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.

I Set the Elf on Fire.

I set the elf on fire.

It was an accident, I swear.

I’m sure, by now, you’re aware that there are OVERACHIEVING moms, some of my girlfriends included, who keep making the rest of us look bad by posing their elves in clever positions to the delight of their young offspring.  I’m not that mom.  I am the mom who jolts awake after being in bed for an hour because I realize f*ck, I forgot to move that damn elf.

Neeny has been with us for several years and he is THE most effective bad behavior deterrent in the history of bad behavior.  He magically appears when we return from our Thanksgiving travels and he doesn’t leave until he returns to the North Pole with Santa on Christmas Eve.  Last year, when the boys’ behavior was bordering on Naughty, Neeny didn’t return one morning, but he left a note that explained that he had returned to Santa and had reported on their Naughtiness . . . and perhaps Santa would give them another chance if their attitudes improved and they listened to their mama.

Can you picture me doing my best Dr. Doofenshmirtz laugh and wringing my hands like an evil cartoon villain?

Sunday night, I actually remembered to move Neeny.  I put him in the playroom inside a lamp, figuring he’d be safe since we rarely use the light in that room.

Lo and behold, Medium decided he wanted to use his easel so I turned the light on for him, forgetting that Neeny was sitting directly ON the lightbulb.  I walked in about an hour later to turn off the lamp after Medium had cleaned up, and I smelled something odd.  Sniff, sniff.  Hmmmm.  Sniff, sniff.  It smells almost like plastic burning. 

Insert audible gasp here.

I rushed over to the lamp to grab Neeny without anyone under 10 seeing me do it, but he was fused TO the hot lightbulb.

I turned off the light and peeled him off the bulb, but alas, he had a giant, charred, steaming black hole where his little plastic tummy should have been.  I almost burned a hole all the way through his felt, cotton-stuffed body.  I blew on him like I was trying to cool down microwaved mac and cheese.  Once he stopped steaming, I threw him behind a picture frame and prayed the boys wouldn’t notice he was missing.

Hubby arrived home from work and I announced that I had to go to Target.  “Neeny caught on fire.  Explain later,” I called as I headed out the door.  No worries, I thought.  I’ll buy a replacement at Target, put him in the same spot and the boys will be none the wiser.

Target was sold out.  

Not time to panic yet, but I will admit that my armpits were feeling a little persweaty, I could feel my face getting red, and I lost all ability to take a deep breath.  I asked the salesperson if there were any more in stock “in the back.”  You know, the magic “in the back” where they store all the hot items so they can feel like heroes of The Right Stuff proportions when they burst through the swinging doors with whatever product you can’t live without?  No luck. 

I knew I had seen them in other stores, but I needed one, like, yesterday.  I sent out a mass email to all the moms in my neighborhood via Google groups.  I headed to another store to look, and when I asked the sales representative if they sold the Elf on the Shelf, he answered me with a confused look as if I had just asked him if I could borrow a kidney, and said, and I quote, “a wha?”

Has this guy been living under a rock?  Does he not have his own Pinterest account?  Is his self-esteem not reliant on his creativity and his ability to Edward-Scissorhands several craft projects at once?  

The next store was the same story as I encountered a young sales associate who obviously has not been inducted into the secret sorority whose mascot is a creepy plastic doll dressed in non-flame-retardant clothing.

At this point I had visions of myself in my basement at 2 in the morning, sewing a tiny little coat for Neeny so that I could hide his GIANT GAPING HOLE.  At the 4^th store I started to panic as I mentally documented how my colossal failure as a parent was going to scar my children for life, robbing them of their innocence, their belief in magic, their faith in humanity, and essentially ruin their very childhood. 

And then it happened.  A mommy in my ‘hood emailed that the elf freaked her kids out and that I could have theirs, for free, and that it was sitting on their front step just waiting for a new home.  I double-checked that it was the older, skinnier, scarier elf and not the newer, chubbier, more cherubic-looking elf, which simply would not do. 

The BoyMommy family is again in ownership of an Elf on the Shelf.  Apparently he got his hair did last time he went to the North Pole as he now has reddish hair.  You know what he does NOT have?  That charcoal smell.

