Ack!
I am not having a good day. For starters, my Twitter account was hacked into and Twitter locked it when they found out. However, they haven’t told me what I have to do to get it re-opened. I miss my Twitter. Also, on the front page of Yahoo there is apparently some cranky swimmer bashing Michael Phelps. Why is he bashing Michael Phelps? What did Michael Phelps ever do to him? Apparently he’s bitter because Michael Phelps beat him at the Olympic Games by a second or something and he claims that he’s the real winner. Why do men always have to win? My husband moans when he loses. He was playing Wii Sports and whenever he’d lose he’d scream that the game was cheating.
I also need to pack because our flight to Texas leaves tomorrow. I am not packed. I’m running around with clothes in my hands trying to decide if I really need to bring them. Do I need a fancy shirt? Suppose I go to a fancy place? I doubt I’ll go to a fancy place but what if I do? Do I really need two different pairs of flip flops? I think I do. I have a black pair that goes with certain outfits and a purple pair that goes with another. Do I really need to match? Does it matter? I don’t think people will gasp if my flip flops don’t match my shirt. Or WOULD they?
Do I need to bring jeans? It’s sweltering hot in Texas so when would I wear jeans? But suppose it gets chilly at night and I want to walk along the beach? Why would I walk along the beach? I’m allergic to exercise. But I might walk along the beach hand in hand with my husband because it’s the romantic thing to do. I want to be warm because it would kill the romance if my teeth were chattering beside him as he was whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Wait, why would my husband be whispering sweet nothings in my ear? I’ve confused him with someone who is romantic.
What outfits should I bring the kids? They have such cute outfits. The problem is, they have a lot of cute outfits so I never know exactly what to bring. I’ll bring Tommy’s patchwork shorts with the matching shirt and...oh...should I take the blue shirt that brings out the color of his eyes? What dress should I bring for Natalie? They’re all adorable. The red one? The blue one? The green one? The white one? The brown one? ALL OF THE ABOVE?
I need to bring my straightener. Otherwise I’ll be a giant puffball because my hair does not like beach air. Do I want my lotion that makes me smell like a rose?
I’m giving myself a headache.
I cannot pack.
I laid out some of my husband’s nice shirts so he can pick which ones he wanted to bring. He mainly wears shirts with sayings on them. Sayings like “Save the trees! Wipe your ass with an owl!” or “Only Chuck Norris Can Prevent Forrest Fires.” Chuck Norris is his hero. But he can’t wear a lot of those shirts around the beach house. It might give my poor dear Grandma a heart attack if profanity is emblazoned across my husband’s chest.
I bought Tom this lovely light blue shirt because he has light blue eyes and I knew he’d look handsome in it. Tom took one look at it and went,
“No way. Not wearing it.”
?????????
What’s wrong with the light blue shirt? What has the light blue shirt ever done to him?
“That’s what old people wear,” Tom grumbled. “Why do you want me to look like an old man?”
Excuse me? I know several young people who wear light blue.
Still, I didn’t have time to argue. So I showed him a white polo shirt I found.
“Are those PALM TREES on that?” Tom looked disgusted. Oh the HORROR! Palm trees! Dear God.
“Yes, Tom but you can barely see them,” I said through gritted teeth. My patience was wearing. Why can’t he be one of those men who wear whatever I lay out for him? Why does he have to have an OPINION?
“I don’t know...palm trees...” Tom mumbled, rubbing his chin.
“Tom, please. We don’t have time to argue. I need to get ORGANIZED!” I shrieked. I wanted to crumple to the ground and curl into a little ball and hire someone to pack for me.
“Fine. I’ll wear the palm tree shirt,” Tom said because he could see that I was close to losing it. He knew I was two seconds away from bursting into tears and yelling at him to do the packing because I was DONE!
I also need to find room for Tom’s nice shoes because we’re going to my Grandma’s church on Sunday before heading to the beach. I haven’t set foot in a church in….I can’t even remember when the last time I set foot in church. I believe in God, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never felt totally comfortable in a church. My butt starts to ache from sitting on the pews and then I start to wonder why pews can’t come with arm rests.
Oh no. I just realized that I need to shave. When can I shave? I suppose I’ll do it tonight. That way I’m nice and smooth for the flight and I can wear shorts without people pointing and laughing.
What shoes am I going to wear to church? Are flip flops allowed in a church? Didn’t Jesus wear sandals which are sort of like flip flops? So it should be okay. I don’t think I’ll have room for heels. Plus I can’t walk in heels properly. What if I go stumbling across the pews and land in front of pastor and he asks me how I feel about Jesus? The first thing that comes to my mind is, “I totally dig his robes,” which I don’t think is exactly what the congregation wants to hear.
Note to self: don’t take the Lord’s name in vain in church. If I stub my toe or lose my balance I need to say “Ooopsie” in a sweet 1950s wife sort of way.
I need to gather the entertainment for the children so they don’t scream down the plane. I have books, coloring books, crayons, toys, food….at least this time my husband will be traveling with me so if the kids get too loud all he has to do is give them a Look and they’ll fall silent again. Why don’t the kids quiet down when I give them a Look? I look quite frightening when I’m pissed but they just laugh at me and say that they can see my nose hairs because apparently my nostrils flare when I’m angry.
So...I better finish this packing business. When I write again I will be on Texas soil. My body is going to go through quite a shock because it’s only been the seventies over here and it’s in the 100s over there. I look so unattractive when I’m hot. I resemble a lobster with bad hair.
Good Lord I almost tripped over the suitcase and nearly slammed into the wall. I do not want to board the flight with a black eye.
Wait. I can’t say Good Lord. I’ll be going to church on Saturday.
So. Oopsie. I meant to say oopsie.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The 75% off Sale at Target
First of all, I need to write more about Rob Pattinson in here. Because when I do, I get over 200 visitors which is like a record for me. So..Rob Pattinson (stinks), Rob Pattinson, Rob Pattinson...mwahaha..
Anyhow.
When I went downstairs this morning Tom was in front of the computer about to start a game.
“Tom,” I said. “Can I check something real quick?” I wanted to check the Target forum to see if there was any news about the toys going 75% off.
He reluctantly let me and I hurriedly checked the website. I didn’t expect to see anything. But then I saw a new thread with THE 75% OFF SALE HAS STARTED!!!! in bold letters.
My heart immediately began to race. I nearly fell out of the chair.
“TOM!” I shrieked, leaping to a standing position. I stumbled and nearly went careening into the couch. Sometimes being a klutz is no fun.
“Jesus. What?” Tom said. He had been standing behind me the entire time. “Are you okay? Why are you flapping your arms like that?”
I hadn’t realized that I was. But sure enough I was prancing around the room and my arms were going wild. I felt like a chicken with its head cut off.
“The toys,” I gasped out. “The toys have gone 75% off.”
Then I darted up the stairs to get dressed.
“Um. Excuse me? Does that mean you’re leaving?” Tom wondered, following me. He found me in the room racing across it.
“Where are my PANTS?” I wailed.
“You’re holding them,” he pointed out.
Oh. Right.
I started to pull them up over my pajama bottoms.
“Um. You might want to take those off first,” Tom suggested.
Yes. Of course.
So I did that and yanked up my jeans and threw on a shirt and then I said goodbye.
“Wait!” Tom yelled. “What about me?”
Huh?
I paused and he nearly collided into my back.
“You’re going to watch the kids, of course,” I said. If he thought I was bringing them with me then he had another thing coming.
“Maybe I want to come,” Tom said in his pouty voice. Oh no. I didn’t have TIME for pouty Tom. I had to get to the toys before Old Lady Hog showed up. What part of this was he not comprehending?
“You can’t come,” I said firmly, pulling on my shoes.
“Why not?” Tom puffed his lower lip out. “Maybe I want to come.”
“You CAN’T come!” I said again. “You’ll rush me.”
“But maybe I want to come. Why do you just get to go? I’d like to come and spend time with you and—”
“Oh my GOD, Tom. I think we’ve just set a world record of using the word come the most in a conversation. I don’t have time to argue so if you want to come, come!” I burst out.
Tom looked like he was about to say something suggestive over our abundance usage of the word come but I had already darted into another room to find my purse.
“Let’s go!” I said and marched towards the front door.
“Is Natalie going in her pajamas?” Tom said, gesturing to Natalie who was clad in her pink kitty pjs with messy bed hair to boot.
HAIR! I needed to brush my hair too.
“No. She needs clothes!” I rushed back upstairs at top speed and pulled an outfit from her closet. I came back downstairs and threw it at Tom. “Please get her dressed while I do my hair.”
I ran a brush through my hair and then went back out hoping to see Natalie dressed. But Tom had her skirt in his hands and he was gazing at it in confusion.
“Which way does this go?” He turned it around and wrinkled his nose.
“The daisy goes in front, Tom,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Oh never mind. I’ll do it!” I took the skirt and put it on Natalie.
“Why does girl stuff have to be so confusing?” Tom said beside me.
I’m amused that he can’t figure out a skirt yet he knows how to put together complicated weapons.
On the drive down I realized I hadn’t brushed my teeth. Crap! I always brush my teeth before I go out because it says to the public I care enough not to make you inhale my breath that smells like old kiwi. Oh, and there's the whole not wanting cavities and gum disease too. I puffed into my palm and inhaled and nearly keeled over. My mouth smelled as though I had been sucking on old gym socks or something.
“Do you have a mint?” I asked Tom frantically. “My breath reeks.”
“I know! When you were by me I nearly passed out from the stench,” Tom mocked.
“I don’t have time for jokes! I need a mint! I can’t go into a store with my breath smelling like this,” I said, rooting around in my purse. Surely I had to have some sort of mint in there. It was filled with all sorts of stuff. I pushed past receipts and my keys and my wallet and more receipts and change and a lemon jolly ranger—SCORE! A lemon jolly ranger would do. I would just smell as though I were sucking on lemon.
I popped it in my mouth and settled back in the seat. The candy tasted a little off because it had probably been in my purse for a year but oh well. You do what you need to do not to make other people think that you stink.
When we finally got to Target I grabbed a cart and put Natalie in the front.
“I’ll meet you in the toys,” Tom said, taking Tommy with him to the video game section. This is what always happens when we go to Target.
When I first got to the toy area I just saw the signs that said 30% off and my heart dropped a little.
Ahh well...maybe another time...maybe...wait...wait...that red price tag says 75% off...and so does that one...and so does that one...THE SALE HAS STARTED!
I practically did a happy dance right then and there. But I contained myself. I peered around the area and realized that Old Lady Hog wasn’t there. It was just me alone with the toys that were 75% off.
Tom found me five minutes later with my cart filled.
“Okay, I’ve been gone for a few minutes. How is the cart already full?” Tom asked, scratching his head.
“I’m a professional,” I answered simply. I have the ability to scan things quickly and figure out if I need it or not. You have to be able to move fast for sales like this because the toy can be gone in a matter of seconds. I learned the hard way when I was trying to decide whether or not to get this Hot Wheels set for Tommy. I was so busy tapping my chin that I didn’t even realize that Old Lady Hog had grabbed it and placed it in her cart.
Of course Old Lady Hog wasn't even there but she has super powers and can probably morph out of thin air.
Tom started looking at the variety of toys and picked up a Lego set.
“Awesome! Let’s get this. It’s on clearance.” Then he tried to stick it in the cart. I checked the red tag and it was only 30% off.
“No Tom,” I said kindly, removing it. “This is not how shopping is done. We only want the toys that are 75% off.”
Tom looked baffled. “But it’s on clearance. And it’s here. Why not buy it now?”
Sometimes I wonder about his hearing. “Tom. The toys in my cart are all 75% off. I never buy toys at 30% off because I know I can get a better deal eventually,” I tried again.
Tom stared at me with his mouth agape. This was not computing.
“Here Tom. I’ll ask a worker to scan your Lego and see if perhaps it is 75% off,” I said and picked it back up. I found a worker and politely asked if she’d check the toy.
“Of course,” she chirped and scanned it. “Yup!” Then she printed out a red tag and stuck it on the box.
Awesome.
I headed back to Tom and waved it proudly over my head. “It was 75% off,” I said and put it in the cart.
“SAH-WEET!” Tom said, punching the air. He’s 27 and still loves Legos. He says they’re for Tommy but he’s usually hunched over building them. “Are we done?” Tom begged.
“Yup,” I said and we headed off to check out.
A few people tossed me a few odd looks as I walked with my cart full of toys. I thought it was because they assumed that I was an eBayer. I am so not an eBayer. All the toys are for Christmas. Natalie will forget all about them and I just told Tommy that an elf was coming tonight to take them back to the North Pole to make them special.
When we were standing in line I couldn’t stop scratching my neck. It was then when I realized that my shirt was on backwards and it was the tag that was bothering me. The collar was practically at the middle of my neck. I looked like I was in the 1800s or something. I hadn’t noticed because I was so busy shopping.
“Tom,” I hissed. “My shirt is on backwards. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged. “I thought it was the new style. I don’t get girl styles.”
So basically I had been walking around with my collar basically up to my chin. Lovely. That’s probably why people were staring. They were like, “Um, what’s that chick doing wearing her shirt like that? We’re not on a compound..”
Want to see what I got?
This was one of my most exciting finds. Natalie has been wanting a train set like Tommy's big one and this is perfect. I got it for $8.
The creepy Yo Gabba Gabba stuff. Everything was under $5.
Tom convinced Tommy that he wanted the car thing for Christmas. And Elmo is just..well, everyone loves Elmo. Plus Natalie was all, "ELMO! THERE YOU ARE!" when she spotted him in the store.
The car thing was a little over $5 and the binoculars were only $1!
This was only $7.
And this was Tom's beloved Lego set.
And let it be known that I left a lot of toys behind lest you think I am like Old Lady Hog. I left a ton. Natalie wanted more Yo Gabba Gabba stuff because they had all the characters there but I only let her pick out one of each.
I would definately check out your Target if you want some awesome deals. Granted, some people were saying that their Targets are still holding at 30% off for toys but it's always good to check.
Now. I need to go find a place for all of these. Hmmmm...
Anyhow.
When I went downstairs this morning Tom was in front of the computer about to start a game.
“Tom,” I said. “Can I check something real quick?” I wanted to check the Target forum to see if there was any news about the toys going 75% off.
He reluctantly let me and I hurriedly checked the website. I didn’t expect to see anything. But then I saw a new thread with THE 75% OFF SALE HAS STARTED!!!! in bold letters.
My heart immediately began to race. I nearly fell out of the chair.
“TOM!” I shrieked, leaping to a standing position. I stumbled and nearly went careening into the couch. Sometimes being a klutz is no fun.
“Jesus. What?” Tom said. He had been standing behind me the entire time. “Are you okay? Why are you flapping your arms like that?”
I hadn’t realized that I was. But sure enough I was prancing around the room and my arms were going wild. I felt like a chicken with its head cut off.
“The toys,” I gasped out. “The toys have gone 75% off.”
Then I darted up the stairs to get dressed.
“Um. Excuse me? Does that mean you’re leaving?” Tom wondered, following me. He found me in the room racing across it.
“Where are my PANTS?” I wailed.
“You’re holding them,” he pointed out.
Oh. Right.
I started to pull them up over my pajama bottoms.
“Um. You might want to take those off first,” Tom suggested.
Yes. Of course.
So I did that and yanked up my jeans and threw on a shirt and then I said goodbye.
“Wait!” Tom yelled. “What about me?”
Huh?
I paused and he nearly collided into my back.
“You’re going to watch the kids, of course,” I said. If he thought I was bringing them with me then he had another thing coming.
“Maybe I want to come,” Tom said in his pouty voice. Oh no. I didn’t have TIME for pouty Tom. I had to get to the toys before Old Lady Hog showed up. What part of this was he not comprehending?
“You can’t come,” I said firmly, pulling on my shoes.
“Why not?” Tom puffed his lower lip out. “Maybe I want to come.”
“You CAN’T come!” I said again. “You’ll rush me.”
“But maybe I want to come. Why do you just get to go? I’d like to come and spend time with you and—”
“Oh my GOD, Tom. I think we’ve just set a world record of using the word come the most in a conversation. I don’t have time to argue so if you want to come, come!” I burst out.
Tom looked like he was about to say something suggestive over our abundance usage of the word come but I had already darted into another room to find my purse.
“Let’s go!” I said and marched towards the front door.
“Is Natalie going in her pajamas?” Tom said, gesturing to Natalie who was clad in her pink kitty pjs with messy bed hair to boot.
HAIR! I needed to brush my hair too.
“No. She needs clothes!” I rushed back upstairs at top speed and pulled an outfit from her closet. I came back downstairs and threw it at Tom. “Please get her dressed while I do my hair.”
