Showing posts with label Man. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Man. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Monday, February 7, 2011
Top Ten Reasons Why It Rocks When Your Husband Is Out Of Town
Here's the second part of my "Top Ten" posts. Also a repost. Because I'm lazy and unimaginative.
Have to end this on a positive note, right?
- Makeup, fixing my hair and clothes other than pajamas are optional. Bras, too.
- The Man is not here to demand home cooking or dinners with nutritional value. Chocolate pudding is perfectly acceptable for lunch.
- I don't have to watch any of "his" shows. The remote is all mine. Goodbye college sports; hello Doctor Who!
- I don't have to share the blankets. And his pillow becomes community property.
- Dishes only have to be done when we're using forks to eat our ice cream.
- Costa Vida takes over my evening meals for me. I never get tired of their salads!
- I can adjust the thermostat to whatever I want. He likes it at 68. I like higher. I win.
- Casual get-togethers with friends go from "just for fun" status, to "absolutely necessary for my sanity" and therefore, make getting a babysitter a priority.
- I don't feel guilty about updating my status on Facebook every couple of minutes after the kids go to bed because there isn't anyone waiting for me on the couch.
- There's no one that can prove that I've eaten the rest of the brownies. The only other people in the house either can't count that high or aren't tall enough to see that there's a pan on the counter.
What is your favorite thing about having your hubby out of town?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Reason #683
The doorbell rang at 10 am. I waited for the clunk of the package hitting the porch and the speedy exit of the delivery truck. Nothing. That meant someone was standing on the front porch. Problem. I didn't have to glance down to notice I was still wearing pajamas, hadn't fixed my hair, (wasn't wearing a female restraining device), and no make-up. Sighing wouldn't be any help, since it would just reveal my lack of tooth care thus far.
Trudging in my bare feet to the door, I wondered which of my friends had forgotten that I am not a morning person. Was someone attempting to catch me at my worst? What if it was someone with a giant check and a camera crew? Gulp.
"Mrs. G?" he asked.
"Yes?" I was hiding behind the door and probably freaking him out with my death breath.
"These are for you."
And he handed me this:
See those long stems? Those are my favorite flowers, gladiolus. And daisies just make me happy. Even the vase is cool! You might call it a lovely bouquet but I call it Reason #683 why I love my husband.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Battle of the Sexes' Shirts
Since my birthday is fast approaching, I've been sending links to the Man, guiding him in his gift selection ('cuz I'm nothing if not helpful when it comes to presents). The other day, I sent him the link for this shirt:
It's the molecule structure of Theobromine, the chemical in chocolate that makes you feel good. I thought it fitting, given my penchant for a nicely-crafted piece of chocolate.
It's the molecule structure of Theobromine, the chemical in chocolate that makes you feel good. I thought it fitting, given my penchant for a nicely-crafted piece of chocolate.He countered with this one:
To which I calmly respond:
And if he doesn't watch it, he'll be wearing this:
Sunday, September 12, 2010
And He Says He Doesn't Read My Blog
The day after my cheery, upbeat and enthusiatic post, my husband brought home these:
He might be reading when my blog when he claims to be playing Facebook games. I think he likes me. Maybe he will sit next to me during story-time...
He might be reading when my blog when he claims to be playing Facebook games. I think he likes me. Maybe he will sit next to me during story-time...
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Presence of Presents
Today is my birthday.
HOORAY!
Everyone get up and dance!
Woot!
Okay, that was fun. Now sit back down.
So, today is my birthday. And because of all the chaos and turmoil that we've had around here lately (which I still can't blog about...), the Man hasn't been able to plan anything for my birthday.
"No worries," I told him. "I already know what I want, so I'll just go get it."
He'd be off the hook and I'd be utterly pleased with my present. But he didn't go for it.
"It's not a puppy," I promised.
Still a no go.
"I won't spend more than $75."
Nope.
And why, you may ask? Because my husband knows me and he knows I want a pet. Birds. Zebra finches, to be specific. For the past year, I've promised myself that this year, I would get birds. This year, I'd been patient long enough and it was time he considered what I wanted instead of what was comfortable for him. This year, I would ask for forgiveness instead of permission. But now that it's time, I just can't do it. I can't willing do something that I know is going to upset the Man.
And I still really want those birds...
HOORAY!
Everyone get up and dance!
Woot!
Okay, that was fun. Now sit back down.
So, today is my birthday. And because of all the chaos and turmoil that we've had around here lately (which I still can't blog about...), the Man hasn't been able to plan anything for my birthday.
"No worries," I told him. "I already know what I want, so I'll just go get it."
He'd be off the hook and I'd be utterly pleased with my present. But he didn't go for it.
"It's not a puppy," I promised.
Still a no go.
"I won't spend more than $75."
Nope.
