If I Wanted To Kill You . . .

"Honey? Are you trying to kill me?" Hubs asked me as he stepped out of the shower.

I spit out my toothpaste, looked at his reflection in the vanity mirror, and replied, "Ummm.  No.  Why?"

"Well . . ." he paused, " then where is the bath mat?"  he accused.

"The bath mat?" I mocked.

"Yes."  He stated simply.  "The.bath.mat!"  He emphasized slowly to prove his point.  "I almost slipped on the wet tile floor just now because there is no bath mat."

As I wiped the toothpaste residue from my chin, I laughed. 

Loudly.

He eyed me sideways and shot me a perplexed question.

"What?"

I turned away from his confused mirror reflection and faced him fully to look him in the eye. On tiptoes, I smiled as I gave him a peck on the tip of his nose, and then I patiently explained,  "Dear, if I had wanted to kill you, I would not have stolen the bath mat.  Because truthfully, making you slip and fall would not guarantee death. You could slip, fall, and break your neck and then become disabled.  Then, I would have to take care of you."

His eyes were wide as he listened to my explanation.  I continued.

"Nope.  If I had stolen the bath mat, probability states you would no doubt survive.  No good for me if I am looking for your life insurance money.  Nope.  No good at all.  If I were to kill you, I would probably poison your morning coffee without you knowing, kind of like the secretaries did to the boss in 9 to 5, but, you know, successfully."

Finished, I smiled, kissed him again, and left the bathroom.

When Hubs was able to speak coherently, he threw after me, "Good to know Annie.  Good to know!"

Anytime babe.

Anytime.

***********************************************

If you want to read about another time that hubs thought I was trying to kill him please read . . .The Ties that Bind.

And don't forget to follow me on Twitter . . . @annieinsanity

The One Where I am a Shit

I confess.

I have been somewhat a pain in the ass to live with this week.

What with worrying about my dad and his health and raging PMS hormones to boot, I have been a walking, talking pimple faced she devil.

Not pretty folks.

Not pretty.

I even (unknowingly) picked a fight with hubs not once, not twice, but probably every freakin' day this week.  Not huge fights, mind you, but fights like, "You loaded the dishwasher wrong!" 

Never mind the fact that hubs was actually doing the dishes.

That fact, the big one, I could not see.

Instead, I picked at him about his time spent at camp with the basketball boys and his time spent at his 2nd  job and his time away at golf.  

And now that my hormones have calmed down and I am not so preoccupied with worries, I am riddled with guilt because I realize that I have been a shit.

I have been a shit. . .

and  . . . the man still loves me
and brings me my coffeein the morning just the way I like it,
and takes me for chocolate peanut butter ice cream just because,
and plays with the kids in the pool so that I can read a book,
and he loves me.

I am such a lucky girl.

Such.a.lucky.girl.

Seriously.


*****Linking to PYO with Shell.****************

When Blessings Come in Disguise

A shot of whiskey would have been great last night.

While the kids and I were at the ball field,  a line of low angry clouds marched boldly toward us from the west.  I cautiously kept one eye on my iPhone weather application while my other eye was shooting the umpire silent messages to call the game.  Hearing a low rumble of thunder, I ordered the girls to the car and was just about to don my crazy mom mask to run out on the field and bodily remove Ethan from the game when the umps called the game. 



This is an actual picture of the sky from our area posted to a friends FB page.

 The entire mile and a half home the wind rocked my car from different directions, while the radio steadily beeped weather warnings.  When I heard the kids actually begin to whimper from the back, I turned off the radio and spoke calmly.

"Guys.  It's OK.  When I stop the car and open the side door, just run for the house.  I will grab Ellerie."
Then, I stopped the car, turned around, and gave them my best smile, "Ok?  It will be fun."

The kiddies didn't smile back, and when I opened that side door and the wind rushed in . . .  the car noticeably rocked and the panic set in.

"OK!  GO!"

And we ran.  As sheets of rain came at us sideways, we ran the 50 feet to the house and made it inside safely.

I herded the kids into the basement with flashlights in tow, started the kids on a game, and turned on the TV.

Then I called hubs.

He was on the highway on his way home from golf. 

"I'm OK hon.  I have never seen the sky so black though.  It is eerie.  I am by the mall. I should be home in 20 minutes . . ." his voice trailed off.

"Paul? Are you still there? "

Silence.

I had lost the call.

Phone in hand, I turned my attention back to the TV, and there on the news was the weather man showing pictures of the weather camera at the mall.


Talking about the roof being blow off the  hamburger joint at the mall.

Talking about the roof being blow off the Penney's store.

Talking about the traffic on the highway being stopped.


I clutched at my throat because suddenly, my necklace felt 3 inches too tight.  I turned my phone over in my hand and dialed hubs' number.

Riiiiinnnnng.

Riiiiinnnnng.


Riiiiinnnnng.


And then I heard hubs' voice on his voice mail.

"Shit," I whispered.  I turned off the TV.

"Mom?  Are you OK?"  Abs questioned.

