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?

1. Makeup, fixing my hair and clothes other than pajamas are optional. Bras, too.
   
2. The Man is not here to demand home cooking or dinners with nutritional value. Chocolate pudding is perfectly acceptable for lunch.
   
3. I don't have to watch any of "his" shows. The remote is all mine. Goodbye college sports; hello Doctor Who!
   
4. I don't have to share the blankets. And his pillow becomes community property.
   
5. Dishes only have to be done when we're using forks to eat our ice cream.
6. Costa Vida takes over my evening meals for me. I never get tired of their salads!
7. I can adjust the thermostat to whatever I want. He likes it at 68. I like higher. I win.
   
8. 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.
9. 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.
10. 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?

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.

Adventures in Cooking..and Explosions

My buddy, Just SO, posted about a pan exploding in her oven. It brought back some pretty vivid memories (I like to dwell on the past a lot, too).

When I was a blushing bride, I decided I would cook most of our meals. Hey, I was pretty handy with a spatula. The Man wasn't a picky eater. No worries, right? I had a small notebook (still have it!) that I carefully copied down my favorite recipes from my mom's collection. It was a treasure trove of goodness and down-home cookin'. The Man would have the Best. Wife. Ever. He was so lucky and he didn't even know it yet.

Then came my first attempt to make my new husband actual food. It was the day after the wedding -- a Sunday -- and we were pulling ourselves away from...uh...gazing deeply into each other's eyes long enough to realize we were hungry. I scurried to the kitchen and pulled out a box of Pasta-Roni. None of that mac n' cheese for my man! I was gonna make pasta in a slightly different shape with a slightly different color of cheese-like product. So gourmet.

That was when I realized that amongst the six wall clocks, four sets of towels, myriad gift certificates, and a planter shaped like a house that we had received as wedding gifts, no one had given us a pot. I had no way to boil water.

I think we ended up eating leftovers from the reception.

From the heirloom recipes, the Man really liked my mom's chicken and rice dish. Who could blame him? It was tender chicken simmered in cream of mushroom soup, laying on a bed of rice, and soaking in love. So one evening, I scurried to the kitchen yet again (see, back then, I was the size of a mouse so I did plenty of scurrying and scampering) and put together a batch. I had it timed perfectly to be finished mere moments after he came home from his last class. I'd made it plenty of times before and thought nothing of popping it in the oven and leaving the room. I then proceeded to practice writing my new name dozens of times study hard for my classes while I waited. So I wasn't at all prepared for the very loud popping noise and subsequent wet slopping sounds that soon emanated from the kitchen.

The pan had exploded.

Along with the "broken windshield"-like glass crumbs, my oven was now coated in creamed mushrooms, crunchy rice, and half-baked chicken. The love was gone.

When the Man arrived home, I was kneeling on the kitchen floor, tearfully scraping the remnants of our dinner and cookware out of the oven. After he stifled the laughter, the Man picked me up off the floor and declared "Let's eat out."

And I fell in love with him all over again.

Of course, that love dies just a little bit whenever he tells friends and near strangers this story as a fine example of my cooking abilities when we first married. But I don't make him Pasta-Roni anymore. We're strictly a mac n' cheese family.

What was your worst cooking disaster?

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...

First Decade of Eternity

We take a break from our normally scheduled overly dramatic rehashing of the cruise for these important messages -

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!

SOS: My Super Hopeless Romance

Okay, I've just spent an absurd amount of time reading a new blog. (Just look at what time I actually posted this!)

It's called My Super Hopeless Romance. The writer, Cordy, is completely in love with her best friend. And since he is a typical guy, he has NO CLUE!! Go and read it and feel a little of her heartbreak. And possibly the over-whelming urge to smack this guy upside the head...

She doesn't allow comments but I just desperately want to tell her "Cordy, I've been there!"

I loved him. In fact, he was my first love. For years, I focused a lot of attention on him, playing the role of "the good buddy," being there whenever he wanted me. I finally found the guts and I told him, one fateful night on my front porch. And what happened? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was business as usual, like I'd never said a thing, never laid my heart bare, never said anything other than "see ya tomorrow!" A part of me died and I've never gotten it back.

Soon, I was hundreds of miles away from him, with only emails and the occasional phone call to ease the feeling of rejection. But even that changed. He fell in love. And suddenly, he was saying those words...but not to me. Not to me. (And Cordy, I know you will know the reference on that one...I have to think that there's a reason why he asks you to sing that song.)

It took a lame rebound relationship and a few casual ones until finally, finally, I found him, the ONE. Of course, he wasn't going down without a fight, either. But I won in the end.

So go and read about Cordy and the man she loves. Try to do it when you have some time because if you've ever had a taste of unrequited love, you'll be reading into the wee hours of the morning, too.

*New to Soap Opera Sunday? Read up on it here and then go check out everyone else's soapy stories here.

SOS: First Kiss

So Brillig is giving us a theme for the Soap Opera Sundays. This month's theme happens to be First Kiss. Sounds fun!

