Hello all!
We finally had snow! Enough to get a two hour delay but not so much that it wasn't melted by the end of the day. Gotta love NM weather.
Last week, Hubs had to travel for work for 3 days. When he arrived at the hotel, he realized that he hadn't brought any toothpaste. No biggie. He ran to Wal-Mart and grabbed a new tube and a few other things and hurried back to the hotel.
Well, as he got ready for bed, he pulled out his new toothpaste and began brushing his teeth. But something didn't feel right. "Meh," he thought. ('Meh' is deaf for shrugging one's shoulders.)
"Meh," he thought, as he grabbed some water and went to bed.
But as he was brushing his teeth to leave the next morning, he knew something wasn't right. His mouth felt extremely thick and sticky. His lips began sticking to his teeth. "What the...what?" ('What the...what' is deaf for Why are my lips sticking to my teeth!')
He decided to take a closer look.
"Adhesive Gel."
You know that stuff people use to keep their dentures stuck to their gums...yeah...that is what he was using to brush his teeth. Hahahaha.
That's one way to get lock jaw.
Showing posts with label Hubs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hubs. Show all posts
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Really? Really????
"Do you notice anything different?" I asked, pointing to my head.
You see, I got a haircut.
6 inches. I cut off six inches...of hair...from my head...hence the pointing.
That would be half a foot, people. With my thick hair, that probably weighed more than a pound. That'a a lot of hair.
When swept up it looked like a small dog.
You would have to be deaf to not notice.....
"Hmmm. Uhhhhh.....did you get your hair colored?"
Are you kidding!
You see, I got a haircut.
6 inches. I cut off six inches...of hair...from my head...hence the pointing.
That would be half a foot, people. With my thick hair, that probably weighed more than a pound. That'a a lot of hair.
When swept up it looked like a small dog.
You would have to be deaf to not notice.....
"Hmmm. Uhhhhh.....did you get your hair colored?"
Are you kidding!
Monday, July 14, 2014
Always and Never
Those are two words that shouldn't be used when speaking to or about your spouse.
Except when it is true. And what I am about to say is true.
When it comes to cars, bad things always happen to me. And when it comes to cars, bad things NEVER happen to Hubs. Always to me. Never to him.
If the car is going to break down, it's going to be with me. Always to me. Never to him.
If the registration has expired and a ticket is issued, it's going to have my name on it. Always me. Never him.
If there is going to be an accident that will total a car, you can count on me being the driver. Always and forever me. Never in a million years him.
So, it will come as no shock that as I was driving to pick up Kobe from football, I suddenly heard a loud hissing sound echoing off the neighborhood walls.
"Ugh!! You've got to be kidding!! What now?"
I pulled over, got out and followed the sound....which lead to a flat-ing tire.
Really? Really?? This is like the 5th flat tire that I have had to deal with. Guess how many he has had? You guessed it....none....at least not since we have been married.
Ugh.
Car problems and sea food. Always me. Never him.
Ever!!!!!
Except when it is true. And what I am about to say is true.
When it comes to cars, bad things always happen to me. And when it comes to cars, bad things NEVER happen to Hubs. Always to me. Never to him.
If the car is going to break down, it's going to be with me. Always to me. Never to him.
If the registration has expired and a ticket is issued, it's going to have my name on it. Always me. Never him.
If there is going to be an accident that will total a car, you can count on me being the driver. Always and forever me. Never in a million years him.
So, it will come as no shock that as I was driving to pick up Kobe from football, I suddenly heard a loud hissing sound echoing off the neighborhood walls.
"Ugh!! You've got to be kidding!! What now?"
I pulled over, got out and followed the sound....which lead to a flat-ing tire.
Really? Really?? This is like the 5th flat tire that I have had to deal with. Guess how many he has had? You guessed it....none....at least not since we have been married.
Ugh.
Car problems and sea food. Always me. Never him.
Ever!!!!!
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
He's a killer!!!!
He is trying to kill my children.
I am not sure why, because my kids are AWESOME!
But for whatever reason, my husband is trying to kill them. Poison them to be exact. How do I know this? Because he told me so.
Not in those exact words, of course.
I was sitting at work and I get this message, "Hey. Is it okay to eat pink chicken?"
So I asked him, "Pink? Umm, generally speaking you should avoid pink chicken. How long did you cook it?" A little pink in chicken is okay, right, as long as it is the cooked kind of pink.
"Well," he says, "I didn't thaw it. I just put in on a cooked it for about 7 minutes."
I half expected to come home to tummy aching, toilet hugging, yellowish-green faced children. It's a good thing that most of my children were in rebellious moods and had refused the raw chicken. My oldest, however, consumed more than he normally does.
"This chicken is soooo good," he had said. Apparently he likes raw chicken. That or he craves a wretched death. By some miracle, he also didn't get sick.
My daughter, who had only had a sliver, woke up with an achy stomach, and a pretty bad headache. Poor thing. But even she was lucky. It could have been worse.
Much worse....
...a slow and painful death.
He's the raw chicken child killer.
I am not sure why, because my kids are AWESOME!