I smiled weakly.  "Yep.  I'll be right back."

I crept up the stairs, walked to the dark dining room, sat down and dialed again.

Riiiiinnnnng.


Riiiiinnnnng.

Riiiiinnnnng.

With shaking hands, I pushed the end call button.

And then I sat in the dark  . . . and cried.

My thoughts went to all those dark places that thoughts should never go.  What ifs marched through my thoughts as my heart raced and my hands shook. 

And I cried.



And as I cried, I prayed. 

I prayed for Paul and his safety. 

I prayed for everyone in the storm's path.

I prayed for strength.



Finally, my hand shook with vibrations from my phone, and on the other end was the sweetest voice I have ever heard.

"Babe? I'm OK," hubs said.

And I cried.

With big heaving gulps, I cried.

Rainbow after the storm.

I am blessed.

Truly.


**************End note . . . we are all OK and damages are minor in our area.  Today, I feel incredibly blessed, and I continue to pray for those that have been affected by these storms.*********************








I am linking to Shell's Things I Can't Say . . . because although I could write this, I could not speak this or explain this without losing it.

OH MICKEY YOU'RE SO FINE . . . Except When You Are a Mouse in My Kitchen . . .

Hubs launched into his diatribe before I could even get my coffee this morning.

"Annie, I swear.  It was like he was mocking me."

Unable to answer him without caffeine, I casually looked at him and raised my right eyebrow in a question mark.

He acknowledged my question with further explanation.  "I was just sitting in the chair last night, and he came out from under the cabinet, stopped, and looked at me.  Really.looked.at.me!  As if he was saying, 'You've got nothing, big man.  You've. got. nothing!'  And then he ran right into the fireplace." Hubs pointed to the fireplace and the gas logs that were now strewn haphazardly around the hearth for emphasis.

I swallowed my coffee, letting the caffeine do its work, and I asked the question hubs did not want to hear.  "So you are saying that this mouse has gotten the best of you?" I paused and then goaded a little, "C'mon Paul . . .really?!"

His answer was swift and immediate.  "Oh no.  Not my best. Mickey can't look at me like that.  No way!  IT IS ON!!!"  He was using his coach pre-game pump up voice.  And before he could utter the words, I knew what hubs would say next.

"This. means. WAR!"

So, tonight the war between Mickey and hubs is on.  Traps will be set, and if I know Mickey, I am pretty sure that those same traps will also be thwarted.

I mean, if Mickey could outsmart Nathan Lane . . .


imdb.com

 Hubs just doesn't stand a chance.

Stay tuned for Mousehunt II . . . The Midwest War!

Day 11 of 30 and It's Not Going Too Well . . .

Pamela at the Road to Joy put out a challenge recently.

The challenge was that for 30 days you had to actively look for the positive in your mate.  You had to specifically acknowledge that positive to him or her and then you had to publicly share your praise of him or her.

"Easy peasy," I thought.

Hubs has millions of fabulous qualities.  Surely I could come up with a mere 30 to praise him and spread the love.  This would be no sweat.

I imagined birds suddenly appearing every time I got near him  . . .
to give him his daily positive thought. 

I imagined stars falling down from the sky every time he walked by  . . . when I gave him a word or two of encouragement.

I imagined all the girls (around blog town), following him, all around . . . just to be close to him in all of his positive awesomeness.

It would be great.

Day one  I threw hubs a compliment over lunch. 

"Hon?   I love that you make me laugh."

He raised his eyebrow at me while chewing his salad.  "Umm, " crunch, crunch, "what?" crunch, crunch, "That is totally random but . . . thanks?"

So, the angels weren't getting together to sprinkle moon dust in his hair anytime soon.  I still forged on.

Day two I tried to compliment his physique while he was getting dressed.

"You have great arms, you know?"  I cooed.

He stopped in mid-dress, looked at me, and said seriously, "Arms?  I have good arms?  What is that about?"

This 30 day positive challenge was clearly not the dream come true I imagined.

But I have learned a few things.  I have learned . . .

1) I clearly do not praise hubs enough if every time I do praise him he thinks that I am up to something.
2) Although my intentions are pure, I have forgotten to do the challenge on multiple days.
3) I think that if I do not make praising hubs a conscious decision daily, he probably doesn't get many positive pats on the back, and that makes me just sad.
4) This challenge is MUCH HARDER than I thought.  Not because hubs is anything less than fantastic, but because I am.  I am human, and sometimes it is EASIER to see the negative.
5)I am committed to continue this challenge because it a) makes hubs and me feel good, and b) I hate to lose.


************My sincere apologies to the Carpenter's for butchering their Close to You song.*********

Confessions of My Crazy Love

I confess . . .  I leave broken egg shells in the sink.  I know about salmonella.  I know that the shells muck up the garbage disposal.  I know.  I know.  I still do it.

I confess . . . I sweep up the floor and leave the dirt and crumbs in a pile.  I am lazy.  I don't want to find the dust pan. . .  and I know that hubs will pick it up as soon as he sees it.

