He Rubs Me the Wrong Way

The last few days I have been feeling pretty crappy, so hubs decided to cheer me up with a joke.
He opened his laptop and proceeded with the following (of which, I am sure that I am butchering, but, bear with me . . .)


A boy asked his mother, "Why is my big sister named MoonChild?"
The mother said, "Because she was conceived when the first man landed on the moon."

I chuckled, and hubs continued to read.

The son continued, "Why is my other sister named CornFlower?"
The mother said, "Because she was conceived in a corn field."

I smiled again. I could see where this was going. Hubby continued the joke from his laptop.

"Why is big brother named ThunderingStorm?" he asked. She replied, "Because he was made during a storm."

He paused, and I waited expectantly for the punchline. Hubs smiled and delivered the one liner.

The mother continued, "Why are you so curious Tom Rubber?"

Hubby laughed out loud and looked over at me for my reaction.

"Hon? Are you sure it's Tom Rubber? Isn't it supposed to be Torn Rubber?" I questioned.

Instantly, hubs rubbed his eyes, squinted at the screen, and then turned red. "Yep. Torn Rubber."

Then we looked at each other and burst out laughing. When we finally caught our breath, I asked him, "Doesn't Torn Rubber make more sense? Tom Rubber isn't even funny."

Hubby just chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. Which leads me to two thoughts. One, hubby muffed the line on purpose to make me laugh because he knew that I was feeling crappy. Or two, (which is clearly the more likely answer) hubs screwed up the punch line because we are getting old and he couldn't see it, but he still laughed because it had the word rubber in it.

After all, boys will be boys.

Annie . . . Phone Home

Dear Verizon,

It has become clear to me that during our 6 years together, our relationship has been rather one-sided. A normal relationship consists of a mutual give and take. Unfortunately though, I give, give, give you my money and you take, take, take it. In order for our relationship to continue, you need to give me the following items . . .

1.) A working phone. Simple enough concept. If you want me to continue to give you money to use your phone, then the phone MUST work. Silly. I know. Phones that lose their signal, phones that die after being dropped from my purse, phones that can not withstand the grubby fingers of a two year old, or phones refuse to ring are not acceptable.

2.) Good customer service. This does not include being put on hold for extended lengths of time only to be connected with a computer automated voice. This does not include "helping" me by connecting me with someone that does not speak English. This does not include offering to "upgrade" my service instead of properly fixing the service I already pay for. This does include answering my questions patiently and with courtesy. This does include speaking with me without rolling your eyes, sighing, or sneaking in a snarky comment. And, if I am actually in your store seeking help and you offer my kids a lollipop bribe so that we can finish our transaction, I will probably swoon with delight. Just sayin'.

3.) A contract that does not require me to sign over my first born child - or - cut off an appendage -or- mortgage my house to pay it in full each month. Enough said.

4.) The option to have an iphone. Yes. I know that currently ATT and Apple are in cahoots. And, yes. I know that you have the Blackberry and other gadgets. But, let me say this loud and clear, your gadgets and apps ARE NOT IN THE SAME LEAGUE with the iphone. My phone with a touch screen might as well be singing MC Hammer's Can't Touch This. The screen is like a leper colony. Seriously. It does not compare despite what your salesman pitched.

5.) Valid phone insurance. After kid number 2 flushed one of my phones, you offered me "insurance" for my phone. For 5 dollars a month for the life of the two year contract, I could get insurance on my phone. When I asked if that meant I would get a replacement for free, you said no. The replacement would be only $50. So, let me get this straight. If I pay you for 24 months, $5, for a total of $120.00, then I can purchase a phone for $50? I may not be a mathematician, but isn't that $170 for a replacement phone? Really?? This is insurance?? I guess I really want to know how many people take you up on that offer.

So, dear Verizon, do you think that you will be able to give me what I need? If not, I just may be reaching out to touch ATT the next time.

Your customer,
Annie

A Fowl Day

There was a bird inside my house today.

An outside bird.

Inside.

My house.

