Tough

The other day Josh, Nellie and I were at my in-laws’ house. They live near some woods and a creek, so the three of us decided to take a little walk down so Nellie could see the water and maybe even catch a glimpse of a frog or two. We had a good time for the most part – I say for the most part because I kind of hate nature. I was raised in Chicago where my most exotic outside experience was taking a walk on a paved sidewalk with some trees on either side of me. My husband grew up playing on a creek bank, catching crawfish (UGH) and running around barefoot.

I digress. We had a fine time and went about the rest of our day happily. The next day we were all sitting on the couch, and Josh raised his pant leg to scratch his calf.

That’s when I saw it.

Me: What is that?
Josh: *leans forward to inspect the black speck on his leg* That? That’s a tick.

Me:
Josh: *calmly* Get me some tweezers and and a lighter.

Me:
Josh: …………………………

So I go to get the tweezers and lighter, hand them to him and perch on the chair beside him and watch. He points the lighter at his leg.

Me: Wait! You’ll burn your leg hairs!
He pauses, then grabs the tick with the tweezers. He yanks it out of his leg, muttering something about it being “really stuck in there”.

Me:

After he extracts the tick he proceeds to burn it with the lighter (CHILL THE FUCK OUT PETA IT’S A TICK, NOT A KITTEN). After he’s done, I glance at his leg.

Me: Did you get the head out? It might be stuck in your leg.
Josh: So?
Me: It might get infected.

He leans to inspect his leg again and after a moment of consideration he nods.

Josh: Get me my razor.
Me: Why do you need your razor?
Josh: So I can cut it out. The head is still in there.

Me:

Josh: ……………..

I get up and get his razor. I watch in horror as he proceeds to CUT HIS OWN LEG WITH A STRAIGHT-EDGE RAZOR AND EXTRACT THE TICK’S HEAD FROM HIS FLESH. The whole time, he is the picture of calm. His expression never changes – he never winces or whimpers. He digs in his leg with that razor as calmly as if he were doing a crossword puzzle. Meanwhile, I’m all

It is then that I realize that my husband is actually a caveman, or a gladiator, or something equally as tough. Born too late for the heart that beats in his chest. I see him nonchalantly wipe the blood from his leg and inspect the head of the tick when he finally gets it out, and I can picture him sitting alone on a frontier somewhere, pouring whiskey on his leg and digging a bullet out by firelight without batting an eyelash. Meanwhile, I’m on the verge of vomiting on our carpet and fainting.

Tough husband: I haz one.

Terror In the Freezer

One would think after being terrorized multiple times in the past few months that I’d learn my lesson and stop doing nice things for my husband. Not me! Nope. My husband’s struck again.

While watching Sanctum after Nellie’s bedtime, my husband asked if I’d mind making a pot of decaf coffee. He doesn’t often drink coffee, and said he was craving a cup so being the sweet and awesome wife that I am, I told him of course I’d make him some coffee.

I went into the kitchen, rinsed out the carafe from this morning and replaced the filter, opened the freezer and found that in addition to the coffee, chicken nuggets, popsicles and vodka there was also this.

 


HI, MY NAME IS CARL AND I’M HERE FOR YOUR SOUL. I ALSO DRANK ALL YOUR VODKA LOL.

Luckily this one only gave me a slight start, I jumped a little and said “gah!” and turned to face my grinning, giggling husband. He clapped like a small schoolboy and did a little victory dance.

Seriously. I’m gonna piss in his shoes one of these days. Or in his hat. One of the two is getting pissed on by me.

 

Terror in the Microwave.

If you’ve been reading my blog for the last few months at least, you know that my husband likes to scare the ever-loving shit out of me. On Mother’s Day, he put a stuffed squirrel on the back of our toilet. The next day, he hid a prop rat in our linen closet. I even wrote a post about the beginning of his reign of terror.

My friends, Daddy Green has struck again.

We were sitting on the couch watching a horrible movie about some crazy chick that kills her neighbors in weird ways (we’re normal, I swear) when my husband says sweetly, “How about we make some popcorn?”

Now, I loves me some popcorn. I excitedly agreed, and he suggested, “Why don’t you go make it and I will rub your back?”

I also loves me some backrubs, so I leaped off the couch and headed to the kitchen. I pulled a bag of popcorn from the box, turned to face the microwave, opened the door, and came face to face with this:

 

EXPECTING TO COOK A DELICIOUS SNACK? GUESS AGAIN BITCH, IT’S TIME FOR RABIES.

