Quite Possibly, I Am the Best Wife Ever.

First of all, the day started with me trying to give two of the three cats in our household medication.

The third one is meds free. Probably not for long, though. That’s how we roll.

And, just bear with me, this does actually pertain to the wife thing.

Anyhow, one cat in the household (Steve) is a darling fluffy fat furball of deliciousness, and he just sits on me as I put the pill in his pink mouth. Like, he sits STILL, and then he just swallows it. And purrs. Because, did I mention, Steve is JUST THE MOST ADORABLE LUMP OF FURRY GOODNESS?

Seriously. He swallows the pill. No problems. We get in; we get out. Over and done in seconds. Then, he gets up and offers to help with the laundry. (Not really, but I know, I KNOW, if he had opposable thumbs, he would.)

Perhaps all this lead-up would give you a bit of foreshadowing for how the second cat deals with medication?

Second cat: Hi! I’m all furry and purring and rubbing up against you! Cuteness is here!

Me: It’s time for your pill, Second Cat.

Second Cat: I SHALL SMITE THEE WITH A THOUSAND CLAWS.

Me: I’m ready for that. This time I have a towel.

Second Cat: THAT’S NO PROBLEM JUST LET ME GO GET MY CHAINSAW. AND SOME DYNAMITE. MAYBE ALSO A NUCLEAR DEVICE. THIS IS SO ON.

Me: I think perhaps you are over-dramatizing the whole situation, Second Cat. You could, you know, just take the pill and we’d be over this in seconds. Like, oh I don’t know… your buddy-

Second Cat: Don’t do it.

Me: Like your buddy, STEVE? The preshus?

Steve: Dude. Every time you compare me to one of the other animals, or children, in this house, you break their spirit. You know I’ve set some impossible standards here.

Ok, I promise I’m going to get to the wife thing. The issue here is that I have now been treated poorly by a cat, and my feelings are hurt. THEN, when the husband came downstairs, this happened:

Husband: Hi honey! What’s with the bandaids?

Me: DON’T SPEAK TO ME EVER AGAIN.

It’s possible I too was over-dramatizing. Forty million tiny slices from a tiny ninja cat will do that to you.

A lot of times, when you are Mom-ming, you should be able to shake it off. Like, all of it. Shake off the furry disasters, the endless laundry, the fact that no matter what I cook for dinner it always ends up being one color.

My friends, I am not much of a shake it off kinda girl.

So, perhaps, just maybe …  as I was preparing the mashed potatoes for dinner, I overheard Blonde’s commentary on his dislike of such a dish:

“Ugh,” Blonde said,  “I don’t LIKE mashted potatoes. They’re kinda tasteless. And squishy.”

And then, maybe… just maybe I said:

“Huh. That’s exactly how I feel about your father. Kinda tasteless. And squishy.”

I know. Tbe ninja snark is strong with this one.

After copious apologies and kisses on the husband, I then decided to add this to the menu for dinner:IMG_7185.jpg

Note the strategic coffee cup placement. Foreshadowing.

We had BLT’s with fresh tomatoes from my mom’s garden:

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Along with squishy and tasteless mashed potatoes. And at the table was seated a husband who forgives me on a daily basis. Also present were two kids who ate a lot of bacon, after delicately removing any trace of the T or the L, and bread. And the heavens smiled.

Because carbs and bacon will solve all the world’s problems.

Problems like:

  1. Snarkitude
  2. Mashed potatoes (Also, add cheese. Oh my goodness.)
  3. North Korea
  4. Mullet haircuts
  5. Reality television
  6. The deep sucking void that is, basically, 2017

So we end this little tale happily.

My cats are medicated.

We’ve had our fill of pork products.

And I am, most surely:IMG_7185.png

 

 

 

 

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Throw Back Thursday – And Therapy

 

Here’s one from the archives. It’s a goodie. It also really let’s you know a thing or two about romance. So, educational.

