Men's Marriage Manual: Chapter 1

This week will mark our 14th wedding anniversary, and we will have been together for 19.  One would think that with age and duration comes wisdom.  Currently I am not speaking to Hubby because he said one of the following to me this weekend.  I'm sure he's considering this lull in conversation as a little nagging vacation, but alas, I'm stewing.  In the interest of helping him survive another year without me smothering him with a pillow or poisoning his corn flakes (or both, if I really want to speed things along,) I offer 

Things You Should NOT Say If You Value Your Life, Your Sleeping Arrangements, or Your Front Teeth: 

       

      1.  Is that what you’re wearing? / Is that how you’re going to wear your hair? / Or any version thereof.  You'd think by this point one of you fellas would have written a marriage manual and this would have been Chapter 1.

2.  Do not tell me you’ll be home at 7 and then call me from the office at 6:55 to tell me you’re running a little late.  You are likely to arrive home (finally) and find the neighborhood kids roasting marshmallows in a bonfire made completely of your business suits.

3.  What’s for dinner?  Seriously.  We’ve been together almost 20 years and I have not ONCE made a meal that caused you to celebrate my skills in the kitchen.  I don’t like to cook.  I’m not good at it.  It takes longer to make it than it does to eat it.  Invest in stock in the Chef Boyardee company and leave me alone.

4.  My mom never let the clothes pile up like this.  Well then perhaps you should take your laundry to her.

5.  Didn’t you just get your nails done/ hair done/ brows waxed?  It’s called maintenance.  Don’t ask how the magic happens . . . just appreciate the end result.

6.  What do you need to get at Target?  Nothing.  Target is my happy place.  I like to go to there.

7.  You don’t need ice cream.  No one NEEDS ice cream, but the fact that you are pointing out that I, in particular, do not NEED ice cream means that I’m now considering ordering two ice creams. 

8.  What’s the over / under on when these clothes are going to be put away?  On a completely unrelated topic, please note that Jimmy Hoffa’s body has YET to be found.  Maybe he aska too many aquestions.

9.  Why is the house always such a mess when I get home?  You should have considered this question about 9 months before I delivered each of your children.

10.  When’s the last time you went to the gym?  1996.  The answer is 1996.

Waiter! More Wine! And Make it Snappy!

Hello, lover.

Please enjoy these hypothetical instructions for getting your waiter to keep filling your glass.  Hypothetical, with pictures.  Purely coincidental.

1.  Show up at the restaurant with two of your three children right at 5:30 PM, otherwise known as the witching hour.  The only other people in the restaurant are those with small children and the elderly, who are enjoying the Early Bird Special.

2.  Wear the shirt that got blood on it when Small had a bloody nose at 9 AM.  Don't bother changing the shirt before you go out, because, who are you kidding, you know you’re just going to spill on it anyway.

3.  Greet the hostess with a smile that shows off that beads-of-sweat mustache.

 

Dude.  No feet where we eat.

4.  Request two children’s menus while pointing to your offspring, who both dressed themselves.  Small is sporting sweatpants that are on backwards so that the tie and the pockets are in the back, and Medium is representin’ with a black and white tie dye school logo shirt and green/navy/white plaid shorts.  (If he were wearing black socks and sandals he could easily retire to Florida.)

 5.  Once seated, wipe the hair that is matted to your forehead out of your eyes with your forearm so that you can peruse the menu. 

6.  When the waiter arrives, order two kids’ milks and a glass of wine.  When he asks which wine you would like, tell him, “whatever.  Just bring it.  It’s been one of those days.”

7.  Praise the waiter with the adulation normally reserved for 

Please don't make me eat another bite
of this delicious chocolatey goodness.

tween girls and their boy bands when he brings you a FULL glass o’ wine, otherwise known as a healthy pour.  Healthy, indeed.

8.  Allow the children to order chocolate chip pancakes for dinner and a giant chocolate muffin for dessert, because . . . f*ck it.  

9.  Enter the Men’s Room cautiously when Medium returns to the table to solicit help and report that “Small is laying on the floor naked and rolling around and stuff.”

 10.  At this point, the waiter will return to your table with the entire bottle of wine and pour it directly into your glass as if it were Diet Coke.  Yes, please.

Call Me When September Gets Here

The boys have been out of school for summer “vacation” for 10 days now, including weekends. 

This is what we have done so far:

1.  Medium gave the neighbor kid a black eye.  They accidentally bumped heads the day school got out and Medium’s best buddy got a black eye, which he found pretty impressive.  The ladies love battle scars, ya know.

2.  Small got a bloody nose at the church picnic.  He and his brothers were on the playground on the other side of the building, so by the time he ran around to where we were talking to other grow-ups, blood was gushing out of his nose and onto his teeth, where he would wipe it with his bare arm and then onto his shirt.  This is why I can’t dress them in nice things.

3.  Large broke his foot.  It was a freak playground accident where he bent his toes back and broke 2 bones on the top of his foot.  Currently he is sporting some fancy footwear that he describes as "grandma."  If ever I thought I was not his waitress/butler/short-order cook, I sure as hell am all those things now.