I ran a brush through my hair and then went back out hoping to see Natalie dressed. But Tom had her skirt in his hands and he was gazing at it in confusion.
“Which way does this go?” He turned it around and wrinkled his nose.
“The daisy goes in front, Tom,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Oh never mind. I’ll do it!” I took the skirt and put it on Natalie.
“Why does girl stuff have to be so confusing?” Tom said beside me.
I’m amused that he can’t figure out a skirt yet he knows how to put together complicated weapons.
On the drive down I realized I hadn’t brushed my teeth. Crap! I always brush my teeth before I go out because it says to the public I care enough not to make you inhale my breath that smells like old kiwi. Oh, and there's the whole not wanting cavities and gum disease too. I puffed into my palm and inhaled and nearly keeled over. My mouth smelled as though I had been sucking on old gym socks or something.
“Do you have a mint?” I asked Tom frantically. “My breath reeks.”
“I know! When you were by me I nearly passed out from the stench,” Tom mocked.
“I don’t have time for jokes! I need a mint! I can’t go into a store with my breath smelling like this,” I said, rooting around in my purse. Surely I had to have some sort of mint in there. It was filled with all sorts of stuff. I pushed past receipts and my keys and my wallet and more receipts and change and a lemon jolly ranger—SCORE! A lemon jolly ranger would do. I would just smell as though I were sucking on lemon.
I popped it in my mouth and settled back in the seat. The candy tasted a little off because it had probably been in my purse for a year but oh well. You do what you need to do not to make other people think that you stink.
When we finally got to Target I grabbed a cart and put Natalie in the front.
“I’ll meet you in the toys,” Tom said, taking Tommy with him to the video game section. This is what always happens when we go to Target.
When I first got to the toy area I just saw the signs that said 30% off and my heart dropped a little.
Ahh well...maybe another time...maybe...wait...wait...that red price tag says 75% off...and so does that one...and so does that one...THE SALE HAS STARTED!
I practically did a happy dance right then and there. But I contained myself. I peered around the area and realized that Old Lady Hog wasn’t there. It was just me alone with the toys that were 75% off.
Tom found me five minutes later with my cart filled.
“Okay, I’ve been gone for a few minutes. How is the cart already full?” Tom asked, scratching his head.
“I’m a professional,” I answered simply. I have the ability to scan things quickly and figure out if I need it or not. You have to be able to move fast for sales like this because the toy can be gone in a matter of seconds. I learned the hard way when I was trying to decide whether or not to get this Hot Wheels set for Tommy. I was so busy tapping my chin that I didn’t even realize that Old Lady Hog had grabbed it and placed it in her cart.
Of course Old Lady Hog wasn't even there but she has super powers and can probably morph out of thin air.
Tom started looking at the variety of toys and picked up a Lego set.
“Awesome! Let’s get this. It’s on clearance.” Then he tried to stick it in the cart. I checked the red tag and it was only 30% off.
“No Tom,” I said kindly, removing it. “This is not how shopping is done. We only want the toys that are 75% off.”
Tom looked baffled. “But it’s on clearance. And it’s here. Why not buy it now?”
Sometimes I wonder about his hearing. “Tom. The toys in my cart are all 75% off. I never buy toys at 30% off because I know I can get a better deal eventually,” I tried again.
Tom stared at me with his mouth agape. This was not computing.
“Here Tom. I’ll ask a worker to scan your Lego and see if perhaps it is 75% off,” I said and picked it back up. I found a worker and politely asked if she’d check the toy.
“Of course,” she chirped and scanned it. “Yup!” Then she printed out a red tag and stuck it on the box.
Awesome.
I headed back to Tom and waved it proudly over my head. “It was 75% off,” I said and put it in the cart.
“SAH-WEET!” Tom said, punching the air. He’s 27 and still loves Legos. He says they’re for Tommy but he’s usually hunched over building them. “Are we done?” Tom begged.
“Yup,” I said and we headed off to check out.
A few people tossed me a few odd looks as I walked with my cart full of toys. I thought it was because they assumed that I was an eBayer. I am so not an eBayer. All the toys are for Christmas. Natalie will forget all about them and I just told Tommy that an elf was coming tonight to take them back to the North Pole to make them special.
When we were standing in line I couldn’t stop scratching my neck. It was then when I realized that my shirt was on backwards and it was the tag that was bothering me. The collar was practically at the middle of my neck. I looked like I was in the 1800s or something. I hadn’t noticed because I was so busy shopping.
“Tom,” I hissed. “My shirt is on backwards. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged. “I thought it was the new style. I don’t get girl styles.”
So basically I had been walking around with my collar basically up to my chin. Lovely. That’s probably why people were staring. They were like, “Um, what’s that chick doing wearing her shirt like that? We’re not on a compound..”
Want to see what I got?
This was one of my most exciting finds. Natalie has been wanting a train set like Tommy's big one and this is perfect. I got it for $8.
The creepy Yo Gabba Gabba stuff. Everything was under $5.
Tom convinced Tommy that he wanted the car thing for Christmas. And Elmo is just..well, everyone loves Elmo. Plus Natalie was all, "ELMO! THERE YOU ARE!" when she spotted him in the store.
The car thing was a little over $5 and the binoculars were only $1!
This was only $7.
And this was Tom's beloved Lego set.
And let it be known that I left a lot of toys behind lest you think I am like Old Lady Hog. I left a ton. Natalie wanted more Yo Gabba Gabba stuff because they had all the characters there but I only let her pick out one of each.
I would definately check out your Target if you want some awesome deals. Granted, some people were saying that their Targets are still holding at 30% off for toys but it's always good to check.
Now. I need to go find a place for all of these. Hmmmm...
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Nothing Good Can Come From Rob Pattinson
I knew I made a mistake as soon as I placed the magazine down. The cashier took one look at it and her face lit up. I braced myself, knowing what was about to come.
“ROB PATTINSON!” the twenty-something cashier shrieked as she scooped up the magazine. To be honest, I was worried that she was about to make out with it because she brought it close to her face and gave a long sigh. I make the same noise when I see Michael Phelps but when he’s on a magazine cover I don’t feel an urge to bring it inches from my face so I can see his pores.
“Isn’t he ADORABLE?” the cashier practically shouted as she scanned it. As soon as she did she brought it near her face again.
I pulled out my wallet and brought out some bills. “He’s...not my type,” I admitted and tried not to make a face. I seriously wonder if the whole world has gone mad. It seems like there is a Twilight epidemic going on and I’m the only one who hasn’t been claimed by it. Of course I enjoyed the series—I thought it was original—but when I finished, I didn’t cry that I was sorry that I was finished with the books like most people did. I easily moved on and started to read books about humans again.
I used to have people on my side—you know, the types that haven’t been seduced by Twilight--but they’re slowly dropping like flies. They’ll read the series and I’ll keep my fingers crossed that they won’t turn into a Rob Pattinson Crazy—but then there they go, gushing about Rob, gushing about the series and I want to scream, “Noooo! Come BACK!” with my arms outstretched.
My best friend loves Twilight but thankfully she hasn’t gone and put a countdown to New Moon on every one of her web pages. She doesn’t talk my ear off about the books. She isn’t attracted to Rob Pattinson!
Of course it’s fine that people drool over Rob Pattinson. People like who they like. But I don’t need to hear about what he’s doing every second of the day. The cashier obviously was one of those types because she leaned towards me as though she had a deep secret.
“My friend got to see him at Comic-Con,” she whispered, her eyes darting all over the place as though this news were confidential. “She says he looks even better in person.” She looked at me expectantly. I think she was waiting for me to do the famous Girl Squeal that I only reserve for fancy desserts.
“That’s...nice,” I said, wanting to get on my way. She had obviously not heard me when I had mentioned that Rob wasn’t my type. Or maybe those words didn’t compute in her Rob obsessed mind.
“Kristen is a fool for not wanting to be with him,” the cashier said, flipping through my magazine. Um HELLO? Buy your own...
“Maybe Kristen prefers a man who actually washes his hair,” I said dryly. I had heard that Rob doesn’t wash his hair often.
The cashier looked up with a start as though I had insulted her. “That’s not true,” she said firmly. “He washes his hair. That’s not true! ”
Woah. Okay there. She was obviously a Scary Twilighter. There are some Twilighters that I can tolerate because they’re still sane. But people like the cashier? No thanks.
“I have to go now,” I said, reaching for my magazine.
The cashier reluctantly handed it over with my change and receipt.
“You take care of Rob,” she said.
!!!!!!!!!!!
“Well, Rob’ll be going into the trash when I’m done reading him,” I said cheerfully and I swear, you’d have thought that I had just called her Vinegar Tits from her horrified expression.
I headed to McDonalds after that because I had a craving for a Big Mac. When I pulled up to retrieve my order the worker handed me one of those drink carriers with a mini cup filled with those mocha things that they serve. This would be nice if I actually liked mocha.
“Oh, I don’t need the sample,” I said, trying to hand it back.
The worker looked stunned. “But it’s free,” she argued.
“I get that. But I don’t drink coffee,” I explained.
“But it’s free,” she said, blinking rapidly.
I did not want a cold Big Mac so I went, “Never mind,” and set the carrier down in the seat beside me. As I pulled away the little sample drink tipped over and mocha spilled all over the seat of my NEW CAR.
“Stupid MOCHA! This just proves that NOTHING GOOD CAN COME FROM ROB PATTINSON!” I screeched which made no sense but the magazine was on the floor of the passenger side and Rob’s face looked like he was gloating. That’s what you get for not liking me. Mwahahaha!
When I got home I decided that I had to do something to the magazine to show people that no, I did NOT like Rob so no, I did not want to start a lengthy conversation about him. This magazine is my reading material for the airplane on Saturday so if I came across a Scary Twilighter then I wouldn’t be able to get away. I cannot sit for two hours talking about a guy who can’t act.
So what I did is this:
This will hopefully show all those Twilighters out there not to speak to me about Rob.
I think I may also need to add, Does not LIKE! Does not want to DISCUSS! on the cover for good measure....
“ROB PATTINSON!” the twenty-something cashier shrieked as she scooped up the magazine. To be honest, I was worried that she was about to make out with it because she brought it close to her face and gave a long sigh. I make the same noise when I see Michael Phelps but when he’s on a magazine cover I don’t feel an urge to bring it inches from my face so I can see his pores.
“Isn’t he ADORABLE?” the cashier practically shouted as she scanned it. As soon as she did she brought it near her face again.
I pulled out my wallet and brought out some bills. “He’s...not my type,” I admitted and tried not to make a face. I seriously wonder if the whole world has gone mad. It seems like there is a Twilight epidemic going on and I’m the only one who hasn’t been claimed by it. Of course I enjoyed the series—I thought it was original—but when I finished, I didn’t cry that I was sorry that I was finished with the books like most people did. I easily moved on and started to read books about humans again.
I used to have people on my side—you know, the types that haven’t been seduced by Twilight--but they’re slowly dropping like flies. They’ll read the series and I’ll keep my fingers crossed that they won’t turn into a Rob Pattinson Crazy—but then there they go, gushing about Rob, gushing about the series and I want to scream, “Noooo! Come BACK!” with my arms outstretched.
My best friend loves Twilight but thankfully she hasn’t gone and put a countdown to New Moon on every one of her web pages. She doesn’t talk my ear off about the books. She isn’t attracted to Rob Pattinson!
Of course it’s fine that people drool over Rob Pattinson. People like who they like. But I don’t need to hear about what he’s doing every second of the day. The cashier obviously was one of those types because she leaned towards me as though she had a deep secret.
“My friend got to see him at Comic-Con,” she whispered, her eyes darting all over the place as though this news were confidential. “She says he looks even better in person.” She looked at me expectantly. I think she was waiting for me to do the famous Girl Squeal that I only reserve for fancy desserts.
“That’s...nice,” I said, wanting to get on my way. She had obviously not heard me when I had mentioned that Rob wasn’t my type. Or maybe those words didn’t compute in her Rob obsessed mind.
“Kristen is a fool for not wanting to be with him,” the cashier said, flipping through my magazine. Um HELLO? Buy your own...
“Maybe Kristen prefers a man who actually washes his hair,” I said dryly. I had heard that Rob doesn’t wash his hair often.
The cashier looked up with a start as though I had insulted her. “That’s not true,” she said firmly. “He washes his hair. That’s not true! ”
Woah. Okay there. She was obviously a Scary Twilighter. There are some Twilighters that I can tolerate because they’re still sane. But people like the cashier? No thanks.
“I have to go now,” I said, reaching for my magazine.
The cashier reluctantly handed it over with my change and receipt.
“You take care of Rob,” she said.
!!!!!!!!!!!
“Well, Rob’ll be going into the trash when I’m done reading him,” I said cheerfully and I swear, you’d have thought that I had just called her Vinegar Tits from her horrified expression.
I headed to McDonalds after that because I had a craving for a Big Mac. When I pulled up to retrieve my order the worker handed me one of those drink carriers with a mini cup filled with those mocha things that they serve. This would be nice if I actually liked mocha.
“Oh, I don’t need the sample,” I said, trying to hand it back.
The worker looked stunned. “But it’s free,” she argued.
“I get that. But I don’t drink coffee,” I explained.
“But it’s free,” she said, blinking rapidly.
I did not want a cold Big Mac so I went, “Never mind,” and set the carrier down in the seat beside me. As I pulled away the little sample drink tipped over and mocha spilled all over the seat of my NEW CAR.
“Stupid MOCHA! This just proves that NOTHING GOOD CAN COME FROM ROB PATTINSON!” I screeched which made no sense but the magazine was on the floor of the passenger side and Rob’s face looked like he was gloating. That’s what you get for not liking me. Mwahahaha!
When I got home I decided that I had to do something to the magazine to show people that no, I did NOT like Rob so no, I did not want to start a lengthy conversation about him. This magazine is my reading material for the airplane on Saturday so if I came across a Scary Twilighter then I wouldn’t be able to get away. I cannot sit for two hours talking about a guy who can’t act.
So what I did is this:
This will hopefully show all those Twilighters out there not to speak to me about Rob.
I think I may also need to add, Does not LIKE! Does not want to DISCUSS! on the cover for good measure....
Monday, July 27, 2009
Adventures in Super Target
“So what did I miss?” I asked my husband Tom as I hung up the phone with my mother. We’ll be flying back to Texas on Saturday for our beach trip so we were discussing that.
“Oh man, shit hit the fan!” Tom gushed, waving his arms in the air. “The house found out that Ronnie was playing both sides!”
He was telling me about the reality show Big Brother. It’s a program that he claims to hate, yet he seemed pretty excited as he explained to me that the house was in an uproar and people were shouting at Ronnie, especially Russell.
I’m amused that he even knows the names.
He always mocks me for watching it—“this show is awful, people always cry, blah blah blah”—but he still ends up watching.
But there is one thing for sure that I know he doesn’t like.
And that’s shopping.
We went to Fort Collins over the weekend because they have more stores (and food!) to offer. We take the kids to Toys R Us which I suppose is a store that Tom enjoys because he’s like a big kid.
I’m not going to lie. So am I. I always marvel at how many toys are out and wish that I had a dollhouse with a talking face on it when I was a kid.
Beside Toys R Us is a Super Target which I always drool over when we pass it.
“We have a Target in Cheyenne,” Tom always reminds me.
True. But it’s not a Super Target. It’s just a boring old regular Target.
“I’m just going to quickly pop in and make sure the toys haven’t gone 75% off,” I told Tom on Saturday. The last time I checked a lot of them had gone to 50% off. Suppose they suddenly switch over to 75% off and I miss it?
“Is there such thing as you going into Target quickly?” Tom questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“It can happen!” I said indignantly. “I’m just going to take a gander…”
“Take a gander, my foot. Look, we’ll all go in, okay?” Tom said.
Hooray!
The first thing I noticed about Super Target was that they had better carts. The carts at my regular target are a reddish clunky thing and most of the wheels get stuck. The carts at Super Target were this stylish gray color with a thick handle bar. It was a smooth ride as I pushed it along into the store.
“Aren’t these carts amazing?” I asked Tom brightly.
“It’s a cart, Amber,” he replied dryly.
Okay, he says that but when we go to Lowes he practically does a happy dance over the boring riding lawn mowers. He really wants one. Our yard is too small for a riding lawn mower. But Tom refuses to give up the dream that he might one day get one for his birthday.
Anyhow, I was walking towards the toy section and talking to Tom about our beach trip and was all, “The rooms apparently have a king size bed in them which will be awesome so I don’t have to be shoved by your oversized man feet in the middle of the night…” when I realized he wasn’t beside me.