I am beginning to think that I live in the Wild Kingdom. (Remember the squirrel from awhile back? If you are new, you need to click that link to read about him. Seriously. You do.)

Anyhow, I was puttering around in the remodeling zone that is my kitchen when I heard the sound.

"Tweet! Tweet! TWEETY TWEET TWEET!!"

At first, I actually thought, "Wow! What a pretty spring song!" Then, I realized that the melody was loud. Really loud. Entirely too loud for me to be hearing with such clarity when the windows to my house were shut.

I consulted help for fear I was officially going crazy and hearing tweeting in my head. "Ab? Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" she answered. Typical kid!

"Tweet! Tweet! TWEETY TWEET TWEET!!" chirped the bird, and I replied to Ab, "THAT! Do you hear that bird?"

She got up from her seat, joined me in the kitchen and strained her ear. "Yep, mom. It's definitely a bird, so what?"

"So???? It's in the house somewhere! That's what!"

And with that, I went off in search of the tweeter armed and ready. I was carrying an upside broom and a flyswatter. That's right. I made weapons out of my cleaning tools. I am good like that.

I followed that tweet and soon I was led to the basement where there he sat. Right outside my laundry room door. Looking at me.

I'll admit. I didn't have a clue about what to do in this situation. I mean, really, this wasn't exactly in the job description. And, I knew that I did not have Cinderella's charms to coax tweety into making me a fabulous formal gown, so I just had to, ahem, wing it. ( I know. I know. That was bad. I just couldn't resist.)

With broom aloft, I charged!

Unafraid, tweety charged right back wings flapping furiously.

And, my friends, I will tell you with all honesty that that flapping got to me. Got. to. me. The noise of those flaps, and also the sight of it gave me a case of the willies so bad that I ran, screaming, up the steps two at a time and slammed the basement door.

Clearly, I needed to reformulate my plan, I thought as I leaned and panted against the basement door. Then, I caught sight of my daughter.

"Ab! Stop laughing!!! Get up and run and get me a towel!!" I ordered. Bless her little heart, even though her sides were probably aching from laughter, she fetched me a towel, and I went back to battle.

With towel in hand, I cautiously opened the basement door.

"TWEET!"

I slammed the door again.

Yes. That's right. That tweeter followed me up the stairs and was now perched on the top step just beyond the door. Tweeter!

So, I did the only thing that I could. I took him by surprise. I flung the door open, threw the towel over him, scooped him up, and ran out the door. Once on my deck, I dropped the towel and the tweeter escaped to the skies.

He was free!

But, more importantly, I was free of a wild animal in my home.

That is, my house is free of wild animals if you do not include my kiddies or hubs, but that, of course is a post for another day.

Just call me the bird whisperer.

Where's the Beef?

My family decided to make me dinner yesterday for Mother's Day, which is no small feat considering the fact that we have no kitchen at the moment.

Hubs was proud of the menu he had planned: Grilled steak, stuffed mushrooms, and a salad. Not bad. Not bad at all.

With grocery list in hand, he headed out the door with the kiddies to get the supplies.
Twenty five minutes later, my cell phone rang and I knew that it couldn't be good.

"Honey?" hubs questioned.

"Yes?" I answered wondering what culinary question it would be this time. Grocery trips from hubby usually yielded at least 2 phone calls. It was pretty normal.

"How much do you usually pay for 4 steaks?"

I mentally did some calculations and then gave him my answer. "Well, that would depend on which kind of steak I am buying, how many pounds total it is, etc.? Why?"

I could sense his frustration when he came back at me with, "Aaaan . . .nnie!" Then he sighed. "Can you just ballpark it for me?"

Trying to diffuse the situation I answered, "Well if I am going cheap, maybe 10-12 dollars and if I am going for a nicer cut of steak, maybe double that."

I only heard silence at the other end. Then, "Oh."

"Oh what, hub?"

"Oh . . . . then $89.oo is too much."

I almost choked on my chewing gum! "$89 dollars!!! Are you serious? What did you pick out?"