But for whatever reason, my husband is trying to kill them. Poison them to be exact. How do I know this? Because he told me so.
Not in those exact words, of course.
I was sitting at work and I get this message, "Hey. Is it okay to eat pink chicken?"
So I asked him, "Pink? Umm, generally speaking you should avoid pink chicken. How long did you cook it?" A little pink in chicken is okay, right, as long as it is the cooked kind of pink.
"Well," he says, "I didn't thaw it. I just put in on a cooked it for about 7 minutes."
I half expected to come home to tummy aching, toilet hugging, yellowish-green faced children. It's a good thing that most of my children were in rebellious moods and had refused the raw chicken. My oldest, however, consumed more than he normally does.
"This chicken is soooo good," he had said. Apparently he likes raw chicken. That or he craves a wretched death. By some miracle, he also didn't get sick.
My daughter, who had only had a sliver, woke up with an achy stomach, and a pretty bad headache. Poor thing. But even she was lucky. It could have been worse.
Much worse....
...a slow and painful death.
He's the raw chicken child killer.
Monday, May 6, 2013
What's that smell....
Smells are like songs. Okay, so they aren't exactly like songs, but like songs, they can take you back to your childhood.
There are a few smells that do that for me....
Lilac bushes- I hate the smell of them, but my mom had one in our front yard and insisted that we take pictures by it before we went to prom.
Old Spice- My dad.
Cinnamon Rolls- Mom
All these smells, take me back to the happy days of my youth.
The other day as Hubs and I were working in the yard he said to me, "I love this smell. It makes me happy."
"Really? Seriously? THIS?!?" I asked.
I was baffled, for right in front of me were 10 bags of cow manure.
Because that has "Home Sweet Home" written all over it.
There are a few smells that do that for me....
Lilac bushes- I hate the smell of them, but my mom had one in our front yard and insisted that we take pictures by it before we went to prom.
Old Spice- My dad.
Cinnamon Rolls- Mom
All these smells, take me back to the happy days of my youth.
The other day as Hubs and I were working in the yard he said to me, "I love this smell. It makes me happy."
"Really? Seriously? THIS?!?" I asked.
I was baffled, for right in front of me were 10 bags of cow manure.
Because that has "Home Sweet Home" written all over it.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Replaced
I've been replaced.
I left for two nights...TWO nights! and already he has found a new love.
He told me that he spent all day with her; carried her around all day. They were connected at the hip. Specifically, his hip. He even slept with her...as in lying next to him....in the middle of the day...in my bed! Our bed. Mine and his. Not mine and hers.)
Scandal!!!
For 2 whole day I was out of the picture...quite literally.
Lucky for me she isn't as cute as I am. Right? Just look at her.
Skank!
Hooking up with Jen Matlock ABC Thursday.
I left for two nights...TWO nights! and already he has found a new love.
He told me that he spent all day with her; carried her around all day. They were connected at the hip. Specifically, his hip. He even slept with her...as in lying next to him....in the middle of the day...in my bed! Our bed. Mine and his. Not mine and hers.)
Scandal!!!
For 2 whole day I was out of the picture...quite literally.
Lucky for me she isn't as cute as I am. Right? Just look at her.
Skank!
Hooking up with Jen Matlock ABC Thursday.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Guaranteed to make him cry....
He cried. I didn't expect him to, but he did.
Men are generally the stronger species. At least they are emotionally. Of course there are times when it is understandable when they do cry....
...their wedding day.
...the birth of their child.
...death of a loved one.
...kidney stones.
But in general, they don't cry over the simple stuff.
So you can imagine my shock when he opened his birthday gift....and he cried. So what was this amazing gift? What did I give him that touched him to the core?
Men are generally the stronger species. At least they are emotionally. Of course there are times when it is understandable when they do cry....
...their wedding day.
...the birth of their child.
...death of a loved one.
...kidney stones.
But in general, they don't cry over the simple stuff.
So you can imagine my shock when he opened his birthday gift....and he cried. So what was this amazing gift? What did I give him that touched him to the core?
Some men are just sentimental about their kitchen appliances.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Cold is as cold does....
Truth is...I am glad I am not Hubs.
For a lot of reasons.
For starters, I would never be able to find anything in the fridge and that would be frustrating because I, in wife form, wouldn't be there to find it for me, in Hubs' form.
Secondly, if I was him, I wouldn't like to eat onions and that is just sad. Everything tastes better with onions. It tastes even better with green chili. I'm just sayin'.
But mostly I am glad I am not Hubs because I have zero desire to go on Klondike. That's right. Klondike is this weekend! No, I am not talking about those delicious chocolate covered vanilla ice cream squares. Oh, no. I would be all over it if that was what I was talking about.
The Klondike I am talking about is winter camping. This is when a group of men and boys hike into the snowy mountains and spend a day, a night and a day. This does not even sound fun to me. At. All.
Don't get me wrong. I like camping. As in real camping. The kind that doesn't have showers. Or running water. Or electrical outlets. Sleeping in tents, not cabins. And sleeping bags not beds. That's fun! (But not bears. I don't like those.I try and avoid them.) But freezing cold temperatures? Snow? Hiking in that cold snow. Nope. You lost me. Totally and completely out.