Did he stomp off since I mentioned his man feet? Maybe he was having an overly sensitive day. I really think men go through their own version of PMS because some weeks Tom will just latch onto everything I say and twist it around into something negative. Like when I asked him to take the trash out a few weeks ago he suddenly got all defensive.
“Do I tell you when to mop the floor?” he demanded.
Um.
“No but the trash is overflowing and I’d rather disgusting paper towels didn’t start to litter the floor,” I explained. “Plus it smells.”
“Do I tell YOU when to MOP the floor?” he repeated. A vein started to pop out from his neck. It always starts to protrude when he gets upset. I’ve named it Mr. Veiny.
“Tom, I just explained why I asked you to take the trash out,” I said, rubbing my temples.
He did it but he was in a foul mood for about two hours. This is why I don’t feel too bad when I have my own PMS moments.
“Tom?” I called out, wondering where in the world he took off to in Super Target.
“Tom?” Natalie repeated. She’s been calling us by our first names and we always correct her and explain that no, actually we’re Mom and Dad.
“That’s Daddy to you,” I said and tickled her stomach.
“TOM!” Natalie said again and laughed.
It turns out he was down the car crap aisle. He had one of those ShamWow things in his hands.
“I’m going to use this to wash the truck,” he said as though he hadn’t just pulled a disappearing act.
“Tom, could you tell me when you’re going down an aisle?” I asked sweetly. “I was totally having a conversation with myself about the king sized bed at the beach.”
It was like Tom didn’t even hear me because he was all, “And I’m getting this stuff to wax the truck,” and threw in a bottle called ICE in the cart.
“You do know those ShamWow things don’t work. They tried it on The Today Show and the consensus was that you should just use paper towels,” I pointed out.
Tom thinks everything that is offered for sale on the TV actually works.
“I want to try it,” Tom said stubbornly.
I let it drop. He can learn for himself that ShamWows are crap.
Then we got into the toy section and there were no further sales. Boo. But it was still worth it to check out the Super Target and use their awesome carts.
After that we went to the mall which Tom tolerates because he always gets an Orange Julius. Plus he gets two of his candy apples from the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory.
Tom also likes looking in the pet store because he wants a dog.
I say no way. I’d lose my mind.
Tom wants one of those Siberian Husky dogs.
“No way. I’d lose my mind,” I always say.
“But it’s so cute! Isn’t it so cute, Tommy?” Tom will attempt to try and get Tommy to coerce me.
It doesn’t work. When I see a puppy I do think that it’s cute. But I also am reminded of how you have to train it and really, I’m still working on training my husband.
Maybe when the kids are older I’ll surprise him with one. He would never suspect it.
But it wouldn’t be for many many years from now.
And by many years from now I’m talking about ten years.
“Oh man, shit hit the fan!” Tom gushed, waving his arms in the air. “The house found out that Ronnie was playing both sides!”
He was telling me about the reality show Big Brother. It’s a program that he claims to hate, yet he seemed pretty excited as he explained to me that the house was in an uproar and people were shouting at Ronnie, especially Russell.
I’m amused that he even knows the names.
He always mocks me for watching it—“this show is awful, people always cry, blah blah blah”—but he still ends up watching.
But there is one thing for sure that I know he doesn’t like.
And that’s shopping.
We went to Fort Collins over the weekend because they have more stores (and food!) to offer. We take the kids to Toys R Us which I suppose is a store that Tom enjoys because he’s like a big kid.
I’m not going to lie. So am I. I always marvel at how many toys are out and wish that I had a dollhouse with a talking face on it when I was a kid.
Beside Toys R Us is a Super Target which I always drool over when we pass it.
“We have a Target in Cheyenne,” Tom always reminds me.
True. But it’s not a Super Target. It’s just a boring old regular Target.
“I’m just going to quickly pop in and make sure the toys haven’t gone 75% off,” I told Tom on Saturday. The last time I checked a lot of them had gone to 50% off. Suppose they suddenly switch over to 75% off and I miss it?
“Is there such thing as you going into Target quickly?” Tom questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“It can happen!” I said indignantly. “I’m just going to take a gander…”
“Take a gander, my foot. Look, we’ll all go in, okay?” Tom said.
Hooray!
The first thing I noticed about Super Target was that they had better carts. The carts at my regular target are a reddish clunky thing and most of the wheels get stuck. The carts at Super Target were this stylish gray color with a thick handle bar. It was a smooth ride as I pushed it along into the store.
“Aren’t these carts amazing?” I asked Tom brightly.
“It’s a cart, Amber,” he replied dryly.
Okay, he says that but when we go to Lowes he practically does a happy dance over the boring riding lawn mowers. He really wants one. Our yard is too small for a riding lawn mower. But Tom refuses to give up the dream that he might one day get one for his birthday.
Anyhow, I was walking towards the toy section and talking to Tom about our beach trip and was all, “The rooms apparently have a king size bed in them which will be awesome so I don’t have to be shoved by your oversized man feet in the middle of the night…” when I realized he wasn’t beside me.
Did he stomp off since I mentioned his man feet? Maybe he was having an overly sensitive day. I really think men go through their own version of PMS because some weeks Tom will just latch onto everything I say and twist it around into something negative. Like when I asked him to take the trash out a few weeks ago he suddenly got all defensive.
“Do I tell you when to mop the floor?” he demanded.
Um.
“No but the trash is overflowing and I’d rather disgusting paper towels didn’t start to litter the floor,” I explained. “Plus it smells.”
“Do I tell YOU when to MOP the floor?” he repeated. A vein started to pop out from his neck. It always starts to protrude when he gets upset. I’ve named it Mr. Veiny.
“Tom, I just explained why I asked you to take the trash out,” I said, rubbing my temples.
He did it but he was in a foul mood for about two hours. This is why I don’t feel too bad when I have my own PMS moments.
“Tom?” I called out, wondering where in the world he took off to in Super Target.
“Tom?” Natalie repeated. She’s been calling us by our first names and we always correct her and explain that no, actually we’re Mom and Dad.
“That’s Daddy to you,” I said and tickled her stomach.
“TOM!” Natalie said again and laughed.
It turns out he was down the car crap aisle. He had one of those ShamWow things in his hands.
“I’m going to use this to wash the truck,” he said as though he hadn’t just pulled a disappearing act.
“Tom, could you tell me when you’re going down an aisle?” I asked sweetly. “I was totally having a conversation with myself about the king sized bed at the beach.”
It was like Tom didn’t even hear me because he was all, “And I’m getting this stuff to wax the truck,” and threw in a bottle called ICE in the cart.
“You do know those ShamWow things don’t work. They tried it on The Today Show and the consensus was that you should just use paper towels,” I pointed out.
Tom thinks everything that is offered for sale on the TV actually works.
“I want to try it,” Tom said stubbornly.
I let it drop. He can learn for himself that ShamWows are crap.
Then we got into the toy section and there were no further sales. Boo. But it was still worth it to check out the Super Target and use their awesome carts.
After that we went to the mall which Tom tolerates because he always gets an Orange Julius. Plus he gets two of his candy apples from the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory.
Tom also likes looking in the pet store because he wants a dog.
I say no way. I’d lose my mind.
Tom wants one of those Siberian Husky dogs.
“No way. I’d lose my mind,” I always say.
“But it’s so cute! Isn’t it so cute, Tommy?” Tom will attempt to try and get Tommy to coerce me.
It doesn’t work. When I see a puppy I do think that it’s cute. But I also am reminded of how you have to train it and really, I’m still working on training my husband.
Maybe when the kids are older I’ll surprise him with one. He would never suspect it.
But it wouldn’t be for many many years from now.
And by many years from now I’m talking about ten years.
Friday, July 24, 2009
The Act of Being Paranoid
It happened on a Tuesday night. I was feeling frisky so I started kissing on my husband.
“I’m tired,” he told me, moving his lips away.
Wait. What? What’s this ‘I’m tired’ business that he’s rambling about? That’s MY line, not his.
But....maybe he was tired. So I let it go.
Then I tried again on Wednesday and got the same response. “You can’t do this when I’m about to go to bed,” Tom grumbled, practically pushing me off of him.
Well, I have no choice but to kiss on him when he goes to bed. I can’t try to seduce him when the children are awake. I mean I COULD but I’d scar them for life.
I don’t know why I even bothered on Thursday. But I did.
“I’m very tired,” Tom repeated.
Something was very wrong indeed. It doesn’t help that I’m PMSing which means my emotions are all over the place. The fact that I continued to be denied was starting to get to me. Plus, usually he’s constantly spanking my butt lightly and whispering naughty things in my ears. He wasn’t doing that either.
“In the book He’s Just Not That Into You it says that if a man really loves you that he’d have sex no matter WHAT!” I said to Tom dramatically. Actually, I’m not sure if it exactly says that. I know it says something about calling you if they really like you but I imagine it applies to sex too.
“Amber. Books always upset you. I don’t want to have sex because I’m TIRED,” Tom said firmly and then rolled over.
All sorts of thoughts whirled through my mind.
What if he’s having an affair????
What if he doesn’t find me attractive anymore? What if he’s tired of my non-existent boobs and my stretch marks??
I know it doesn’t make sense but that thought was worse than the affair one. How awful would it be for your spouse to sit you down and say that the marriage was over because he didn’t like the way you looked anymore?
When I woke up Friday morning I decided that I’d be extra nice to Tom. Maybe he was denying me because he thought I was too mean? I know men all over the world are starting to put their feet down over the way their wives treat them thanks to the Jon and Kate thing. Kate was awful to Jon and Jon had enough and now they’re getting divorced and Jon is off traipsing around with some twenty-something bimbo.
I mean, I’m not horribly mean to Tom. But sometimes I do raise my voice because that seems to be what he responds to. If I nicely ask him to do the dishes he rarely does them. But if I’m all, “THE DISHES NEED DONE!” then suddenly he’s racing to the sink.
When I woke up this morning Tom had the TV on Spongebob. Usually I complain about this and insist that we change the channel. But then I remembered that I was going to be extra nice so I said, “What’s that crazy sponge up to today?” in a high pitched voice.
Tom raised his eyebrow at me. I rarely talk like an over caffeinated cheerleader. I sat on the couch and forced myself to watch the cartoon. It was awful. Who can sit and watch Spongebob? When it neared an hour I said, “So, is anything else on?” Normally I’d just grab the remote and say, “I’m tired of Spongebob,” and switch it.
“Well, Family Guy is on another channel but you said it’s not appropriate when the kids are up,” Tom explained.
This is true. We used to put it on when the kids were awake. But then Tommy told me to kiss his ass and I figured the Family Guy days were over.
“Could we please watch something else?” I asked sweetly.
“This is a good episode though. It’s the one where Spongebob and the gang starts a band to impress Squidward’s rich friend,” Tom said.
Nevermind. I got up and decided to phone the cat kennel so we could book Max the cat in when we go to the beach next week. I called our usual place and was informed that they were full.
Full? What’s this full business? This is the first time that they’ve been full.
So then I had to call other kennels and they were full too.
My emotions were already all over the place and I nearly burst into tears when the final kennel in the area picked up.
“Can I help you?” a tiny voice on the other end asked.
Yes. My husband won’t have seh-seh-sehhhhhhhhhhhex with me because I’m an ugly cowwwww... I wanted to sob.
Thankfully they had spaces available.
Then I went out and plopped down on my husband’s lap. “Your biceps are looking bigger,” I admired, squeezing one. My goal was to constantly compliment him. In all the magazines that I read they all say that men love to be complimented.
“I haven’t even been working out,” Tom replied, confused.
Oh my God. I don’t praise him enough! Normally men would be all, “Thank you! They ARE bigger!” but my husband is all, “I haven’t been working out.”
“Still. They look fantastic,” I continued. I threw my arm around his neck and snuggled against his chest. “YOU look fantastic.” I had seen on a talk show that if you constantly praise a man then they’re not as inclined to be as thrilled when another woman says it to them…thus leading to an affair.
“Okay Amber,” Tom said, looking me straight in the eye. “What do you want?”
Huh? “Nothing,” I insisted but Tom still gave me a Look.
“Is there a sale going on at Gymboree?” Tom questioned.
Well. There is one starting Wednesday but that’s beside the point. “No!” I promised. “I just wanted you to know that I love you. And that you look fantastic!”
Tom still looked wary.
“Honest! I don’t think I tell you enough what a great guy you are!” I gushed.
“Whatever,” Tom mumbled and went back to watching Spongebob.
So he was suspicious. Fine. But what if he really didn’t find me attractive anymore? I mean, he was gone for over two months. Maybe he decided he preferred to be a bachelor. That he didn’t like the family life anymore.
I started to tear up because I cry easily when I’m PMSing. I can’t help it. Tom found me in the kitchen sniffling as I washed down the counters.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as a snot bubble popped from my nose. I really wish I were a more attractive crier.
I couldn’t tell him what I was really thinking. That would be lame. Of course he’d deny it anyhow.
“I’m just really upset that Walter Cronkite died,” I lied. “He was a wonderful man.”
Tom stared at me as though I had just let out a massive fart. “You’re acting weird today,” he observed.
Because you don’t find me attractive anymore!
“What’s for lunch?” Tom asked.
Usually we just have leftovers or whatever you can find for lunch. Tom doesn’t understand this concept. I usually fix the children a Kid’s Cuisine meal or a sandwich and I’ll have cereal or last night’s dinner and Tom will just be standing there in confusion.
“Tom!” I’ve told him many times. “You just FIND something and you EAT it.”
He still doesn’t comprehend this.
He sort of pads around the kitchen and opens and re-opens the cabinets and the fridge and the freezer and then will moan that we have nothing to eat.
“We have tons to eat! You’re a grown man! Find something!” I usually snap at him. It’s like he expects me to prepare an entire meal for lunch like I do for dinner. Sometimes I think he forgets that he married someone who hates to cook.
But I couldn’t snap at him this time. Not when he’s probably on the verge of leaving me. So I forced a big smile on my face and said, “What would you like, Sweetums?”
Tom wrinkled his nose. “What’s a sweetums?”
Well. It was a new nickname that I decided to try out. I guess it didn’t go over well.
Tom asked if I we could have the crispy thin frozen pizza.
“Sure!” I said and preheated the oven even though I had planned on having that for dinner on Saturday.
While I was in the kitchen cleaning up the few dishes in the sink Tom suddenly pressed himself against my back.
“You’re mine tonight,” he said into my ear and then smacked my butt before heading back out to the living room.
My heart lifted. He still found me attractive! He really WAS tired those other nights. He doesn’t want to be a bachelor after all!
So...why was I doing these dishes then? I had already cleaned the counters and got Max in a kennel after all..
“Tom!” I called out. “There are some dishes with your name on it!”
No response.
“TOM! DISHES! If I’m making lunch then the least you could do is the dishes!”
He rushed in. “I’ll get them,” he promised.
Ahhh. Things are exactly as they should be...
“I’m tired,” he told me, moving his lips away.
Wait. What? What’s this ‘I’m tired’ business that he’s rambling about? That’s MY line, not his.
But....maybe he was tired. So I let it go.
Then I tried again on Wednesday and got the same response. “You can’t do this when I’m about to go to bed,” Tom grumbled, practically pushing me off of him.
Well, I have no choice but to kiss on him when he goes to bed. I can’t try to seduce him when the children are awake. I mean I COULD but I’d scar them for life.
I don’t know why I even bothered on Thursday. But I did.
“I’m very tired,” Tom repeated.
Something was very wrong indeed. It doesn’t help that I’m PMSing which means my emotions are all over the place. The fact that I continued to be denied was starting to get to me. Plus, usually he’s constantly spanking my butt lightly and whispering naughty things in my ears. He wasn’t doing that either.
“In the book He’s Just Not That Into You it says that if a man really loves you that he’d have sex no matter WHAT!” I said to Tom dramatically. Actually, I’m not sure if it exactly says that. I know it says something about calling you if they really like you but I imagine it applies to sex too.
“Amber. Books always upset you. I don’t want to have sex because I’m TIRED,” Tom said firmly and then rolled over.
All sorts of thoughts whirled through my mind.
What if he’s having an affair????
What if he doesn’t find me attractive anymore? What if he’s tired of my non-existent boobs and my stretch marks??
I know it doesn’t make sense but that thought was worse than the affair one. How awful would it be for your spouse to sit you down and say that the marriage was over because he didn’t like the way you looked anymore?
When I woke up Friday morning I decided that I’d be extra nice to Tom. Maybe he was denying me because he thought I was too mean? I know men all over the world are starting to put their feet down over the way their wives treat them thanks to the Jon and Kate thing. Kate was awful to Jon and Jon had enough and now they’re getting divorced and Jon is off traipsing around with some twenty-something bimbo.