And then he patiently explained that he went to the butcher counter, picked out the best looking, beefiest steaks and then asked for 4 of them. Only after he put them in the cart did he realize that they were $20 a pound.

So, he returned them to the counter and chose a more moderate steak for dinner.

All in all, my Mother's Day steak dinner was great, and I even resisted the urge to comment, "Where's the Beef?" when I was given my steak.

I'm good like that.

Sometimes.

To Ethan on his Birthday

Dear Ethan,

Six years ago you made me the mom of a boy. What a wonderful (and exhausting) experience! Just so that we keep our records straight, I thought we should peruse the list that I keep in your baby book. I want to make sure that we are in complete agreement when it comes time for you to make arrears. I have enclosed the list below.

Ethan's Expenditures . . .

1. One cell phone. Flushed down the toilet. The verizon people were not happy when I told them it had been swimming in poo.

2. One cell phone. Thrown in the washer when you were "helping" with laundry.

3. One toilet. After you flushed the spring loaded toilet paper holder, it "sprung" open in the toilet causing a poo dam. No snake or plumber could figure out what exactly you had flushed and why it was causing such a backup. Only after your father removed the toilet, brought in in the backyard, and had at it with a sledgehammer did we find out about the tp holder. We had several beers over the shards of porcelain that night in the backyard.

4. One dvd player. This died a very violent and painful death after you stuffed a peanut butter sandwich in it.

5. One bedroom door. After you locked yourself in your sister's bedroom and we could hear your wicked giggles through the door, we tried in vain to remove the doorknob. When the 70 year old knob proved to be unremovable, dad was forced to break down the door. You clapped in delight.

6. One bathroom door. I really should have realized how much you liked your previous experience, because soon thereafter, you did it again. This time it was the bathroom, and when we called to you to unlock the door, you giggled and said, "Nooooooo!" We tried the lock, again, to no avail. Finally dad used a running start and broke down the bathroom door too. Your sister said, "WOW! Dad looks just like Mr. Incredible!" You laughed even as we put you in time out. From that point on, we put dry washcloths over the door hinges to prevent you from closing the doors.

7. One 39 inch TV. I should have realized that it was your target after I found 11 DVD's shoved into the slit that held the door to hide the power buttons. I did not, however. Once the dvd's were removed, you stealthily stuck your straw from your juice box in the same slit and you juiced the TV's electrical board. I didn't notice the damage until the TV turned on by itself and then randomly turned channels and increased and decreased its own volume. At first, I thought it was possessed, but then I remembered the skill of my baby boy. You had struck again. Dad wasn't too upset, because he got to purchase a much-too-big flat screen TV to replace the one you destroyed.

8. One phone line. This was discovered one day when our phone was dead. Our internet connection was also non-existent. Imagine my surprise when the phone repairman followed the line from the wall behind the furniture to the place where you had cut right through it with your lefty safety scissors. You said you were "Practicing" for school. You were such a good student!


So, all in all, at 6 years old, you have probably cost us an extra $2000. You can pay me back by having a few adorable grandchildren that will raise hell and torture you just as you have done to me and your dad.

And always remember, that no matter how much you have cost us, the joy, the laughter and the smiles that you bring to our life are priceless my boy, priceless.

We love you!

Happy 6th Birthday!

Love,

Mommy

Celebrate! Celebrate! Dance to the Music!

Break out the champagne! (Or at least a cold beer, in my case.)

It is time to celebrate!!

Why celebrate, you ask?

A momentous occasion, my dears. A positively momentous occasion!

After 8 long years, there are no more diapers in my house. Ellerie has poopied on the potty!

Whoooeeeee!

No more Pampers, Huggies, or Luvs. No more sweet smelling baby powder butts that turn toxic quicker than a blink of an eye. No more picking up a kiddie to sniff a butt to determine its freshness (or lack there of). No more $10 a week necessary grocery trip.

I am dying I am sooooo excited.

And with that extra $40 dollars in my monthly budget, I am thinking pedicure people.