Hubs and Kobe are heading out this evening. And Hubs has prepared. They have a few pairs of wool socks. And beanies. And neck warmers. And zero degree sleeping bags. And gloves...two pair. And boots. And long johns. And ponchos. And tarps. And....
Does this sound fun to any of you? Anyone?
My thoughts exactly! (unless you said yes...and then you are farther gone than I am.)
Me? I am planning a nice weekend at home. In my nice warm bed. In my nicely heated home. I may have a cup of warm hot chocolate.
Heck, I may even get myself my own Klondike...
...bar that is.
(I wrote this last Friday...thought it was still worth sharing. FYI, they came home in one half frozen piece, and are fully thawed. Whew!)
For a lot of reasons.
For starters, I would never be able to find anything in the fridge and that would be frustrating because I, in wife form, wouldn't be there to find it for me, in Hubs' form.
Secondly, if I was him, I wouldn't like to eat onions and that is just sad. Everything tastes better with onions. It tastes even better with green chili. I'm just sayin'.
But mostly I am glad I am not Hubs because I have zero desire to go on Klondike. That's right. Klondike is this weekend! No, I am not talking about those delicious chocolate covered vanilla ice cream squares. Oh, no. I would be all over it if that was what I was talking about.
The Klondike I am talking about is winter camping. This is when a group of men and boys hike into the snowy mountains and spend a day, a night and a day. This does not even sound fun to me. At. All.
Don't get me wrong. I like camping. As in real camping. The kind that doesn't have showers. Or running water. Or electrical outlets. Sleeping in tents, not cabins. And sleeping bags not beds. That's fun! (But not bears. I don't like those.I try and avoid them.) But freezing cold temperatures? Snow? Hiking in that cold snow. Nope. You lost me. Totally and completely out.
Hubs and Kobe are heading out this evening. And Hubs has prepared. They have a few pairs of wool socks. And beanies. And neck warmers. And zero degree sleeping bags. And gloves...two pair. And boots. And long johns. And ponchos. And tarps. And....
Does this sound fun to any of you? Anyone?
My thoughts exactly! (unless you said yes...and then you are farther gone than I am.)
Me? I am planning a nice weekend at home. In my nice warm bed. In my nicely heated home. I may have a cup of warm hot chocolate.
Heck, I may even get myself my own Klondike...
...bar that is.
(I wrote this last Friday...thought it was still worth sharing. FYI, they came home in one half frozen piece, and are fully thawed. Whew!)
Monday, January 21, 2013
So I Married a Deaf Man: He got a box
For all his life, Hubs has spoken the "Other" language.
You know, the language that isn't cool enough to be mentioned on job applications. The language not popular enough to be listed on school forms. That language not used enough to be on medical history forms.
Until now.
Today, Hubs had to go to the doctor. He has been complaining of heart pains. Which is totally crazy because he is totally healthy. He exercises 6 days a week. He doesn't smoke, drink or do drugs. Rarely drinks soda. He takes vitamins. See what I mean, healthy.
He must just love me so much that it hurts.
I do that to people.
Anywhoo...
While he was filling out the forms, it asked his primary language. And there is was. For the first time in our history.
You know, the language that isn't cool enough to be mentioned on job applications. The language not popular enough to be listed on school forms. That language not used enough to be on medical history forms.
Until now.
Today, Hubs had to go to the doctor. He has been complaining of heart pains. Which is totally crazy because he is totally healthy. He exercises 6 days a week. He doesn't smoke, drink or do drugs. Rarely drinks soda. He takes vitamins. See what I mean, healthy.
He must just love me so much that it hurts.
I do that to people.
Anywhoo...
While he was filling out the forms, it asked his primary language. And there is was. For the first time in our history.
How totally cool is that? Have you ever seen that before?
Now he doesn't have speak the "Other" language. Now he can simply check the "Sign" box and move on with life...
...and loving me too much.
Finally!!
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Girly Man
I am in love with a girly man!
When I say girly, I don't mean he looks girly because he doesn't. He does P90X2 almost everyday. So he has a manly body.
I don't mean that he asks to wear my clothes....that would be weird. Weird because he's my husband and weird because I've had 5 children come out of my body and he hasn't. I wouldn't exactly say we are the same size...
And I don't mean that he talks girly...although when he calls me via the relay and the interpreter is female...yeah, it's a little weird.
No, he is, in every sense of the word a guy's guy. Athletic. Humble. Handsome.
But he is a little girl-like.
For example:
He loves to shop. He loves to walk the mall and go into all the stores. When we go into Sam's Club, he loves walking down every aisle. The man loves to shop.
He has more shoes than I do. That's really not saying much, seeing as I have one pair of running shoes, sandals, and a pair I wear to church. Beating me is not hard. But he has shoes for every sport...football, working out, racquetball, biking, etc. Plus the normal stuff...sandals, church, tennis shoes. The man has choices.
He also has more clothes. I know this to be true. He has denied it in the past, but today as we were packing our bedroom I could prove it. He has T-shirts, nice shirts, sweatshirts, dress shirts, suits, vests, pants, shorts, exercise shorts. He had three full bins.