Since You've Been Gone

I have decided that I am bipolar.  This is not a professional opinion, mind you; it’s a self-diagnosis based on past behaviors.

I spend the majority of my time on an even plane, but THEN I GET ANTS IN MY PANTS (or as Hubby affectionately calls it, “a bug up my @ss,”) AND I START CLEANING LIKEMARTHA STEWARTONSPEED!!!

Hubby loves it when this happens because, well, I gets sh*t done.  He once came home from work to find me standing on the counter organizing the top shelf of dishes.  (Granted, I was 9 months pregnant at the time and I was clearly nesting, and probably should not have been standing on the counter since I’m clumsy/dizzy/awkward even when I’m NOT pregnant.)  I hate it when he sees me doing housework.  I like to keep the magic behind the scenes . . . kinda like Disney World in Smalltown, Virginia.  That, and I like to keep his expectations low so that when I actually do some housekeeping I get all kinds of high-fives and chest bumps.  (Although the latter may be more for his enjoyment than any desire to give me accolades.)

Hubby’s been out of town for 9 days and will be returning tomorrow.  He has a lot to be proud of – I’ve, um, been busy.  I am NOT one of those moms who skwooshes her own baby food or concocts her own laundry detergent, so TRUST ME, this behavior is an anomaly.  I plan to return to my normal sloth-like behavior next week.

Things I’ve accomplished since Hubby’s been gone:

1.  Had the guy from Sears come out and repair our dishwasher, which had about an inch of schmat (you know that stuff you think of when you see the floor in a fraternity house?) and dishes that needed to be rewashed even after their spin through the dishwasher.

2.  Noticed a leak in the ceiling, called the home warranty company, and arranged for a plumber to come inspect the Master Bath.

3.  Scheduled appointments for contractors to come next week to give me estimates for how much of my children’s college tuition they will need in order to fix the tile in my shower.

4.  Put the fear o’ God in the lawn guy, who has been dilly-dallying instead of installing the trees that were supposed to planted in June.  (Seriously, our neighbors already hate us; we don't need to give them more fodder, and we agreed we would install these trees MONTHS ago.)  His excuse?  He has a lot of customers.  My response?  I don’t want to be last on your list.  Git ‘er done by Friday or we’re finding another lawn guy. 

5.  Built two book shelves.  Chopped the wood, sawed it, smoothed it, painted it.  Just kidding.  Opened the box from Target and read the instructions.  You know what I did NOT do?  Feed the fish in the tanks on top of the bookshelves.  Gee, I hope they don’t die.

I'm not sure why Small looks like he's
done something bad.  Maybe I should
take a look around while he's napping . . . 

6.  Repurposed the old bookshelf from Medium’s room.  Applied Contact paper to the back and dressed it up a little and voila!  Another flat surface on which we will place items that belong elsewhere.

7.  Painted the door from the laundry room to the garage with chalkboard paint.  We can write fun little messages to each other, and as an added bonus, muddy fingerprints won’t show as much.  That's the plan anyway.

8.  Changed the knobs and drawer pulls in the kitchen.  I painted the knobs a darker color so that they’d match the new drawer pulls that have been waiting patiently to fulfill their drawer-pulling destiny.

Not a particularly flattering photo
of Small.  But you know what?
You refuse to get outta Mommy's
picture?   Mommy posts your
weird little face on the
world wide internets.  

9.  Had the roof cleaned and the siding and deck power washed.  Well, Hubby made all the arrangements, but I wrote the check and left it taped to the front door, so clearly I deserve SOME of the credit for getting this accomplished.

10.  Had the house sprayed for ants, because with three boys and a dog, guess what?  We have ants.  Although why they were in the bathroom is beyond me.

Oh, and also?

Helped Large with his reading project poster, helped Large with his Spanish project powerpoint, got flu shots for all 3 boys, took Medium to art class, took Large to the batting cages, went to choir practice, went to two Boy Scout Den meetings and one Pack meeting, got a bikini wax, arranged for transportation to and from two baseball practices, drank wine with my girlfriends in my kitchen, made sure all the school library books were returned on time, bought shoes to match the dress I’m wearing to Hubby’s work function next weekend, got my toes done, remembered to call my Mother-in-Law on her birthday, took Medium to tutoring, and took the boys out for frozen yogurt.