I decided to write about my first kiss with the Man, mainly because it's a lot more interesting than my very first kiss. Shall we begin?

Remember what our First Date (Part One and Part Two) was like? Not exactly a fairytale beginning. But the second date was more fun and we made a connection. In fact, it was during this date that he decided that he liked me enough to hold my hand. I have a bit of a track record and I knew that according the "The Dating History of Jessica," that within two weeks of that initial hand holding, we would either kiss or fizzle. My money was on the smooching. In fact, I was so sure of it that I made a bet with a friend. In two weeks, the Man would kiss me or I had to take her out to dinner. And I could not just lay one on him. No, sir. That would be cheating. He had to make the move.

Why was it such a big deal that he be the one to kiss me? I mean, I was already stalking the boy, surely I could sneak a kiss whenever I wanted, right? Right. But that's what made it all the more important that he kiss first. And...he had never kissed a girl before. Kinda a big deal, dontcha think?

So, during the two weeks, I didn't stand next to him with my eyes closed and my lips puckered. No, I played it how I normally do, although I did keep up with the stalking. My roommates were being as supportive as possibe. One of them spontaneously burst out singing the tune from Little Mermaid "Kiss the Girl." They even decorated the window with those static stickers from the movie in hopes of getting in a subtle hint. One thing I've learned about the Man since then? Subtlety does NOT work. Big neon flashing signs are a better approach. It was even my birthday and I didn't get a birthday kiss. Hrmmmm...maybe I was losing my touch.

Before I knew it, my time period was quickly coming to a close. It was the last day of the bet, and it happened to be General Conference. In the grand BYU tradition, we invited guys over to watch Sunday morning's Conference session and have breakfast at our apartment. He came. He lingered for the afternoon session, too. No, this relationship was certainly not going to fizzle, but I might still lose the bet. Time to get into the game!

After Conference ended, he stayed and I went into action. Despite the presence of roommates and their "friends," I used all my feminine wiles, threw subtlety out the door and made my move. AND IT DIDN'T WORK!! I was stunned. Never had I failed at this before, but then again, he wasn't like the guys I dated in the past.

Later that evening, I was over at his place and for once, his roommates weren't there. It was fast approaching midnight and I would lose the bet. I conceded defeat. With only 15 minutes left (and a mountain of homework I had neglected in pursuit of him), I said goodnight and made to leave. But he asked me to stay.

Then it happened.

We were sitting close on the couch and he got that look. You know that look. I might have leaned in a little...

It was short but so very sweet.

So of course, I reeled him in for another kiss. No point in letting him get away now, right? It was rather perfect, really. I won the bet and got to kiss the most wonderful man I've ever known.

Now, if you will excuse me, this little trip down memory lane puts me in the mood for another kiss...anyone know where the Man is?

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.

Marital Bliss

Well, yesterday was our anniversary! Eight years with this really great (and really cute) guy. Some days, it seems like we've been together forever but 8 years isn't very long. My parents are going on 40!

(This picture was taking Christmas '05. My hair is longer and curly now but he's still just as cute.)

So the day was pretty typical, except for maybe a few stolen kisses. As our gift to each other, we had purchased tickets to see Les Miserables later on this month. Still, we wanted to do something special. The Man had gone to a cool restaurant for a business lunch and thought I might enjoy it. It's called Sakura, a Japanese place with the teppanyaki cooking style (where they cook dinner on the table in front of you).

I got a babysitter, put on extra deodorant and we were set to go! Since it was a quiet Tuesday night, there was no wait for a table. In fact there were only two other groups inside. A photographer was working with one of the chefs to take some pictures. This style of cooking uses flames for show so there were endless blasts of heat coming from the photo shoot, which just happened to be the table next to ours. Poor guy probably didn't have any hair on his arms after that was done!

I decided to be brave and we ordered sushi for an appetizer. I was a little nervous. See, I don't like fish (or bananas). The Man has had sushi before and liked it. We tried the tamest one on the list: tuna tataki. It's thinly sliced tuna that looked like it had been seared a little - a very little. It's was rather pretty, set on top of carrot noodles and a sprig of sprout. The sauce was a little spicy. It was actually pretty good! While we were munching on raw tuna, another group joined our table. One couple goes to this restaurant frequently. In fact, this was their third visit in a week! Crazy people.

After the appetizer, it was time for the main course. Our chef (the same guy who was in the pictures) wheels his cart out of the kitchen, honking a bike horn as he makes his way to our table. Now comes the fun part! First, let me state that this guy was nuts. Seriously wacko. That always makes for good entertainment. He does the cool flips and whirls with the spatulas. First, he makes the fried rice and noodles. Fried rice has scrambled eggs in it. He flips and whirls the eggs around, too! He did drop one and immediately blamed his mistake on one of the people sitting at the table. Then he squirts sauces from various bottles. As he is doing this, he very casually aims one bottle at a woman and squirts! It was a gag bottle, a little plastic tube pops out but no liquid. He keeps cooking and making jokes and just generally making us laugh.