Me? One.
He has been known to say, on more than one occasion, "I think I want a new wardrobe." Seriously? Seriously!!!. This man cracks me up!! Such a girl.
What does your man do that is...well...girly?
When I say girly, I don't mean he looks girly because he doesn't. He does P90X2 almost everyday. So he has a manly body.
I don't mean that he asks to wear my clothes....that would be weird. Weird because he's my husband and weird because I've had 5 children come out of my body and he hasn't. I wouldn't exactly say we are the same size...
And I don't mean that he talks girly...although when he calls me via the relay and the interpreter is female...yeah, it's a little weird.
No, he is, in every sense of the word a guy's guy. Athletic. Humble. Handsome.
But he is a little girl-like.
For example:
He loves to shop. He loves to walk the mall and go into all the stores. When we go into Sam's Club, he loves walking down every aisle. The man loves to shop.
He has more shoes than I do. That's really not saying much, seeing as I have one pair of running shoes, sandals, and a pair I wear to church. Beating me is not hard. But he has shoes for every sport...football, working out, racquetball, biking, etc. Plus the normal stuff...sandals, church, tennis shoes. The man has choices.
He also has more clothes. I know this to be true. He has denied it in the past, but today as we were packing our bedroom I could prove it. He has T-shirts, nice shirts, sweatshirts, dress shirts, suits, vests, pants, shorts, exercise shorts. He had three full bins.
Me? One.
He has been known to say, on more than one occasion, "I think I want a new wardrobe." Seriously? Seriously!!!. This man cracks me up!! Such a girl.
What does your man do that is...well...girly?
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
So I Married a Deaf Man: World's Best?
Bwahahahaha!!! Hold on...let me...breath.... I found this to be hilarious rather interesting.
"Concentrate on watching the road." (Giggling) "...they see everything when they're at the wheel." (Chuckling) "...and can tell immediately if they should pull to the side of the road." (ROFL!)
Okay, sorry. But this has not been my experience. As in Not. At. All.
Sure, Hubs has gotten far less tickets that I have. But that's because cops don't give Hubs tickets. (You can read about the only ticket Hubs has received here.) Never mind that I have totaled two cars in our married life. This is not about me! No-one ever said I was the world's best driver!
Hubs is a good driver. But the "World's Best Driver"?? .....????...........???????
We had to borrow my parents' truck to use on our honeymoon. This was because the man who guaranteed he knew how to change our transmission and promised he could get it done before we got married...yeah, well...not so much. We gave him two weeks....he took four.
So we borrowed my parents' truck and off we went.
One day, we hopped into the truck and headed out. I had the map and was trying to navigate. Apparently I was not doing a sufficient job because Hubs started to navigate the map...while navigating the road.
One thing you should know about Hubs is that he doesn't multi-task well. He is great about starting something and finishing it...most the time. But if I say something like, "Hey, while...(he hates that word)... you are upstairs replacing the toilet paper...(because that happens)...could you grab my book and bring down the laundry basket?", he starts to feel stress.
But on this day, the multi-tasking bug had got to him and multi-task he did. Mapping and driving. At the same time.
I was in love and believed he could do anything...and when I say anything I mean driving without his eyes on the road. Yes, not only had love made me blind, but it had taken all common sense from me. And him for that matter.
He was doing a pretty good job until this mile-marker appeared out of no-where. Okay, so it was on the side of the road like all mile markers, only we weren't on the road like we normally are. Lucky for us, Hubs look up in time and swerved. Unlucky for the the truck, it lost a side mirror that day.
I wish I could say that was the last time something like that happened. But that would be lying. And I don't lie. Not about that, anyway.
So, is Hubs "The World's Best Driver"? Ummm..not so much. Maybe the "World's Best Multi-tasker"? That would be no.
"World's Best Hubs"?
Without a doubt!!
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Love of my life....
I love my iphone.
Love it.
For so many reasons.
I can call. I can text. I can email.
I can bank. I can calendar. I can photograph.
I can read the news. I can read my scriptures. I can surf.
I can blog. I can map things. I can listen to and buy music.
But mostly I love my iphone because where else can you do this to your husband???
or this...
or...
...what about this...
Oh, yes.
I love my iphone.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
You made me do it!
Never let your husband cut his own hair.
Just don't.
I did. He told me he was going to. At first I laughed. When I saw that he wasn't laughing with me...I swallowed and said, "Alrighty then."
He needed a strong comb. Not the strong one that we already had...the one that I use on our boys all the time. Nope, he needed a new one. Oh, and a hand mirror.
Before he started, I asked him, "Are you sure you want to do this? Do you think it is a good idea?" I used to cut his hair. I started off "Pretty Bad". Moved up to "Not good." I am now at "Could be worse." It was time for him to get professional help.
And he has. Apparently his place of choice gives him a head and shoulder massage along with a hot hand towel on his face. I should probably feel a little uncomfortable about that, right? But whatever, I was just glad it wasn't me doing the cutting anymore. Plus his hair looked great. But it was also costing $30 every 3 weeks. Thosemassages haircuts are expensive.