I mean, I’m not horribly mean to Tom. But sometimes I do raise my voice because that seems to be what he responds to. If I nicely ask him to do the dishes he rarely does them. But if I’m all, “THE DISHES NEED DONE!” then suddenly he’s racing to the sink.
When I woke up this morning Tom had the TV on Spongebob. Usually I complain about this and insist that we change the channel. But then I remembered that I was going to be extra nice so I said, “What’s that crazy sponge up to today?” in a high pitched voice.
Tom raised his eyebrow at me. I rarely talk like an over caffeinated cheerleader. I sat on the couch and forced myself to watch the cartoon. It was awful. Who can sit and watch Spongebob? When it neared an hour I said, “So, is anything else on?” Normally I’d just grab the remote and say, “I’m tired of Spongebob,” and switch it.
“Well, Family Guy is on another channel but you said it’s not appropriate when the kids are up,” Tom explained.
This is true. We used to put it on when the kids were awake. But then Tommy told me to kiss his ass and I figured the Family Guy days were over.
“Could we please watch something else?” I asked sweetly.
“This is a good episode though. It’s the one where Spongebob and the gang starts a band to impress Squidward’s rich friend,” Tom said.
Nevermind. I got up and decided to phone the cat kennel so we could book Max the cat in when we go to the beach next week. I called our usual place and was informed that they were full.
Full? What’s this full business? This is the first time that they’ve been full.
So then I had to call other kennels and they were full too.
My emotions were already all over the place and I nearly burst into tears when the final kennel in the area picked up.
“Can I help you?” a tiny voice on the other end asked.
Yes. My husband won’t have seh-seh-sehhhhhhhhhhhex with me because I’m an ugly cowwwww... I wanted to sob.
Thankfully they had spaces available.
Then I went out and plopped down on my husband’s lap. “Your biceps are looking bigger,” I admired, squeezing one. My goal was to constantly compliment him. In all the magazines that I read they all say that men love to be complimented.
“I haven’t even been working out,” Tom replied, confused.
Oh my God. I don’t praise him enough! Normally men would be all, “Thank you! They ARE bigger!” but my husband is all, “I haven’t been working out.”
“Still. They look fantastic,” I continued. I threw my arm around his neck and snuggled against his chest. “YOU look fantastic.” I had seen on a talk show that if you constantly praise a man then they’re not as inclined to be as thrilled when another woman says it to them…thus leading to an affair.
“Okay Amber,” Tom said, looking me straight in the eye. “What do you want?”
Huh? “Nothing,” I insisted but Tom still gave me a Look.
“Is there a sale going on at Gymboree?” Tom questioned.
Well. There is one starting Wednesday but that’s beside the point. “No!” I promised. “I just wanted you to know that I love you. And that you look fantastic!”
Tom still looked wary.
“Honest! I don’t think I tell you enough what a great guy you are!” I gushed.
“Whatever,” Tom mumbled and went back to watching Spongebob.
So he was suspicious. Fine. But what if he really didn’t find me attractive anymore? I mean, he was gone for over two months. Maybe he decided he preferred to be a bachelor. That he didn’t like the family life anymore.
I started to tear up because I cry easily when I’m PMSing. I can’t help it. Tom found me in the kitchen sniffling as I washed down the counters.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as a snot bubble popped from my nose. I really wish I were a more attractive crier.
I couldn’t tell him what I was really thinking. That would be lame. Of course he’d deny it anyhow.
“I’m just really upset that Walter Cronkite died,” I lied. “He was a wonderful man.”
Tom stared at me as though I had just let out a massive fart. “You’re acting weird today,” he observed.
Because you don’t find me attractive anymore!
“What’s for lunch?” Tom asked.
Usually we just have leftovers or whatever you can find for lunch. Tom doesn’t understand this concept. I usually fix the children a Kid’s Cuisine meal or a sandwich and I’ll have cereal or last night’s dinner and Tom will just be standing there in confusion.
“Tom!” I’ve told him many times. “You just FIND something and you EAT it.”
He still doesn’t comprehend this.
He sort of pads around the kitchen and opens and re-opens the cabinets and the fridge and the freezer and then will moan that we have nothing to eat.
“We have tons to eat! You’re a grown man! Find something!” I usually snap at him. It’s like he expects me to prepare an entire meal for lunch like I do for dinner. Sometimes I think he forgets that he married someone who hates to cook.
But I couldn’t snap at him this time. Not when he’s probably on the verge of leaving me. So I forced a big smile on my face and said, “What would you like, Sweetums?”
Tom wrinkled his nose. “What’s a sweetums?”
Well. It was a new nickname that I decided to try out. I guess it didn’t go over well.
Tom asked if I we could have the crispy thin frozen pizza.
“Sure!” I said and preheated the oven even though I had planned on having that for dinner on Saturday.
While I was in the kitchen cleaning up the few dishes in the sink Tom suddenly pressed himself against my back.
“You’re mine tonight,” he said into my ear and then smacked my butt before heading back out to the living room.
My heart lifted. He still found me attractive! He really WAS tired those other nights. He doesn’t want to be a bachelor after all!
So...why was I doing these dishes then? I had already cleaned the counters and got Max in a kennel after all..
“Tom!” I called out. “There are some dishes with your name on it!”
No response.
“TOM! DISHES! If I’m making lunch then the least you could do is the dishes!”
He rushed in. “I’ll get them,” he promised.
Ahhh. Things are exactly as they should be...
Thursday, July 23, 2009
That's What I Call Exercise
The other day we went to Lowes. This is one of my husband’s favorite stores so this meant he was in a fantastic mood on the drive down. He was humming and drumming his fingers lightly on the wheel.
“Can we stop by Target after?” I asked. Target is across the street and I have a compulsion to go into the store whenever I see it. Mainly because rumor has it that Target is going to be marking toys 75% off anytime now. What if the toys get marked on a day when I don’t stop by? The thought makes me feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. I have to get there on the day that the toys are marked 75% off or else my nemesis Old Lady Hog will take everything.
Old Lady Hog, for those who don’t know, always seems to sense when toys go 75% off because she’s always there with two carts filled by the time I arrive. We sort of nod coolly at each other when we lock eyes. She’s still a little bitter that I found the last Dancing Brobee the last time there was a gigantic clearance.
“I guess,” Tom agreed. He can tolerate Target for ten minutes. He usually browses the video game section and then asks if I’m ready to go. This is why I rarely go to Target with Tom.
Tom had to get a new blade for the lawn mower at Lowes. I didn’t even realize you had to replace those things. We wandered into the lawn mower section and Tom drooled over one of those self propelled mowers for a few seconds before rummaging through the blades. There were tons of blades, by the way. Tom kept pulling out the different blades and clucking his tongue and I wanted to shout, “Could you PICK a blade already?” I mean, if you’ve seen one blade, you’ve seen them all.
“Tom,” I said when I felt like I was about to kick his shin for staring intently at another blade. “I’m going to look at the washer and dryers.” I had to get out of there. I was surrounded by blades and mowers and I felt like they were about to cave in on me. I bet if I were in a horror movie that they would have.
“Mmmm,” Tom mumbled. I’m not sure if he heard me but I took off with the kids anyway.
I always coo over the washer and dryers when I go to Lowes. I run my hands over the tops and fiddle with the buttons. I pretend that I’m doing an imaginary load and I’ll open up the washer and toss it in.
“Oh, I’m just doing the laundry in my beautiful red washer,” I’ll whisper.
I’m in love with the Whirlpool Duets. I don’t even know what half the buttons mean. For instance, when would I use a sanitary cycle? Who knows? Who cares? The washer is beautiful. Now I know how men feel when they admire cars.
Tom found me practically making out with the dryer. This one was a gorgeous shade of blue.
“Should I leave you two alone?” Tom joked as he approached with his blade.
Mmm. Maybe.
“Do you need help?” a Lowes worker finally asked as he walked over. He had been watching me from across the room for a few minutes with a look of confusion on his face. He probably doesn’t get a lot of customers pretending to do a load of laundry.
“I’m okay. Just looking,” I told him. I pointed to the various buttons on the machine. “Look Tom! It steams! That way I wouldn’t have to ever learn how to iron.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said.
“Are we going to Target now?” I wondered hopefully.
“No. I’m going to look around,” Tom said.
“AHA!” I said and Tom gave me a bewildered look. “Now you know how I feel when I have to look around the entire store even though I came in for one thing!”
“This is different,” Tom insisted.
“How?”
“It just is.”
Um. Okay. It’s really not.
We wandered down aisles and I’m not going to lie, I was bored. Thankfully a good song came from the overhead speakers. It was What About Love? by Heart. I pulled a small pipe that was labeled PVC or something—who knows—and pretended it was my microphone.
I’ve been lonely/I’ve been waiting for you/…. I started to lip synch to Tom, who looked horrified.
“Put that down,” he hissed, his cheeks growing red.
I’m pretending and that’s all I can do/The love I’m sending/ain’t making it through to your heart… I started to get into it, thumping my other hand over my heart for emphasis.
“I’m telling you to put down that pipe,” Tom broke in. “How would you like if I broke out into song when we were in Gymboree?”
Actually, I would prefer that to his outbursts of, “Holy crap! They want nearly forty dollars for ONE shirt! My shirt doesn’t cost this much!” For the record, I never pay that much for one shirt. I only shop during sales and I always am armed with a coupon but Tom doesn’t seem to comprehend this.
What about love/don’t you want someone to care about you? When I sang those lines I gripped Tom’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
“Taking you out in public was a mistake,” Tom muttered.
“Sing it, Tom!” I chanted, pushing the PVC pipe under his mouth.
“No. Besides, this kind of music sucks,” he said, pushing the pipe away.
Tom prefers to listen to music where the artist screams at you or calls you a ho.
We left soon after that because Tom was tired of me serenading him.
Then we got to Target and my heart started thumping with anticipation. Would I find some toys for 75% off? Would I beat Old Lady Hog? I rushed back to the toy section and...
The toys were still holding at 30% off. Not good enough. I sighed and headed over to Natalie’s clothes section. I was flipping through a rack of dresses when Natalie practically jumped out of the cart.
“NI-HAO!” she shrieked, standing up in her seat. “NI-HAO KAI-LAN!” She was naming a show that she’s seen on Noggin about a Chinese girl who has a friend named Ho-Ho. This makes me giggle. Natalie was pointing wildly at a shirt with Kai-Lan and Ho Ho (snickers) on it.
“Mines?” Natalie screeched. “MINES?”
“I guess so. It’s on sale,” I said.
Natalie hugged the shirt to her chest. “KAI-LAN AND HO HO!” (Chuckles)
“That’s right, Natalie. But how about we lower our voice?” I suggested.
Tom found us a few seconds later.
“I just followed our daughter’s voice.” He informed me. “Are you ready to go?”
Ready to go? I just got started. When you go to Target you HAVE to look everywhere because you never know when you’ll stumble upon the 75% off items. One time I found a variety of frames marked 75% off that I would have never come across had I not gone down that aisle.
“I just need to check out the shoe section,” I said and walked over. There was a pair of sparkly pink shoes in Natalie’s size for 75% off. Score!
“Does she really need another pair of shoes?” came Tom’s irritating voice.
“Yes. She goes through shoes quickly,” I explained.
“Mommy! Look what Daddy got me!” Tommy spoke up, showing me a Transformer he was holding. Sometimes Tom pretends that Tommy wants a toy when it’s him that really wants it.
“Does he really need another Transformer?” I shot back at Tom.
“Yes! This is Smokescreen,” Tom said as though that made all the difference. (Huh? What’s a Smokescreen?)
I checked Tommy’s section and then went down the frame section.
“I don’t understand why we’re down here,” Tom said even though I had just explained the 75% off thing to him minutes before.
I ended up finding a book for our beach trip next week. Yes, I’m going BACK to Texas for a mini family reunion. We go to the beach in August. I should probably start watching what I eat so I can still squeeze into my swimsuit but can I help it if ice cream tastes extra good in the summer?
Anyhow, the book I picked out was Sophie Kinsella’s new novel called Twenties Girl. I told Tom to hide it from me. Otherwise I’d finish it before we even left.
“Shopping with you is exhausting,” Tom said as we walked to the truck.
Hey. At least I get some form of exercise in.
“Can we stop by Target after?” I asked. Target is across the street and I have a compulsion to go into the store whenever I see it. Mainly because rumor has it that Target is going to be marking toys 75% off anytime now. What if the toys get marked on a day when I don’t stop by? The thought makes me feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. I have to get there on the day that the toys are marked 75% off or else my nemesis Old Lady Hog will take everything.
Old Lady Hog, for those who don’t know, always seems to sense when toys go 75% off because she’s always there with two carts filled by the time I arrive. We sort of nod coolly at each other when we lock eyes. She’s still a little bitter that I found the last Dancing Brobee the last time there was a gigantic clearance.
“I guess,” Tom agreed. He can tolerate Target for ten minutes. He usually browses the video game section and then asks if I’m ready to go. This is why I rarely go to Target with Tom.
Tom had to get a new blade for the lawn mower at Lowes. I didn’t even realize you had to replace those things. We wandered into the lawn mower section and Tom drooled over one of those self propelled mowers for a few seconds before rummaging through the blades. There were tons of blades, by the way. Tom kept pulling out the different blades and clucking his tongue and I wanted to shout, “Could you PICK a blade already?” I mean, if you’ve seen one blade, you’ve seen them all.
“Tom,” I said when I felt like I was about to kick his shin for staring intently at another blade. “I’m going to look at the washer and dryers.” I had to get out of there. I was surrounded by blades and mowers and I felt like they were about to cave in on me. I bet if I were in a horror movie that they would have.
“Mmmm,” Tom mumbled. I’m not sure if he heard me but I took off with the kids anyway.
I always coo over the washer and dryers when I go to Lowes. I run my hands over the tops and fiddle with the buttons. I pretend that I’m doing an imaginary load and I’ll open up the washer and toss it in.
“Oh, I’m just doing the laundry in my beautiful red washer,” I’ll whisper.
I’m in love with the Whirlpool Duets. I don’t even know what half the buttons mean. For instance, when would I use a sanitary cycle? Who knows? Who cares? The washer is beautiful. Now I know how men feel when they admire cars.
Tom found me practically making out with the dryer. This one was a gorgeous shade of blue.
“Should I leave you two alone?” Tom joked as he approached with his blade.
Mmm. Maybe.
“Do you need help?” a Lowes worker finally asked as he walked over. He had been watching me from across the room for a few minutes with a look of confusion on his face. He probably doesn’t get a lot of customers pretending to do a load of laundry.
“I’m okay. Just looking,” I told him. I pointed to the various buttons on the machine. “Look Tom! It steams! That way I wouldn’t have to ever learn how to iron.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said.
“Are we going to Target now?” I wondered hopefully.
“No. I’m going to look around,” Tom said.
“AHA!” I said and Tom gave me a bewildered look. “Now you know how I feel when I have to look around the entire store even though I came in for one thing!”
“This is different,” Tom insisted.
“How?”
“It just is.”
Um. Okay. It’s really not.
We wandered down aisles and I’m not going to lie, I was bored. Thankfully a good song came from the overhead speakers. It was What About Love? by Heart. I pulled a small pipe that was labeled PVC or something—who knows—and pretended it was my microphone.
I’ve been lonely/I’ve been waiting for you/…. I started to lip synch to Tom, who looked horrified.
“Put that down,” he hissed, his cheeks growing red.
I’m pretending and that’s all I can do/The love I’m sending/ain’t making it through to your heart… I started to get into it, thumping my other hand over my heart for emphasis.
“I’m telling you to put down that pipe,” Tom broke in. “How would you like if I broke out into song when we were in Gymboree?”
Actually, I would prefer that to his outbursts of, “Holy crap! They want nearly forty dollars for ONE shirt! My shirt doesn’t cost this much!” For the record, I never pay that much for one shirt. I only shop during sales and I always am armed with a coupon but Tom doesn’t seem to comprehend this.
What about love/don’t you want someone to care about you? When I sang those lines I gripped Tom’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
“Taking you out in public was a mistake,” Tom muttered.
“Sing it, Tom!” I chanted, pushing the PVC pipe under his mouth.
“No. Besides, this kind of music sucks,” he said, pushing the pipe away.
Tom prefers to listen to music where the artist screams at you or calls you a ho.
We left soon after that because Tom was tired of me serenading him.
Then we got to Target and my heart started thumping with anticipation. Would I find some toys for 75% off? Would I beat Old Lady Hog? I rushed back to the toy section and...
The toys were still holding at 30% off. Not good enough. I sighed and headed over to Natalie’s clothes section. I was flipping through a rack of dresses when Natalie practically jumped out of the cart.