I confess . . . I forget to shut the garage door. ( In my defense, the button IS six feet high and clearly not in my five foot two line of sight.)


I confess. . . I have accidentally emailed my hubs' school secretary about how he had polluted the bathroom that morning.


I confess . . .I do not screw the lids back onto containers correctly.  Consequently, hubs has dumped an entire jar of chili powder into his chili instead of just a few tablespoons.

I confess. . . I laughed about the chili powder.

I confess . . . I laughed until I cried about the chili powder.


I confess . . . I have fed my hubs string (Yes.  Actual string!) for dinner causing him to think that I was trying to kill him.


I confess . . . my van should play the theme to Sanford and Sons.  At any one time, there may be decaying french fries, a used sucker stuck to the window, and 6 coffee cups left behind in order to make my van a science experiment  on wheels.

I confess . . . I get a little irrational at certain times of the month.  I cry unexpectedly, like at Geico commercials.  I yell about stupid things, like when hubs put his foot underneath the area rug and wrinkled it.  I vacillate between "hold me" and "get the hell away from me!"

I confess . . . I may be underestimating the above.  I am all out crazy.  Hubs has come home to entire rooms rearranged and painted. . . just because.


I confess . . . I drive hubs crazy . . . crazy in love!



******************Linking to Mama Kat's today!**************************

The Day That Football Died

Side note . . .

I initially posted this, got scared of its possible repercussions, and then took it down.  After sleeping on it, I have decided that although it may anger some people, it is my truth.   And . . .  I have told nothing but my truth. 

So, I am reposting it.

I am putting it out there.

Thanks for reading.

***********************************************************************************
I could instantly tell from hub's face that something was wrong. As he heavily dropped his laptop case from his shoulders, I noticed that his sunburned cheeks did nothing to hide his paleness beneath, and as he opened his mouth to speak, his words would not form.


He closed his mouth silently, looked at the ground, and tried again.

"Life at K's house is bad, Annie. Bad."

It was one simple word, but it spoke volumes between us. I busied my hands by wiping the counter, and asked simply, "How bad Paul?"

He didn't hesitate as he brought his gaze to meet mine. "Bad. Ugly. Just not right."

He slumped onto the couch.

K was one of hub's football players. He wasn't a great athlete, and he wasn't even a great student for that matter. But despite these shortcomings, hubs and I both knew that K was a great kid. K was the kind of kid that never missed a practice even if he knew that he wouldn't start on Friday night. He was the kid that was polite to a fault with "yes ma'ams" and "no ma'ams" rolling from his lips without effort. Despite living in an apartment with his single mom and working extra part time jobs to help out, he was the kid that found reasons to always smile. K was a good kid.

I knew that if hubs was saying it was bad, then it was really and truly bad.

I stopped wiping down the counter and noticed that I had shined one very clean, circular spot while I was thinking about K. I half-heartedly chuckled, rested both hands on my very pregnant belly, and began.

"Well . . . what can we do? " Then I hesitated. I knew what hubs was thinking, but I also knew he didn't know how to ask me. So, I voiced the question for both of us. "Does he need a place to stay? Does he need a safe place?"

Hubs swallowed and answered truthfully, "I don't know, but I am going to talk to him. I am going to let him know that we are on his side.  That he is safe."


That's just the kind of man that hubs is.


He has driven to kid's houses to get them out of bed and to practice, he has counseled kids that were heading down the wrong path, and he has even provided odd jobs for kids, knowing that they wouldn't accept charity when their power had been turned off but knowing that they wouldn't turn away work.

Hubs is a good man.


He is a good man that turned in his football coach resignation yesterday.


No, he did not do it to have more time with us, his family.

No, he did not do anything wrong.

No, he was not forced to resign.



Let me explain . . .


In our small school district, there have always been anonymous rumblings about hubs being able to coach two sports. The anonymous rumblers usually complain, get it out, and move on. This time, apparently, the rumblers moved on, alright. Hubs was told that he was being given a choice about his coaching. He would not go into detail or bad mouth any person, but I know hubs and I can read between the lines.

Hubs was given a choice alright. He could continue to coach both sports knowing that he would not be supported against the rumblers, or he could give up one coaching position.

What a choice!

So, hubs took the high road. He chose to not stoop to the level of the " anonymous rumblers". He chose to give up his football team. He chose to show those boys, his boys, that despite petty, political maneuvering, their coach was still the same old, good man. He chose to be a good example of what it is to be a man of character.

He chose to be a good man.


I couldn't be more proud.


And hub's take? He is saddened, but he is positive. "Annie, I am OK. We will be OK. Nobody died. When we are 87, this will just be a road bump."

But, I disagree.

I think that he is wrong. Something did die.

That little part of me that believed that every person is inherently good?

That little part of me is gone.



********Update******************Thank you to KS who provided me with a little clarity. If I lose the part of me that has the ability to see the good in people, then they win. Since I hate to lose, I will hold on to that part for a while longer. :) ********************************************

He's No Fabio. Just Sayin'.