As my brain processed the impending doom and infection of rabies that lay before me in my microwave, I made a slight “Ohhhhhh!” noise and did a little hop. I turned around to face my husband, who had slithered off the couch and was laughing so hard he couldn’t produce any sound. All that came from his mouth was a slight wheezing as he turned red in the face. I walked over to him and looked down at him as he gasped for air and flapped his hands at me. I wondered for a second if he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen and decided that if he did, I’d take a pee in his shoes and draw on his face as payback for scaring the shit out of me. Alas, my husband did not pass out so his shoes are dry and his face is safe.

People keep telling me I need to exact my revenge, but believe me when I tell you that this is no easy feat. My husband is almost impossible to scare or embarrass. Anything that I could do to scare him would just be mean. I couldn’t tell him I was pregnant, because he’d be elated and then I’d feel like an asshole when I told him I was joking. I don’t know how I’m going to get him back, but I’m going to, damnit.

Suggestions are welcome. Privately, because Captain Pranky McChuckleface reads my blog.

 

Morning Terror In the Bathroom {Daddy Green Pranks Me AGAIN.}

If you haven’t read about the lovely little surprise my husband left me for Mother’s Day, please take a moment to do so now so you get the full effect of this morning’s antics.

Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Ahem. Yeah. That actually happened to me. ON MOTHER’S DAY.

Anyway, I survived my heart attack and moved on with my life. This morning I dropped Daddy Green off to work, came home with my lovely lady and we had some breakfast, drew on her drawing pad with her brand new crayons that we bought yesterday (off topic, how the hell is my kid old enough for crayons already?), and then mama had to take a shower. I put Nellie in her Exersaucer to watch Baby Einstein while I got ready.

After showering, I decided I was going to give my hair a break from blow-drying today and see if my cut worked with a wavy style. I turned around to open my bathroom closet to retrieve my hair gel and came face to face with this asshole:

GOOD MORNING. I'VE COME FOR YOUR SOUL.

Now, it took me a moment of shock for my brain to register what I was staring at and when it finally did, I screamed so loud that I am genuinely surprised my upstairs neighbor did not call the police, thinking that I was being brutally murdered. I flapped my hands uselessly and then promptly facepalmed myself.

My husband had gotten me. AGAIN. SONOFABITCH.

It’s on, Daddy Green. I don’t know how I’m going to get you back, because you are nearly impossible to scare but by god… I WILL get you back.

This. Means. War.

 

A Mother’s Day Surprise

Today was Mother’s Day, and to start my day off I got to sleep in ’till almost 9:00! Heavenly. I was greeted by my sweet husband and baby girl with hugs and kisses.

Forced love is the greatest!!!!

We went over to my mother in law’s house to do some laundry and visit, and then it was off to the Chattanooga Market for a stroll. We enjoyed looking at all of the crafts and items for sale, and smelling all the delicious food (mmm. Kettle corn.). We headed downtown to have lunch at Taco Mac. Nellie enjoyed some soft tortillas, a few french fries and a couple bites of chicken fingers.

By the time we were through, she was exhausted. We went home and as I was carrying her in the house she laid her sleepy little head on my shoulder and gave me a loving pat. I smiled and buried my face in her hair, breathing her in and hugging her close. I grabbed her fox and her paci, took her into her bedroom and enjoyed a few sweet moments rocking with my sleepy baby girl in her cool, dark nursery. With a kiss, I put her down in her crib and tiptoed out of the room.

I closed her door behind me with a smile and went to the bathroom to take care of business. The door was closed and the light was off, so I pushed the door open, turned on the light, and saw that my husband had left me a surprise friend:

SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKER

In a fit of glee terror I screamed out “JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY!!!!”
Like Jesus is going to defend me against a random devil squirrel sitting on my motherfucking toilet. I hear Josh in the other room laughing like fucking Mutley, trying not to be too loud to wake up our daughter who just went to sleep.

He’s sitting beside me right now as I type this, cackling at his hijinks.

This isn’t the first time that my husband has used stuff like this to scare the shit out of me. I’ll tell you all about the pig’s head incident on a later post.

Heart attack aside, my Mother’s Day has been great. The day isn’t over yet, though, so I’m gonna have to keep one eye on my dear husband for the rest of the day. *side eye*

Texts From My Husband: We’re Not Normal People.