And why, you may ask? Because my husband knows me and he knows I want a pet. Birds. Zebra finches, to be specific. For the past year, I've promised myself that this year, I would get birds. This year, I'd been patient long enough and it was time he considered what I wanted instead of what was comfortable for him. This year, I would ask for forgiveness instead of permission. But now that it's time, I just can't do it. I can't willing do something that I know is going to upset the Man.
And I still really want those birds...
What is one birthday present that you really wanted but never got?
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Man Jobs - again
**I may or may not be out of town currently...but if I am out of town, be assured that my house and property is protected by rabid dust bunnies. So you don't get too lonely, I'll be reposting a few of my favorites. This post originally appeared May 27, 2008.**
This is the conversation the Man and I had while getting ready for our Memorial Day BBQ.
The Man: Can you get the propane tank refilled?
Me: I have no idea how to do that.
The Man: Just remove the tank, take it to the station -
Me: What?
The Man: It's easy.
Me: I can't do it.
The Man: Why not?
Me: Because that is a Man Job.
The Man: A what?
Me: A Man Job, something the Man is supposed to do. I can't do it.
The Man: (extensive rolling of eyes)
Me: Tell you what, I will birth the children and you refill the propane tank. Deal?
The whole conversation got me thinking about the Man's role at home. There are certain tasks that are undeniably his; I just can't do them. True, there are tasks that are all mine but we need not bring out the femi-nazis amongst my lurkers. Instead, let's talk about Men.
They have the Man Cold and Man Caves. They definitely have Man Jobs. For instance: Bugs. I have been known to not use a room for an entire day simply because I saw a spider in there (and don't tell me that they can crawl under the door! I don't need to hear that!). It is the Man's job to dispose of such unwelcome guests. Agreed?
Cold feet. I got 'em. I had it written into the Marriage Contract that I would be allowed to warm my frozen tootsies on his warm, hairy legs. If he shrieks and squirms away, he is in direct violation of said Contract and is no longer entitled to the benefits and privileges thereof. See? You give a little, you get a little.
Strange noises in the night. I get to cower under the covers - I mean, keep the blankets warm - while he goes in search of the weird sound. And really, let's just blame this one on genetics. Men are bigger and stronger, it's a proven fact. This is one of those times that I don't mind being dainty.
Unloading the groceries. The Man hates grocery shopping. Never liked it. I don't mind it, especially because it usually means I get to be out alone. If I spend the time traipsing around the grocery store, then he should help by unloading the groceries from the van for me. I'll put them away (if I ever want to find anything again), he just needs to use those big strong muscles and haul them inside.
Anything that involves the use of tools. And really, it's not because we don't know how to do these things (my dad taught me well) but we should let them have a little fun every now and then. What puts a smile on a man's face faster than strapping on a tool belt? Changing light bulbs, tightening faucets, replacing the deadbolt that your toddler dismantled while you were in the shower, or rescuing your earring from the sink drain. Good times.
Let's not forget the other jobs: car maintenance, lawn care, only person in the household allowed to pass gas without excusing themselves, and sleeping during church. These are the strenuous obligations of being a Man.
So what are some Man Jobs around your house?
This is the conversation the Man and I had while getting ready for our Memorial Day BBQ.
The Man: Can you get the propane tank refilled?
Me: I have no idea how to do that.
The Man: Just remove the tank, take it to the station -
Me: What?
The Man: It's easy.
Me: I can't do it.
The Man: Why not?
Me: Because that is a Man Job.
The Man: A what?
Me: A Man Job, something the Man is supposed to do. I can't do it.
The Man: (extensive rolling of eyes)
Me: Tell you what, I will birth the children and you refill the propane tank. Deal?
The whole conversation got me thinking about the Man's role at home. There are certain tasks that are undeniably his; I just can't do them. True, there are tasks that are all mine but we need not bring out the femi-nazis amongst my lurkers. Instead, let's talk about Men.
They have the Man Cold and Man Caves. They definitely have Man Jobs. For instance: Bugs. I have been known to not use a room for an entire day simply because I saw a spider in there (and don't tell me that they can crawl under the door! I don't need to hear that!). It is the Man's job to dispose of such unwelcome guests. Agreed?
Cold feet. I got 'em. I had it written into the Marriage Contract that I would be allowed to warm my frozen tootsies on his warm, hairy legs. If he shrieks and squirms away, he is in direct violation of said Contract and is no longer entitled to the benefits and privileges thereof. See? You give a little, you get a little.
Strange noises in the night. I get to cower under the covers - I mean, keep the blankets warm - while he goes in search of the weird sound. And really, let's just blame this one on genetics. Men are bigger and stronger, it's a proven fact. This is one of those times that I don't mind being dainty.
Unloading the groceries. The Man hates grocery shopping. Never liked it. I don't mind it, especially because it usually means I get to be out alone. If I spend the time traipsing around the grocery store, then he should help by unloading the groceries from the van for me. I'll put them away (if I ever want to find anything again), he just needs to use those big strong muscles and haul them inside.
