Say You’re Sorry.

 

Did you know? When you are surrounded by other humans, there is often trouble.

It’s a rotten world.

Ok, that might be a bit of an overstep. I mean, we have wonderfulness, here in this world. We’ve got purple Spring flowers. We’ve got funny cat videos. We’ve got chocolate. We’ve got people who are kind and loving and generally peaceful.

But also? There’s rottenness. I’m sorry, but we all act rotten every once in a while. You know you do. Don’t argue.

The other day my husband came home late from work. Dinner had been served. The dishes cleaned. We had “moved on with our lives,” and he was not too happy about this. Also, I think he was hungry, so you know. That doesn’t make for a good behavior sometimes.

Anyhow, he came into the living room where I was participating in my nightly ritual of folding ten million clothing items, and asked, “Is there… food?” He tilted his head towards the kitchen. “In there?”

I smiled and said, “We already ate, but I’m sure there’s something.” And he responded with this gem:

“WHAT. LIKE AIR? ” And stomped off.

The husband. A master at the one-liner. I snapped a pair of underpants and felt my insides simmer.

Now, granted, usually I have leftovers. But tonight’s meal had BEEN leftovers and we had hoovered them. All that was left was a sad carrot stick and some… Air. So, perhaps I should have, as the Dutiful Wife, made him something. Yes. Totally,  I should have done that because that would have been the nice thing to do. I totally didn’t. I forgot because my brain gets wispy after 7 pm.

But also? The AIR comment was a bit uncalled for. Don’t you think? I mean… how rude.

Sorry-ness usually happens because two people are involved. Usually. It doesn’t occur all alone. I mean, rarely does a rude tree in the forest and everyone else around him heard it, because RUDE.

Ok, I don’t really know if that analogy works, but bear with me.

My POINT (thank goodness, I know) is that … Brian felt tired out. He came home late which means, work, you know. I think he goes into that building sometimes like it’s one of those Roman coloseums. Except no real lions or spears or death. That’s a plus.

But, I could have at least left him some applesauce. Everyone deserves applesauce after a hard day at the coloseum.

So, later the husband approached. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m grumpy.”

“Me too,” I responded, vaguely. This kind of answer is totally superior because it doesn’t really elucidate if I am SORRY or I am GRUMPY, therefore I have TOTALLY STILL HELD ONTO NOT HAVING TO APOLOGIZE.

And so therefore…

I WIN THIS ROUND. I TOTALLY WIN. I WIN AT BEING MARRIED!!!!

Ok, now that THAT’s out of the way, it’s possible I also muttered,
“I’m sorry too. I love you. Here’s some applesauce. And I put some cinnamon on it.”

AND WE ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

Until the next opportunity for saying “sorry” occured. Which was probably within a twenty minute time span. That’s how we roll.

Also, I must share with you this little preshusness:

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I found this in Blonde’s backpack. It seems his buddy had the HORRIBLE AUDACITY to correct my eight year old on cultural relevance. Therefore… I think there must have been an argument.

An eight year old version of an argument goes like this:

Blonde’s friend: Sate Patrc Say. YOU DON’T KNOW.

Blonde: Yes, I do.

See:

YOU. DON’T. KNOW.

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I know. It’s totally got you on the edge of your seat, doesn’t it? This could be a script for The Good Wife, I tell you.

So… Blonde’s friend wrote him a little apology note. Which is adorable.

We can learn a lot from the eight year olds. They get mad, about holidays mainly, I think, and then they are over it.

I’ve watched my six year old go through all five stages of grief about some horrible thing his brother did to him in thirty seconds. Seriously, you could feel the wind off of those stages. He whipped through them. It was awe inspiring.

But perhaps… this just sums it up best.

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The End.

This is Marriage, Episode #4557

A few weeks ago I was cleaning the mirrors in our bathroom because my children like to spit toothpaste on them. Target practice. Anyway this tall blonde guy followed me into the bathroom, too.

Perhaps I should stop here. Perhaps you are thinking one of two things:
“Wow. That is just a really monumentally bad way to start a blog post.”

Or maybe…

“Wow. YOUR KIDS TOO? WHAT IS WITH THE SPIT ON THE MIRROR, THING?”

Tall Blonde guy needed to, uh, use the facilities. I KNOW. I’m so sorry. But just stay with me, ok? And AS he made it kind of CLEAR that he needed to, uh, use those facilities, I did this:

“What are you DOING? EW. Get OUT of HERE. THIS IS JUST NOT ACCEPTABLE. WE ARE NOT THIS! THIS IS NOT US! WE ARE NOT THE PEOPLE WHO USE THE FACILITIES TOGETHER! I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOUUUUUUU JUST GO AWAAYYYYYYYY.”

Blonde guy backed away slowly. He looked confused. He often looks confused but that’s because he’s married to me. And he said, “You know me. I’m your husband. Brian. Remember?”

