Marriage, the Plunger Effect on sleep and exercise.

I’ll have to look back and see if I’ve explained the plunger effect before.  My husband plunges the  toilet VIOLENTLY so that there’s water and other things all over the bathroom floor.  Instead of using finesse, he uses FORCE like the suction of an F4 hurricane.  This M.O. occurs in other things he does as well.  It’s become a theme in our house.

Forward to today.  I’ve been on him about coming to bed with me instead of sitting on the couch watching television until he falls asleep and then waking up in the middle of the night and coming to bed.  Going to bed at the same time is really important to the relationship.  We have very little time together with only one day off together, 2 little kids, 3 adult children, and all the chores that come with living up here on this hill in the woods.

I’ve also been on him about exercise.  Because he gets none.

Then comes the PLUNGER EFFECT.  It started two nights ago.  He runs upstairs at 9, jumps into bed, and is sound asleep before I get there.  Then he gets up at 5:30 to exercise which I’m pretty sure means coffee and morning television, especially since I found the elliptical unplugged when I got up.  So then he’s so tired by 8:30 at night that he runs to bed again.   I’ve been very clear and specific about wanting to go to bed “together.”  I think.  Do I have to be so specific and include 6 minutes and 35 seconds of conversation at night in my request?

Do all men do this?

How many days without WINE, Flatulence Etiquette

Nine days without wine is enough for me.

When Gina comes to me and shows me Youtube videos of funny people and compare the old, wine drinking me to them I remember once again that I’ve become very unfunny/sober/serious/adult since I moved out of the ghettos and got a real job.  I have moments of hilarity and then WHOOSH life takes back over like a lingering virus I can’t kick.  I forget what was funny long before I get to my laptop to record it.  Wine helps my memory greatly.  Everything else passes by in a rainbow haze except for those moments like this one:

He was in the kitchen cooking on one side of the island and I was on the other and he farted loudly and then gave a little surprised YELP and when on chopping jalapenos as though nothing happened.

“Did you just fart and then make a surprised sound?”

Any answer other than yes would have been an outright lie so he said “YES.

Who is surprised by their own fart?

And then I broke into laughter which he joined and I didn’t look at him cause I knew he was embarrassed and probably red.  Instead I tried to make it okay by saying

At least you still make me laugh.

Which sounds great, but if his being surprised by his own fart is all I’ve got then we’re in trouble.

The Worst Insult and my REVENGE

He said “You park like Haley.”  This is one of the worst insults of my life especially since I had parked the car really straight behind my work building.  Something about how the wheels were turned in the wheel wells, BLAH,BLAH,BLAH . . . I stopped paying attention at this point.

Really, I am proud to be completely unconcerned about how I park since I decided to become my like my good friend, Tarri, in her wild abandonment of straight parking expectations.  I used to look out my kitchen window at all the pretty new vehicles lined up on the street outside my house and snicker at Tarri’s completely crooked mess of a parking job.  How FREEING it must be to park all Helter Skelter like that!

And so when I returned the car to the house this evening I not only parked 3 feet from the curb and crooked, I also left Kanye West singing Golddigger at the top of his lungs, so that he will be shocked into never again complaining about a couple of inches one way or the other.  When he thinks about the CAR he will be traumatized and start to shake and be grateful that his heart is still in good condition.

I say ONE THING he hears SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY

I swear men are regressing in their evolution.

I said “We’re out of money for the month.  And both vehicles need gas.”

And about 10 seconds later he asked “Do you want to stop by the children’s second hand clothing store today?”

If I haven’t got any money for gas, then I don’t have money for clothing.  It seem logical to me.  What part did we not connect on.

N0 money=No gas=No clothing

I think he heard something more like “I feel poor and I’m too lazy to go out in the cold to put gas in the car, so will you do this and then drive me to shop?”

No money=Me whining=Fix it and take me shopping.

What I really want is more like

No money=Do something about it

He’s been home and on crutches for over two weeks and if he continues to watch Do-It-Yourself shows I’m going to duct tape him to his recliner and make him watch Sisterhood of the Traveling pants and the sequel.  So If he calls you sobbing and talking about how big his butt is, you’ll know that it worked.

Baby Days and Teenage Days lead to confusion

How did my days become all about juggling a baby AGAIN???  He’s adorable of course, but at this late stage in life I should be lounging in my pajamas and drinking coffee while watching Vampire Diaries, not Sesame Street.  I found myself this morning googling:  What’s wrong with Natalie Portman on Sesame Street?

She was losing her voice.  Hey, I was concerned.