“NI-HAO!” she shrieked, standing up in her seat. “NI-HAO KAI-LAN!” She was naming a show that she’s seen on Noggin about a Chinese girl who has a friend named Ho-Ho. This makes me giggle. Natalie was pointing wildly at a shirt with Kai-Lan and Ho Ho (snickers) on it.
“Mines?” Natalie screeched. “MINES?”
“I guess so. It’s on sale,” I said.
Natalie hugged the shirt to her chest. “KAI-LAN AND HO HO!” (Chuckles)
“That’s right, Natalie. But how about we lower our voice?” I suggested.
Tom found us a few seconds later.
“I just followed our daughter’s voice.” He informed me. “Are you ready to go?”
Ready to go? I just got started. When you go to Target you HAVE to look everywhere because you never know when you’ll stumble upon the 75% off items. One time I found a variety of frames marked 75% off that I would have never come across had I not gone down that aisle.
“I just need to check out the shoe section,” I said and walked over. There was a pair of sparkly pink shoes in Natalie’s size for 75% off. Score!
“Does she really need another pair of shoes?” came Tom’s irritating voice.
“Yes. She goes through shoes quickly,” I explained.
“Mommy! Look what Daddy got me!” Tommy spoke up, showing me a Transformer he was holding. Sometimes Tom pretends that Tommy wants a toy when it’s him that really wants it.
“Does he really need another Transformer?” I shot back at Tom.
“Yes! This is Smokescreen,” Tom said as though that made all the difference. (Huh? What’s a Smokescreen?)
I checked Tommy’s section and then went down the frame section.
“I don’t understand why we’re down here,” Tom said even though I had just explained the 75% off thing to him minutes before.
I ended up finding a book for our beach trip next week. Yes, I’m going BACK to Texas for a mini family reunion. We go to the beach in August. I should probably start watching what I eat so I can still squeeze into my swimsuit but can I help it if ice cream tastes extra good in the summer?
Anyhow, the book I picked out was Sophie Kinsella’s new novel called Twenties Girl. I told Tom to hide it from me. Otherwise I’d finish it before we even left.
“Shopping with you is exhausting,” Tom said as we walked to the truck.
Hey. At least I get some form of exercise in.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I Met Henry VIII
Can I start off by saying that my Mom rocks?
I mean, you know someone loves you if they iron your clothes:
I don't iron. I've never ironed a day in my life. This means that I've probably walked out of the house wearing wrinkly clothes on more than one occasion. I suppose I could wear a sign around my neck that reads: Please excuse the wrinkles. I don't iron.
Speaking of my Mom, she loves bugs. She'll scoop basically anything up. Even spiders. I really don't know what happened to me. She doesn't know what happened to me. When she watches me shriek when I spot a bee she'll be all, "What happened to you? I never raised you to be afraid of bugs!" Then she'll give me a lecture on how bees are GOOD because they POLLUNATE and I'm all, "That's great, but they also sting and make me cry.."
She found this thing one night and brought it in to share:
That would be a giant beetle. She was all, "Now don't scream," before showing me. I think I settled for an ew.
My Mom rocks because she also took me to The Melting Pot which is one of my favorite places to eat.
It's fondue. Everyone loves fondue.
Well, except my weird husband.
But whatever, we left him at home with the kids because The Melting Pot really isn't a kid friendly place what with the burner in the middle of the table.
Here is Mom pulling back her skin because she wants a face lift. We're hoping that Extreme Makeover contacts us for a mother/daughter makeover one day. We'd love some free veneers.
Here I am looking like a giant nerd. I swear I put on some makeup but it just melted off.
I think it would be hard working at The Melting Pot. Because you have to actually converse with the customers. Like when our waiter came to make us our cheese fondue he had to ask us what we did and all of that because otherwise there would just be silence as he mixed up the fondue and that would be weird.
The cheese fondue was amazing.
Here is Mom enjoying the cheese fondue:
As good as the cheese is my favorite part is the dessert.
The chocolate fondue.
We always get the Ying and Yang which is the dark and white chocolate mixed together. That way we can pretend that we're eating healthy since dark chocolate is good for you.
Looking at this makes me realize that I WANT MORE CHOCOLATE FONDUE!
This is the stuff that you get to dip into it.
Bottom line? Go to The Melting Pot.
Oh, and my Dad rocks too by the way. He lets the kids climb on him:
I mean, that can't be totally comfortable..
Okay, I'm moving on from cheese and chocolate to a totally different set of pictures because I realize I still have tons to share.
The following is from when we went to the wax museum:
Tommy hanging out with Batman. Doesn't he look thrilled?
Hanging out with Dr. Phil. He was lecturing me on not eating healthy. You know, I almost went on the Dr. Phil show years ago. When Tom and I were first married I was so frustrated with how messy he was and how he'd just go out and buy a lot of stuff that we couldn't afford so I ranted to Dr. Phil in a letter. I didn't realize that he'd actually CALL. Well, he didn't call. The producer did. She was all, "Would you like to be on the show? We got your letter..." Oops. Needless to say, Tom say no way, he wasn't going on television so I declined. Things did get better thank goodness. Now if we fight he'll sometimes go, "Are you going to go crying to Dr. Phil?"
Tom's World War 2 detector went off and he found this.
One of Tom's heroes is Rocky. I think I could take him. I can be quite fast.
Can someone tell me what this is? This is sort of how I look when I first wake up.
Hanging out with my favorite King. I actually stepped up and was pretending I was Anne Boleyn about to be beheaded and I was calling Henry an ass (even though the real Anne Boleyn was gracious and never uttered a bad word about Henry before her head was taken from her) and as I was hunched over a worker was all, "Oh, you can't step up, you have to get down!" "But I'm Anne Boleyn!" I argued. She didn't care.
I mean, you know someone loves you if they iron your clothes:
I don't iron. I've never ironed a day in my life. This means that I've probably walked out of the house wearing wrinkly clothes on more than one occasion. I suppose I could wear a sign around my neck that reads: Please excuse the wrinkles. I don't iron.
Speaking of my Mom, she loves bugs. She'll scoop basically anything up. Even spiders. I really don't know what happened to me. She doesn't know what happened to me. When she watches me shriek when I spot a bee she'll be all, "What happened to you? I never raised you to be afraid of bugs!" Then she'll give me a lecture on how bees are GOOD because they POLLUNATE and I'm all, "That's great, but they also sting and make me cry.."
She found this thing one night and brought it in to share:
That would be a giant beetle. She was all, "Now don't scream," before showing me. I think I settled for an ew.
My Mom rocks because she also took me to The Melting Pot which is one of my favorite places to eat.
It's fondue. Everyone loves fondue.
Well, except my weird husband.
But whatever, we left him at home with the kids because The Melting Pot really isn't a kid friendly place what with the burner in the middle of the table.
Here is Mom pulling back her skin because she wants a face lift. We're hoping that Extreme Makeover contacts us for a mother/daughter makeover one day. We'd love some free veneers.
Here I am looking like a giant nerd. I swear I put on some makeup but it just melted off.
I think it would be hard working at The Melting Pot. Because you have to actually converse with the customers. Like when our waiter came to make us our cheese fondue he had to ask us what we did and all of that because otherwise there would just be silence as he mixed up the fondue and that would be weird.
The cheese fondue was amazing.
Here is Mom enjoying the cheese fondue:
As good as the cheese is my favorite part is the dessert.
The chocolate fondue.
We always get the Ying and Yang which is the dark and white chocolate mixed together. That way we can pretend that we're eating healthy since dark chocolate is good for you.
Looking at this makes me realize that I WANT MORE CHOCOLATE FONDUE!
This is the stuff that you get to dip into it.
Bottom line? Go to The Melting Pot.
Oh, and my Dad rocks too by the way. He lets the kids climb on him:
I mean, that can't be totally comfortable..
Okay, I'm moving on from cheese and chocolate to a totally different set of pictures because I realize I still have tons to share.
The following is from when we went to the wax museum:
Tommy hanging out with Batman. Doesn't he look thrilled?
Hanging out with Dr. Phil. He was lecturing me on not eating healthy. You know, I almost went on the Dr. Phil show years ago. When Tom and I were first married I was so frustrated with how messy he was and how he'd just go out and buy a lot of stuff that we couldn't afford so I ranted to Dr. Phil in a letter. I didn't realize that he'd actually CALL. Well, he didn't call. The producer did. She was all, "Would you like to be on the show? We got your letter..." Oops. Needless to say, Tom say no way, he wasn't going on television so I declined. Things did get better thank goodness. Now if we fight he'll sometimes go, "Are you going to go crying to Dr. Phil?"
Tom's World War 2 detector went off and he found this.
One of Tom's heroes is Rocky. I think I could take him. I can be quite fast.
Can someone tell me what this is? This is sort of how I look when I first wake up.
Hanging out with my favorite King. I actually stepped up and was pretending I was Anne Boleyn about to be beheaded and I was calling Henry an ass (even though the real Anne Boleyn was gracious and never uttered a bad word about Henry before her head was taken from her) and as I was hunched over a worker was all, "Oh, you can't step up, you have to get down!" "But I'm Anne Boleyn!" I argued. She didn't care.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Quiet Time? What's That?
“Amber. Stop. You don’t have to follow her when she goes upstairs. She’s old enough to play on her own,” my husband told me firmly after Natalie ran off to play with Tommy in his room.
“She’s only two,” I argued. “What if a bunch of toys fall on top of her and suffocate her?”
Tom sighed. He’s used to my paranoid ways. When the kids were babies I was the mother who would tiptoe in and stick a finger under their noses to make sure they were still breathing.
“She’ll be fine,” Tom promised me.
I tried to sit back on the couch and concentrate on NYC Prep , the show I had on my DVR and never got around to watching. But it was hard to focus on a bunch of rich kids traipsing around New York. Where were their parents?
“What if Tommy gets too rough with her and sits on her head or something?” I spoke up. I suddenly pictured my seven-year-old plopping on Natalie’s tiny face and cutting off her air. I know. The weirdest things pop in my head sometimes.
Tom gave me his famous have-you-lost-you-everloving-mind? look. “You think our competent seven-year-old is going to suddenly have a compulsion to sit on Natalie’s head?”
Well, when he said it like that it sounded ridiculous.
I settled back against the couch. It was weird actually sitting on the couch while watching a show. Usually if I have a program on I have to sit on the floor and play with Natalie while I simultaneously watch the TV. Sitting on the couch during the day was a luxury.
“What the hell are we watching?” Tom wondered. His eyes were squinting at the screen as if trying to make sense of a sixteen-year-old announcing that a $300 jacket was cheap.
“Some show called NYC Prep. I have a bunch of episodes on the DVR that I need to watch,” I explained.
“Well, it’s awful. Can I please switch the channel?” Tom begged. “Shows like this piss me off.”
He especially hates when I watch shows like The Real Housewives of Orange County. I think he gets bitter that he doesn’t own a million dollar yacht.
“No. You’ll switch it to Spongebob. Are you still going to be watching Spongebob when you’re thirty? There comes a time when you have to say goodbye to children’s cartoons, Tom,” I lectured.
“Gee, I don’t know, Amber. When are you going to stop laughing when someone farts?” Tom replied.
Touché.
(For the record, I’m probably always going to laugh when someone farts.)
“I have to go check on her,” I said, standing up. I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. My butt was confused as to why it was comfortable so early in the day so it was restless.
“She’s fine, Amber,” Tom said, reaching for the remote. “I’m sorry, I can’t watch this anymore. There’s a guy on here named PC. Who would name a child PC?”
“Wealthy people, I guess. They always want to give their kids odd names,” I answered before darting up the stairs. I just peeked in Tommy’s room quietly so the kids wouldn’t hear me. Natalie was flipping through Tommy’s books and Tommy was playing with his Transformers. Phew. They were both breathing so that was a plus.
I headed back downstairs and Tom had it on The Military Channel which is almost as bad as Spongebob. He was watching a show where they talked all about tanks.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted. Usually I cleaned when Natalie went down for her nap. Perhaps I could clean earlier. But then what would I do while she napped? Write in my novel, I guess. I was at a loss. For seven years my day was usually filled with entertaining children. Tommy never went upstairs to play alone so the fact that Natalie did was a surprise. Tommy has recently started playing in his room. Before that he always wanted to be with me so I rarely got any alone time during the day.
“Read a book. You’re always saying that you wish you had more time to read,” Tom pointed out.
This was true.
“Or you could write your book. You’re always saying that you wish you had more time to write,” Tom added.
This was also true.
I headed for the computer. Usually I’ve been writing my novel at night when everyone has gone to bed. But surely I could write during the day. I pulled up my novel and stared at the screen. I poised my fingers over the keyboard...and strained to hear what the children were doing. Why was it so quiet? That couldn’t be a good thing, right? No good comes from quiet.
“I need to go check on them,” I said and hurried back upstairs.
I peeked in the room again. Natalie was playing with one of her Barbies. Tommy was still playing with his Transformers.
They were fine.
Back downstairs I went. I sat down in front of the computer. Poised my fingers over the keyboard. I was about to write when....
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Natalie’s bloodcurdling scream filled the air.
“You see, Tom? You see? She’s too little to be left alone!” I snapped, taking two steps at a time to get to her.
I found Natalie in the bathroom doorway, standing beside this:
Tommy was beside her looking sheepish.
“Brother do!” Natalie tattled. “BROTHER DO!” She reached out and shoved Tommy.
“Hey! Natalie pushed me,” Tommy whined.
“Natalie we don’t push,” I said. “Tommy, did you take Barbie’s leg off?”
Tommy looked at his feet. “I was just playing with it and it broke off...”
“You can’t play rough with toys,” I reminded him, scooping up the Barbie. I looked at Natalie, who was howling beside me. “It’s okay, Natalie. I can fix it.” The howling abruptly stopped.
I managed to snap the Barbie leg back on and handed it to Natalie.
“Tank oo, Mommy,” she said and headed back to Tommy’s room. Tommy followed her in and they started quietly playing again.
Now what?
“She’s only two,” I argued. “What if a bunch of toys fall on top of her and suffocate her?”
Tom sighed. He’s used to my paranoid ways. When the kids were babies I was the mother who would tiptoe in and stick a finger under their noses to make sure they were still breathing.
“She’ll be fine,” Tom promised me.
I tried to sit back on the couch and concentrate on NYC Prep , the show I had on my DVR and never got around to watching. But it was hard to focus on a bunch of rich kids traipsing around New York. Where were their parents?
“What if Tommy gets too rough with her and sits on her head or something?” I spoke up. I suddenly pictured my seven-year-old plopping on Natalie’s tiny face and cutting off her air. I know. The weirdest things pop in my head sometimes.
Tom gave me his famous have-you-lost-you-everloving-mind? look. “You think our competent seven-year-old is going to suddenly have a compulsion to sit on Natalie’s head?”
Well, when he said it like that it sounded ridiculous.
I settled back against the couch. It was weird actually sitting on the couch while watching a show. Usually if I have a program on I have to sit on the floor and play with Natalie while I simultaneously watch the TV. Sitting on the couch during the day was a luxury.
“What the hell are we watching?” Tom wondered. His eyes were squinting at the screen as if trying to make sense of a sixteen-year-old announcing that a $300 jacket was cheap.
“Some show called NYC Prep. I have a bunch of episodes on the DVR that I need to watch,” I explained.
“Well, it’s awful. Can I please switch the channel?” Tom begged. “Shows like this piss me off.”
He especially hates when I watch shows like The Real Housewives of Orange County. I think he gets bitter that he doesn’t own a million dollar yacht.
“No. You’ll switch it to Spongebob. Are you still going to be watching Spongebob when you’re thirty? There comes a time when you have to say goodbye to children’s cartoons, Tom,” I lectured.
“Gee, I don’t know, Amber. When are you going to stop laughing when someone farts?” Tom replied.
Touché.
(For the record, I’m probably always going to laugh when someone farts.)
“I have to go check on her,” I said, standing up. I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. My butt was confused as to why it was comfortable so early in the day so it was restless.
“She’s fine, Amber,” Tom said, reaching for the remote. “I’m sorry, I can’t watch this anymore. There’s a guy on here named PC. Who would name a child PC?”
“Wealthy people, I guess. They always want to give their kids odd names,” I answered before darting up the stairs. I just peeked in Tommy’s room quietly so the kids wouldn’t hear me. Natalie was flipping through Tommy’s books and Tommy was playing with his Transformers. Phew. They were both breathing so that was a plus.
I headed back downstairs and Tom had it on The Military Channel which is almost as bad as Spongebob. He was watching a show where they talked all about tanks.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted. Usually I cleaned when Natalie went down for her nap. Perhaps I could clean earlier. But then what would I do while she napped? Write in my novel, I guess. I was at a loss. For seven years my day was usually filled with entertaining children. Tommy never went upstairs to play alone so the fact that Natalie did was a surprise. Tommy has recently started playing in his room. Before that he always wanted to be with me so I rarely got any alone time during the day.