Screenshot 2017-10-05 13.17.46.pngTHIS POST IS ABOUT SEX! AND FRIENDSHIP! WHICH SOUNDS REALLY WEIRD! STAY WITH ME!

 

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So recently my friend Rae had the audacity to move away.

Her hubs got a job in sunny California and she just LEFT me. LEFT, I tell you. I ask you, WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THIS WORLD WHEN FRIENDS MOVE AWAY BECAUSE  MARRIAGE?

I know. Marriage is a holy union and all that but now… WHO will I send snarky posts about husbands?

(Backstory: Rae also has a husband who is adorable and wonderful, like mine, but at times we like to laugh at them via text. Because we can. Also, because it’s a fallen world and oh don’t send me an email, I’m working on it. Admitting it is half the battle, y’all.)

Anyhow. The lawyer is sighing heavily and reminding me rather tersely: We can STILL text each other.  California does have texting, I’m pretty sure.

BUT STILL SHE LEFT ME. SHE JUST LEFT ME WHYYYYYY.

I had tried everything to get them to stay. Whining. Random sniveling. Prayer group sabotage. That one didn’t work at all, even thought I thought for sure it would. We were all gathered around Rae, praying over her trip and her move and all the stressers and other nonsense she was going through, and I entered in with this epic invocation:

“Dear Lord, I pray also that she just STAYS HERE THIS IS CRAZY. Could you, like, smite their U-Haul? Nicely?

But, okay, Thy will be done and all. I guess. Not really in this situation, but OK. Maybe.”

Strangely enough, the Lord didn’t follow through on this. I will talk more with Him about this later. The cute little hipsters, Rae and Sean, and their cute little kids, packed up and left me.

And so, I did the next best thing:

I decided to be selfless and wonderful and clean their house!

Actually, the lawyer is AGAIN asking me to clarify: I didn’t come up with the idea. My legitimately selfless and wonderful friend, Alissa, suggested we do it, and I just kinda horned on to it, and told everyone it was my idea.

I know. I have not, EVER, tried to establish that I am anywhere near perfect in this blog. But this post really accentuates all that, doesn’t it? Does this blog make me look fat, too?

Hope not.

So, I cleaned. Alissa watched our umpteen million small children. I think I got the better end of the deal.

And, while I was scrubbing away… I found… THIS (small flourish, and audible gasp!):

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* Yes, I know this picture kinda looks like I am cleaning without any clothes on. Or maybe, that’s just me thinking that, and you didn’t really go there at all. Shows you how my brain works, doesn’t it? It’s a bit wonky. I guess, the whole “My heavens! Is she topless?” question is kinda fitting because of the subject matter. But, you know, it’s not that kinda blog.

Actually, I think sweet Rae left them for me. It’s a deck of cards. About Sex. Aptly named: “Sex!” The marketing team really went all out on this one.

It is the kind of thing you get when you get married and your hokey friends like to give you wildly embarrassing gifts all har dee har har, nudge nudge, wink wink, etc. And then, you put them in a drawer and forget alllll about ’em.

Until you move to California and you decide, “Hmmm, maybe I’ll leave these here. I have two kids under the age of 5 and I think I’m good on the whole nookie thing. I know! I’ll leave ’em for my friend! She’ll LOVE them!”

So, now they are at my house, shoved waaaaaaaay in the back of MY drawer.

For my children to find.**

Thank you, sweet Rae. My impossibly wonderful, tiny, fit friend. I will miss you. So very, very much.

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** As every married couple seems to get at least one of these goofy types of presents, you can be sure that:

1. We did. It was something with feathers and edible glitter and my gosh that just seems like a lot of work.

2. I didn’t toss the gift. Even though the likelihood of me using a feather during nookie is very slim. Unless I wanted to dust something. I know.

3. Red found it. And wanted to talk about it. A lot.

4. I scheduled an appointment with my therapist that afternoon.

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.

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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.

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I Just Wub You.