Hubs came in the house beaming.  I could tell that he had just had his haircut, and he was carrying a brown paper bag under his arm.

He smiled and said, "Well?"

Knowing exactly what he meant, I answered, "Looks good.  Short.  Like you like it.  Which place did you go to?"

He grinned, pleased with my assessment, "Oh.  Up the street.  You know, the sports one," he explained as he shrugged out of his winter coat.

I giggled, knowingly.  "What?  What are you implying with that giggle?"  he asked.

"Oh nothing,"  I breezed.  "Except, isn't that the place where the hairdressers give you a massage while you are in the chair? "  I interrogated.

He blushed.  "Yeah . . ." he replied, his voice trailing off.

"Yeah . . . what  . . .?"  I pushed.

"Well, I did go to that hair place, and I did get my hair cut, but I also got something else. . ." Clearly, hubs was being evasive, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why.

I waited.

He eyed me.

I stared intently.

He dropped my gaze.

I won.

He began, "Well,  the shampoo that they use just feels so good.  So, I bought some, you know, for here."

Not understanding why that was such a big deal, I answered slowly, "OK.  So you bought some shampoo.  So what?"

And, as he pulled the small green bottle from the brown paper bag, he whisper rushed through his explanation. 

"Itwaselevendollars."

"I'm sorry, " I said.  "What?"

He looked me right in the eye, slowed down his speech and owned it saying, "It. was. eleven. dollars."

Then he held my gaze and waited for my reaction.

Finally, I could contain myself no more.  I dropped my steely gaze and burst out laughing.

Hubs was confused.  "What?"  he asked.  "What's so funny?"

And when I caught my breath I explained, "You just spent eleven dollars on shampoo for your hair.  Your hair that may be approximately 1/4 inch long  . . .on a good day!" 

Then, I continued laughing, and seeing my point, he had to laugh too.


Moral of the story . . .  Men are vain too.

 . . . and, I can not wait to switch his shampoo with the 99cent variety to see if he notices the difference.

The way I see it, the story and the pranks with this situation alone are definitely worth the eleven dollars.

My Funny Valentine . . .

xkcd.com/google images

Dear Valentine

I love you dear

That's why I am sayin'

GET ME OUTTA HERE!

The wind is cold

The snow is deep

The ice rains down

And I can't sleep.

My fingers are numb,

My toes are blue,

But I know exactly

What to do!

Put me in the car

Or on a plane

But just make sure

I'm in the fast lane!

Send me to the sun.

Send me to the beach.

I know you can.

It's within your reach.

So Valentine . . .

Tell me true.

Do you know

What you are going to do?



google images



I'll give you a hint.

I'll give you a sign.

Send me to Florida.

If you want to be mine.

Otherwise honey,

Your day won't be sweet,

I can be a big bitch.

As in no body heat.

You get the picture.

You know what I need.

So do your duty, my love.

Commit the deed.

With much love and dreams of warmth, your forever Valentine . . . Annie

This was taken on December 4th and we have had snow on the ground since then. Sigh.

Happy Valentine's Day Hubs. . .

Please read between the lines and either get me the hell out of this frozen ice box or

take a hit out on Jack Frost.

I'd be happy with either. 

I'm a simple girl.

Love,

Annie


Linking to Mama's . . .

Spies Like Hubs

"Have you ever considered that I might be a spy? "  hubs asked as we read the Sunday paper together.

I looked up briefly, met his eyes, and with a curt, "No," I went back to reading the paper.

He didn't take my hint and continued, "I mean.  I could go to school, go to an underground tunnel, and take off to a completely different life."

I stopped my reading. "Well, do you?"

"No, "  he paused and then said, "but I could."

He gaze was so intent that I burst out laughing.

"What?  What is so funny?" he asked.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I replied, " You are.  A spy?  I am picturing you as Maxwell Smart/ football coach. Too funny!"  And I started giggling again.

He chuckled too and then remarked, "I was thinking of myself as more of an Arnold Schwarzenagger type like in True Lies  It was on TV last night."

I summarized.  "So you are  leading a double life as a spy, and you picked Ahhh-nold as your persona?"

"Yeah!" he replied, proud of himself.

"I think that I am safe in knowing that you are NOT a secret spy. "

"Really?  How do you know?"

I answered easily. "Because secret spies do not tell their wives about being secret spies and compare themselves to Arnie. " I paused and then added, "Also, secret spies do not ask their wives if they know of a solution for toe nail fungus."

Case closed.

****************************************************
So, my question to y'all is this, "Do you have these crazy conversations with the one you love?  Or is it just me?"

The Man I Love Is . . . Well . . . Weird

There are so many things about Hubs that I love. 

So. Many. Things.

He scrapes my car for me on winter mornings. (Never mind the fact that he did it with a snow shovel that caused deep horizontal scratches across my windshield and thereby required the windshield  be replaced.)

He has completely remodeled my kitchen for me.  (Ignore the fact that the project was started in April of 2009.)

He has trekked across the frozen tundra to get me the perfect Christmas tree. (It was also uphill and he was barefoot. At least that's the way he tells it.)