So like I said I made sure before hand this was what he wanted to do. "Yes. Yes. I know what I am doing. I can do this. It's no big deal." And with that he headed up the stairs.
Five minutes later he hollers, "I messed up!!" I walk up the stairs and into the bathroom. It was slightly uneven, but it was fixable. The problem was that instead of starting with the #6 guard or #5 guard, he had decided on going with the #1 guard. You know, the attachment that is one step up from scalping yourself. That one.
I told him that it could be fixed. He wanted to cut the top first before he tried to finish up. So I went downstairs to help with the circus happening there...always happening there.
About 5 minutes later he stomps down the stairs fuming, scowling and all around ticked off.
"What happened? Are you okay?" I cautiously asked.
"No! I am not okay!! Look! Look at my hair. You were supposed to come fix it! And you didn't come. Now look what I did!!" he fumed. He was mad alright. At me!!
What? How? Why is it my fault? I am not the one with the clippers in my hand. If I remember correctly, I was not in favor of this arrangement. I don't remember casting one of those "Why-don't-you-try-trashing-your-hair" spells. At least not recently.
Can you believe it? Yeah...I know. I. Know.
I fixed him. His hair, that is. (Although he is fixed...so sorry...tmi...) I may or may not have left a stripe or two on the backside of his head...you know, for spite.
One thing is for sure: next time he decides to cut his hair...
...I'm outta here.
PS. I still love Hubs, short(er) hair and all.
Just don't.
I did. He told me he was going to. At first I laughed. When I saw that he wasn't laughing with me...I swallowed and said, "Alrighty then."
He needed a strong comb. Not the strong one that we already had...the one that I use on our boys all the time. Nope, he needed a new one. Oh, and a hand mirror.
Before he started, I asked him, "Are you sure you want to do this? Do you think it is a good idea?" I used to cut his hair. I started off "Pretty Bad". Moved up to "Not good." I am now at "Could be worse." It was time for him to get professional help.
And he has. Apparently his place of choice gives him a head and shoulder massage along with a hot hand towel on his face. I should probably feel a little uncomfortable about that, right? But whatever, I was just glad it wasn't me doing the cutting anymore. Plus his hair looked great. But it was also costing $30 every 3 weeks. Those
So like I said I made sure before hand this was what he wanted to do. "Yes. Yes. I know what I am doing. I can do this. It's no big deal." And with that he headed up the stairs.
Five minutes later he hollers, "I messed up!!" I walk up the stairs and into the bathroom. It was slightly uneven, but it was fixable. The problem was that instead of starting with the #6 guard or #5 guard, he had decided on going with the #1 guard. You know, the attachment that is one step up from scalping yourself. That one.
I told him that it could be fixed. He wanted to cut the top first before he tried to finish up. So I went downstairs to help with the circus happening there...always happening there.
About 5 minutes later he stomps down the stairs fuming, scowling and all around ticked off.
"What happened? Are you okay?" I cautiously asked.
"No! I am not okay!! Look! Look at my hair. You were supposed to come fix it! And you didn't come. Now look what I did!!" he fumed. He was mad alright. At me!!
What? How? Why is it my fault? I am not the one with the clippers in my hand. If I remember correctly, I was not in favor of this arrangement. I don't remember casting one of those "Why-don't-you-try-trashing-your-hair" spells. At least not recently.
Can you believe it? Yeah...I know. I. Know.
I fixed him. His hair, that is. (Although he is fixed...so sorry...tmi...) I may or may not have left a stripe or two on the backside of his head...you know, for spite.
One thing is for sure: next time he decides to cut his hair...
...I'm outta here.
PS. I still love Hubs, short(er) hair and all.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Hold your lunch!!!
Hubs has a weak stomach.
He gags when he changes a poopie diaper. He about loses his lunch if he sees vomit. And if there is blood, forget it.
You needed to know this to completely appreciate this story.
When we had Kobe, our first child, Hubs was the perfect husband/father. (He still is, btw.) He was good about bathing him, rocking him, burping him and loving on him. He would even change the diaper. Yeah, I know.
After about four weeks, I had to return to work. Hubs was in school so we would take turns being with Kobe.
On my first morning back to work, I was showering, getting ready for work, sad that I was going to have to leave my baby. All of a sudden I hear Hubs yell, "Stef!!!!!"
Thinking that something terrible had happened, I ran into the front room. Something terrible indeed. There, in the middle of the room, was Hubs, holding Kobe out away from his body. Hubs' panicked face was red, looking like he was struggling to keep his already eaten breakfast in place.
What was the problem? I mean, Kobe wasn't crying. He wasn't bleeding. He was breathing fine. What?
One look at Hubs' white undershirt and it was obvious that Kobe was leaking. A lot. No, like a lot. Baby poop was all over the front of Hubs' shirt. And when I say all over, I mean all over. It was yellow, it was runny and it was a sight to see.
I looked at him and couldn't help but bust up laughing. Of all the people Kobe could blow out on, he chose his Daddy. His own little love note.
Ahhhhh. So sweet.
