Here’s why I intensely dislike* my husband:

 

You're invited to an*Well, I was gonna say “hate.” But, hate’s such a strong word.

“Intensely dislike” doesn’t have quite the same ooomph, though.

il_570xN.429457235_jl3e.jpg

But, I shall continue.

HERE’S A BIG FAT LIST:

  1. Watching Brian eat chicken wings is the kind of experience that will put you off chicken, and their wings, forever. You know those scavenger ants that crawl all over a big cow corpse and leave it picked clean in ten minutes? Think that, but more gross.
  2. The other day I sat down next to him on the couch and said, “Guess what time I started writing today. Go ahead, guess.” And he didn’t respond so I said, “NEVER O’CLCOCK. THAT’S WHEN.” And then he said, “Why?”
  3. Whenever he goes anywhere, in any car, and it comes to a stop, it takes him like forty minutes to actually exit the car. I don’t know what he does in there, because I usually just leave. Perhaps he’s a top secret spy and whenever the car shuts off he has to reconfig his gps for the spy people. That doesn’t really make any sense. But it’s so annoying.
  4. He walks really slow. Unless I’m walking beside him. Then I can’t seem to keep up with his long footsteps. So, maybe it’s an optical illusion. Or, that he doesn’t want to walk with me. We’ll say option one.
  5. I once was having an existential laundry breakdown and flopped down next to him in bed and said, “Do you ever feel like the days are all just the same thing, over and over, and we’re all on this turning planet just milling about and doing the same thing, over and over, and it will just be like that until we die? Because I just folded and put away laundry and now that’s how I feel.”  And he said, “Yes.”

These are hateful, awful things. Deplorable.

But, that’s marriage.

Here’s my point (which I know is kinda full of snark today but it’s Wednesday, and that’s my snark day. Thursday is for serenity. Friday is for super-spiritual… I have it all written down in my bullet journal).

MY POINT:

My husband is so annoying. Like, sometimes? Just watching him eat makes me want to stab him with a fork. Marriage is like that. It’s like a long overdue pot of rice on the stove that just BOOM bubbles over in seconds and creates a God awful mess. Simply because the rice was rice.

Here’s another metaphor for you. Marriage is like, a petri dish. Here we are, stuck together in all this goo (children), watching each other, and other things (children) and just floating about and sometimes behaving like one-celled organisms.

And it’s so annoying.

But, even with the chicken wings and the melodious sounds of snoring at night that keeps the whole neighborhood in sync- even with that. AND his weird love of Quick Trip hot dogs. AND that if he says, “I’m going to the store for some milk,” I can expect him back sometime before sundown.

EVEN WITH ALL THOSE THINGS:

I will always and forever love him. Forever and forever. Like, forever.

More today than yesterday, in fact.

Because, that’s marriage.

 

Happy anniversary, my sweet love. Every day’s a new day.

1910138_506801878635_8248_n.jpg

 

IMG_1262.JPG

 

 

Advertisements

Love and Marriage. This post is so complicated it has its own glossary.

 

"I love you." "I know."

“I love you.”

“I KNOW.”

 

So, here’s a conversation I had recently with the one I like to call Big Blonde (aka, the hubs).  He likes it when I call him that.  In his mind, I am pretty sure, when I call him Big Blonde he kinda squares his shoulders,  all big and manly and tall and strapping and such.  Like Paul Bunyanish.  Or maybe Babe, the Blue Ox-ish.  I’m not sure.

I kinda just call him that so I can stop confusing him with my five-year old, Wee Blonde.  They are rather easy to get mixed up.

Anyhow, our witty banter sounded something like this:

The setting is the dinner table. We are bravely trying to attempt what is sometimes referred to as polite dinner conversation while our boys have found a way to sword fight with two limp green beans.  When the blonde one was reprimanded, he silently, all eerie ninja, SLITHERED down from his chair.  All the while, he maintained eye contact, perhaps attempting the Jedi mind trick, landing in a toddler puddle on the floor.  This was his most epic attempt to date to avoid ingesting green beans.  So. As I was trying to explain “manners”  the hubs and I talked:

Me:  Hello.  I’m your wife.  How are you?