After he serves us the rice, he cooks up the shrimp appetizer. Then he flips three pieces of shrimp into each guest's mouth (except for me...I gracefully bowed out because I don't like shrimp). The Man caught one of his three.

Next was the main entree. I had beef, the Man had steak and shrimp, while another guy at our table had steak and chicken. Have to talk about the onion ring volcano. He carefully stacked rings from an onion slice, then filled it with the various liquids in his magic bottles until it bubbled and smoked like a volcano. Pretty entertaining. He keeps whipping his spatula around, always tapping it and keeping it moving. While it cooks, he chats a little with us. He's been cooking like this for 7 years. Before coming to Utah this past January, he lived in Alabama. He doesn't like snow. Hmmmmm, this might not be the best location for him.

Once all the food is done and served, he announces he has one more trick. He turns off the light over our table. On the cooktop, he sets three small, metal bowls. Liquid from those bottles is squirted into each bowl. Then, he lights it. So there are three bowls with flaming liquid inside them. He proceeds to flip the bowls, one at a time, on top of his hat! Liquid is not exactly stationary so as he flips the bowl, the flaming stuff is splashing all over him! The last bowl's contents set his necktie on fire. He just pats it out with his bare hand and says "It's getting a little hot in here." He said the first time he tried this trick, he lost an eyebrow.

The food was really delicious. And since it was our anniversary, they gave us dessert for free. It was fried ice cream. Yummy! We really enjoyed "dinner and a show," leaving the restaurant feeling full and still laughing over his flaming tie.

Way Back When...

Since people are giving flack over no pictures of me posted here, I decided to post one. Kristie and Amanda recently posted pictures of them with their spouses from before they were married. Since I tried for many, many years to be just like Kristie, I am going to try once more. Here ya go!

November 12, 1998.

This was taken in my apartment just before we left for the Preference Dance. It's a "Ladies' Choice" dance at BYU (actually, all of the dances seem to be ladies' choice...). We went with all of my roommates. ALL of them...even the ones that didn't go to BYU. This was the night that I knew I was falling in love with him. Ain't he cute? Looks a lot different now with his goatee. In fact, we have our wedding picture on top of the entertainment center. Da Boo was looking at it and said "Mommy looks pretty. Who is that man?" hehehehe...

I tell people we met on a blind date, set up by our roommates. This is true, but only partially. I went home to Texas during the summer of '98 and the Man moved in down the hall. My roommate noticed him and thought he would be perfect for me. So as she and I talked or emailed through the summer, I got updates on this mysterious guy. Within a hour of moving back to Provo, I was hauled down to his apartment to meet him. We weren't interested. I was dating someone else and he had just ended a rough relationship. Fast forward to a week later, when my computer stopped working. I went down to his apartment to get his roommate who was a computer guy. He was the only one there and offered to take a look at it. It took him about 6 seconds to fix it! That's when I realized he was kinda cute. I don't do things half-heartedly so I immediately started stalking the Man. Seriously. He could have called the police. I showed up where he worked, at his apartment, with his friends...it was kinda creepy and I'm surprised he didn't run away screaming. He asked me out on a triple date with two of his roommates. No, he still wasn't interested in me but he knew I would go out with him. We went to a dollar movie and to Dairy Queen ("hey, big spender"). It was more than a little awkward because of the other two girls...well, one was staring at me a lot and the other one was just rude. As we were getting in the car to go home, I asked him how he knew the other girl, the one that stared. His response: "I guess you could say she's my ex-girlfriend." Great. He did ask me out again, on another double date (see how scary it must have been to be alone with me), where we went to dinner and then to a corn maze. By the end of the night, I had won him over and we started dating.
Of course I asked him to Preference and, in grand BYU tradition, I had to think of a way to do it in an interesting way. I wrote "Will you go to Preference with me?" on paper in six pieces, like a puzzle then wound then very tightly and wedged them into the centers of a half dozen roses. I had them delivered to his apartment. Not the most spectacular but it did the job.

We were married on May 15, 1999 and have been blissfully happy ever since. :)

Date Night!

I have a calendar of chocolate quotes that I've had for years (thanks, Kelly!). It sits on my desk. Very inspiring. This quote is from Feb 15th but it's one of my favorites:
"All men are created equal. But some men get the last peanut butter cup in the dish."

I actually got a date this weekend! Nevermind that I had to plan and plot the whole thing, still had a date! We went with another couple to dinner at Fazoli's (where a local high school debate team was eating after a tournament...brought back some fond memories). Then we saw Music and Lyrics. It was really funny! LOVED the 80s songs and especially the music video! Highly recommend it. Before the date, when I decided that I needed one and recruited our friends to come with us, I explained to the man that I needed wooing. So periodically, I look at him and say "Woo." He would then hold my hand or do something else romantic. It was the nice evening that I so needed after the last few days dealing with overly sensitive kiddos. He definately gets the last peanut butter cup.