If you need me, I’ll be taking a nap and gearing up for my next Manic episode, which will probably not arrive for another decade or so.

Ah, the Holidays . . .

Ah, the holidays. 

They bring out the best in all of us, don’t they?

Hubby and I decided we’d take the boys shopping separately so they could each pick out a Christmas gift for their brothers.  We would split up and then meet back at home for dinner in one hour.  We decided on the division of labor using the same method we use for all important decisions in the BoyMommy household:

Rock, Paper, Scissors.

It was a one shot deal; none of this best-out-of-three nonsense.  I was SURE he was going throw “rock” so I threw “paper.”  Alas, he threw “scissors.” 

Crap.

So I took Medium and Small out to Walmart as Hubby said he was taking Large to Target. 

See?  I was set up for failure from the very beginning.

We got out of the car in the Walmart parking lot, which in my town is like going to Cuba from Florida.  One does not keep going once one arrives at the Florida Keys.  Oh no, one STOPS where the gettin's good.  Such is life in our town.  We don’t generally pass the Target because our destination is Walmart.  It’s just not done.  This is not to say that Walmart is a bad place.  It is not.  But OUR Walmart is a bad place, with long checkout lines, messy shelves, and the dregs of society perusing its aisles.

Anyhow, I am situating the boys in the cart when we hear a store patron yelling at the cars in front of him, “come on, people!  Learn to drive already!  Especially you up front!”  Tis the season, after all.

As we’re approaching the front doors . . .

Medium:  “who’s yelling?”

Mommy:  “oh, it’s just people in the parking lot.  All the classiest people in town shop here.”

Medium:  “Whas that mean?  Classy?”

Mommy:  “never mind.”

Medium:  "I don't get it."

By the time we got into the store, Medium had a gift in mind.  Lo and behold, we couldn’t find it in the Walmart.  I called Hubby to make we wouldn’t run into them if we ventured over to Target.  Guess what?  He was HOME already.  F*cker.

So we went to Target, where my first order of business was getting Small’s little legs into the leg holder in the cart so I could strap him down buckle him in.  We searched the aisles and found our intended gift, but there was only one left and it wasn’t the variety we wanted.  We asked for help and a nice gentleman checked the inventory and went searching for our choices.  We waited.  Small squirmed and screamed his new favorite phrase, “I wan gitout.”

Mommy:  "Look at Medium sitting nicely.  Don't you want to sit with Medium like a big boy?"

Small:  "I wan gitout."

Mommy:  "We're gonna sit.  We're not getting out right now."

Small:  "I wan gitout."

Mommy:  "I know you want to get out, but you need to sit on your bum."

Small:  "I wan gitout."  

By the time we checked out, Small was standing in the back of the cart where Medium had been riding.  Unfortunately, he was reaching for the gum/candy/ponytail holders/chapstick/batteries from the just-one-last-thing section of the checkout lane.  Once this ceased, he began emptying the contents of my purse onto the conveyor belt.  I put everything back into my purse and turned around to find him pushing all the buttons on the credit card swiper. 

I picked him up, but he, surprisingly enough, did not want to snuggle right now, so I had to hold him outwards.  He was on my hip with my arm in his armpits, swinging his legs and bucking so that he could free himself from my loving embrace.  I tried to maneuver the cart with one hand out into the parking lot, but of course, as soon as we stepped off the sidewalk and were in the middle of the street, the bag opened up and my purchases fell to the ground. 

Mommy:  "Ugh.  Are you kidding me?"

So I’ve got an unhappy toddler – ever tried to hold a cat who does NOT want to be held? – a heavy cart because Medium is just along for the ride, and a Fisher Price dump truck bouncing along in its cardboard package.  Luckily an older mommy came to my rescue and ran over to help me corral my belongings. 

D*mn you, rock paper scissors!  I’m SO picking rock next time.  If it doesn’t win, I’ll just beat Hubby over the head with it until I get my way.  Happy holidays, my @ss.  Where's my wine?

Condensed Version of my Many Misadventures

I had every intention of writing about my antics every day while Hubby was out of the country, but after days 1 and 2, I was too exhausted to find time to write.  I’m used to Hubby being MIA during the week, either with meetings, late nights at the office, or sports practice, so the weekdays weren't too bad.  The weekends kicked my @ss.  I have even MORE respect for single parents and military wives than I already did. 