Anything that involves the use of tools. And really, it's not because we don't know how to do these things (my dad taught me well) but we should let them have a little fun every now and then. What puts a smile on a man's face faster than strapping on a tool belt? Changing light bulbs, tightening faucets, replacing the deadbolt that your toddler dismantled while you were in the shower, or rescuing your earring from the sink drain. Good times.
Let's not forget the other jobs: car maintenance, lawn care, only person in the household allowed to pass gas without excusing themselves, and sleeping during church. These are the strenuous obligations of being a Man.
So what are some Man Jobs around your house?
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Wonders of Technology
I'd like to think that I'm fairly tech-savvy. The Man knows all kinds of random facts and figures about all the newest gadgets and sometimes, I remember what he said. It only took him giving me a short (two-part) tutorial before I could use his itouch without having him fix my mistakes constantly. So, normally, I get it or I can at least figure it out. But my ipod had me stumped.
I mainly use my trusty ipod in the kitchen or on the treadmill (and we all know from my recent pictures how often I actually use the treadmill, so I pretty much have it in the kitchen...while I'm baking something calorie-saturated). I have this nifty little device (that I stole from the Man) that plugs into it and then I can listen to it through any radio. My ears are tiny and those little earbud things just don't stay in. And of course, it took me a whole paragraph to get to my point: I don't usually have my ipod in hand while I'm listening to it.
While we were on the cruise, I listened to my ipod the old-fashioned way, using headphones. We would be up on deck, lounging in those comfy chairs, no little kids to watch so they didn't fall overboard, flagging down the drink boys to bring us more Dr Pepper, completely greased up with sunscreen, and listening to our own music. Bliss, I tell ya. BLISS.
It was during one such afternoon that I finally asked the Man about something I had noticed but couldn't quite understand.
Me: See how it goes to this odd display once my song's been playing for a bit?
The Man: Ooookay...
Me: What is that? I thought maybe it was the time left on my play list or something but it counts up instead of down.
The Man just gives me that look that he gets when I suggest he might want a nice glass of water instead of Dr. Pepper.
Me: I know it's not how long I've been listening to music because it always has a different number on it.
The Man: (more of that look except now he's starting to smirk...)
Me: So, ummm...what is it?
The Man: That's the time. It's a clock.
Me: Oh.
Surely, I am not the only one! Anyone else made a ridiculous technological assumption or mistake? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
I mainly use my trusty ipod in the kitchen or on the treadmill (and we all know from my recent pictures how often I actually use the treadmill, so I pretty much have it in the kitchen...while I'm baking something calorie-saturated). I have this nifty little device (that I stole from the Man) that plugs into it and then I can listen to it through any radio. My ears are tiny and those little earbud things just don't stay in. And of course, it took me a whole paragraph to get to my point: I don't usually have my ipod in hand while I'm listening to it.
While we were on the cruise, I listened to my ipod the old-fashioned way, using headphones. We would be up on deck, lounging in those comfy chairs, no little kids to watch so they didn't fall overboard, flagging down the drink boys to bring us more Dr Pepper, completely greased up with sunscreen, and listening to our own music. Bliss, I tell ya. BLISS.
It was during one such afternoon that I finally asked the Man about something I had noticed but couldn't quite understand.
Me: See how it goes to this odd display once my song's been playing for a bit?
The Man: Ooookay...
Me: What is that? I thought maybe it was the time left on my play list or something but it counts up instead of down.
The Man just gives me that look that he gets when I suggest he might want a nice glass of water instead of Dr. Pepper.
Me: I know it's not how long I've been listening to music because it always has a different number on it.
The Man: (more of that look except now he's starting to smirk...)
Me: So, ummm...what is it?
The Man: That's the time. It's a clock.
Me: Oh.
Surely, I am not the only one! Anyone else made a ridiculous technological assumption or mistake? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
Friday, May 15, 2009
First Decade of Eternity
We take a break from our normally scheduled overly dramatic rehashing of the cruise for these important messages -
Ten years ago today, I married the Man. Now, as tempted as I am to get all mushy and weepy about how fantastically wonderful he is, I will spare him that. But I will say that from the moment he fixed my computer, I knew he was something special and I am so very glad that I stalked him endlessly until he agreed that I was special, too.
I love you, the Man. Thank you for the beautiful flowers, the beautiful children, and for 10 beautiful years.
Also, this day marks another special event. It's my best friend's birthday! Happy Birthday, Kellerbeans!
I woke up this morning to the doorbell ringing...
Ten years ago today, I married the Man. Now, as tempted as I am to get all mushy and weepy about how fantastically wonderful he is, I will spare him that. But I will say that from the moment he fixed my computer, I knew he was something special and I am so very glad that I stalked him endlessly until he agreed that I was special, too.
I love you, the Man. Thank you for the beautiful flowers, the beautiful children, and for 10 beautiful years.