He gags when he changes a poopie diaper. He about loses his lunch if he sees vomit. And if there is blood, forget it.
You needed to know this to completely appreciate this story.
When we had Kobe, our first child, Hubs was the perfect husband/father. (He still is, btw.) He was good about bathing him, rocking him, burping him and loving on him. He would even change the diaper. Yeah, I know.
After about four weeks, I had to return to work. Hubs was in school so we would take turns being with Kobe.
On my first morning back to work, I was showering, getting ready for work, sad that I was going to have to leave my baby. All of a sudden I hear Hubs yell, "Stef!!!!!"
Thinking that something terrible had happened, I ran into the front room. Something terrible indeed. There, in the middle of the room, was Hubs, holding Kobe out away from his body. Hubs' panicked face was red, looking like he was struggling to keep his already eaten breakfast in place.
What was the problem? I mean, Kobe wasn't crying. He wasn't bleeding. He was breathing fine. What?
One look at Hubs' white undershirt and it was obvious that Kobe was leaking. A lot. No, like a lot. Baby poop was all over the front of Hubs' shirt. And when I say all over, I mean all over. It was yellow, it was runny and it was a sight to see.
I looked at him and couldn't help but bust up laughing. Of all the people Kobe could blow out on, he chose his Daddy. His own little love note.
Ahhhhh. So sweet.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Innocent until proven...
He blamed me. Me! Can you believe it?
He got a ticket and he blamed me. He, who has never received a ticket, got one and then blamed me! How rude!!
Why?
Because I was driving.
But he couldn't prove it if we went to court. Heck, it was his name on the ticket. He was determined to prove that it wasn't him. We watched the video...we meaning all 7 of us. Yes, he felt the need to show it to our children.
"Look. There is Mommy, breaking the law," he pointed out.
You couldn't see my face, or my hair or any other identifying feature for that matter. There was no proof that it was me. Just our car, with his name on the pink slip, running through a light that had just barely turned red. That was it.
Nevermind that this happened at 7:50am on a Tuesday, the day that Hubs leaves for school around 7:15am. Nevermind that it is in a part of town that is nowhere near the university that Hubs attends. Nevermind that I knew it was the morning that I had to run, at the last minute, to the store to buy my middle schooler a new shirt because all of his were stinky and..well...unwearable. Nevermind that Wal-Mart is on the same corner as the above mentioned infraction.
No proof I tell you!
He got a ticket and he blamed me. He, who has never received a ticket, got one and then blamed me! How rude!!
Why?
Because I was driving.
But he couldn't prove it if we went to court. Heck, it was his name on the ticket. He was determined to prove that it wasn't him. We watched the video...we meaning all 7 of us. Yes, he felt the need to show it to our children.
"Look. There is Mommy, breaking the law," he pointed out.
You couldn't see my face, or my hair or any other identifying feature for that matter. There was no proof that it was me. Just our car, with his name on the pink slip, running through a light that had just barely turned red. That was it.
Nevermind that this happened at 7:50am on a Tuesday, the day that Hubs leaves for school around 7:15am. Nevermind that it is in a part of town that is nowhere near the university that Hubs attends. Nevermind that I knew it was the morning that I had to run, at the last minute, to the store to buy my middle schooler a new shirt because all of his were stinky and..well...unwearable. Nevermind that Wal-Mart is on the same corner as the above mentioned infraction.
No proof I tell you!
Monday, September 5, 2011
I don't want to make it burn
Our celebration season begins this Friday. It is my son's birthday. He didn't even know it until they called him up to sing to him in Primary (Sunday School for kids) yesterday. That's how crazy distracted we have been.
But it all starts in September. Mine is in October. Thanksgiving in November. Christmas is December. Baby's birthday in January. Hubs' birthday in February. Two birthdays in March. My daughter's birthday in April. Mother's Day in May and Father's Day in June.
Yes....that's where all our money goes. In case you were wondering.
With my birthday coming up I get asked, "What do you want for your birthday?" I hate this question because I really don't feel like a wanter of much. I would love sleep, but unfortunately there is no way of boxing that up and putting a bow on it.
I do, however, know what I don't want.
Exercise equipment.
You may be thinking that with my new butt-gone commitment that I would be begging for it. Nope. I don't want it. I don't need it.
You see, since about the third year of marriage, Hubs has given me exercise equipment. Every year. Okay, so maybe there was one year here and another there. But in general for the last 13 years, working out has been the theme.
Taebo, Palates, weights, treadmill, more exercise videos, gym membership, exercise balls, mats, Insanity. You names it, chances are we have it.
I should be offended, right?
Nope. And here is why. Hubs loves to exercise. He is a bit of a fanatic. He exercises 6 days a week...sometimes twice a day. He is the definition of dedication. If he could buy anything for himself it would be a gun. But if could buy something else, then it would be something to do with exercise.
He loves it. And he buys me those things because he loves it! He wants me to love it with him. Every year he wants me to love it.
I don't love it. At least not like he does. I do appreciate it. And I do use them. Sometimes. I guess I have been too busy having babies and smack.
I just don't want anymore.
Maybe if he reads this post he'll get the hint.