Either that or a new pair of shoes a month.

Whatever!

I don't care.

No! more! diapers!

Someone quick. Get me a beer! It's time to celebrate!

I Love You, but I Want To Kill You

****************I am linking this to Travis' Memoir Monday! Go visit him and the others. They are a hoot. Really. ******************
Hubs and I spent the weekend installing our new kitchen cabinets.

Yes.

We are still married despite this.

Even though there were a few challenges like mismeasurements and oddly placed electrical outlets, we survived them and each other.

Not bad.

Not bad at all, I say.

After all, we have definitely been through worse. In fact, six years ago this week, my lovely Ethan was born, and it was a miracle that hubby survived that one.

A miracle, I tell you.

Since Ethan is our second child, we were much more relaxed going into the laboring process. In fact, when my obstetrician recommended I meet him at the hospital after one of my weekly appointments, I did not panic. Instead, I agreed, and immediately called hubs. Being that it was May and we were having beautiful spring weather, he was at the golf course.

"Honey, are you ready?" I asked.

"For what?"he replied.

"Ummm. The baby?" I reminded him.

"The baby?!?" he excitedly repeated. "When?"

"Well, I am supposed to go over to the hospital this evening because my blood pressure was up," I explained.

Then, there was an uncomfortable pause. "Oh, " he said, and I knew what was coming. "Well considering how long your last labor was, do you think I can finish golfing before I go to the hospital?"

So, there you have it. I was about to give birth to our second child, and the man wanted to finish his golf round. Par for the course, of course.

Truthfully, I didn't mind that he wanted to golf. He is not the most patient of men when it comes to waiting, and laboring with child usually involves lots and lots of waiting. So, he met me at the hospital when I was already 5 centimeters. I received my epidural and was feeling quite fabulous. (Thank you God for anesthesiologists and epidurals. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!)

A few hours later, it was time to push, and push I did. Hubs assumed his position next to me and coached me by counting to 10 over and over. All was going well, until I began to feel something . . . and that something was pain. Intense pain. Fire in my crotch pain. Base on my past experience, I knew that something was not right.

"This HURTS!!" I yelled.

The nurse tried to reassure me with, "Of course it hurts. We want to make sure that you can feel enough to be able to push, but the epidural should be taking the brunt of the pain away."

I nodded, turning red and tried to remain calm. "I know that it is supposed to hurt a little, even with an epidural, but THIS REALLY HURTS!"

Hubs tried to reassure me, "Honey, you can do this! Just like last time, focus and push!"

I interrupted him enough to yell, "This is NOT like last time! THIS HURTS LIKE HELL! SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING!!!"

The nurse paused and checked the epidural monitor, "You are at your maximum level for meds. You just need to relax."

I was infuriated. No one was listening to me, my hoo-ha was burning like a hot poker, and the last thing on my mind was relaxing. In fact, I felt like killing someone.

It was then that a look of terror washed over hub's face. I knew that he knew something and, that that something wasn't good.

"What?! What?! What?!" I screamed.

He said nothing, but instead bent over, and with shame, he picked up my epidural line off of the floor.

Yes. That's right. Hubs had pulled my epidural line out of my back. While I was in labor. WITH HIS CHILD. I wanted to strangle him right then and there with that very line. I really did.

Apparently, during all of my pushing and breathing and his intense coaching, he had inadvertently stepped on my epidural line and disconnected it from the catheter in my back. Consequently, I had been receiving none of the glorious and wonderful painkillers that I loved. By no choice of my own, I was laboring with my baby au naturale. Not fun my friends. Not fun at all!

And . . . I was legitimately in PAIN!

As hubs tried to apologize over and over, I kept screaming at the nurse to "Putitbackin! PUTITBACKIN!! NOW!"

Unfortunately, I quickly found out that although she reconnected the line, my baby was crowning and minutes later, I delivered all 9 pounds and 1 ounce of baby Ethan without the benefit of epidural.

All because hubs screwed up.

Moral of the story . . .
If we are still married after that, we can survive anything.