I’ve decided to start a regular post series for your enjoyment called “Texts From My Husband”. It’s just a little glimpse into our weird little family. We had this conversation while sitting directly beside each other on the couch the other night:

Josh: You + Me = 10,000 babies!
Me: Will they run as fast as Kenyans? {reference this video to get the joke if you don’t already}
Josh: Faster and three will fly.
Me: Yesssss flying babies 4 eva.
Josh: And fire breathing
Me: I hope they also have dragon tails.
Josh: One will.. I think one will have gills and kill every shark in the world.
Me: What will his name be?
Josh: Strom the Shark Slayer
Me: Can we call him S3 for short?
Josh: One will be able to telepathically control all rodents.
Me: So we have a fire breather with a dragon tail, a shark slayer and a master of rodents.
Josh: And one that is a really good cook. And of course, Rose who is beautiful, brilliant, funny, and an amazing singer and also awesome at everything………….. Just like her mama>
Me: Awwwwwww.

The moral of this story is that we’re not normal people. And my husband is sweet. The end.

If this post made you laugh, smirk, smile, or stare blankly at the screen.. Please vote for me at Circle of Moms Top 25 Baby Journals. Thank you!

 

The Drunken Hobbit {the time I got kicked out of a club}

Now, this may come as a shock to you but… I like to drink. I’m not talking YES LUSHING EVERY NIGHT! ALL THE BEER FOREVER!

But I do enjoy beer, and I enjoy obtaining a buzz. Curiously since I’ve become a mom, I do not enjoy being drunk anymore. During my chorus retreat last month I got ridiculously drunk. Like, exclaiming to anyone who would listen to me how drunk I was drunk. Singing at the top of my lungs drunk. I’m surprised I didn’t vomit drunk.

I digress. Before I became a mom, I drank relatively frequently. I also – brace yourself – drank in bars before I was 21. I didn’t have a fake ID; I just knew people who knew people. When I was 20 years old, however, something happened that made me vow never to drink (in public) while underage ever again.

I got thrown out of a club and Joshua almost lost his driver’s license.

I was working at a restaurant at the time and one of my coworkers was participating in this “hot bikini contest” thing. I made plans to go to the 18+ club with two other coworkers, and Joshua. Since I “wouldn’t be able to drink at the club”, I decided to pregame at my apartment. I don’t remember what I drank or how much, but by the time my coworkers L and K got to my place I was pretty toasty. Josh and I loaded up into his truck (he was NOT drinking) and headed out to the club.

I had left my ID at home like an idiot, so when we got to the door we almost didn’t get in. I swore up and down that I was over 18 and the bouncer at the door gave me the stink eye. He grabbed my hands and drew big, fat black X’s on them with a permanent marker to signify that I wasn’t 21. Then he took Joshua’s driver license.
“If she leaves here drunk,” he gruffed, “It’s on you.”

I pranced inside, feeling good and ready to have fun. We found a high-top table to sit at. I eyeballed it for a second, because for one thing I was drunk and for another, I am a Hobbit. Shortest ever. So tall chair + drunk Hobbit = bad idea. But Josh helped me climb up onto the chair and I sat, feet swinging.

Things get foggy around this point. I do remember that I had convinced L and K (which wasn’t hard) to sneak me shots. Red-headed sluts.  At one point, I thought that it would be a superb idea to join some hot girls out on the dance floor. I was, after all 20 years old and much thinner than I am now so I, too, was somewhat of a hottie. A dorky hottie with no fashion sense, but a hottie nonetheless. So I slid/fell off of my chair and strutted out onto the dance floor.

My dancing experience is a blur of hair, skirts, me rubbing my boobs in an attempt to be sexy and the song “Yeah”. I remember at one point trying to “get low, get low” and almost not being able to get back up, up again. Let’s just say that I’m thanking the gods that no one had a video camera trained on me and my drunken, writhing glory. I probably looked like I was having a drooling, boob-rubbing seizure.

Satisfied that I had properly convinced every man in the club that I was undeniably the sexiest lady in history, I made my way back to the table. I have absolutely no idea how long we were there but in my foggy memory it seems like it was approximately a month and a half. I vaguely remember the contest, maybe some more dancing and definitely some more shots. At one point I had to go to the bathroom, and Josh offered to go with me. I denied his company and headed toward the ladies’ room.