My kids. They used to be so cute. Allow me to show you:

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I  mean, that is some good genes right there. They have my looks and also, my adorable ability to make paper Valentines Hearts.

The cleft chins come from their papa.

All in all, my kids’ insane ability to blow the cuteness meter all out of the stratosphere is MOSTLY DUE TO ME. IT’S ALL ME PEOPLE. I MAKETH GOOD BABIES.

Yes. I know. Back away from the coffee, Momsie.

IT’S VALENTINES DAY. DID YOU KNOW? IT’S THE DAY OF LOOOOOOVE.

But, did you know? I used to kinda hate this holiday. As a bit of backstory:

I didn’t get married until I was 36. I know. I was so old I could barely make it down the aisle. They had to set me up with some oxygen and one of those scooter thingies. Also, I don’t think Brian remembers the event at all because HE WAS A WHOLE YEAR OLDER THAN ME AND I WAS ALREADY REALLY OLD so… you know. For him, dementia had set in.

But anyhow. We were married. And it was freaking awesome. Even though we were so old.

Also, though? Kind of not. Kind of not awesome all the time. In fact, today, even, as I tried to make conversation with two wee cherubs at 6:30 in the morning about whether or not they can have chocolate for breakfast… And I’m there in my robe and praying for the coffee to perk faster so it can catch up with the nutball children who TALK SO MUCH IN THE MORNING… I thought, “The awesomeness is not strong today. But hopefully the coffee will be.”

I ask you. How DO they talk so much in the morning? How? It’s a medical mystery.

Here’s my point (The lawyer, who has been absent a lot from my posts lately because of paycuts, gets to finally, FINALLY, add his “WELL IT’S ABOUT TIME.” to this post):

Valentines Day is a day to express love. The apex of love is NOT marriage. It’s not even kids although we all know they can be rather consuming in that department. I mean, did you SEE the picture above? Who could NOT love that? But also, might I add? The blonde one just spent a better part of this morning, walking around the house in aimless circles singing the Star Wars theme but with the word “Poop” interjected as lyrics. So… not so cute, huh? This moment was also accessorized by Red bending over and adding sound effects and you will thank me for not going into any more detail than that.

I’ll just let your imagination fly.

Ok, so back to my point. Valentines Day.

Love is not about sex or making babies (also sex ) or getting married or even, dare I say, the passionate weirdness I feel for my cats that means that every time I pass them I must grab them and hold them close, to check their furry status and all that. This is harder to do with Bob, the small nervous one who tenses up so much when I pick her up that I think she might break into a million tense and furry pieces.

ANYHOW. What I’m TRYING  to say, is that Valentines Day is about recognizing where all that love comes from. God created us to be like Him, after all.Which means…

He loves us like crazy. And, as I had observed this morning with the Poop Musical going on in my foyer, His crazy love is very apt for what He has to deal with on a daily basis.

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Also this: When my boys were little they used to come up and hug me and say, “I just wub you, mommah.” It’s one of those sweet things I remember, as a well-folded, frayed at the edges Valentine that I keep tucked away in my memory. All moms do this. We store them up, a memory box of adorable reminders.

I wanted you to know that I wub you too, my readers. You have been such a blessing to me.

And a tiny extra shout out to:

My dad. Who reads each and every post.

My mom. Who reads each and every one and then writes me letters and comments back. 🙂

Christy. Super Friend. Super Editor. Super Everything.

Julia Putzke. Super Friend Who I Have Not Actually Met Yet But Thank You Internet for Introducing Us.

 

I just wub you!

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Netflix for the New Year

Cat-memes-when-you-go-outside-after-netflix

 

At certain times as I walk my path, and I hit snags. Road bumps. Wee little construction zones that cause a bit of a delay.

Most of mine, lately, have been in regards to parenting.

Why?

BECAUSE PARENTING IS REALLY HARD.

Anyhow, lately I have been on a small detour in this area that is called:

Cooking is the Enemy.