And, the man makes me coffee every morning.  (Although I am suspicious that he does this good deed purely for his own benefit.  I am not my best in the morning without caffeine.  Who is?  Wait.  Don't answer that.  I may be forced to hate you.)

The man clearly loves me.

But, my favorite thing about Hubs has got to be one of his little known quirks.

He analyzes people's eyes.

I know.  I know. 

Completely weird, right? 

Yes.  But, oh so completely endearing too.

Just read below and see what you think . . .

*********************************************************
The Eye of the Beholder  originally posted 2/2009

I am a vain person. I fully admit it and own up to it. I care about the way that I look. So when hubby informed me that I had one eye that was smaller than the other, I thought that he was joking.


Immediately, I put up my first defense, "C'mon honey. Be serious!"

Cool as a cucumber, and without a hint of his usual sarcasm, he answered, "I am Annie. Your left eye is smaller than your right."

I searched his expression for any tell tale give away to his obvious joke, but found nothing.

"You're sure this isn't like the "big head" incident?" I asked, referencing the time that he had me going for almost a week that I had an abnormally large head for my body. He had seen it on an old Seinfeld rerun. Elaine's boyfriend had broken up with her because, in his words, she had a big head. Literally. Hubby had used the same tactics on me once, and my vanity had me believing that my melon was grossly disproportionate for my 5'2" body.

He patted my head lovingly and said, "Sweetie, it's no big deal."

Those words did me in.

I won't say that I ran to the mirror, but I did that silly walk run combo you see old men in nylon shorts do at the beach. And to my horror, I discovered that he was right! I pulled the curtain open in the bathroom in the hopes that allowing more light into the room would prove that the mirror was lying. But alas, it was not. My left eye was and is slightly smaller than my right. I was in shock. How could I have lived all these 35 years and never noticed that I was not proportional? But more importantly, after almost 9 years together, why was this the first time he had said anything to me about it? Why not just let me live in my ignorance? Why alert me to my eye lopsidedness?

I practically slid down the banister rushing to get back to confront him. "Why didn't you say something?!!!!!"

"About what?"

"About my eye!"

We stared at each other for a few seconds, probably trying to determine how and what to say next.

Carefully, he started. "Annie . . ." I always know that when he starts with my name, he is trying to soften me up. As in, "Annie . . . I wrecked your jeep or Annie . . . what are your thoughts about a 2 day golf trip?" Starting with my name, usually meant that I didn't want to hear his next words.

"Annie . . . I never said anything before, because it is not that big of a deal."

Easy enough for a non-vain person to say. I continued my stare in the hopes that he would continue. He did, but I wasn't prepared for his explanation.

"It really isn't that big of a deal, because . . ." and here was the kicker, "every person has one eye bigger than the other."

What? What? What? Was he seriously using that as his argument?

I retorted. "And I suppose that you look at every person's eyes to determine which eye has the deficit?"

And he shot back, "As a matter of fact, I do. I always can tell right away a person's smaller eye."

I didn't respond because I was too busy thinking . . .What? My hubby is weird! What else don't I know about him? Is he secretly OCD like Monk on TV? Does he check out people's other body parts? I was beginning to forget why I was arguing with him in the first place. I couldn't let this new tidbit go without some further investigation.

"So you mean to tell me that you analyze people's eyes for symmetry as soon as you meet them?"

"Yep."

"So if I named a person right now, you could tell me which eye is smaller?"

"Yep. Shoot"

So I went for it.

"Abbie"

"Left."

"Ethan?"

"Right."

"Your sister?"

"Oh that's easy. Left."

We went on this way for several more minutes. I threw in friends, family members, celebrities, and even sports figures until I realized that this was not a function of my husband being critical of other people's appearances. This was a game for him. It was just something to do to pass the time. Once I realized that, I let go of my vain anger and decided to have fun with him. It was weird, don't get me wrong. But once I figured out it wasn't malicious, it WAS fun.

And now, since I know this latest little idiosyncrasy about him, it is also enjoyable for me to analyze with him. Case in point, last night at our Valentine's dinner, the waitress took our order and left the table. All I did was raise my eyebrow at hubby, and he knew.

"Left."

And then we laughed like idiots.

**************************************************************8

See?

Completely lovable.

I am linking this to Mama Kat and her oh so fabulous Writer's Workshop.  You rock Mama Kat!

O Christmas Tree?!?!

These last few weeks in Annie's world have been a bit grim to say the least. 

So, in an attempt to find my smile, I broke out the Christmas decorations last night.  I decked the halls and fa la la la la-ed and generally got my Christmas spirit on!

My biggest accomplishment was to clear a space in my living room for my Christmas tree.

I know.

I know.

I am gifted.

And now I have a big, empty space just waiting for our annual Christmas tree which we will trek out to the frozen tundra to get this Saturday.

I can not wait!

In honor of this upcoming family tradition, I give you my Christmas letter to my hubby last year.

Enjoy!