4.  Small put potpourri in the toilet.  I know this because I saw the potpourri floating on top, so I stuck my hand in the bowl and pulled it out.  The toilet was still clogged though, which leads me to believe that perhaps he had put other inappropriate things in the toilet as well.  We had to direct guests to use a different bathroom because apparently a non-functioning toilet does not deter little boys from using it when nature calls.  As a side note, you’d think that the potpourri would have made this whole adventure smell much better than it did.

yes, it's white.

5.  Small drew on the carpet.  The white carpet.  With blue sharpie.  I certainly don’t mean to stifle his creativity, but I prefer art projects that don’t require that I scrub vigorously with a toothbrush once they’re complete.

Ten days down; 81 more to go.

BoyMommy Goes Bra Shopping

You know how you walk into a store to shop for undergarments and all of a sudden you find yourself involved in an awkward conversation set amongst the big girl panties and the padded bras?

No?  Just me?

I went out alone this afternoon without all my little helpers because I need to purchase some new t-shirt bras.  Ladies, I know you know of what I speak.  Summertime calls for bras that have a little extra padding in them so that you do not give off the appearance that the headlights are always on.  Plus, bras don't last forever.  They’re made of elastic, and after hundreds of washings they lose their original shape and functionality.  Yes, I know I could wash them on the “delicate” cycle, but have you seen the bras I wear?  Nothing delicate about them.  Perhaps if there were an “industrial” cycle . . .

This is what happens when I take my
"helpers" shopping with me.

So there I was, mindin’ my own, in a store that I shall not name but that rhymes with Schmohl’s.  I couldn’t find what I was looking for, and I had a specific item in mind because once I find something that works, I stick to it.  Next thing I knew I was discussing undergarments with a complete stranger.

“Excuse me,” a middle-aged woman (in an unfortunate summer sweater) started, as I was rifling through the rack looking for my size. (34B.  Hehe.)  “Have you seen any racerback bras?”

Lady, what about me says “racer” to you? 

Racerback bras do not offer enough support, in my opinion, and yet I had actually picked one up to try on.  “I found this one over there,” I pointed. . . Be on your way.

“Oh, that’s cute!  It’s for my daughter.  I don't wear them but that’s what she likes to wear,” she continued. 

Good to know. 

“Good luck,” I offered, because I am a nice person, NOT, as she assumed, because I wanted to continue chatting her up amongst the intimates. 

“What do you think of this one?” I heard her ask, and indeed she was talking to me.

“Um, it’s cute.  I’m looking for t-shirt bras though,” I said as I stealthily made my way into the next aisle.

“Oh, you’re right.  That’s a good point.  My daughter’s always telling me she can see my . . . “ and she placed her hands . . . there.  On her n*ppies. 

Apparently I need to work on my stealth.

Next came the britches debate.  “Do you wear these?” she asked as she approached me with a cotton/nylon hybrid that offered seamless, stay-put technology.

What kind of person asks random strangers what kind of britches they prefer?  And WHY do I keep engaging with this woman, I asked myself, even as I blurted out, “it’s summer.  It’s hot.  I wear cotton.” 

She grabbed a pair of britches that could only be called Granny panties and whispered, “I’ve had this kind for 10 years.  They’re so comfortable.”

Um, I’m afraid I did not have a response to that except for wide eyes and a nervous giggle.

“I just can’t wear those teeny-tiny ones like my daughter does,” she continued, shaking her head.  “I ask her all the time why she even bothers wearing underwear!”

 

Please make it stop.  

I’m a good person.  I went to church this morning.  I’m just trying to find something that will keep my boobs from hitting my knees while also protecting myself from comments about any obvious perpetual alertness.  I want a bra that says "come hither" while also saying "no thanks I've gotta make the lunches."

I did not make any purchases today.  It could have been worse, I suppose; I could have run into the Talky Woman in the tampon aisle.  

School's Out - Let the Games Begin!

Yesterday on Pinterest I noticed some Summertime Rules.  One complaint I've had recently is that my children are so over-stimulated (by tv, activities, sports, etc.) that they don't know how to have downtime.  I have decided that I am NOT going to be camp counselor this summer.  I just can't be responsible for their every entertainment.  I saw these on Happiness Is and Raising a Healthy Family:

I modified the "Rules" so they were better suited for my family.  Wish us luck!

  1.  Different families have different rules.  Do the right thing, even when Mommy and Daddy aren’t with you.

  2.  Be NICE to everyone or be alone in your room.

  3.    Respect others, their sleep, and their property. 

  4. No fun until chores are done.  You are responsible for the dishwasher, the trash, your clothes, and your rooms.

  5.     Pick up after yourself and your friends.

  6.  Be respectful of your brothers’ need for space.

  7. Make healthy food decisions.

  8.  Be a good host when you have friends over.  Be a good guest when you are playing elsewhere.

  9. Have a little downtime every day – read a book, look at a magazine, lie in your bed.

  10. Be creative with your time – electronics are   fun, but they should not replace activity.