“Read a book. You’re always saying that you wish you had more time to read,” Tom pointed out.
This was true.
“Or you could write your book. You’re always saying that you wish you had more time to write,” Tom added.
This was also true.
I headed for the computer. Usually I’ve been writing my novel at night when everyone has gone to bed. But surely I could write during the day. I pulled up my novel and stared at the screen. I poised my fingers over the keyboard...and strained to hear what the children were doing. Why was it so quiet? That couldn’t be a good thing, right? No good comes from quiet.
“I need to go check on them,” I said and hurried back upstairs.
I peeked in the room again. Natalie was playing with one of her Barbies. Tommy was still playing with his Transformers.
They were fine.
Back downstairs I went. I sat down in front of the computer. Poised my fingers over the keyboard. I was about to write when....
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Natalie’s bloodcurdling scream filled the air.
“You see, Tom? You see? She’s too little to be left alone!” I snapped, taking two steps at a time to get to her.
I found Natalie in the bathroom doorway, standing beside this:
Tommy was beside her looking sheepish.
“Brother do!” Natalie tattled. “BROTHER DO!” She reached out and shoved Tommy.
“Hey! Natalie pushed me,” Tommy whined.
“Natalie we don’t push,” I said. “Tommy, did you take Barbie’s leg off?”
Tommy looked at his feet. “I was just playing with it and it broke off...”
“You can’t play rough with toys,” I reminded him, scooping up the Barbie. I looked at Natalie, who was howling beside me. “It’s okay, Natalie. I can fix it.” The howling abruptly stopped.
I managed to snap the Barbie leg back on and handed it to Natalie.
“Tank oo, Mommy,” she said and headed back to Tommy’s room. Tommy followed her in and they started quietly playing again.
Now what?
Monday, July 20, 2009
The Missing Husband
When I woke up this morning I was alone in bed.
I wasn’t surprised. Tom usually gets out of bed around six. (If you’re wondering why he’s home it’s because he works the following schedule: two days on three days off three days on two days off….it’s really less complicated than it sounds.)
I assumed Tom was downstairs. I usually find him in front of the computer playing his Company of Heroes game. Most of the time he just grunts out a hello because he’s so busy concentrating on his pixilated soldier that’s racing across the screen. I don’t take offense. I don’t like speaking the second I wake up. I have to drink a glass of water and get a bite to eat before I can converse properly. Before that I sort of mumble answers out.
When I got downstairs my eyes immediately swiveled to the computer—but Tom wasn’t there.
Weird.
I figured he had to be in the kitchen. He obviously wasn’t in the living room. The television wasn’t blaring Spongebob.
But he wasn’t in the kitchen. Or the dining room. Or the laundry room.
He wasn’t upstairs because I would have seen him.
Unless….
“Tom! If you’re trying to scare me it’s not funny!”
I even opened a cupboard and peeked in. Not that he can even fit in a cupboard. But you never know with him. He’ll contort his body into anything if he knows the outcome will be worth it.
He wasn’t in the cupboard. But a bunch of pots and pans crammed in there were and one dropped on my foot.
This put me in a foul mood. With a throbbing foot I limped around the house shouting Tom’s name. I threw open the closet and went, “A-ha!” expecting to find him in there, about to pop up and scare the crap out of me.
He loves to make me jump. Admittedly, I startle easily. A sudden noise can make me yelp and I practically go into convulsions when I go into one of those haunted houses they have set up at Halloween. I probably shouldn’t even go in them. But I love the thrill. Of course my heart is usually beating at an unhealthy rate by the end of it but no matter, so long as I sit for a few seconds afterwards I’m all better.
Tom never tires of making me scream. In fact, just the other day he leaped out of the bathroom when I came upstairs and I yelled at the top of my lungs and he hunched over with laughter saying, “This never gets old! Even after knowing you for over ten years this never gets old!”
I’m glad I amuse him. And really, being startled doesn’t bother me. I’m used to it by now.
The only time it does bother me is when I first wake up. Which was why I was shouting like a complete nutter around the house for Tom.
“Mommy! Daddy’s truck is still in the driveway,” Tommy pointed out.
I peeked out the window. He was right. So that meant Tom had to be here. Maybe he was outside. Maybe he decided to finally put together that ball toy. Yes! That’s what he had to be doing. I picked up Natalie and rushed to the garage.
“How nice of you to put together—” I began. But then my eyes rested on the unopened box that contained the toy. He wasn’t there.
“Where Daddy go?” Natalie asked, lifting her hands up and shrugging her shoulders.
“I have no idea,” I admitted. I spotted my neighbor outside watering his glass. Maybe he had seen Tom. Maybe Tom had decided to go for a walk! Maybe he was on another health kick. You see, once every few months Tom suddenly decides that he wants to exercise and eat right. It can get quite annoying, actually. Because suddenly he’s going through our cabinets and lecturing me about buying Little Debbie snacks when just the week before he had downed nearly an entire box of Swiss Rolls. But I’ve gotten used to it. Now I know to just nod my head and say, “Mmmhmm, Tom, that sounds great, Tom,” at the appropriate moments because I know it’ll all blow over in a few days when he realizes that exercising every day actually takes WORK and when he remembers that drinking water all day is boring. Then everything will return to as it was and he’ll be moaning that he’s out of Swiss Rolls and could I pick up some more the next time I’m out?
“Have you seen Tom?” I called out to my neighbor who looked up with a start. He’s not used to seeing me out so early. I usually stumble out around noon and let the kids run around the driveway.
“Nope,” he replied.
Weird. Where could he be?
What if he ran off with a buxom blond who thinks Britney Spears is cool and who screams whenever Rob Pattinson appears on screen? Oh no! I can’t let my kids have a stepmother like that! I’ve finally gotten them to shriek in horror whenever they see Rob Pattinson because they think he’s an evil troll! (I think it would be hilarious if we ever came across Rob and all these women are screeching and throwing themselves at him and my family is all, “AHHHHHHHHH! TROLL!” in horror.)
Then I realized that he couldn’t have run off with someone else because he’s an awful liar. When he tells a fib he refuses to look you in the eye and gets this huge grin on his face.
What if he was…abducted?
I really need to give the alien shows a rest, I know. But suppose the aliens TOOK HIM because they are also confused as to how he can throw his dirty socks on the floor when there is a perfectly good laundry basket nearby?
I was in the middle of eating my breakfast and mulling this over when the front door opened and closed.
“Hi there,” Tom said when he spotted me like nothing was amiss. He was dressed in his uniform and he calmly took his wallet out of his pocket and set it on the counter.
“Where have you been?” I shrieked, rushing over to him. “Are you okay?”
Tom looked at me as though I were wearing panties on my head. “I’m fine. Are YOU okay?” he asked pointedly.
“I’ve just been wondering where you were! Your truck is here and you were no where to be found so I thought you had been ADBUCTED!” I said dramatically.
Tom rolled his eyes. “You need to stop watching those shows. Really. I just walked over to the Change of Command ceremony. The building is right behind our house and it didn’t make sense to walk.”
Oh. He had mentioned a Change of Command ceremony but I assumed he’d drive.
“So you’re okay?” I pressed.
“Just peachy,” Tom said in a mocking tone as he started to take off his boots. He spotted the Twinkie I was eating. “You know, those really aren’t good for you...”
Oh no. The exercise kick.
Here we go again...
I wasn’t surprised. Tom usually gets out of bed around six. (If you’re wondering why he’s home it’s because he works the following schedule: two days on three days off three days on two days off….it’s really less complicated than it sounds.)
I assumed Tom was downstairs. I usually find him in front of the computer playing his Company of Heroes game. Most of the time he just grunts out a hello because he’s so busy concentrating on his pixilated soldier that’s racing across the screen. I don’t take offense. I don’t like speaking the second I wake up. I have to drink a glass of water and get a bite to eat before I can converse properly. Before that I sort of mumble answers out.
When I got downstairs my eyes immediately swiveled to the computer—but Tom wasn’t there.
Weird.
I figured he had to be in the kitchen. He obviously wasn’t in the living room. The television wasn’t blaring Spongebob.
But he wasn’t in the kitchen. Or the dining room. Or the laundry room.
He wasn’t upstairs because I would have seen him.
Unless….
“Tom! If you’re trying to scare me it’s not funny!”
I even opened a cupboard and peeked in. Not that he can even fit in a cupboard. But you never know with him. He’ll contort his body into anything if he knows the outcome will be worth it.
He wasn’t in the cupboard. But a bunch of pots and pans crammed in there were and one dropped on my foot.
This put me in a foul mood. With a throbbing foot I limped around the house shouting Tom’s name. I threw open the closet and went, “A-ha!” expecting to find him in there, about to pop up and scare the crap out of me.
He loves to make me jump. Admittedly, I startle easily. A sudden noise can make me yelp and I practically go into convulsions when I go into one of those haunted houses they have set up at Halloween. I probably shouldn’t even go in them. But I love the thrill. Of course my heart is usually beating at an unhealthy rate by the end of it but no matter, so long as I sit for a few seconds afterwards I’m all better.
Tom never tires of making me scream. In fact, just the other day he leaped out of the bathroom when I came upstairs and I yelled at the top of my lungs and he hunched over with laughter saying, “This never gets old! Even after knowing you for over ten years this never gets old!”
I’m glad I amuse him. And really, being startled doesn’t bother me. I’m used to it by now.
The only time it does bother me is when I first wake up. Which was why I was shouting like a complete nutter around the house for Tom.
“Mommy! Daddy’s truck is still in the driveway,” Tommy pointed out.
I peeked out the window. He was right. So that meant Tom had to be here. Maybe he was outside. Maybe he decided to finally put together that ball toy. Yes! That’s what he had to be doing. I picked up Natalie and rushed to the garage.
“How nice of you to put together—” I began. But then my eyes rested on the unopened box that contained the toy. He wasn’t there.
“Where Daddy go?” Natalie asked, lifting her hands up and shrugging her shoulders.
“I have no idea,” I admitted. I spotted my neighbor outside watering his glass. Maybe he had seen Tom. Maybe Tom had decided to go for a walk! Maybe he was on another health kick. You see, once every few months Tom suddenly decides that he wants to exercise and eat right. It can get quite annoying, actually. Because suddenly he’s going through our cabinets and lecturing me about buying Little Debbie snacks when just the week before he had downed nearly an entire box of Swiss Rolls. But I’ve gotten used to it. Now I know to just nod my head and say, “Mmmhmm, Tom, that sounds great, Tom,” at the appropriate moments because I know it’ll all blow over in a few days when he realizes that exercising every day actually takes WORK and when he remembers that drinking water all day is boring. Then everything will return to as it was and he’ll be moaning that he’s out of Swiss Rolls and could I pick up some more the next time I’m out?
“Have you seen Tom?” I called out to my neighbor who looked up with a start. He’s not used to seeing me out so early. I usually stumble out around noon and let the kids run around the driveway.
“Nope,” he replied.
Weird. Where could he be?
What if he ran off with a buxom blond who thinks Britney Spears is cool and who screams whenever Rob Pattinson appears on screen? Oh no! I can’t let my kids have a stepmother like that! I’ve finally gotten them to shriek in horror whenever they see Rob Pattinson because they think he’s an evil troll! (I think it would be hilarious if we ever came across Rob and all these women are screeching and throwing themselves at him and my family is all, “AHHHHHHHHH! TROLL!” in horror.)
Then I realized that he couldn’t have run off with someone else because he’s an awful liar. When he tells a fib he refuses to look you in the eye and gets this huge grin on his face.
What if he was…abducted?
I really need to give the alien shows a rest, I know. But suppose the aliens TOOK HIM because they are also confused as to how he can throw his dirty socks on the floor when there is a perfectly good laundry basket nearby?
I was in the middle of eating my breakfast and mulling this over when the front door opened and closed.
“Hi there,” Tom said when he spotted me like nothing was amiss. He was dressed in his uniform and he calmly took his wallet out of his pocket and set it on the counter.
“Where have you been?” I shrieked, rushing over to him. “Are you okay?”
Tom looked at me as though I were wearing panties on my head. “I’m fine. Are YOU okay?” he asked pointedly.
“I’ve just been wondering where you were! Your truck is here and you were no where to be found so I thought you had been ADBUCTED!” I said dramatically.
Tom rolled his eyes. “You need to stop watching those shows. Really. I just walked over to the Change of Command ceremony. The building is right behind our house and it didn’t make sense to walk.”
Oh. He had mentioned a Change of Command ceremony but I assumed he’d drive.
“So you’re okay?” I pressed.
“Just peachy,” Tom said in a mocking tone as he started to take off his boots. He spotted the Twinkie I was eating. “You know, those really aren’t good for you...”
Oh no. The exercise kick.
Here we go again...
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thanks For Nothing, Dave Hepburn..
I need to be more spontaneous, I thought the other day.
I was flipping through some of my magazines and my eyes rested on an article where a bunch of men discussed different ways their women excited them.
I zeroed in on this one:
That’s easy enough. I could do that. Some of the other things that men were saying was that they loved when their women made a big fancy meal.
That is not going to happen in this house.
I once followed this complicated chicken cordon bleu recipe because it’s one of Tom’s favorite meals and I nearly collapsed in tears by the end of it all. Plus, I nearly burned my arm.
Another man said that he loved when he and his woman tried out complicated sexual positions. I don’t bend like that no matter how hard Tom tries to make it so. I once shrieked at him, “I’m not a contortionist! If you want one of those, stalk a Cirque Du Soliel show!”
So yes. I figured that it would be best for me to just leap into Tom’s arms. Unexpectedly. He’s a pretty strong man so I thought this wouldn’t be a problem.
I was wrong.
First of all, when I started charging at him as he was coming out of the bedroom I ended up freaking him out. His eyes got all big when he saw me racing for his chest. I think he flash backed to high school when he played football and had to prevent tackles because he suddenly started crouching down with his arms out.
“Stand up straight!” I ordered and then pummeled into him. I tried to wrap my arms around his waist but it wasn’t working because Tom immediately backed up and we fell onto the bed. This would have been romantic but my hair was down because I wanted to resemble a virgin maiden, you know? My hair went right into Tom’s mouth and that prevented him from shouting.
He eventually pushed me off and leaped to his feet. He did not look like he was turned on. In fact, it looked like he was....mad?
“What the HELL was that?” he boomed, picking a strand of hair from his tongue.
“I was being romantic!” I replied, struggling to get my hair out of my face.
“How is attacking me romantic?” he demanded. “You know I have a bad back! Have you lost your mind?”
What? But it was supposed to be ROMANTIC! He was supposed to CATCH ME and twirl me around and we were supposed to laugh as though we didn’t have a care in the world.
“Dave Hepburn says that it’s romantic,” I pointed out, naming the guy who had penned the suggestion.
Tom tossed his hands in the air. “WHO IS DAVE HEPBURN?” His face had turned bright red and he reminded me of gigantic tomato.
I jumped off the bed and marched downstairs. “I’ll show you!”
“Is there a man hidden in our house?” Tom yelled.
Yup. I keep a spare in the cupboards.
“No, you moron! Dave Hepburn is the guy who suggested THIS!” I grabbed the article from the counter and shoved it in Tom’s face.
“I bet Dave Hepburn is like nineteen or something. He’s young enough to be PREPARED for a grown woman charging at him...” Tom said. But then he saw that Dave Hepburn was 32 and swallowed hard. “Well. This explains it. He lives in the Bahamas. Everyone is happy in the Bahamas which means they can expect the unexpected easier.”
Uh huh. I think he was just coming up with excuses because he was embarrassed that he couldn’t catch me.
Or, ohmiGod, maybe he couldn’t catch me because I was too fat? I know I had been pigging out while in Texas but I didn’t think I was THAT heavy.
“It’s because I’m fat, isn’t it!” I wailed.
Tom immediately looked afraid. He knows that it’s serious business when a woman starts moaning about her weight. “Of course not,” he assured me. “You just surprised me. You can’t just come charging at a man like that. You’re lucky I didn’t flip you over my head from shock.”
I puffed my lower lip out. “But Dave Hepburn said...”
“Dave Hepburn probably relaxes on beaches all day,” Tom cut in. Then he gazed down at the article again. “Well hey. Here’s one we can try. This guy says that he likes it when he and his girl try out complicated sexual positions...”
Nevermind. I tried. I think I give up.
I was flipping through some of my magazines and my eyes rested on an article where a bunch of men discussed different ways their women excited them.
I zeroed in on this one:
That’s easy enough. I could do that. Some of the other things that men were saying was that they loved when their women made a big fancy meal.
That is not going to happen in this house.