Oh Christmas Shrub!  Oh Christmas Shrub! originally posted 12/8/09

Dear Hubby,

It is that time of year again.  It is the time of singing carols, watching corny Christmas-y movies, and looking for the best  (and worst) Christmas light display.  These are fun times, undoubtedly.  But my favorite part of the holiday season has to be . . . our annual holiday tree fight.

You see dear, every year, as we trek out to the tree farm you bring up the inevitable.  "So, what kind of tree do you want to get this year?"

And, I know that that is really man-speak for, "How far do you want me to trek across the frozen ground to saw down a tree for you?"

Now, I always try to answer you politely with the truth.  "Honey, I'll know it when I see it."  And I do.  I always know it exactly when I see it.  The problem is that I am willing to trek over the river and through the woods to find the perfect Christmas tree.  I am kind of like Clark Griswold from Christmas Vacation in that way.  I will trudge through snow, with children, and with children's frozen body parts in order to find the right tree and have that Alleluia-like moment of reveal.

(video complements of youtube and National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation)

I am dramatic in that way.

This year is no different.  When we load up the kiddies to get our tree,  I envision the family bonding and the memory-making bliss that we are about to undertake.  I think that you envision . . .a long walk  . . . with 3 kids.  (Let's not forget that one of those kiddies has a cast on her foot, is unable to walk, and weighs 39 lbs.)  I envision a scene from It's a Wonderful Life.  You envision freezing temperatures, runny noses, and complaining kiddies.

Obviously, in this situation, I am the glass half full.

You, however, are the  beer glass half empty,  and you wish that you have already downed the first half.

Am I right??

To make matters worse, your idea of the perfect tree and my idea of the perfect tree are, shall we say, incompatible?

I prefer a tree with a conical shape.  You know, triangular?  Pretty.  Proportional. You are a math teacher.  I know that you get the idea.

You prefer a tree that looks remarkably like an overgrown bush. A rounded bush with long needles and soft limbs.  The kind of tree that can not and will not hold any ornament worth its weight.  If you really want a bush to decorate, we have several . . . in our front yard.  Just saying.

So dear, this year is no different.  I look forward to our little tree give and take.  I am ready to battle wits and words.  It is part of our holiday tradition after all.  And, I love it!

Just remember though,  I will win.  Make no mistake.  After all, if I am in charge of stringing lights and decorations, I will forever be in charge of picking out the tree.

Merry Christmas, hubs!

I love you and our battle!

Annie

Til Death Do Us Part . . . For Real . . .

After being a sounding board for some friends, and reading some of your blogs out there about the realities of marriage, I thought that this favorite post of mine was worth a repost.

Enjoy!


The Decision

When my dad toasted hubby and me at our rehearsal dinner, he pointedly looked at each of us and said, "Love is a decision that you make each and every day."  At the time, I was so engrossed in the moment and celebrating with my family and friends that I did not really comprehend what he was saying, but nine years later, I am beginning to grasp its meaning.

To fully love another human being, you have to recognize that love is not just a feeling, it is a choice that you need to actively make. Each. And. Every. Day.  Falling in love . . . getting that butterflies in your belly feeling, that feeling that you get when you are a little kid and you are swinging just a little bit too high on the swing set, that feeling that you get when you are just about to dive off the high diving board at the pool, that feeling . . . is the easy part. 

It is the staying in love that is the hard part.

You see, once life takes over, the ability to choose to love takes over too.  And, choosing to love your honey when every fiber in your being just wants to scream, beat your fists into a pillow, and just let honey have it, is so much more difficult than just allowing the hate and anger to consume you.

So, when hubby decided to scrape the snow and ice off of my window one morning before work and used our metal shovel to get the job done, I had to almost bite my knuckle raw in order to not kill him for putting 4 foot long scratches across my windshield with the shovel.  When I found out that we would have to replace the windshield, I had to switch knuckles and keep on gnawing in order to maintain control.    I had to actively remember that hubby was just trying to be nice when he scraped my windshield down. I had to choose to love hubby even when every little nerve in my body was so mad that I could strangle him.  There was no rosy, pretty pink love feeling at that moment.  Instead, there was a bold and cold decision that I knew that I had to make, even though I didn't feel like making it.  

And when I recently messed up our bank account, hubby had every right to be downright ticked at me.  I had screwed up and screwed up royally, and it was going to cost us extra money that we did not have.  But instead of taking it out on me, hubby immediately recognized how terrible I felt, swallowed his angry feelings, and gave me a much needed hug.  He chose to love me even when I felt completely unlovable.  He made a decision to love me. A decision that, at the time, was not easy.

Hubby and I have to make these decisions daily.  Whether it is his clothes on the floor or my penchant for leaving egg shells in the sink, if we let the little things bother us day to day, if we accused and used each other to get our petty anger out, then we would be chipping away at our own foundation as a couple and we would be in no shape to handle the big things when they inevitably creep up.

And they always do creep up.