And I said, “I can’t even remember your eye color, and now you’re all Mr. Bodily Functions on me? The last time we spoke was two weeks ago about weather stripping the windows. It was such a horribly boring conversation that we both gave up in the middle of it and started eating cookies instead.  So, now, we are like carb-loaded ships on the night, I tell you. You are Offsides in the Bathroom Ship.

Ship #2: Dude, using a football metaphor for my ship name? That is so romantic.

Ship #1: And I am Repetitive and Rather Shrill Ship!

OITB Ship: Yes. That makes a lot of sense.

RSS Ship:  But, seriously, the last time I tried to actually connect with you was during Blue Bloods and I feel asleep in the first five minutes even before The Mustache showed up and  I AM BEREFT. BEREFT OF A HUSBAND I TELL YOU. I’M GOING TO KEEP USING ALL CAPS FOR A WHILE NOW.

This fascinating back and forth went, well, back and forth for quite a bit, until the bad Bathroom Ship did this:

HE TOOK ME HERE:

IMG_6013.JPGIT’S NOT JUST A ROAD WITH NICE CLOUDS. IT IS A BED AND BREAKFAST I WAS SO EXCITED.

AND THERE WERE THESE GUYS:

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AND ALSO THEN WE WENT TO THIS TOWN:

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WHERE I ATE PIZZA WITH SMOKED DUCK AND FIG JAM AND A SLICE OF BUTTERSCOTCH PIE AS BIG AS YOUR HEAD AND YES CAPS HERE TOO BECAUSE FOOD.

AND ALSO I READ AN ENTIRE BOOK AND NAPPED AND THEN WATCHED CHRISTOPHER WALKEN IN A JAMES BOND MOVIE. AND NO ONE INTERRUPTED ME. NOT ONCE.IMG_6036.JPG

We are no longer ships in the night. We know each other’s names again. This is always a good thing especially when you’ve been married for ten years.

Also, did you notice? Not once did I mention the children in this entire post. That’s a first. Did you know that we had children? Two, in fact. And we had them because we actually HAD conversations with each other at one point! Also, Lord love them, they are very cute but HOLY HECK LEAVING THEM WAS SO AWESOME.

And no, we didn’t just abandon them with some extra ham sandwiches and well wishes. They were well cared for, by Grandpa.(Translation: Spoiled rotten.)

Our children? They are most definitely NOT ships in the night. They do not pass by anyone undetected. Ever. I think of them more like small tanks with questionable hygiene.

Oh, and also this:IMG_6029.JPG

Happy Anniversary, sweet husband. I believe ten years is celebrated with a gift of tin or aluminum. This trip? Priceless.

Rubies.

Linking up with my favorite people: Five Minute Friday.

The theme:

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And guess what. I’M not gonna write. Not really. I am going to step aside, because these words are the best:

“Never will I leave you. Never will I forsake you.”

“Don’t worry about ANYTHING. Instead, pray about EVERYTHING.”

“Wherever you go, I will go.”

“Be strong and courageous. I am with you always.”

“You are my bride.”

“And you are more precious than rubies.”

 

Ok, they are massively paraphrased. They are the ones that I mutter to myself when my soul is feeling sad or tired. My kids might think I’m a little nuts, because just last night, as I was preparing dinner, I was slamming around, saying,

“More precious than RUBIES. RUBIES, Dana! Believe it!” Both boys observed this and then backed slowly out of the kitchen. It’s ok, they were just coming in to ask me, for the fiftieth time, what was for dinner.

I crave loyalty. I esteem it. People don’t have rubies so that they can toss them around, all willy nilly. They keep them close. They are precious

I have a few close friends, whom I keep very, VERY close, and they are loyal.

My husband, who I often refer to as the Golden Retriever, is loyalty, personified. He is on my team. If he had to, he would paint his chest blue and with my initials, but I’ve never asked him to. He would, though. Isn’t it a great visual?

My dad is fiercely loyal. FIERCELY.

So, to me, the first thing I think of when I hear “loyal” is Christ. He knows loyal. He knows it can hurt. And he knows that it is necessary, anyway.

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This is Marriage. Episode #3446

 

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The other day, I was making dinner, and I remembered a conversation I had with my husband a long time ago, like Pre-Kids. Way back in the day when we actually watched movies past 9 pm without falling asleep.

The recollection forced me to stop chopping vegetables into the size of dust particles so my children would not spot them, and just for a minute I reveled in two things:

  1. My husband is the bees’ knees. I really have no clue what this means but bees are cute,  for the most part, and so is my husband. So there you go.
  2. I am amazed I remember this conversation. I mean, I don’t remember where I leave my cell phone at least once a day. And this is when I am talking on the phone.

Anyhow, since the conversation was so fantastic, I decided to share it with you, my darling readers*. It is just that fabulous. In fact, whenever the husband annoys me because he keeps lecturing me about the way the bowls go in the dishwasher and also likes to bring up filing taxes just as I am slipping off to sleep, I will dial up this moment in life with us. It is just that good.

So, here you go. *drum roll*

My Husband and I Talk About the Movie Pretty Woman

Me: Ohhhh!! I love this movie!