I used to like to cook. I did.  When I was a kid, I used to check out big, fat French cookbooks from the library and copy the most complicated recipes into a little notebook. I would watch Julia Child clumsily butcher a chicken in awe. I considered culinary school instead of college (English teacher won out, because English teachers make serious BUCKS, people.)

When I was first married, I loved creating elaborate meals for my beloved. I would peruse recipes and make up exotic dishes and quite often, din-din was really good. I plated things. I made sauces. I think I sprinkled parsley at one point.

But then, two things happened:

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Notice the meal? I didn’t cook it.

Note also: Blonde on left has what my dad used to call a “sh** eating grin.” I think this is completely inappropriate and a little gross. Also, it completely fits.

Note one more time: Red on the right is just nutso.

Parenting takes your gourmet dreams and punts ’em right out the window. Those dreams are out there, in a pile along with your washboard abs, trips to Paris, and the time to read the Sunday paper.

So this year I decided to pencil in a new resolution:

If I cook it, they will come.

Cue inspirational music:

Yes! I will walk into that kitchen with my head held high! and I will actually use a recipe, with something other than canned mushroom soup and elbow macaroni! Repeat after me, ladies: elbow macaroni is for ARTS and CRAFTS!

And, as God is my witness, I will actually BROWN THE MEAT BEFORE IT GOES IN THE CROCKPOT!

Ok, here comes Netflix to the rescue!

First of all, this movie:

Screenshot 2016-01-27 11.02.33

Ok. You guys. This movie. I don’t really know how to do it justice. Lemme see…

  1. You want to watch something funny and inspiring and full of heart?
  2. You want to follow your dreams? And watch a movie that makes you want to bound up afterwards and head right out after them?
  3. You want a movie written by Favreau who also wrote Swingers? The best movie ever?
  4. YOU WANT A CAMEO BY ROBERT DOWNEY JUNIOR????
  5. I got you on #4, didn’t I? 🙂

Also THIS:

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This one was a total surprise. It was on my, “So you liked Chopped? Watch this!” Cue.

I. Love. This. Show. It is beautiful and cinematic and has lovely music and writing and just the passion of these people… It makes you want to go out, buy some truffles and figure out how to confit things. I mean, look at the image above. That’s FOOD.

And art.

Granted, my children would never eat it, but I guess I can dream. I can dream. And watch Netflix.

So, mommies, the next time you find yourself gnawing on a half-eaten, stale cheese stick from your kid’s lunch box because WASTE, you can at least lean on the mighty Netflix to aid you. As for me, I am now trying to cook meals that don’t include the word “casserole” in them, or “hot dogs.” I used fennel the other day, y’all. No one died. Progress, not perfection!

Carry on, mommas. Cook it. They will come.

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Warning: both of my selections use profanity. Especially Chef. Like, a lot. For some reason, it didn’t bother me, but this is not family viewing. Use your own discretion as to whether or not you can handle the potty language. I had no problem with it whatsoever, which tells you a bit about me, doesn’t it.

 

 

You and Me Could Write a Bacon Romance.

Linking up with Five Minute Friday today. The theme?

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No. I’m not kidding.

So, here goes.

baconpoem

This is what I know about marriage: if there has been a fight, and it’s just a teensy bit possible that YOU are the one that is the most, er, culpable, and you are really, really lousy at apologizing?

Bacon. Just make some bacon for dinner. Bacon that problem right there.

Also:

Bacon makes you more intelligent. It takes away wrinkles. It will clean the grout in your bathroom. Bacon will, one day, WIN THE WAR IN THE MIDDLE EAST.

Oh… I know. Went too far, didn’t I?

But, wait, there’s more! Bacon could be its own Viagra ad! Because, you know, since I went too far with the whole war thing I might as well go hog wild and carry on. (I’M NOT EVEN GOING TO POINT IT OUT YOU SAW IT I CAN’T EVEN.)