By choosing to love each other, hubby and I are constantly reinforcing our foundation.  With every choice, our wall gets a little thicker, and with every decision, we are just a bit more solid.  Together.  That's not to say that we don't have our cracks, either.  We do.  But because our focus is to be proactive in our foundation and in our relationship, we can weather the cracks.  We can repair them. And we are that much stronger for it.

So, when we have to face a new life or an unexpected death, when we have to face financial adversity or a tragic loss,  or when we have to face a success or a defeat, hubby and I are ready.  

We have nine (now ten!) years of decisions to prove it.

Sniffing One Out

This morning as I sat snuggled under my Snuggie (Yes.  I have one. Do not judge!),  hubs moved frantically around the house while he packed his duffle bag for his afternoon football practice.

"You got everything?"  I asked.

"Yep.  I think so,"  he answered. 

I watched as he wandered from room to room gathering goodies as he roamed. Nikes?  Picked up in the living room.  Sweatshirt?  Retrieved from the back of a chair in the dining room.  You see, whenever hubs returns from work, he leaves a trail of clothing in his wake.

It used to drive me crazy,  his Hansel and Gretel like afternoon tendencies.

Seriously. 

Caaa - razy!

But, after 10 years of marriage, I am used to it.  Most days, I either leave his trail intact, or I place all of the items I find in one basket that I deposit in his closet.

It's not ideal, but it works for us.

So, when hubs zipped up his bag, paused and then said, "Oh!  Socks!  I need socks!"  I went into locator mode.  I quickly thought through a mental checklist of the done and to-be-completed laundry,and just as I was about to tell him where the clean socks were, I clammed up in awe.

There was hubs, bending over and picking up his discarded socks from yesterday.

"Really, hon?"  I asked.

He answered with a wry smile, "What? These?!?"  And then he took a good. long. sniff. of those yesterday socks.  He smiled again and said emphatically, "Really!"



And although I am completely grossed out by the yesterday socks and the sniffing . . .
at least it is one less pair of socks to wash.



Anyone else out there with a sock sniffing spouse, or is it just me?

Relatively Speaking

As I was straightening up the bathroom, I overheard Ethan and hubs wrestling with each other in the bedroom.  Hubs grunted and groaned as Ethan's pointy elbows made contact with his nether regions, and Ethan, of course, laughed with delight.

But suddenly, I heard Ethan yell out, "Grandpa! Grandpa!  Grandpa!"

Hubs, I'm sure, was as puzzled as I was, because I heard him ask Ethan, "Why are you calling me Grandpa?  Am I really that old?"

The wrestling stopped when Ethan answered matter of factly, "Dad, you said to yell 'Grandpa' when I have had enough wrestling, or I'm in pain."

Through his laughter (and mine), hubs replied, " No Ethan.  I said to yell, 'Uncle!' "

"Uncle?  But why would you yell uncle?"  Ethan questioned.


And, after thinking about it a bit, I think that I am with Ethan.  Why not Grandpa?  Or Aunt?  Or Second cousin once removed?

After all, it's all relative. (Ha!  I couldn't resist!)

Celebrity Look Alike? Ummmmm . . . yeah . . . .

"Honey? What movie star do I look like?" hubs asked as he raised his eyebrow and displayed his profile to me across the dinner table.

This, of course, is a loaded question. It is like when a wife asks her husband, "Does this make me look fat?" The husband's answer is wrong no matter what he replies. I knew that I was stepping out of the frying pan and into the fire with this conversation.

So, like a deer caught in the headlights, I went for a flattering guess. "Ummm. Tom Cruise?" After all, the Danger Zone, the theme from Top Gun, was playing over the loudspeaker at the restaurant.

"Tom Cruise? He's crazy, psycho crazy!" he emphasized. "Really?!?" he questioned. I could tell he was a little offended at my choice so I explained.

"No! Not really. I just thought that you asked me because of the song that was playing. I thought that you were being goofy."

His expression softened and he replied, "Whew!" (I guess that being crazy trumps being good looking in hubs' book. ) He re-posed himself, complete with eyebrow lifted, and then said, "Try again."

I seriously had no idea where he was going with this line of questions. So, I went with my gut.

"Kevin James?"

Crickets everywhere were chirping as he paused.

I was afraid.

Very afraid.

Finally, he replied, "Kevin James. Yeah. He's cool."

Whew, exactly!



********On a side note . . . Kevin James IS hilarious ( as is hubs!), and his dancing skills make me yearn for my Depends. Seriously, y'all. Check out this clip from Hitch.






And to hubs . . . Kevin ain't got nothin' on your moves!  Q-tip??  Ha!  You laugh in the face of the Q-tip!

Not a Square to Spare

Dear Hubs,

It has come to my attention that once again, you have had a challenge that you could not complete.

While I realize that changing the toilet paper roll is an overwhelmingly difficult task, I really and truly believe in my heart that you are (ready for this . . .) able to do it. So, the next time that the roll empties, you only have to do the following.

1) Determine that the roll is,in fact, empty. You will know this when you reach for a square of Charmin, and your hand comes up empty.

2) Locate the spare rolls in the bathroom vanity. I have made this step relatively easy for you. The spare rolls of paper are all white and sitting on the open shelf of the vanity. You do not even have to move any items to locate them.