What don't you want for your birthday?
But it all starts in September. Mine is in October. Thanksgiving in November. Christmas is December. Baby's birthday in January. Hubs' birthday in February. Two birthdays in March. My daughter's birthday in April. Mother's Day in May and Father's Day in June.
Yes....that's where all our money goes. In case you were wondering.
With my birthday coming up I get asked, "What do you want for your birthday?" I hate this question because I really don't feel like a wanter of much. I would love sleep, but unfortunately there is no way of boxing that up and putting a bow on it.
I do, however, know what I don't want.
Exercise equipment.
You may be thinking that with my new butt-gone commitment that I would be begging for it. Nope. I don't want it. I don't need it.
You see, since about the third year of marriage, Hubs has given me exercise equipment. Every year. Okay, so maybe there was one year here and another there. But in general for the last 13 years, working out has been the theme.
Taebo, Palates, weights, treadmill, more exercise videos, gym membership, exercise balls, mats, Insanity. You names it, chances are we have it.
I should be offended, right?
Nope. And here is why. Hubs loves to exercise. He is a bit of a fanatic. He exercises 6 days a week...sometimes twice a day. He is the definition of dedication. If he could buy anything for himself it would be a gun. But if could buy something else, then it would be something to do with exercise.
He loves it. And he buys me those things because he loves it! He wants me to love it with him. Every year he wants me to love it.
I don't love it. At least not like he does. I do appreciate it. And I do use them. Sometimes. I guess I have been too busy having babies and smack.
I just don't want anymore.
Maybe if he reads this post he'll get the hint.
What don't you want for your birthday?
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Leaping lizards!
Hubs loves animals. I am not sure where this love comes from, but I am going to guess it all started with his lizard.
One summer, when he was very young, he caught himself a lizard. It must have been love at first sight. He built it a home of wood and rock. I can just imagine him lifting off the top and petting the little guy.
But after petting him for a while he got bored. Or maybe it was curiosity? Maybe he was just being a boy.
He ran inside and came out with a surprise. He lifted the lid, aimed the BB gun and pulled the trigger. I know, horrible.
Only he didn't understand that shooting it with a BB gun would hurt it, much less kill it.
He bent down and looked at it. When it didn't move, he touched it. When he realized that it was dead, he was devastated. He cried. A lot. Looking for comfort he ran into his mom and spilled the beans.
"Mom, someone came and shot my lizard with a BB gun," he wailed. She didn't believe him.
So this sweet little lizard killing boy walks out, digs a grave, carries the limp body and buries his lizard.
And that is where his love for animals began.
At least until he was introduced to the paintball gun.
But that's a story for another day.
One summer, when he was very young, he caught himself a lizard. It must have been love at first sight. He built it a home of wood and rock. I can just imagine him lifting off the top and petting the little guy.
But after petting him for a while he got bored. Or maybe it was curiosity? Maybe he was just being a boy.
He ran inside and came out with a surprise. He lifted the lid, aimed the BB gun and pulled the trigger. I know, horrible.
Only he didn't understand that shooting it with a BB gun would hurt it, much less kill it.
He bent down and looked at it. When it didn't move, he touched it. When he realized that it was dead, he was devastated. He cried. A lot. Looking for comfort he ran into his mom and spilled the beans.
"Mom, someone came and shot my lizard with a BB gun," he wailed. She didn't believe him.
So this sweet little lizard killing boy walks out, digs a grave, carries the limp body and buries his lizard.
And that is where his love for animals began.
At least until he was introduced to the paintball gun.
But that's a story for another day.
Monday, April 18, 2011
How many?
Forty-eight hard boiled eggs.
That is what Hubs did yesterday.
We are going out of town this weekend , so we have called the Easter Bunny and made arrangements. He is coming tomorrow morning. This meant that we needed to dye our Easter eggs yesterday.
I bought 4 dozen eggs because they were on sale not intending to use them all for dying. That's a lot of eggs.
I slept in a little Sunday morning, maybe 30 minutes longer than usual. That was long enough.
Forty-eight hard boiled eggs.
Hubs said, "Don't worry. We will have no problem getting all these eggs colored."
I smiled back at him, lovingly. "Oh, yes, Deary. I have no doubt that our 5 blessings will be able to reek havoc on those innocent, white eggs. All 48 of them."
And color them they did. We did. My vinegar smelling fridge is proof. And it must be said that I was the only one who spilled dye this year. All over my leg. And that stuff does not come off easy. My leg looked like a smurf threw up on it.
Getting all the eggs colored was not my concern. "What," I asked, " am I going to make with forty-eight hard boiled?"
No. Really!
Potato salad, yes. Deviled eggs, yup. Egg salad sandwiches, you bet.
These would all be great, and you can bet that we are going to be having our share of those. But remember, we are going out of town. So the time we have to consume these lovies is 3 days.
Oh, and let me remind that we are soon be be traveling. In a car. For six hours. We are going to be smelling these eggs...in a less desirable, recycled manner...if you catch my drift. My boys hold nothing back...er...in...er...Yuck. Yuck! Yuck!!
Sigh.
48 hard boiled eggs.