Hubs:  I’m fine.

Me:  That’s great.

Hubs:  Mmmm nom growl mmmm.   (Shoveling food.  See “manners.”)

Me: So… how was your day?

Hubs:  Fine.

Me:  *Pointedly waiting*

Hubs: Oh!  And yours?

Me: It was fine.

Hubs: That’s nice.

Me: Dear, puppies are nice.  This is awful.

Hubs: Well…  Is there any-

Me: The Tony C’s?  I knew it.  The stroganoff is not seasoned well at all.  And it’s gluey.  Who makes gluey stroganoff?  Me, evidently.  NO BLONDE, YOU ARE NOT EXCUSED UNTIL YOU SWALLOW ONE GREEN THING.  PARK IT.

Hubs:  I was going to-

Me:  Even the water is bland.  I should write a cook book. For toothless people with no taste buds.  (Big gesture here; I’m getting into this.)

I’d call it:  Bland Meals – How to Create Food that Will Non Plus Your Entire Family With Meh.

Hubs:  Dear. You’re over-dramatizing this a bit.

Me: WAT.

Hubs:  I WAS GOING TO ASK: Is there any chance we could get a sitter for Saturday? I was thinking we should go out.  It’s our anniversary.

Me:  WOULD YOU SIT DOWN.  STOP GASPING AND CLUTCHING YOUR THROAT.  FOR PETE’S SAKE,  IT’S A GREEN BEAN, NOT ANTHRAX.

THE POISON, NOT THE ROCK BAND.

Hubs:  *pointedly waiting*

Me:  What?

Hubs:  Would you listen better if I tried to attack you with this green bean?

 

 

 

 Glossary

Polite Dinner Conversation:  What I think all other families are engaging in around their dinner tables.  BUT NOT US.  NOOOO HO, we have to deal with food that pleads for its life before a toddler eats it.

Manners: I don’t know.  Maybe someday?

Fine: Taken at its word if uttered by the hubster. Totally okay.  Nothing wrong at all.  No subtext.  Really, actually, and truly FINE.  I KNOW.  It’s kinda mind-boggling how this is even possible.

Pointedly Waiting:  Most people in marriages find themselves doing like 88% of the time.  This type of waiting is not because you’re actually waiting; it’s to make a point, thus sending a clear message that whoever you are pointedly waiting AT owes you, big time.

Fine: If there ever was a word uttered that should strike fear in the heart of the listener, this is it.  This is the Hannibal Lecter of utterances.  Back away slowly.

Tony Cs: Some sort of magic fairy powder that fixes my cooking.

Stroganoff:  A food laden with self loathing and despair.  Not to be confused with its younger, goofy brother, Hamburger Helper, a boxed food item that toddlers and college kids will tell you is The Food of the Gods.

Over-dramatizing:  SOMETHING I DO NOT DO, AT ALL.  NOPE.  NEVER. I AM DEEPLY OFFENDED THIS IS EVEN ON HERE.

Anniversary:  When you stop, look at each other, smile and say:  YES. And Always.  I choose you, forever and ever, amen.

IMG_2288

 

This was our wedding song.  We didn’t have the cool sax player with the mutton chops,  but it was still awesome.  More today than yesterday, my sweet.  Happy Anniversary.

Happy Anniversary!

MjAxMy0xMzMxMjJjNDdkZmM5NTc5

 

 

IT’S MY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF MOMSIE TODAY!!!!!

LET’S PARTY!

WOOO HOOOOOOO!

Let’s make pina coladas except without any alcohol, and sit on the porch and talk about MEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Or maybe just lemonade?  And some cookies?  Perhaps a cake?

 

*taps mike*

Hello?

Hi Red, honey. You look kinda… quizzical.  Do you want to come and celebrate ME today!?  It’ll be fun!  There’ll be cake!  Maybe!

Oh, you have weally bad news?

You need help?

In the bathroom.

 

Celebration is on hold until further notice, ya’ll.

But thank you for making it possible in the first place!

 

2653a35285f6ed68c3946d8ce45dcae4f782f20bfeb312d8eddb0fc0a6e3fbb3