Also, this day marks another special event. It's my best friend's birthday! Happy Birthday, Kellerbeans!
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
He Loves Me! He Really Loves Me!
I sent the Man to the store to get a some things for dinner tomorrow...
He came back with this:
(But he still won't watch it with me.)
(And he won't let me call him Edward...)
He came back with this:
(But he still won't watch it with me.)
(And he won't let me call him Edward...)
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Top Ten Reasons Why It Rocks When Your Husband Is Away
(Sorry about the confusion over which posts got published when...I was writing both of the Top Ten lists at the same time and basically had a total airhead meltdown when it came to publishing them. Smooches!)
Have to end this on a positive note, right?
Have to end this on a positive note, right?
- Makeup, fixing my hair and clothes other than pajamas are optional. Bras, too.
- The Man is not here to demand home cooking or dinners with nutritional value. Chocolate pudding is perfectly acceptable for lunch.
- I don't have to watch any of "his" shows. The remote is all mine. Goodbye college sports; hello Doctor Who!
- I don't have to share the blankets. And his pillow becomes community property.
- Dishes only have to be done when we're using forks to eat our ice cream.
- Costa Vida takes over my evening meals for me. I never get tired of their salads!
- I can adjust the thermostat to whatever I want. He likes it at 68. I like higher. I win.
- Casual get-togethers with friends go from "just for fun" status, to "absolutely necessary for my sanity" and therefore, make getting a babysitter a priority.
- I don't feel guilty about updating my status on Facebook every couple of minutes after the kids go to bed because there isn't anyone waiting for me on the couch.
- There's no one that can prove that I've eaten the rest of the brownies. The only other people in the house either can't count that high or aren't tall enough to see that there's a pan on the counter.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Top Ten Reasons Why It Sucks When Your Husband Is Out Of Town
I'm not saying the Man really is out of town (because I'm paranoid enough, people) but if he were...these are the reasons why it would potentially suck. Hypothetically speaking, of course.
If the Man really were gone, then I would really be missing him right now...
- My feet are perpetually cold. There's no one to warm them up at night. No way am I wearing socks. Maybe we should rent a dog for when the Man isn't here to fulfill his duties.
- I have to change all stinky diapers. Sure, Boo takes care of the wet one but the messy diapers are still a little too gross for her delicate constitution.
- All trespassing spiders receive a stay of execution. So the spider in the bathroom gets to live trapped underneath that cup for a little while longer.
- I have to get up when the kids do and get them breakfast. Usually, the Man feeds them and then heads off to work so I get to snooze a little while longer to catch up on the sleep I missed while spending "quality time" with Baby in the wee hours of the morning.
- Bored, bored, bored. It's a good thing I joined Facebook or I'd have no idea what to do with all this empty time.
- My panic attacks are going into overdrive, especially at night when I'm trying to fall asleep. Was that the heater turning on? Or was it a band of vicious burglars breaking down the garage door? Was that one of the kids' coughing in their sleep? Or are they silently choking to death while I just lay here? Such happy thoughts...
- There's no tag-team. And my split personality doesn't count.
- I have to do all the Man Jobs. I got married so I wouldn't have to take out the trash anymore. Too bad the kids are still too young to haul the big trash can down to the curb...
- There's no escaping them! I am the only adult present and am therefore the only one who can supervise baths, break up fights, refill drink cups, deliver punishments, distribute bribes, and run away from tickle attacks.
- No one to cuddle with on the couch while watching tv. No big hugs when he gets home from work. No kisses to reassure me that he is still head-over-heels in love with me.
If the Man really were gone, then I would really be missing him right now...
What do you to when your Significant Other is away?
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Happy Birthday, The Man!
Happy Birthday, The Man!
While he doesn't make as big a deal out of his birthday as I like to, I still tried to do some things for him. We didn't eat out all week (because he doesn't like to go out - the crazy person) and he didn't have to change a poopy diaper. This year, I didn't burn dinner, so it was actually pretty nice. Oh, and I got him Mario Kart on the Wii. Hopefully, it was a fairly decent birthday.
The Man is an incredible person, a wonderful father, and he spoils me rotten. Really, I don't know why I am celebrating here on my blog since he doesn't read it unless he's bored and there's nothing good on Slashdot...
Saturday, December 20, 2008
I'm Too Tired To Make These Into Actual Posts
You know you've been playing too much Rock Band when your three-year-old busts out with the chorus to "Eye of the Tiger" during dinner.
About the sexiest thing I've ever seen is the Man holding our baby. He's even sexier when the other hand is carrying a diaper and wipes.
The Man is blonde and blue-eyed. I am (or at least was) blonde and blue-eyed. Da Boo and the Boy are both blonde and blue-eyed. Baby is a brunette with green/hazel eyes. I think I might have some 'splaining to do...