When I got into the stall, I noticed that the latch on the door was broken and swung both forward and backward. Not a big deal, I did one of those “sit and lean forward slightly to hold the door and pray to baby Jesus that no one comes barreling into your stall” things. I did my business, and after I’d stood back up and gotten my pants/skirt/whatever the hell I was wearing back up I stumbled forward and crashed into the door. It swung outward and I went flying with it, crashing against the wall in the process. I giggled a little bit, and a woman standing at the sink washing her hands turned to look at me. She eyeballed me second before her eyes fell on the big, black X’s drawn on the tops of my hands.
“You’re drunk,” she said somewhat accusingly. It was then that I noticed her server’s apron, and I realized that she was a waitress here.
“Uhhhh,” I argued.
The conversation gets a little fuzzy, but it involved her coming after me and bitching me out about drinking underage in the club. Did I realize that they could be fined for this, and lose their liquor license? I argued with her, saying that I was drunk when I got there and hadn’t been drinking. She called my bluff and continued her accusatory lecture. I then lamely said that it was cool, I was a server too.

*facepalm*

She led me out of the bathroom, telling me she wasn’t going to rat me out but I was to leave NOW. I told her I had to get my boyfriend because he was my ride. She dragged me over to Josh, who was sitting looking very bored. His expression turned to one of…….. Er. Well. I don’t really remember. The waitress explained the situation to him and told him that we both had to leave right then. I looked at him pitifully and he just kind of stared at me. He leaned me against him, put his arm around me and hissed,
“Lean against me and don’t. Say. Anything.”

We walked back to the door where the bouncer was waiting. We stopped and Josh told him he needed his ID back. The bouncer flipped through his collection of driver licenses, landed on Josh’s and held it out. His gaze found me and he furrowed his brow.
“Wait a minute. Is she-”
Josh cut him off by snatching his ID, saying a hasty “Thanks!” and ushering me out the door.

As soon as we were in his truck with the doors shut I burst out into sobbing, hiccupy tears. I apologized profusely for almost getting him in trouble between my drunken wails.

That’s where my memory of the evening ends. I don’t remember the drive home, going to bed, or anything else. All I know is that the next morning I awoke with a horrible hangover and a vow to never drink in a bar or club again until I was 21.

Interested in Daddy Green’s perspective of all of this? Read all about his side of the story here.

 

 

First You Gotta Do the Truffle Shuffle

One of my favorite TV shows is America’s Funniest Home Videos. DON’T JUDGE ME, the show is absolutely hysterical. How can you NOT laugh your ass off at people falling down the stairs or leaping off of trampolines and crashing into bushes? Maybe I’m just sadistic. Whatever.

My point. One night we were watching this show and we saw a series of videos in which the wife would lock her husband outside, and before she’d let him come back in she’d make him dance – videotaping him all the while. Kind of like this:

Well we, of course, thought it was terribly clever. We laughed and laughed and laughed.

I stopped laughing when my dear husband started doing it to me. When I’d get out to retrieve a lottery ticket or a soda from a gas station, I’d come back to find the car door locked, the window down and a song blaring while my husband grinned evilly at me from behind the wheel. He would not unlock the door until I made a spectacle of myself in the middle of the Golden Gallon.

This has been going on for years but for the first time yesterday… He caught me on camera.

Ahem. I’ll wait a second while you marvel at my dance skills your hysterical laughter subsides.

Daddy Green… The gauntlet has been thrown.

The Battle of the Queue

My husband and I love movies. We are what you would call movie buffs. We will give pretty much any movie a chance. Our likes range from Oscar-winning dramas to musicals (okay, that’s me and not my husband) to campy movies like Pirhana (which was AWESOMMMEEE). There are movies that we disagree on, of course. Joshua doesn’t like musicals and I don’t like comic book cartoons, cheesy 80s guys movies (Road Warrior = worst ever) or Alexander, which happens to be one of Josh’s favorite movies. Oliver Stone can just get the eff off my Netflix queue and movie shelf FOREVER.

Since early 2006, we have been Netflix users. We. Love. Netflix. We love it even more since it introduced its’ “Instant” feature, allowing us to stream movies and TV shows to our laptop. We’ve caught up on entire TV shows this way – Weeds, Californication, Man Vs. Food… I love love love Netflix. However, there is one problem that comes with being romantically involved with someone and having Netflix…

And that’s the Battle of the Queue.

More than likely if you have a partner and Netflix at the same time, you already know what I’m talking about. It’s the constant power struggle that comes with arranging your queue and adding new movies to it. It’s a game of stealth, of sneakiness and of subtlety. It starts with something like this….