3) Grab a spare roll, and (here is where it gets a bit tricky) exchange the empty cardboard sleeve with the full, brand-new roll.

And, voila!

A full and beautiful, brand new roll of toilet paper!

So, my dear, please accept this challenge. I know that you can do it, despite it's seemingly difficult manuevers.

Your loving wife,

Annie

PS On a side note, if you decide not to accept the challenge, I have decided to hide all of the spare rolls of paper in a location unknown to you, and you will have to fend for yourself, and rough it, if you will. Because, frankly my dear, in the words of Elaine (my favorite Seinfeld character) . . . I don't have a square to spare!

****** And, since a good embarrassing story is a great ice breaker at parties, I am joining LambAround's party today! :) Go check out the other party goers!

What's in a Name, Anyway?

There are times when I talk to my husband that I wonder if there is a reality TV camera focused on us and our conversation.

And, before you start wondering . . .it is not because one of was throwing things.

And, it isn't even because one of us was born in Jersey and can claim to be an actual "Jersey" girl.

It is just that there are times that I think that there may be a candid camera on us. In fact, I am pretty sure there has to be a camera on us, because it is just too hard to believe that other married couples talk about the same crazy things that we talk about. I mean, our conversations can be downright idiotic. They tend to be about things that are just plain stupid, yet, we have the conversation anyway, just like it is completely and utterly normal.

But . . . it seriously can not be normal. After all, how many normal people have discussed the reasons why a person's feet are cracked, but don't stink ?(Hubs' feet. Not mine.) And, just how many normal people can say that they have had a conversation about how the neighborhood squirrels are possessed by demons?

I would venture to say . . . not too many,my friends. Not too many.

So the other day when hubs and I were out on a much needed date, and he said, "If I could change my name to any name besides my real name, what should I change it to?" I shouldn't have been suprised.

With that question, I glanced over my shoulder, looking for the reality TV camera, and not finding one, I answered, "Hmmm. I don't know. Why do you ask? "

He shrugged and said, "No reason, really. Just thinking."

"Well what's wrong with Paul, your real name?"I asked.

"Nothing, "he shot back.

"So why would you change it?"

" Annie, it's just a what if. Like what if I was in a golf tournament and the announcer was announcing my name on the first tee? I don't think that Paul has that ring to it," he explained and then, he paused.

I paused too, because really, how do you answer that question? I tried to be funny and make reference to one of my favorite movie characters from Sixteen Candles.

"How about Long Duck Dong? That certainly has a ring to it." I laughed.

He didn't. "I was thinking Will."

"Will?" I questioned. You think that Will has more ring, more pizzazz, than Paul?"

He answered simply, "Yes."

My answer? A very noncommital, "Hmmmm."


Because really, what normal couple has a conversation about possibly changing one's name for a PGA tournament event?

Ummm, yeah.

I don't know of any people that talk about that either.



So, give it up. What crazy conversations have you had with your significant other?

We Made it to 10!!

Dear Paul,

Tomorrow is our 10th wedding anniversary.( And you thought I would forget!)

It amazes me how much has changed in the last 10 years. You have grey hair. I pluck my greys out.(Or use a sharpie marker on them. I have a feeling that that will not work for much longer.) We both have a bit of a belly that we attribute to baby weight. Sympathetic baby weight gain for you . . .

You're good like that.

We have made homes in three places. We have repaired floors, ceilings and walls, and we have replaced bathrooms and kitchens. We have planted about a gazillion hostas, and we have ripped out loads and loads of ivy. (Remember discovering that it was poison? eek!) You have killed bees, and I have killed plants.

We're good like that.

We have had a few cars in our years together. Remember when we were both young and cool and had SUV's, with leases? We were so dumb, but we both loved those cars! Or what about our first family mobile, the Honda Accord. I loved it. You hated it. Getting in and out of that car made your knees creak something fierce! And what about your beloved Green Hornet, our green mini van? 13 years old. 200,000 miles. Used car. That car had character! I mean, starting without a key? That's a fantastic quality for a harried family that often loses their keys. I will always remember it fondly, as it safely got me and my babies from here to FL multiple times, albeit without any form of style. And now we have graduated to my mommed out van. I love it (because it is so darn practical) and I hate it (because it is so darn practical). Thanks for letting me drive the fun car, the jeep, when I go out by myself. You know me so well!

'Cause you are good like that.

And through our life journey, we have created three beautiful blessings, Ab, Ethan, and Ellerie. They have smothered us in love and wet kisses (and puke and poop and other grossness), and they have challenged every idea that we ever had about being a "good" parent. We have giggled together about their turn of phrase (remember E's tentacles??), and we have consoled each other over many an ER trip. Broken bones, roto virus, ear aches, and flus have not broken us, babe. We are still strong.

We're good like that.

I thank God every day for blessing me with you and our relationship.

For better or for worse, I'm your girl forever, buddy. . .

'Cause I'm good like that.

Love,

Your Annie

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.