Should I have to deal with random spit-up on my clothing at the SAME TIME I have to deal with sex, drugs, and whatever that music is that they’re listening to that makes Rock and Roll seem very tame?  I’m teaching someone how to say Mama at the same time I’m teaching someone else how to drive.  I’m wiping poop off someone’s back at the same time I’m still trying to get the eyeliner out of the carpet.  Soon I’ll discover I’ve stuck the wrong kid in the playpen and put soda in the baby’s bottle.

I did reach for a baby bottle one day instead of my beer bottle.

Am I trying to get someone to take a long afternoon nap or driving kids around and around and around?

Soon I’ll find the baby chewing on the cell phone and the girls asking me why I keep sticking pacifiers in their mouths.

Meanwhile and completely off topic, or maybe on the same topic I made a monthly budget and the ONLY THING he wanted to raise was the amount spent on alcohol.  Men.

But now for a brief interlude:  The closet cat thinks he is the baby.  These pictures are not staged.

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Yeah, your kid will be a PERFECT ANGEL. My ass.

First, my ass is killing me.  Let’s not talk about the disgusting consequences of pregnancy.  But he is sitting in some odd way this morning that makes me left butt cheek hurt like HELL.  Oh, please come out soon.

We could talk about the sharp shooting pains he causes when he butts his big fat head against my cervix.  It feels like a knitting needles stabbing my vagina until I cry.  He’s acting like a boy already.

But, no.  Let’s talk about teenagers and how much I love my children, but at the same time it’s obvious they think I am an idiot and it is pissing me off.  If I could just drink . . . .

My house was freezing when I got up this morning but it wasn’t until I opened the door to my oldest child’s room that I understood the reason.  Her room smelled like an ashtray and her window was open, despite it being in the 20s and the wind blowing so hard it shakes the house.

And she said

I didn’t do it.  It doesn’t smell like an ashtray.  I didn’t open the window.  I don’t know how that happened.

And she stuck to that story.

I guess the cats did it.

Now let’s go back in time to Saturday when her younger sister wanted to hang out with friends at the St. Patrick’s Day festivities downtown.  And assured me that her Mexican, pot smoking boyfriend was still out of town on a camping trip.

BE HOME BY SIX.

The husband and I took a nice relaxing ride up the North Fork to Yellowstone and on our way back we stopped at  Walmart to get dinner and THERE SHE WAS

WITH HER BOYFRIEND.

She said she walked the 3 miles to Walmart with him and other friends and that they were walking home and that she’d be on time.

IT WAS 5:40.

So Nick and I found his car in the parking lot and parked next to it.  Waiting.

She came out and made a BEELINE to the car until she saw us and then tried to walk around us and head down the sidewalk toward home.

But when I stopped her and pointed out the car she said it had died the day before, ran out of gas, and he’d left it at Walmart.  All this while camping.  Yeah.

I finally threw her ass in the van and took her home.

But Nick was just too curious.  He went back to Walmart and MAGICALLY THE CAR, the BOYFRIEND, and the other two girls she had walked out of the store with

WERE GONE.

Huh.

She still swears the car was dead.  She had no idea.

The cats must have done it.

Do they really think I’m that stupid????

What they don’t know is that Abrah and I have already done all this and more.  I know all about all the trouble to get into.  I wish I didn’t.  I’d be less of a wreck if I ignored all of it.  But I KNOW and I doubt they could get into more trouble than I did.

So then I realize that I will have another teenager in 15 years and I don’t want to deal with all this again when I should be drinking tea and doing crossword puzzles to delay dementia.

Nick, when he’s a teenager he’s all yours.

And then his delusion becomes apparent.

He says in all seriousness:

Don’t worry.  He’ll be a perfect Angel.

Sad, sad knowing laugh.

37 Weeks Pregnancy

I’m whiny, but I’ll keep that part short for those who care, but still don’t want to hear it.  Sinus infection.  UTI.  Antibiotics.  Haven’t we been here before?  Screw up my pH and it’s all over for several months.  But I’m pregnant and what am I supposed to do?

So now that that’s over let’s move on to the Meaningful Question of the Week:

Why are car guys the worst ones to take to buy a car?

or almost anything else?

The leg bouncing up and down out of nervousness.  Looking at me for support.  Not knowing how bad a credit score he had.    Making me look awesome as the one with the ability to buy.    I have to remind myself that we both own the same Kirby vacuum and that I negotiated a better price.

There are so many things that make me curious these days.  Like why do bunnies eat their own poop?  And now that I’m trying out timothy hay pellets as litter, is there anything more disgusting that a bunny eating her own litter?

And is there anything worse than picking up a t-shirt and thinking it’s going to be too big to wear and then pulling it on and realizing that it couldn’t be any tighter without getting stuck in it?

And then there’s this scene last night that I just had to take a picture of to prove:

What does this mean?