So here is my Condensed Version of my many misadventures:

1.  Took Medium to the dentist to get a spacer, or as we call it in our family, “mouth bling.”  For what we’ve paid this dentist, Mommy could have had some hand bling or ear bling, but instead Medium has a mouthful of mouth bling.  Sigh.  Merry Christmas, Medium, you got dental work!

2.  Argued with Large, who is eight years old, about why it is inappropriate for him to watch Eastbound and Down, the HBO comedy series that features an “athlete” named Kenny Powers.  Yes, I know it is about baseball, but I’d prefer Large try to emulate someone whose chief mode of transportation is not a jet ski and who doesn’t toke up in the parking lot of his middle school substitute teaching job.  Call me a prude . . .

3.  Had the following uncomfortable and politically incorrect conversation with my children at the new Chick-fil-A.

Large:  You know what I like about this Chick-fil-A?

Mommy:  What’s that, son? 

Large:  All the people speak English.

Medium:  Yeah, at McDonald’s they all speak Spanish and you can’t unnerstand ‘em.

Mommy:  Well, lots of people speak different languages, and lots of people speak Spanish.

Medium:  They never get it right at McDonald’s.

Large:  Yeah, like last time?  We went to McDonald’s?  They gave me TWO packages of apple fries?  And no french fries!

Medium:  Yeah.  Daddy goes ‘is it TOO much to ask . . . '

Mommy:  Everyone makes mistakes.  Hey!  Is that a talking cow?

I’m hoping that the nice Hispanic gentleman and his two children who were sitting directly behind us did not hear this conversation.

4.  Loaded up all three kids in the Swagga Wagon and drove them through a torrential downpour to Target, which is the logical place to visit the eye doctor.  (I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: when you think good eye health, you think Target.  If they had a gynecologist and a dentist I’d never have to go anywhere else.)  We arrived only to find out that we no longer have vision coverage.  When I spoke to the Aetna representative on the phone and explained that I’m pretty sure we do, indeed, have vision coverage, he informed me that his computer system was down and he could not access my records.    This was a slight improvement over last week when I called and got a voice message that their phone system was down.  A tad bit annoyed . . . ahem. . . . I informed the operator that I was standing IN the doctor’s office WITH my 3 offspring for an appointment that was made months ago.  The operator apologized, and I use the term loosely, by saying "I'm sorry ma'am but I don't have a magic wand that can make the computers work."  Clearly not a parent himself, he suggested that we “give it a half hour” and try again.  

Sure.  

We’ll sit here with our hands folded in our laps and wait patiently for 30 minutes, at which point we will try again and may or may not be met with success.  Forget it.  Medium doesn’t need to see the blackboard.  He probably doesn’t pay attention anyway.

5.  You know how the media is all abuzz about Alex Baldwin being kicked off a plane for acting like my toddler refusing to power off and for slamming a bathroom door?  I was reading an article and the reader responses on MSN when this response caught my eye:

“I think all cell phones should be banned from aircraft as well as camera's, radio's, people with pacemakers, fat people (they're heavy), babies (adult one's too), underwear, bra's, people wearing lose fitting cloths, old people, deaf people (they can't hear the flight attendants yell at them), blind people (can't see which flight attendant is yelling at them), handicap people (they get in the way of us normal people), airline employee's (I don't like the fact they fly for free)....have I left anything out?”

I had to respond.  I just HAD to.  So I logged on and gave myself a user name and everything just so I could post this:

“um, you left out "people who know how to spell" and "apostrophe's."

Seriously, I could NOT help myself.  The Grammar Police ride again . . .

6.  Paid a nanny/babysitter the equivalent of a car payment so I could accompany my dad to the hospital for minor surgery.  (I’ll let you in on a little secret though . . . sitting in the waiting room afforded me enough time to address my Christmas cards, read a few chapters of my book, and catch up on my celebrity gossip.)  I was full of jokes that day too.  Lucky Dad. 