Viagra ad:

Hey! Do you want to take your honey for some weird date where you’re rowing in a boat together and smiling all coy and knowing because sex! Maybe soon! In the rowboat! Should be totally comfortable!

And then, you’re chopping vegetables together again, all coy and knowing because NOTHING is more sexy than chopping vegetables! Sex! Right here ! On the kitchen tile! Even if it’s cold! Just make sure to wash your hands!

And THEN BAM! You are IN A BATHTUB ON THE BEACH! ALL COY AND KNOWING! BECAUSE SEX IS FOR SURE GOING TO HAPPEN! IT’S A BATHTUB ON THE BEACH! WE ARE ALL IN!

If you want this weird lifestyle where you are doing stuff together that is just not normal, and then sex happens because of it, FRY UP SOME BACON.

But. Ask your doctor first. If, you know, you’re healthy enough for bacon.

Sigh. Ok, this post has taken a rather abrupt turn but it’s all I’ve got this morning. And for some reason, I really, really want to go find my husband and play tennis, or take a road trip in a convertible and look, you know, all coy and knowing at him while we stop at a roadside antiques dealer and fondle something shabby and chic.

Oh, and, somehow, NO children will be allowed within a 100 mile radius.

Because, as you mommies know, babies are begat by all that coy and knowing business, all those saucy looks, and then, once you HAVE the babies, they circle you like flies at a picnic for the rest of your lives. ESPECIALLY if there is bacon involved.

And that, my friends, is how I can tie bacon to sex.

It’s my own version of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. Yes, this is a thing. Click here.

Sex, Digress to Crispy Bacon.

Boom.

If this post doesn’t get a Pulitzer I quit.

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This is Marriage.

Long while back I had a friend who told me to read the book Tuesdays with Morrie. It’s a really sweet, sentimental book.

I know. I have really no idea why she suggested it for me.

Anyhow, the premise is this: If you spend time with someone, on a daily basis, you should really, you know, get to know them. Because people are generally awesome. They have stories to tell and lives that are lived, and we should realize how precious time is with them.

I know. It’s really sweet. And very true. And so, I was thinking just this morning how I have this other person who is like HERE like, A LOT and when, really, was the last time I sat down with him and just dug deep into his soul and got to “know” him?

It’s the husband. I’m talking about the husband. FYI. In case you were wondering if I had lost my mind and was talking about Steve the Cat. Or my sons. I do know my sons, but honestly? Deep conversation with my sons doesn’t happen too often because children.

So today! I am posting another installment in my series called:

THIS IS MARRIAGE.

So, here’s how we talk:

Exhibit One: We are persistent about calcium.

 

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Exhibit two: We do not freak out about scary stuff. In fact, we don’t freak out at all, we just blithely respond like it’s no big deal, leaving SOME OF US TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH KILLER EVIL STINGER THINGS.

There’s no resentment here. None at all.

 

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Exhibit Three: We go the extra mile.

 

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Exhibit Four: We get real. We even use saucy language.

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Exhibit Five: We quote scripture at each other. And by that I mean, HE sends me all these really uplifting, wonderful, LONGGGGGGG texts the bible all OVER the place. And I respond with my favorite verse. Because it’s short.

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Note how he completely ignores my snark and just keeps right on being SO HELPFUL AND SPIRITUAL. AWESOME.

 

Exhibit Six: We are very very honest. And we understand each other’s needs. Mine are usually about food.

 

 

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Exhibit seven: We are always willing to help out. Like when the husband needs to get a refill on a prescription we are more than happy to send pix.  And we are patient.

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And more pix…

 

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Exhibit Eight: We like to enjoy the little things. Like our kid. Dressed like a bat.

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Exhibit Eight:  We are straight up, no snark, here for each other. Even when autocorrect fails. We pray. Especially when we are far away, at Whole Women’s Weekend, dealing with a lot of stuff, and really really just needing an “I love you.”
I always get the “I love you.”

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This is marriage.

BOOM. 🙂