I once followed this complicated chicken cordon bleu recipe because it’s one of Tom’s favorite meals and I nearly collapsed in tears by the end of it all. Plus, I nearly burned my arm.
Another man said that he loved when he and his woman tried out complicated sexual positions. I don’t bend like that no matter how hard Tom tries to make it so. I once shrieked at him, “I’m not a contortionist! If you want one of those, stalk a Cirque Du Soliel show!”
So yes. I figured that it would be best for me to just leap into Tom’s arms. Unexpectedly. He’s a pretty strong man so I thought this wouldn’t be a problem.
I was wrong.
First of all, when I started charging at him as he was coming out of the bedroom I ended up freaking him out. His eyes got all big when he saw me racing for his chest. I think he flash backed to high school when he played football and had to prevent tackles because he suddenly started crouching down with his arms out.
“Stand up straight!” I ordered and then pummeled into him. I tried to wrap my arms around his waist but it wasn’t working because Tom immediately backed up and we fell onto the bed. This would have been romantic but my hair was down because I wanted to resemble a virgin maiden, you know? My hair went right into Tom’s mouth and that prevented him from shouting.
He eventually pushed me off and leaped to his feet. He did not look like he was turned on. In fact, it looked like he was....mad?
“What the HELL was that?” he boomed, picking a strand of hair from his tongue.
“I was being romantic!” I replied, struggling to get my hair out of my face.
“How is attacking me romantic?” he demanded. “You know I have a bad back! Have you lost your mind?”
What? But it was supposed to be ROMANTIC! He was supposed to CATCH ME and twirl me around and we were supposed to laugh as though we didn’t have a care in the world.
“Dave Hepburn says that it’s romantic,” I pointed out, naming the guy who had penned the suggestion.
Tom tossed his hands in the air. “WHO IS DAVE HEPBURN?” His face had turned bright red and he reminded me of gigantic tomato.
I jumped off the bed and marched downstairs. “I’ll show you!”
“Is there a man hidden in our house?” Tom yelled.
Yup. I keep a spare in the cupboards.
“No, you moron! Dave Hepburn is the guy who suggested THIS!” I grabbed the article from the counter and shoved it in Tom’s face.
“I bet Dave Hepburn is like nineteen or something. He’s young enough to be PREPARED for a grown woman charging at him...” Tom said. But then he saw that Dave Hepburn was 32 and swallowed hard. “Well. This explains it. He lives in the Bahamas. Everyone is happy in the Bahamas which means they can expect the unexpected easier.”
Uh huh. I think he was just coming up with excuses because he was embarrassed that he couldn’t catch me.
Or, ohmiGod, maybe he couldn’t catch me because I was too fat? I know I had been pigging out while in Texas but I didn’t think I was THAT heavy.
“It’s because I’m fat, isn’t it!” I wailed.
Tom immediately looked afraid. He knows that it’s serious business when a woman starts moaning about her weight. “Of course not,” he assured me. “You just surprised me. You can’t just come charging at a man like that. You’re lucky I didn’t flip you over my head from shock.”
I puffed my lower lip out. “But Dave Hepburn said...”
“Dave Hepburn probably relaxes on beaches all day,” Tom cut in. Then he gazed down at the article again. “Well hey. Here’s one we can try. This guy says that he likes it when he and his girl try out complicated sexual positions...”
Nevermind. I tried. I think I give up.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The New Outfits
“I’m going shopping and I’m leaving the kids here,” I told Tom yesterday. I had just read in an article that it’s best to just tell the husband that you’re leaving the kids with him rather than just ask.
“Fine,” he answered, switching the channel to Spongebob. I can’t understand how a grown man can love a show about a sponge so much. Sometimes he says that he puts it on for the kids but a lot of the time the kids are off doing their own thing and it’s just him sprawled on the couch watching the television.
“I’m also going to Gymboree,” I continued. It was gymbuck redemption day. It basically means I get half off whatever I spend.
“Keep it under a hundred,” Tom replied, not bothering to take his eyes off the screen.
Actually, I was planning on spending less than that. But I didn’t say this. This way if there is another sale I can be all, "Well, I didn't spend the entire hundred, remember? So I still have like fifty leftover from that.."
“If you’re buying me clothes then I have to come,” Tommy piped up. He’s gotten really picky on what he wears. He's been telling me, "I don't want to dress like a nerd!" Does he even know what a nerd is? The last I checked, he thought nerds were a candy.
“Fine. You can come,” I said. Tommy isn’t the one who rushes me. He has his moments when he asks if we’re almost done but at least he doesn’t scream like his sister does. That is a total shopping buzz kill.
Tommy and I headed to the mall. I always stop by JC Penney because sometimes I can find some fabulous deals. I was in the middle of browsing a rack when this old lady walked by and said, “How nice! An older sister bringing her brother out.”
It took me a few seconds to realize that she was talking about us. I actually planned on just giving her a polite smile but then Tommy said,
“This isn’t my sister! This is my Mom!”
The old lady looked gobsmacked. Her eyes went huge behind her gigantic glasses. “You can’t be a Mom! You’re, what, sixteen?” she guessed.
I get this a lot. I know I look young for my age. And actually, it can be flattering. But sometimes I get tired of old ladies insisting that I’m too young to have children. It happens a lot. Suppose I did have a kid at sixteen? Then what? Would I get a mile long lecture? I’m never quite sure about this because I always say,
“Actually, I’m twenty seven.”
I said this to the old lady and she wrinkled her nose at me. “Are you sure?”
No. I’m not sure. I’m deranged and I go around telling people I’m twenty seven when I’m really sixteen.
Plus, if I were sixteen, this would mean that I would have had Tommy when I was, ew, nine.
“I’m positive.” I flashed the lady my biggest old-ladies-rock smile and willed her to go away. But she didn’t. She just stood there scrutinizing me as though I were about to break out into song or something. Now I know what animals at the zoo feel like.
I was about to offer to show her my driver’s license but then she meandered off into the women’s section.
Phew.
“Why did that lady think you were my sister?” Tommy whispered at me. I think he was a little freaked out too.
“Because I look young,” I explained.
Tommy looked confused. “You don’t look young to me.”
Gee son. Thanks.
After that we headed off to Gymboree. Ahh, Gymboree. I recognized the woman behind the counter and said hello. They know me well there.
“Okay Tommy. You can pick something out,” I told him.
He sort of stood there beside me like a lump. This is how his father shops too. When Tom had to get some new shorts he stood there in confusion as though he were expecting all the store workers to rush over to him with various choices.
Sorry, Tom. Maybe if we ever strike it rich we can go into those fancy boutiques where you get to sit and sip champagne and watch as gorgeous people model outfits for you.
“Over here, Tommy,” I said and led him by the arm to his section.
He started going through a rack. “I don’t like ANY of these things,” he informed me seriously.
“Keep looking,” I prodded.
While he was flicking through shirts I kept hearing the strangest song in the background.
I’m a manatee! or something like that.
“What in the WORLD is that?” I muttered.
At least I thought I muttered it. But I guess I said it really loud because the store worker said, “Oh. I put on the store television in case your son wanted to watch.”
I craned my neck and saw that it was Veggie Tales. There was a singing cucumber on a boat.
I didn’t tell her that my son doesn’t even LIKE cucumbers to eat and probably would not like watching one sing a song. About a manatee.
“I’ll take this,” Tommy’s voice said over the irritating song. He shoved it in my arms. He's quick like his Daddy.
Then I headed over to Natalie’s section. I love shopping for little girls. Their clothes are the cutest things ever. Thank goodness I only have one girl. Otherwise I’d be broke.
It took me forever to figure out what outfit I wanted for her.
Did I want the red dress? She looks really good in red.
But...wait...this navy jumper is adorable with the matching beret! I’ve got to get that!
No! Look at this skirt! I have to get this skirt! But with what shirt?
Thank goodness Natalie wasn’t with me. Usually she’s running around the store like a crazed animal and I’m so busy chasing her that I barely have time to look.
Oh my gosh! Knee high socks! I’ve GOT to get Natalie knee high socks. But she’s short so the knee high socks would probably look like strange pants. Maybe she'd start a new fad and we'd get on E! and Guliana Rancic would interview us and be all, "How did you discover that knee high socks could be the new pants?" Then I'd be all, "Oh, I was in my favorite store Gymboree.." and I'd wink at the camera and would hope that the CEO of Gymboree would take that as his cue to send me boxes of free clothes..
Hey. A girl can dream.
Finally I settled on the navy jumper outfit.
When we got back home Tom was in the same position that I left him in. He was on the couch watching Spongebob. Natalie was no where to be seen.
“Where’s the baby?” I said. I have a habit of calling her the baby even though she’s two.
“Playing,” Tom responded.
“Playing WHERE?” Wasn’t he worried that she was attempting to jump out a window? Or playing with knives? Or..or..climbing into the dryer and turning it on?
It turns out she was just at the bookcase pulling out all my beautiful books that I had neatly arranged by genre.
“Natalie! Please. We don’t mess up Nicholas Sparks. How many times do I have to tell you that?” I said, taking away The Notebook from her grubby hands.
Then I wagged the Gymboree bag at her. “Do you want to try on your new outfit?”
I expected her to jump up and down and shriek, “Yes! Of course Mommy, OF COURSE!”
Instead she screamed, “NO!” and ran upstairs.
Um.
Tom found this hilarious.
I eventually coaxed her back down. I did not bribe. Fine, I bribed a little bit and promised her some ice cream after dinner. Actually, we were going to have ice cream anyhow but she didn't have to know that.
This is the outfit. You can't tell but those are weiner dogs on the collar. I showed it to Tom and he went, "Um. You hate dogs." Okay, I don't HATE dogs. I just worry that they're going to bite out my throat.
Doesn't she look impressed?
Clearly she thinks I'm nuts. What has this woman put on my head NOW?
She was telling me "all done, Mommy. All done."
So fine. I moved onto her brother's new shirt.
Doing a Zoolander pose. Or Bruno. I have no clue. He was all, "I'm just being handsome, Mommy." I didn't tell him that with his lips out like that that he reminded me of a fish.
Then Natalie had a fit because she wanted more pictures. Even though she had told me all done. I seriously think she's going through PMS early. Good gracious.
I changed her into the outfit that her Grandma bought her while in Texas:
And then, guess what?
She threw a fit! She didn't WANT to take pictures after all.
She was screaming, "ALL DONE! ALLL DONNNNNEEE!" The neighbors even poked their heads out to see what all the commotion was about.
So I sat her down and started speaking to her in calm but firm tones like Supernanny suggests. I explained that she wanted to take some pictures and that, by God, she was GOING to take some pictures. She was all, "WTF lady? What are you prattling on about now?"
Ten seconds later she was happy again and flashing me her belly button. I'm cool with this. It's when she flips up her entire shirt when I get nervous.
Belly buttons rock! Let's just keep ours unpierced, okay love?
“Fine,” he answered, switching the channel to Spongebob. I can’t understand how a grown man can love a show about a sponge so much. Sometimes he says that he puts it on for the kids but a lot of the time the kids are off doing their own thing and it’s just him sprawled on the couch watching the television.
“I’m also going to Gymboree,” I continued. It was gymbuck redemption day. It basically means I get half off whatever I spend.
“Keep it under a hundred,” Tom replied, not bothering to take his eyes off the screen.
Actually, I was planning on spending less than that. But I didn’t say this. This way if there is another sale I can be all, "Well, I didn't spend the entire hundred, remember? So I still have like fifty leftover from that.."
“If you’re buying me clothes then I have to come,” Tommy piped up. He’s gotten really picky on what he wears. He's been telling me, "I don't want to dress like a nerd!" Does he even know what a nerd is? The last I checked, he thought nerds were a candy.
“Fine. You can come,” I said. Tommy isn’t the one who rushes me. He has his moments when he asks if we’re almost done but at least he doesn’t scream like his sister does. That is a total shopping buzz kill.
Tommy and I headed to the mall. I always stop by JC Penney because sometimes I can find some fabulous deals. I was in the middle of browsing a rack when this old lady walked by and said, “How nice! An older sister bringing her brother out.”
It took me a few seconds to realize that she was talking about us. I actually planned on just giving her a polite smile but then Tommy said,
“This isn’t my sister! This is my Mom!”
The old lady looked gobsmacked. Her eyes went huge behind her gigantic glasses. “You can’t be a Mom! You’re, what, sixteen?” she guessed.
I get this a lot. I know I look young for my age. And actually, it can be flattering. But sometimes I get tired of old ladies insisting that I’m too young to have children. It happens a lot. Suppose I did have a kid at sixteen? Then what? Would I get a mile long lecture? I’m never quite sure about this because I always say,
“Actually, I’m twenty seven.”
I said this to the old lady and she wrinkled her nose at me. “Are you sure?”
No. I’m not sure. I’m deranged and I go around telling people I’m twenty seven when I’m really sixteen.
Plus, if I were sixteen, this would mean that I would have had Tommy when I was, ew, nine.
“I’m positive.” I flashed the lady my biggest old-ladies-rock smile and willed her to go away. But she didn’t. She just stood there scrutinizing me as though I were about to break out into song or something. Now I know what animals at the zoo feel like.
I was about to offer to show her my driver’s license but then she meandered off into the women’s section.
Phew.
“Why did that lady think you were my sister?” Tommy whispered at me. I think he was a little freaked out too.
“Because I look young,” I explained.
Tommy looked confused. “You don’t look young to me.”
Gee son. Thanks.
After that we headed off to Gymboree. Ahh, Gymboree. I recognized the woman behind the counter and said hello. They know me well there.
“Okay Tommy. You can pick something out,” I told him.
He sort of stood there beside me like a lump. This is how his father shops too. When Tom had to get some new shorts he stood there in confusion as though he were expecting all the store workers to rush over to him with various choices.
Sorry, Tom. Maybe if we ever strike it rich we can go into those fancy boutiques where you get to sit and sip champagne and watch as gorgeous people model outfits for you.
“Over here, Tommy,” I said and led him by the arm to his section.
He started going through a rack. “I don’t like ANY of these things,” he informed me seriously.
“Keep looking,” I prodded.
While he was flicking through shirts I kept hearing the strangest song in the background.
I’m a manatee! or something like that.
“What in the WORLD is that?” I muttered.
At least I thought I muttered it. But I guess I said it really loud because the store worker said, “Oh. I put on the store television in case your son wanted to watch.”
I craned my neck and saw that it was Veggie Tales. There was a singing cucumber on a boat.
I didn’t tell her that my son doesn’t even LIKE cucumbers to eat and probably would not like watching one sing a song. About a manatee.
“I’ll take this,” Tommy’s voice said over the irritating song. He shoved it in my arms. He's quick like his Daddy.
Then I headed over to Natalie’s section. I love shopping for little girls. Their clothes are the cutest things ever. Thank goodness I only have one girl. Otherwise I’d be broke.
It took me forever to figure out what outfit I wanted for her.
Did I want the red dress? She looks really good in red.
But...wait...this navy jumper is adorable with the matching beret! I’ve got to get that!
No! Look at this skirt! I have to get this skirt! But with what shirt?
Thank goodness Natalie wasn’t with me. Usually she’s running around the store like a crazed animal and I’m so busy chasing her that I barely have time to look.
Oh my gosh! Knee high socks! I’ve GOT to get Natalie knee high socks. But she’s short so the knee high socks would probably look like strange pants. Maybe she'd start a new fad and we'd get on E! and Guliana Rancic would interview us and be all, "How did you discover that knee high socks could be the new pants?" Then I'd be all, "Oh, I was in my favorite store Gymboree.." and I'd wink at the camera and would hope that the CEO of Gymboree would take that as his cue to send me boxes of free clothes..
Hey. A girl can dream.
Finally I settled on the navy jumper outfit.
When we got back home Tom was in the same position that I left him in. He was on the couch watching Spongebob. Natalie was no where to be seen.
“Where’s the baby?” I said. I have a habit of calling her the baby even though she’s two.
“Playing,” Tom responded.
“Playing WHERE?” Wasn’t he worried that she was attempting to jump out a window? Or playing with knives? Or..or..climbing into the dryer and turning it on?
It turns out she was just at the bookcase pulling out all my beautiful books that I had neatly arranged by genre.
“Natalie! Please. We don’t mess up Nicholas Sparks. How many times do I have to tell you that?” I said, taking away The Notebook from her grubby hands.
Then I wagged the Gymboree bag at her. “Do you want to try on your new outfit?”
I expected her to jump up and down and shriek, “Yes! Of course Mommy, OF COURSE!”
Instead she screamed, “NO!” and ran upstairs.
Um.
Tom found this hilarious.
I eventually coaxed her back down. I did not bribe. Fine, I bribed a little bit and promised her some ice cream after dinner. Actually, we were going to have ice cream anyhow but she didn't have to know that.