• When the nurse came to attach his IV and apologized that it would hurt when it came time to remove it because it would pull his arm hair, I casually looked up from my magazine and suggested they tape it to his head . . . there’s no hair to worry about there.
• When they asked if my dad had an advanced directive or a living will, I pulled a well-worn copy out of my back pocket.  Carry that bad boy with me.  Just in case.
• When the receptioninst asked for his emergency information, I made him change his next of kin from my brother, who lives within 10 miles of my dad, to me, because clearly I am the responsible one. 
• The doctor made him wear those special white compression socks that help with circulation.  I dubbed them Medical Spanx.

Apparently I am full o’ the jokes when I’m uncomfortable.  When they let me see him after surgery, the nurse patted my hand and said, “he did fine.  I know you were worried.  You looked very nervous when we took him back . . . I was more worried about you than I was about him!”

Pillar of strength, just like always.


*  PS - Click those ads!  Tiny Tim needs new crutches.

My Adventures as a Single Mom, Day One

Hubby is in India for a 10-day business trip, so I am single-mom’in it.  We survived Day 1, but it was not uneventful. 

What will I be doing while my spouse is gone?  Funny you should ask.  The answer, my friend, is laundry.  Lots and lots of laundry.   

We woke up one day last week to discover that, at some point, our washer must have leaked/overflowed/vomited water all over our mudroom floor.  We figured I had overloaded it in an overzealous attempt to getdonefaster!  But when we returned from Thanksgiving and started a load of laundry, we again found ourselves swimming in what was formerly known as our laundry room.  We scheduled a service appointment for two days later, which should have been Wednesday.  Sure enough, the guy-who-sits-at-the-phone-with-the-sassy-headset called and had to reschedule . . . for December 8.  I panicked! gently explained that we are a family of 5, three of whom are young boys, and I cannot wait that long to do laundry.  He acquiesced and agreed to send someone on December 2, which is today. 

My washer is now fixed, which is a blessing in disguise.  I did two loads of laundry at my neighbor’s house on Wednesday.  (But don’t tell her because she doesn’t know.)  (Okay, that’s a joke.  She knows.  She knows NOW at least . . . )  But now I have A LOT of laundry to do, including a giant load of beach towels that need to be washed because we used them to sop up the standing water in our mudroom.  The irony is not lost on me. 

In other news, Medium lost a tooth today.  I have a hard enough time remembering to move our Elf, Neeney.  (That’s right – his name is Neeney Sweeney.)  Countless times I’ve had to make up a reason why Neeney is in the same place he was yesterday, even though he is supposed to report back to Santa each night and reappear in a different spot.  Perhaps he was just too tired from all the fun and decided to stay last night.  Or maybe he just really likes that spot, so he visited Santa and then returned to the same place.  Or maybe you were bad, bad little boys.  The point?  I sometimes forget to move Neeney and now I have the extra responsibility of remembering to be the Tooth Fairy too?

Thhhhhhh . . . 

I have also concluded that I should have gone to Target today.  Today was the first day this week I have NOT been to Target.  I went Monday because . . . well, just because.  Tuesday I went to look for a toy I had seen on Monday, price-checked at other retailers, and decided I needed to purchase at Target.  Wednesday I went to purchase all the little travel-size accoutrements Hubby needed for his trip but neglected to tell me about when I was there on Tuesday.  Thursday we went as a family to kill time until bedtime to purchase gifts for our Trim-a-Tree at church and for a neighborhood charity.  IF I had gone this afternoon, I may have avoided the embarrassing incident in which one of my children had to apologize for breaking a tail light. 

The boys were playing in the front yard with a friend while I sat on the front step and engaged in a grown-up phone conversation with a girlfriend.  We live on a street that doesn’t get much thru-traffic, so it’s not uncommon for the boys to play catch in the street.  One of my boys (betcha can’t guess which one!) was throwing a Matchbox car up into the air.  This, of course, is not advisable, wise, or what God intended when He invented Matchbox cars.  Lo and behold, he threw the car up into the air, his aim was off, and it hit the tail light of my neighbor’s parents’ car, which was parked in front of their house.  I didn’t know how hard it hit until Medium came running up the yard and cried, “I’m in big trouble!”  He apologized to the owner, admitted he had made a bad decision, and shook hands, and I said we would pay for the damage. 

Surprisingly enough, this is not the first time we’ve found ourselves in a situation such as this. 

Day One: FAIL.