Grandma G has gone home. Today is her wedding anniversary (Happy Anniversary!). I have seven days before my mom arrives. I don't know how I am going to survive. Please send fudge.
I'd like to get the Boy's hearing tested so I have solid proof that is he just ignoring me.
Baby has already acquired a few nicknames, one of which is "hobbit," due to the amount of hair on this kid, especially on her ears.
I've completely lost my appetite. It might be the pain killers or the constant...um, chest pain. I just don't want to eat anything besides chocolate pudding.
About the sexiest thing I've ever seen is the Man holding our baby. He's even sexier when the other hand is carrying a diaper and wipes.
The Man is blonde and blue-eyed. I am (or at least was) blonde and blue-eyed. Da Boo and the Boy are both blonde and blue-eyed. Baby is a brunette with green/hazel eyes. I think I might have some 'splaining to do...
Grandma G has gone home. Today is her wedding anniversary (Happy Anniversary!). I have seven days before my mom arrives. I don't know how I am going to survive. Please send fudge.
I'd like to get the Boy's hearing tested so I have solid proof that is he just ignoring me.
Baby has already acquired a few nicknames, one of which is "hobbit," due to the amount of hair on this kid, especially on her ears.
I've completely lost my appetite. It might be the pain killers or the constant...um, chest pain. I just don't want to eat anything besides chocolate pudding.
What do you eat when you don't want to eat anything?
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Lesson Learned
When the Man and I were first married and still in college, we went to a regional conference for newlyweds. It was held in university's basketball auditorium, which is huge. The conference was pretty full but we managed to find seats way up the cement steps in what would have been the cheap seats, if it were a game night.
There was a couple seated behind us and just to the side enough that I could see them out of the corner of my eye. The husband was playing with his wedding band. He wasn't just twisting it, he was flipping it around on his fingertip, using centrifugal force to keep it going. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to keep it on his finger. Within moments, we heard the distinct sound of metal clinking down the cement stairs. Uh oh...the wife was absolutely livid and soundly chastised him for being so careless. She was threatening to not replace the ring when we noticed a movement in the seats well below us. Slowly, row by row, a man's wedding band was handed up. You can be sure that his ring stayed firmly on his finger for the rest of the conference.
So why am I telling you this funny story? Because apparently, the Man doesn't like to learn from the mistakes of others. Last week, he was headed down into the basement and, while stomping down the stairs, twirled his wedding ring around his fingertip. And guess what? It went flying off, clunked down the dark stairway and then disappeared into the cardboard abyss that is our basement.
Uh oh.
Understandably, he was hesitant to tell me what had happened. But actually, I wasn't upset. It wasn't like he'd lost it in a public place; we knew where it was just not the specific location. Also, I wasn't entirely heartbroken because, well, I am an impulsive person and tend to make big decisions without much thought. So inscribed inside his wedding ring, instead of the usual initials or wedding date or "PUT ME BACK ON!", I put a rather odd phrase. In French, no less. Yeah. Kinda weird, as neither of us speak French or have been to France. So him losing his ring was really more like getting a re-do with the inscription thing.
In the following days, whenever he went downstairs, he would search another area, looking for his white gold band. Saturday, he disappeared into the basement again. I thought he was getting things ready to finish off the never-ending project of painting the living room (another post when I've had more chocolate). Nope. He was looking for his ring. And he found it. It wasn't where he thought it was, lost among the storage. It never made it that far. Our basement is unfinished so the stairs are just plain wood with a little gap to the side for carpet. The ring had fallen into that gap, which happened to not be entirely up to code and was partially open to the interior of the wall. He tried to dig it out but ended up nudging it the wrong way and plunk! The ring fell inside the wall. When he tried to explain this to me, ninety minutes later, covered in sweat, drywall dust, and insulation fibers, I didn't quite understand, so he took me downstairs and showed me what it took to get his ring out of the wall:
Wow! He really wanted that ring back! He must love me more than that tiny storage space underneath the stairs. So after he cleaned it well, the Man placed his ring firmly back on his finger. And there it stays.
There was a couple seated behind us and just to the side enough that I could see them out of the corner of my eye. The husband was playing with his wedding band. He wasn't just twisting it, he was flipping it around on his fingertip, using centrifugal force to keep it going. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to keep it on his finger. Within moments, we heard the distinct sound of metal clinking down the cement stairs. Uh oh...the wife was absolutely livid and soundly chastised him for being so careless. She was threatening to not replace the ring when we noticed a movement in the seats well below us. Slowly, row by row, a man's wedding band was handed up. You can be sure that his ring stayed firmly on his finger for the rest of the conference.
So why am I telling you this funny story? Because apparently, the Man doesn't like to learn from the mistakes of others. Last week, he was headed down into the basement and, while stomping down the stairs, twirled his wedding ring around his fingertip. And guess what? It went flying off, clunked down the dark stairway and then disappeared into the cardboard abyss that is our basement.
Uh oh.