This is the outfit. You can't tell but those are weiner dogs on the collar. I showed it to Tom and he went, "Um. You hate dogs." Okay, I don't HATE dogs. I just worry that they're going to bite out my throat.
Doesn't she look impressed?
Clearly she thinks I'm nuts. What has this woman put on my head NOW?
She was telling me "all done, Mommy. All done."
So fine. I moved onto her brother's new shirt.
Doing a Zoolander pose. Or Bruno. I have no clue. He was all, "I'm just being handsome, Mommy." I didn't tell him that with his lips out like that that he reminded me of a fish.
Then Natalie had a fit because she wanted more pictures. Even though she had told me all done. I seriously think she's going through PMS early. Good gracious.
I changed her into the outfit that her Grandma bought her while in Texas:
And then, guess what?
She threw a fit! She didn't WANT to take pictures after all.
She was screaming, "ALL DONE! ALLL DONNNNNEEE!" The neighbors even poked their heads out to see what all the commotion was about.
So I sat her down and started speaking to her in calm but firm tones like Supernanny suggests. I explained that she wanted to take some pictures and that, by God, she was GOING to take some pictures. She was all, "WTF lady? What are you prattling on about now?"
Ten seconds later she was happy again and flashing me her belly button. I'm cool with this. It's when she flips up her entire shirt when I get nervous.
Belly buttons rock! Let's just keep ours unpierced, okay love?
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Temperature Wars
The first thing I thought when I woke up was, “It’s freezing.”
Actually, the first thing I thought was, “Man I wish I could sleep in until noon.” But that’s just not in the cards when you have children.
I stumbled down the stairs with my kids at my heels. It seemed to get even colder. I could hear the whirl of the window air conditioner that we have and knew my answer: my husband had turned it all the way up.
Apparently we have different body temperature desires. Tom says that he has to crank the air conditioner all the way up or else he’s too hot. I prefer to have it at a 4 or 5 and Tom whines that the thing might as well not even be on because he can barely feel the cold air.
I think he forgets that we’re not in Texas anymore. The highs this week in Wyoming have only been in the 80s.
“Morning!” Tom said jovially from the couch.
I walked over to the air conditioner and turned it to a 4. “Morning,” I replied.
“Hey! Why did you turn that down?” Tom shouted, rushing over. He immediately turned it back up.
Maybe something is wrong with his body. Maybe he can’t feel the cold. They could make a movie on Lifetime about him and it could be titled The Man Who Couldn’t Freeze and it would be a tale about a man who has to learn to FEEL again. Of course a beautiful blond helps him achieve this.
I certainly could feel the cold though. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.
“It’s too cold,” I complained.
“It feels great!” Tom responded.
Seriously. Something is wrong with him.
I was about to argue but then I heard a soft knock at the door. Huh? It was nearly nine. Much too early for company. I figured it was one of Tommy’s annoying friends who haven’t learned the concept of appropriate visiting hours. But no. When I opened the door one of our neighbors was standing there looking sheepish.
“I’m sorry to bother you so early,” he said. “But my wife is making a cake and she’s short one egg. She’s freaking out and...” he trailed off, looking petrified. I imagine that he probably ate an egg and forgot to let his wife know so when she started to cook and discovered she was short an egg she probably lashed out at him.
“We have an egg,” I said even though I wasn’t positive if we did or not. But I have this compulsion to please people so I sometimes spit out the answer that they want to hear before thinking things through.
I rushed in the kitchen and opened the fridge. Whew. There was an entire carton of eggs on the top shelf. I must’ve picked them up last week. Wait. DID I pick them up last week? I had to take both kids shopping with me and usually when that happens the trip becomes foggy in my mind because I spend most of the time going, “Please sit down. No, we don’t need dog biscuits. Please don’t throw kiwis at Mommy…”
I checked the expiration date to be sure. July 30th. Awesome. I just didn’t want to be known as the neighbor who passes out rotten eggs, you see.
I handed over the egg to the neighbor and he thanked me profusely before rushing off.
Then I marched over to the air conditioner and turned it down because Tom was....wait, where did Tom go?
“Hi,” Tom said, coming out of the bathroom.
Oh. He was enjoying a PIP (poop in peace.) That must be nice to do without children watching you and asking if you’re making a number one or two.
“Did you answer the door like that?” He gestured to my chest and I thought he meant did I answer the door while in my pajamas at first. It’s not like they were slinky pajamas or anything. They’re pink bottoms and a matching top that says, “Housework is evil. It must be stopped.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“I can see your nipples through your shirt!” Tom said in this shocked tone.
Okay. So my headlights were up when I talked to the male neighbor. But I don’t think he even noticed. All he was worried about was the egg so he could shut his wife up.
“Maybe if you didn’t keep the house so COLD…” I gave him a dirty look.
“It’s not too cold. It feels great,” Tom said. He passed by the air conditioner and looked down with a start. “Wait a minute. Did you lower this?”
Um.
“It must’ve been Natalie,” I lied. Natalie, who was busy playing with her blocks, looked up with a start. I thought she’d blow my cover but she just went back to building. Phew.
“Oh,” Tom said and turned it back up again.
Dang. I was just starting to feel comfortable again.
When Tom went into the garage I lowered it again. Ahhh. Relief. I no longer felt like I was in Antarctica.
I enjoyed the comfortable temperature until Tom came back in.
“Hey!” he said when he saw the air conditioner. What, is he in LOVE with it or something? Why does he always have to check it? “It’s lowered again!”
“Those darn kids!” I said lightly as I flipped through my Writer’s Digest magazine.
I tried to lower it again when I thought he was distracted by Spongebob. My fingers were right over the knob when…
“HEY!”
Tom’s voice rang out and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Honestly, does he have to be so LOUD?
“I know you were the one turning it down,” Tom said acting as though he were a detective who just solved an important mystery.
“It’s cold,” I said. “I can see my breath!” Okay, so not really. But it felt like it.
“Fine. I’ll move it down to an 8,” Tom said grandly as though he was doing me an important favor. (It goes up to a 10 by the way.)
“A six,” I bartered.
“A SIX?” Tom squeaked and looked at me as though I had just performed the Can-Can in front of him.
“A six,” I repeated firmly.
“A seven. Final offer,” Tom said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving me his stubborn look.
I had things to do so I gave in. But when my husband went outside to water the lawn I went back to the air conditioner and lowered it back to a six.
“A six,” I said softly and giggled before rushing to the dishes.
Actually, the first thing I thought was, “Man I wish I could sleep in until noon.” But that’s just not in the cards when you have children.
I stumbled down the stairs with my kids at my heels. It seemed to get even colder. I could hear the whirl of the window air conditioner that we have and knew my answer: my husband had turned it all the way up.
Apparently we have different body temperature desires. Tom says that he has to crank the air conditioner all the way up or else he’s too hot. I prefer to have it at a 4 or 5 and Tom whines that the thing might as well not even be on because he can barely feel the cold air.
I think he forgets that we’re not in Texas anymore. The highs this week in Wyoming have only been in the 80s.
“Morning!” Tom said jovially from the couch.
I walked over to the air conditioner and turned it to a 4. “Morning,” I replied.
“Hey! Why did you turn that down?” Tom shouted, rushing over. He immediately turned it back up.
Maybe something is wrong with his body. Maybe he can’t feel the cold. They could make a movie on Lifetime about him and it could be titled The Man Who Couldn’t Freeze and it would be a tale about a man who has to learn to FEEL again. Of course a beautiful blond helps him achieve this.
I certainly could feel the cold though. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.
“It’s too cold,” I complained.
“It feels great!” Tom responded.
Seriously. Something is wrong with him.
I was about to argue but then I heard a soft knock at the door. Huh? It was nearly nine. Much too early for company. I figured it was one of Tommy’s annoying friends who haven’t learned the concept of appropriate visiting hours. But no. When I opened the door one of our neighbors was standing there looking sheepish.
“I’m sorry to bother you so early,” he said. “But my wife is making a cake and she’s short one egg. She’s freaking out and...” he trailed off, looking petrified. I imagine that he probably ate an egg and forgot to let his wife know so when she started to cook and discovered she was short an egg she probably lashed out at him.
“We have an egg,” I said even though I wasn’t positive if we did or not. But I have this compulsion to please people so I sometimes spit out the answer that they want to hear before thinking things through.
I rushed in the kitchen and opened the fridge. Whew. There was an entire carton of eggs on the top shelf. I must’ve picked them up last week. Wait. DID I pick them up last week? I had to take both kids shopping with me and usually when that happens the trip becomes foggy in my mind because I spend most of the time going, “Please sit down. No, we don’t need dog biscuits. Please don’t throw kiwis at Mommy…”
I checked the expiration date to be sure. July 30th. Awesome. I just didn’t want to be known as the neighbor who passes out rotten eggs, you see.
I handed over the egg to the neighbor and he thanked me profusely before rushing off.
Then I marched over to the air conditioner and turned it down because Tom was....wait, where did Tom go?
“Hi,” Tom said, coming out of the bathroom.
Oh. He was enjoying a PIP (poop in peace.) That must be nice to do without children watching you and asking if you’re making a number one or two.
“Did you answer the door like that?” He gestured to my chest and I thought he meant did I answer the door while in my pajamas at first. It’s not like they were slinky pajamas or anything. They’re pink bottoms and a matching top that says, “Housework is evil. It must be stopped.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“I can see your nipples through your shirt!” Tom said in this shocked tone.
Okay. So my headlights were up when I talked to the male neighbor. But I don’t think he even noticed. All he was worried about was the egg so he could shut his wife up.
“Maybe if you didn’t keep the house so COLD…” I gave him a dirty look.
“It’s not too cold. It feels great,” Tom said. He passed by the air conditioner and looked down with a start. “Wait a minute. Did you lower this?”
Um.
“It must’ve been Natalie,” I lied. Natalie, who was busy playing with her blocks, looked up with a start. I thought she’d blow my cover but she just went back to building. Phew.
“Oh,” Tom said and turned it back up again.
Dang. I was just starting to feel comfortable again.
When Tom went into the garage I lowered it again. Ahhh. Relief. I no longer felt like I was in Antarctica.
I enjoyed the comfortable temperature until Tom came back in.
“Hey!” he said when he saw the air conditioner. What, is he in LOVE with it or something? Why does he always have to check it? “It’s lowered again!”
“Those darn kids!” I said lightly as I flipped through my Writer’s Digest magazine.
I tried to lower it again when I thought he was distracted by Spongebob. My fingers were right over the knob when…
“HEY!”
Tom’s voice rang out and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Honestly, does he have to be so LOUD?
“I know you were the one turning it down,” Tom said acting as though he were a detective who just solved an important mystery.
“It’s cold,” I said. “I can see my breath!” Okay, so not really. But it felt like it.
“Fine. I’ll move it down to an 8,” Tom said grandly as though he was doing me an important favor. (It goes up to a 10 by the way.)
“A six,” I bartered.
“A SIX?” Tom squeaked and looked at me as though I had just performed the Can-Can in front of him.
“A six,” I repeated firmly.
“A seven. Final offer,” Tom said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving me his stubborn look.
I had things to do so I gave in. But when my husband went outside to water the lawn I went back to the air conditioner and lowered it back to a six.
“A six,” I said softly and giggled before rushing to the dishes.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Entry with Lots of Photos
Okay, so I have a bunch of pictures from our trip to Texas.
I hope everyone has high speed internet.
I'll share pictures of Tom's graduation first. It was just a small little ceremony that took about ten minutes. But I had to be there. It's one of the reasons why we went to Texas in the first place. He insisted that it was no big deal and that I didn't even have to come but I insisted.
The class instructor suddenly belted out an order and the entire class jumped up with their fists balled at their sides. It startled me, to be honest. I think I was digging through my purse at the time and all of a sudden I heard someone shouting and the scrape of chairs scratching backwards as the soldiers leaped out of them.
People are in different uniforms because all the branches of the military are in the class.
This is Tom walking in a determined fashion to get his certificate. The guy in the blue uniform reminded me of Captain America with his speech on how fantastic America is.
Dear gracious, my husband is smiling! It startled me at first to see his lips upturned for the camera.
This is when he got his Top Dog award. He's not quite smiling but it's close enough. At least he doesn't look as though he's about to kill you.
Then we went to this Ripley's Believe it Or Not Museum. It's basically full of weird stuff. It reminds me of our garage.
Tom took control of the camera first which is why we ended up with a bunch of odd photos.
Like, for instance, why did he take a picture of this:
It's a giant gavel. Is it an important giant gavel? I have no idea. Did Tom see the giant gavel and think, "I MUST take a picture of this huge gavel?" When I asked him what the significance of the gavel was he shrugged and went, "I thought it was pretty awesome."
Tom has a fascination with World War 2 so he has a sixth sense about finding areas where World War 2 stuff is located. He went right to this as though an alert had gone off in his brain that said, "Stuff from World War 2. Repeat: stuff from World War 2."
This is the world's largest tire. And look, Tom is sort of smiling again! I guess to get him to smile I need to give him either a certificate or put him in front of a huge tire.
This is an African birthing pot. Apparently women squat down and push a baby into one of these pots. Looking at the pot made my crotch hurt and become thankful for the bed that I gave birth in. Oh, and the epidural.
This is the world's tallest man. I think basically everyone is taller than you when you're only 5'3.
My kid wasn't impressed. He was all, "Huge man? Meh. I'd rather see Transformers. "
Okay, there was a waiting area with a bunch of fake creepy men. Then one of them would totally fart and be all, "Was that you?" This cracked me up. I was the only adult in the room who kept giggling at that. Everyone else was all, "Good heavens!"
Back in the day people apparently sniffed socks to cure the common cold. If they had sniffed my husband's socks they probably COULD have cured it. His socks have been known to clear my sinuses.
I totally hung out with the captain of Titanic.
Tom took this picture because this thing totally cracked us up. I named it Waldo.
I have no idea why my husband took a picture of this brain. Is it a famous person's brain? I asked him and he couldn't remember.
There will be more photos to come.
I hope everyone has high speed internet.
I'll share pictures of Tom's graduation first. It was just a small little ceremony that took about ten minutes. But I had to be there. It's one of the reasons why we went to Texas in the first place. He insisted that it was no big deal and that I didn't even have to come but I insisted.
The class instructor suddenly belted out an order and the entire class jumped up with their fists balled at their sides. It startled me, to be honest. I think I was digging through my purse at the time and all of a sudden I heard someone shouting and the scrape of chairs scratching backwards as the soldiers leaped out of them.
People are in different uniforms because all the branches of the military are in the class.
This is Tom walking in a determined fashion to get his certificate. The guy in the blue uniform reminded me of Captain America with his speech on how fantastic America is.
Dear gracious, my husband is smiling! It startled me at first to see his lips upturned for the camera.
This is when he got his Top Dog award. He's not quite smiling but it's close enough. At least he doesn't look as though he's about to kill you.
Then we went to this Ripley's Believe it Or Not Museum. It's basically full of weird stuff. It reminds me of our garage.
Tom took control of the camera first which is why we ended up with a bunch of odd photos.
Like, for instance, why did he take a picture of this:
It's a giant gavel. Is it an important giant gavel? I have no idea. Did Tom see the giant gavel and think, "I MUST take a picture of this huge gavel?" When I asked him what the significance of the gavel was he shrugged and went, "I thought it was pretty awesome."
Tom has a fascination with World War 2 so he has a sixth sense about finding areas where World War 2 stuff is located. He went right to this as though an alert had gone off in his brain that said, "Stuff from World War 2. Repeat: stuff from World War 2."
This is the world's largest tire. And look, Tom is sort of smiling again! I guess to get him to smile I need to give him either a certificate or put him in front of a huge tire.
This is an African birthing pot. Apparently women squat down and push a baby into one of these pots. Looking at the pot made my crotch hurt and become thankful for the bed that I gave birth in. Oh, and the epidural.
This is the world's tallest man. I think basically everyone is taller than you when you're only 5'3.
My kid wasn't impressed. He was all, "Huge man? Meh. I'd rather see Transformers. "
Okay, there was a waiting area with a bunch of fake creepy men. Then one of them would totally fart and be all, "Was that you?" This cracked me up. I was the only adult in the room who kept giggling at that. Everyone else was all, "Good heavens!"
Back in the day people apparently sniffed socks to cure the common cold. If they had sniffed my husband's socks they probably COULD have cured it. His socks have been known to clear my sinuses.
I totally hung out with the captain of Titanic.
Tom took this picture because this thing totally cracked us up. I named it Waldo.
I have no idea why my husband took a picture of this brain. Is it a famous person's brain? I asked him and he couldn't remember.
There will be more photos to come.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