That is what Hubs did yesterday.
We are going out of town this weekend , so we have called the Easter Bunny and made arrangements. He is coming tomorrow morning. This meant that we needed to dye our Easter eggs yesterday.
I bought 4 dozen eggs because they were on sale not intending to use them all for dying. That's a lot of eggs.
I slept in a little Sunday morning, maybe 30 minutes longer than usual. That was long enough.
Forty-eight hard boiled eggs.
Hubs said, "Don't worry. We will have no problem getting all these eggs colored."
I smiled back at him, lovingly. "Oh, yes, Deary. I have no doubt that our 5 blessings will be able to reek havoc on those innocent, white eggs. All 48 of them."
And color them they did. We did. My vinegar smelling fridge is proof. And it must be said that I was the only one who spilled dye this year. All over my leg. And that stuff does not come off easy. My leg looked like a smurf threw up on it.
Getting all the eggs colored was not my concern. "What," I asked, " am I going to make with forty-eight hard boiled?"
No. Really!
Potato salad, yes. Deviled eggs, yup. Egg salad sandwiches, you bet.
These would all be great, and you can bet that we are going to be having our share of those. But remember, we are going out of town. So the time we have to consume these lovies is 3 days.
Oh, and let me remind that we are soon be be traveling. In a car. For six hours. We are going to be smelling these eggs...in a less desirable, recycled manner...if you catch my drift. My boys hold nothing back...er...in...er...Yuck. Yuck! Yuck!!
Sigh.
48 hard boiled eggs.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
My husband is VERY Hot
Master Cleanse.
That is what it is called.
Hubs is doing the Master Cleanse. What, exactly, is this Master Cleanse. I wish it meant that I could take the kids for a day and when I came back, my house would be squeaky clean.
I am not that lucky.
The Master Cleanse involves drinking a nasty looking concoction for 10 days. What exactly is this funk that he is putting into his body every morning for the next two weeks?
2TBS lemon juice
2 TBS maple syrup
1/10 tsp cayenne pepper
8 oz water
That will clean you out.
The first day Hubs tried it, he misunderstood exactly what was meant by 1/10 tsp cayenne pepper. He thought it meant 1-10 tsp. So the first day he put in a whole teaspoon of cayenne pepper.
He couldn't believe how hot it was. But, if it was going to clean his insides, he could handle.
On day two, he put in 1 1/2 teaspoon and I think I saw fire shooting out his eyeballs and heard fire alarms going off inside his head. After he was able to catch his breath, I asked what had happened. And he explained.
I got out our 1/8tsp and told him that 1/10 was less than that.
I always knew Hubs was hot.
I guess I never knew just how hot.
Swing by Jen Matlock's ABC Thursday for more V posts.
That is what it is called.
Hubs is doing the Master Cleanse. What, exactly, is this Master Cleanse. I wish it meant that I could take the kids for a day and when I came back, my house would be squeaky clean.
I am not that lucky.
The Master Cleanse involves drinking a nasty looking concoction for 10 days. What exactly is this funk that he is putting into his body every morning for the next two weeks?
2TBS lemon juice
2 TBS maple syrup
1/10 tsp cayenne pepper
8 oz water
That will clean you out.
The first day Hubs tried it, he misunderstood exactly what was meant by 1/10 tsp cayenne pepper. He thought it meant 1-10 tsp. So the first day he put in a whole teaspoon of cayenne pepper.
He couldn't believe how hot it was. But, if it was going to clean his insides, he could handle.
On day two, he put in 1 1/2 teaspoon and I think I saw fire shooting out his eyeballs and heard fire alarms going off inside his head. After he was able to catch his breath, I asked what had happened. And he explained.
I got out our 1/8tsp and told him that 1/10 was less than that.
I always knew Hubs was hot.
I guess I never knew just how hot.
Swing by Jen Matlock's ABC Thursday for more V posts.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
All Night Long!
And we have all had those moments when our significant other tells that story to friends or family, or total strangers, not out of spite, but because it is a story all would enjoy. Today, I am that loving spouse sharing Brian's moment.
I woke up this morning, get ready for work and am ready to head out the door but I can't find my keys. I look in my bag, in the junk drawer (because EVERYTHING goes in that drawer), my pants, all flat surfaces with no luck.
I ask Brian if he had used my keys. He says that he did, but he also is unable to find them. So I grab his keys instead. I step outside and I hear a car running. I look around and the only car that I could be hearing was my own van.
No way! Brian had used the it yesterday and had arrived home about 6pm. The car had been running for 12 hours! He either had a forgetful moment (he is getting old, you know) OR he was being very thoughtful and knew that I would need the car warmed up before I went to work this morning.
The only thing I could do was laugh. Not just because the car had been running all night, but that it had been running and the doors were all unlocked and it was STILL THERE! I think the only thing missing was the neon sign saying "TAKE ME!" Maybe someon considered it, but after seeing the cleaning job they would have to do they changed their minds.
At any rate, it was a good thing that Brian had just filled up with gas so that it COULD run all night. Bless his heart. In his defense, it's not like he could HEAR it running. Too funny!!
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