Understandably, he was hesitant to tell me what had happened. But actually, I wasn't upset. It wasn't like he'd lost it in a public place; we knew where it was just not the specific location. Also, I wasn't entirely heartbroken because, well, I am an impulsive person and tend to make big decisions without much thought. So inscribed inside his wedding ring, instead of the usual initials or wedding date or "PUT ME BACK ON!", I put a rather odd phrase. In French, no less. Yeah. Kinda weird, as neither of us speak French or have been to France. So him losing his ring was really more like getting a re-do with the inscription thing.
In the following days, whenever he went downstairs, he would search another area, looking for his white gold band. Saturday, he disappeared into the basement again. I thought he was getting things ready to finish off the never-ending project of painting the living room (another post when I've had more chocolate). Nope. He was looking for his ring. And he found it. It wasn't where he thought it was, lost among the storage. It never made it that far. Our basement is unfinished so the stairs are just plain wood with a little gap to the side for carpet. The ring had fallen into that gap, which happened to not be entirely up to code and was partially open to the interior of the wall. He tried to dig it out but ended up nudging it the wrong way and plunk! The ring fell inside the wall. When he tried to explain this to me, ninety minutes later, covered in sweat, drywall dust, and insulation fibers, I didn't quite understand, so he took me downstairs and showed me what it took to get his ring out of the wall:
Wow! He really wanted that ring back! He must love me more than that tiny storage space underneath the stairs. So after he cleaned it well, the Man placed his ring firmly back on his finger. And there it stays.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Man Jobs
This is the conversation the Man and I had while getting ready for our Memorial Day BBQ.
The Man: Can you get the propane tank refilled?
Me: I have no idea how to do that.
The Man: Just remove the tank, take it to the station -
Me: What?
The Man: It's easy.
Me: I can't do it.
The Man: Why not?
Me: Because that is a Man Job.
The Man: A what?
Me: A Man Job, something the Man is supposed to do. I can't do it.
The Man: (extensive rolling of eyes)
Me: Tell you what, I will birth the children and you refill the propane tank. Deal?
The whole conversation got me thinking about the Man's role at home. There are certain tasks that are undeniably his; I just can't do them. True, there are tasks that are all mine but we need not bring out the femi-nazis amongst my lurkers. Instead, let's talk about Men.
They have the Man Cold and Man Caves. They definitely have Man Jobs. For instance: Bugs. I have been known to not use a room for an entire day simply because I saw a spider in there (and don't tell me that they can crawl under the door! I don't need to hear that!). It is the Man's job to dispose of such unwelcome guests. Agreed?
Cold feet. I got 'em. I had it written into the Marriage Contract that I would be allowed to warm my frozen tootsies on his warm, hairy legs. If he shrieks and squirms away, he is in direct violation of said Contract and is no longer entitled to the benefits and privileges thereof. See? You give a little, you get a little.
Strange noises in the night. I get to cower under the covers - I mean, keep the blankets warm - while he goes in search of the weird sound. And really, let's just blame this one on genetics. Men are bigger and stronger, it's a proven fact. This is one of those times that I don't mind being dainty.
Unloading the groceries. The Man hates grocery shopping. Never liked it. I don't mind it, especially because it usually means I get to be out alone. If I spend the time traipsing around the grocery store, then he should help by unloading the groceries from the van for me. I'll put them away (if I ever want to find anything again), he just needs to use those big strong muscles and haul them inside.
Anything that involves the use of tools. And really, it's not because we don't know how to do these things (my dad taught me well) but we should let them have a little fun every now and then. What puts a smile on a man's face faster than strapping on a tool belt? Changing light bulbs, tightening faucets, replacing the deadbolt that your toddler dismantled while you were in the shower, or rescuing your earring from the sink drain. Good times.
Let's not forget the other jobs: car maintenance, lawn care, only person in the household allowed to pass gas without excusing themselves, and sleeping during church. These are the strenuous obligations of being a Man.
The Man: Can you get the propane tank refilled?
Me: I have no idea how to do that.
The Man: Just remove the tank, take it to the station -
Me: What?
The Man: It's easy.
Me: I can't do it.
The Man: Why not?
Me: Because that is a Man Job.
The Man: A what?
Me: A Man Job, something the Man is supposed to do. I can't do it.
The Man: (extensive rolling of eyes)
Me: Tell you what, I will birth the children and you refill the propane tank. Deal?
The whole conversation got me thinking about the Man's role at home. There are certain tasks that are undeniably his; I just can't do them. True, there are tasks that are all mine but we need not bring out the femi-nazis amongst my lurkers. Instead, let's talk about Men.
They have the Man Cold and Man Caves. They definitely have Man Jobs. For instance: Bugs. I have been known to not use a room for an entire day simply because I saw a spider in there (and don't tell me that they can crawl under the door! I don't need to hear that!). It is the Man's job to dispose of such unwelcome guests. Agreed?