Him: Uh huh. Can I just-

Me: DON’T. YOU. TOUCH. THAT REMOTE. WE. ARE. WATCHING. THIS.

Him: Dear, when you use your Satan voice like that, but also cuddle up against me I get all confused. WHOA, those are weird boots.

Me: What? You like those? Why? Huh? I tell you what, just don’t watch this part. I’ll let you know when the boots are gone.

Him. Is that Sandra Bullock? Why is she blonde?

Me: Shhhh. This is when he shows up.

Him: Who? Is that Brad Pitt. What? WHAT? Why have I been wrong for the last three exchanges here? Can you please just write about me in your blog with a little more, uh, polish? Ok?

Me: Yes darling.

Him: Hey, it’s the dude from Roadhouse!

Me: You’re not giving me a lot to work with here.

Him: I want popcorn. Do you want popcorn?

Me: Wait! The dental floss scene! This is when he really gets a peek at the real Vivian.

Him: What? What is she gonna do with dental floss?  I thought this was Sandra Bullock? And he already got a peek. She needs to put on a jacket. Maybe a sweater.

Me: Dear. This is like the best love story ever. She wants the fairy tale.

Him: You know, me too. In fact, I wake up every morning with precisely that thought in my head.

Me: I want the fairy tale!

Him: Dear. She’s a prostitute.

Me: But WITH A HEART OF GOLD.

And then he got up and made some popcorn.

 

The End.

* It’s possible Momsie is having a slow day. This is all I could come up with. Pretty-woman-quiz-holding-shot

 

 

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. 🙂

 

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.

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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.

The Husband That Keeps Coming Back

Linking up with Heather’s Just Write over at the Extraordinary Ordinary today!

road+into+sunset

Last week my husband rode off into the sunset.

For reals.  He packed his bag, put on his spandex, and kissed us all goodbye.  I love it when he tries to make out with me while wearing spandex.  This is a common occurence in our household, and it adds a lot of flavor to the marriage, I tell you.

It is probably good that I explain.  He is a cyclist, and decided to ride his bike across our state.  Because, evidently, this is what cyclists like to do.  He did it with 900 other (crazy) people, and I am told he had a good time.

I had to wonder what nutball came up with this idea.

Cyclist:  Hey. Let’s ride across our state, next week.  You in?
Other cyclist:  Dude.  Totally.

I was thinking that it would have been a lot more fun if say, we lived in Idaho.

 

id-state-map

 

Or, say, Nevada:

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Well. No.  Here’s where we live:

 

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BIG, LONG, RECTANGULAR STATE. But our state reptile is the Ornate Box Turtle! So there’s that!

 

I am totally proud of the hubster.  I have to admit, I was kinda worried about him.  I had all sorts of prayer warriors following his progress and lifting things up to God for him.  We prayed about weather, sleep, tires, and his gluteus maximus.  And yes, that does mean I had people praying about his bottom.  Mainly, about chafing.  How did that prayer sound, I wonder?

“Dear Lord, please protect the hubs as he travels across the state, why we don’t really know, it’s evidently a thing.  And please Lord, we lift up his buttocks.   Amen.”

I love my husband.  I do.  But this venture had me puzzled.  He seems to be so enthusiastic about things that are just, well, BEYOND MY COMPREHENSION.

Things like, planting your hiney on a teeny tiny bike seat and staying on that seat for long enough that CHAFING on it becomes a factor.  WHO PURSUES CHAFING?

He also has enthusiasm for:

  1. Reading instructions for the Blu-Ray player
  2. Screaming with other screaming people at sporting events
  3. Loudly shutting cabinet doors*
  4. Television shows where it’s just balding men sitting at a table talking about what’s wrong with everything..
  5. Roadhouse.Road-house-poster

 

Anyhow, even with the Roadhouse thing, I am glad he came back.

Because, he didn’t have to.  He chose me.  He chose this life.  Our exciting, fun-filled little existence where we don’t go dancing at roadside bars to clangy honky tonk, until someone starts throwing beer bottles and the band has to play behind an actual FENCE because, you know, locals.

These are OUR locals:

 

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Surly bunch.

Yep, he coulda kept right on going.

But then, he woulda ended up in Missouri.  Nobody wants that.  **

 

 

*It is possible I have a slight problem with, um,  shutting things.  The lawyer wants me to come clean.  I dunno.  I might have an issue with follow-through.  Hubs says he has walked into the kitchen after I cook up something and ALL the cabinet doors are ajar, like that spooky scene in The Sixth Sense where the ghosties come and freak out that already rather nervous little boy…?

I think the hubs might be exaggerating.  But that’s what marriage is all about.  Exaggeration and accusation.  And love.

 

** I’M JUST KIDDING!  I LOVE MISSOURI! SOME OF MY FAVORITE PEOPLE ARE FROM THERE! DON’T EMAIL ME WITH YOUR ANGRY “I LOVE MISSOURI IT’S THE SHOW ME STATE, HOW COULD YOU?” EMAILS.  OK?

 

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