's a home game that weekend. You're awesome. Love you.

I said, You mean, besides my birthday? This is code for: Last year we went to your sister's wedding on my birthday. The wedding was fun and I didn't have a problem with it being her day because she's nice and I like her. But that was then and this is now.

So then he's all, Some guys I know are going hunting. This is code for: Dude, I'm so clueless it's almost sad. I'm about to act like your birthday can be scheduled around hunting season.

So then we did our psychotic talking crotch impersonations of each other and now we're done. We mostly got distracted from the issue. It's hard not to when you're pretending your crotch talks.

My husband probably figures I'm mellow 99% of the time anyway so it'll be all good. I figure I'm the walking talking Day Runner so it's not like he'll remember the trip on his own. He and I work well together.

Things my husband has actually said to me

While seated next to me at the dinner table, “Since, you’re up could you bring me the ketchup.” He was closer to the kitchen, too. Space cadet. We like to race to sit down now so we can ask the other person to get stuff. It's another fun game we play.

“Sometimes I don’t really need to look at your face.” Spooning versus the frontward cuddle.

Laying next to me in bed, “What’d you say? I wasn’t listening. I was pretending I was wearing headphones.” He's convinced I only come up with things to talk about during The Shield. He's against mid-Shield chatter.

“Get away from me. You’re no good at cuddling anymore.” Mid cuddle. Followed by smothering me with hugs and kisses for ten more minutes.


Updated 6/28: Context provided for each of his comments. I forget not everyone lives with him and knows how insane he is. He's extraordinarily sweet. But moderately insane. Not one of his comments offended me. I'll save the offensive ones for another post. Just kidding. Kinda.