Cold feet. I got 'em. I had it written into the Marriage Contract that I would be allowed to warm my frozen tootsies on his warm, hairy legs. If he shrieks and squirms away, he is in direct violation of said Contract and is no longer entitled to the benefits and privileges thereof. See? You give a little, you get a little.
Strange noises in the night. I get to cower under the covers - I mean, keep the blankets warm - while he goes in search of the weird sound. And really, let's just blame this one on genetics. Men are bigger and stronger, it's a proven fact. This is one of those times that I don't mind being dainty.
Unloading the groceries. The Man hates grocery shopping. Never liked it. I don't mind it, especially because it usually means I get to be out alone. If I spend the time traipsing around the grocery store, then he should help by unloading the groceries from the van for me. I'll put them away (if I ever want to find anything again), he just needs to use those big strong muscles and haul them inside.
Anything that involves the use of tools. And really, it's not because we don't know how to do these things (my dad taught me well) but we should let them have a little fun every now and then. What puts a smile on a man's face faster than strapping on a tool belt? Changing light bulbs, tightening faucets, replacing the deadbolt that your toddler dismantled while you were in the shower, or rescuing your earring from the sink drain. Good times.
Let's not forget the other jobs: car maintenance, lawn care, only person in the household allowed to pass gas without excusing themselves, and sleeping during church. These are the strenuous obligations of being a Man.
So what are some Man Jobs around your house?
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Widow Week
Alternate titles: "My Husband's Ridiculously Overzealous Work Ethic," "How to Eat Your Weight in Chocolate," "The Best Hiding Places for Mommies Who Don't Want To Be Found."
I love my husband. He is a great man, a fabulous father, looks amazing in slacks and is hopelessly in love with me. He's perfect! But...yes, there's a 'but'...he has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility as it applies to his profession. I won't go into details because then I will start to rant and rage and possibly swear but let's just say that there have been quite a few changes at the offices lately. As a result of those changes, my husband hasn't been home much. All last week, he was sneaking home some time around midnight and then leaving again when the sun came up. And this week, he's not even here to keep my feet warm at night.
I am used to the business trips. Sometimes, they are even fun. I get to eat what I want, when I want. I wear yoga pants all day or not bother to fix my hair beyond a ponytail. I get to hold the remote control. I don't have to keep on the dishes. It's kinda nice. But it gets a little boring, especially once the kids are asleep and I've eaten all the Haagen Daas. I prepare as best I can for these moments.
When the Man goes off on business trips, I reorganize the Netflix queue. All the chick flicks get top priority. I make a special trip to the grocery store to get little treats and the fixins for dinners I want. I try not to go overboard...don't want to spend the whole time on a sugar high only to crash the minute he gets home.
This is what I've done to hang on this time:
I am surviving his absence. But my feet are cold.
I love my husband. He is a great man, a fabulous father, looks amazing in slacks and is hopelessly in love with me. He's perfect! But...yes, there's a 'but'...he has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility as it applies to his profession. I won't go into details because then I will start to rant and rage and possibly swear but let's just say that there have been quite a few changes at the offices lately. As a result of those changes, my husband hasn't been home much. All last week, he was sneaking home some time around midnight and then leaving again when the sun came up. And this week, he's not even here to keep my feet warm at night.
I am used to the business trips. Sometimes, they are even fun. I get to eat what I want, when I want. I wear yoga pants all day or not bother to fix my hair beyond a ponytail. I get to hold the remote control. I don't have to keep on the dishes. It's kinda nice. But it gets a little boring, especially once the kids are asleep and I've eaten all the Haagen Daas. I prepare as best I can for these moments.
When the Man goes off on business trips, I reorganize the Netflix queue. All the chick flicks get top priority. I make a special trip to the grocery store to get little treats and the fixins for dinners I want. I try not to go overboard...don't want to spend the whole time on a sugar high only to crash the minute he gets home.
This is what I've done to hang on this time:
- Currently, my favorite treats are Sweet's Orange Sticks (the dark chocolate ones). They were on sale but I limited myself to just one box.
- We have watched Barbie the Island Princess and Hairspray virtually non-stop (I'm hoping this doesn't permanently scar the Boy).
- Last night, I took the kids out for dinner at Arctic Circle. Their food might not be that great but they have the best play place for my kids. They declared me the best Mommy ever!
- I intentionally scheduled a Girls' Lunch Out because I knew I would need the adult interaction (even though I had to pay a babysitter, it was soooooo worth it).
- This afternoon, we're going to get new fish (we're down to three but one of those doesn't count because it's just an algae eater and hides whenever you try to watch it).
- Tomorrow, I am baking their favorite cake. And we will eat it while it's still warm, served with vanilla ice cream, possibly before dinner.
I am surviving his absence. But my feet are cold.
What do you do to entertain yourself when your husband is away?