Me: Ooooh, you know what movie I haven’t seen in a while and that I don’t think you’ve ever seen?
Josh: What?
Me: A Hard Day’s Night.
Josh: *blank stare*
Me: What? It’s great! It’s funny, it’s cute and it’s THE BEATLES.
Josh: *blank stare* It’s a musical, isn’t it.
Me: No… Well… Not really.. It’s.. JUST WATCH IT. *puts it at the top of the queue*
Josh: THE TOP?!
Me: *death stare*

End of struggle, right?

WRONG.

Everything is well and good until I skip to the mailbox and rip into my red Netflix envelope, giddy with anticipation in seeing my beloved Beatles movie for the first time in years…… Only to find the DVD enclosed in the sleeve is…

Me: SUPERMAN VS. SHAZAM? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS THIS?
Josh: *runs garbage disposal* WHAT??? I CAN’T HEAR YOU.
Me: DID YOU PUT THIS AT THE TOP OF OUR QUEUE????
Josh: Hmmm, did I? I don’t remember.
Me: RAGGEEEEE

You would think I could easily solve this problem by putting Hard Day’s Night BACK up at the top of the queue, but because I am a spaz and my brain is like a sieve I forget. With paying bills, working, Nellie, chorus and a thousand other things my Netflix queue is just not usually at the front of my brain. So I forget, until weeks have passed and my Beatles movie still hasn’t shown up in my mailbox. I go to the queue to find that it’s now at position 67 or some equally far-away number. And that’s when I initiate my own Battle Sequence. Mine is sneaky. Mine is tricky.
Mine is brilliant.

You see, I generally put the envelopes back into the mail at work (we get 3 at a time). This is when I execute my perfectly-timed plan.

Me: *walking out the door* I’m putting the Netflix movies back in the mail today.
Josh: You’re awesome!
Me: Yessss… awesome…..

I will get to work, drop the movies in the mail and wait a few hours. This gives Josh some time to manipulate the queue as he pleases while he is still thinking about it (because just like me, he also has a thousand things bouncing around in his brain). After he has snuck a few of my movies down and a few of his up, that is when I strike.

Me: HARD DAY’S NIGHT! STRICTLY BALLROOM! TOMMY! Muuuuaaaah hah aha! MINE IS AN EVIL LAUGH.

I sneak those three to the top toward the end of the day when Josh has forgotten about the queue and the Netflix movies we turned in have already reached their destination. The day the three new red envelopes come in..

Me: We have Netflix!
Josh: What did we get?
Me: A Hard Day’s Night..
Josh: *side-eye*
Me: Strictly Ballroom…
Josh: *stink-eye*
Me: And Tommy!
Josh: YOU MESSED WITH THE QUEUE DIDN’T YOU??!!
Me: I WIN AT NETFLIX!

I will happily watch my three awesome movies while Josh feigns interest and then I’ll pack them back up, send them out…

And the Battle of the Queue rages on.

Let’s get it on

It’s so easy when you decide that you are ready for a baby to get caught up in all of the TTC madness. Once you come to the conclusion that you are ready to start your family, it’s like something goes off in your brain and you want to get pregnant as soon as humanly possible. Nine months is long enough to have to wait to hear the proverbial pitter-patter of little feet.

In the chaos, the obsession, the waiting and the heartbreak of TTC it’s easy to forget the reason behind all of the OPKs, the charting, the temping. You want to add to your family. You want to create a life with your significant other. You want to share your love with that person and create something wholly new and unique. It’s an amazing and beautiful thing, and I think that sometimes we lose sight of that.

For months, DH and I have only BD’ed around O time. Well, I’ve been using my OPKs for a week now with no positives yet. We started DTD about a week ago, and I’m happy to report have been very active at it even when we don’t really need to be, and suddenly I remembered something that I seem to have lost along the way.
Making love to my husband is fun.

Amidst all the craziness, the desperation to get knocked up I forgot that I love being intimate with my husband. I’ve vowed to not stress about DTD around O time so much, and just.. Do it. Making a baby doesn’t have to be stressful and tiring. It doesn’t have to take so much effort and work. My husband and I can just have fun making a baby… Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be, anyway?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still using my OPKs and BDing around the “right” times…. But somewhere down the road I lost sight of the fact that I actually love to DTD with my husband, and it’s damn well time I remember that and get back our “old” selves in the bedroom.