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Birthday Blues
Remember how my birthday kinda was not so good? How I whined and whimpered and ate cookies? And I was still totally pampered and adored and smooched until I had whisker burn? Yeah...well...
This is the Man's Birthday Week. Not a big fan of eating out, he asked that I make him one of his favorite meals at home. But that wasn't "nice" enough for me. Because his birthday celebration is all about me, right? So for something special last night, I farmed the kids out to a friend for an hour and set up for a romantic candlelit dinner right here. But it didn't quite go like that...
I ordered his birthday present online. It still has not arrived. Dang it! Only had one other gift for him to open and it was a small one that he probably would have just bought for himself weeks ago but I wanted to give him something so he waited until his birthday. Stupid standard shipping...
Instead of making his favorite cheesecake for dessert (because I'm serving that for after dinner Friday night), I made his favorite cookies, Oatmeal Chocolate Chip. But I was baking them and getting dinner ready at the same time. Have I ever mentioned - perhaps in passing - that I am pretty much an airhead? Yeah...so I burned dinner. And for those of you playing along at home, it's actually rather difficult to burn pork chops. Well, I did it! I am just that good.
The Man still insisted that the pork chops would be perfectly edible.
I remade the sauce the pork chops had simmered to death in but it wasn't as good. Tasted more like soup than sauce. Bland and blah.
Usually, I have rolls but I didn't get any from the store on account of this incredible new bread recipe I've been using that makes the most fantastic rolls! Didn't remember about the rolls issue until about 15 minutes before dinner....so no rolls.
Turns out the goblets we were going to use for the sparkling cider were actually kinda crusty from their last trip in the dishwasher so we used juice glasses instead.
I got my nice crystal candlestick holders that were a wedding gift. Then I could only find one candle. This candle refused to light! Re. Fus. Ed. I went through nearly a dozen matches trying to get it to stay lit! So we left the light on over the kitchen sink so we wouldn't be eating in the dark.
There we are...sitting at our wobbly little table with burnt chops, bland sauce, no rolls, ugly glasses, light shining on the overflowing stack of dirty dishes and a candle that's smoking because the flame just went out (again!) but the house is silent except for us talking and laughing.
It was a good dinner.
This is the Man's Birthday Week. Not a big fan of eating out, he asked that I make him one of his favorite meals at home. But that wasn't "nice" enough for me. Because his birthday celebration is all about me, right? So for something special last night, I farmed the kids out to a friend for an hour and set up for a romantic candlelit dinner right here. But it didn't quite go like that...
I ordered his birthday present online. It still has not arrived. Dang it! Only had one other gift for him to open and it was a small one that he probably would have just bought for himself weeks ago but I wanted to give him something so he waited until his birthday. Stupid standard shipping...
Instead of making his favorite cheesecake for dessert (because I'm serving that for after dinner Friday night), I made his favorite cookies, Oatmeal Chocolate Chip. But I was baking them and getting dinner ready at the same time. Have I ever mentioned - perhaps in passing - that I am pretty much an airhead? Yeah...so I burned dinner. And for those of you playing along at home, it's actually rather difficult to burn pork chops. Well, I did it! I am just that good.
The Man still insisted that the pork chops would be perfectly edible.
I remade the sauce the pork chops had simmered to death in but it wasn't as good. Tasted more like soup than sauce. Bland and blah.
Usually, I have rolls but I didn't get any from the store on account of this incredible new bread recipe I've been using that makes the most fantastic rolls! Didn't remember about the rolls issue until about 15 minutes before dinner....so no rolls.
Turns out the goblets we were going to use for the sparkling cider were actually kinda crusty from their last trip in the dishwasher so we used juice glasses instead.
I got my nice crystal candlestick holders that were a wedding gift. Then I could only find one candle. This candle refused to light! Re. Fus. Ed. I went through nearly a dozen matches trying to get it to stay lit! So we left the light on over the kitchen sink so we wouldn't be eating in the dark.
There we are...sitting at our wobbly little table with burnt chops, bland sauce, no rolls, ugly glasses, light shining on the overflowing stack of dirty dishes and a candle that's smoking because the flame just went out (again!) but the house is silent except for us talking and laughing.
It was a good dinner.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
200
Happy New Year!!
Let's start off by celebrating my 200th post! Now, instead of writing random things about myself, I will show you what the Man gave me in honor of the occasion:
They are called Lace Roses because the edges look frilly, like lace.
Actually, he didn't get me roses in honor of my blog (he doesn't even read my blog). He got me these a couple days ago from Costco. We were heading toward the checkout when we passed the flowers.
Me: Wow! Those are gorgeous!
Him: Boy, stop pushing your sister.
Me: Hey, these roses are really pretty!
Him: Should we get some beef jerky?
Me: The Man, when was the last time you brought me flowers?
Him: Uh...
Me: For my birthday.
Him: Oh.
Me: In September.
Him: Which flowers did you like?
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