Excuse Me, Sir.

Sir Mix-A-Lot, that is.

I've totally got "Baby Got Back" stuck in my head right now. I can't help it.

And on a similar note, if you haven't seen this, then you should.

It's A Haiku Kind Of Wednesday

I can't kiss you now
because I ate too much cake
forgive me, my love

Managing Quality Time Effectively

You can't really tell if you don't know me in person, but I like to change the subject. A lot. It's not something I do on purpose all of the time and it's not that I'm even trying to hide that fact here but when I'm writing and get a chance to read it back, I like to fix anything that might be confusing. Or misconstrued as "a little off."

My husband - he laughs at me. He laughs when I change the subject abruptly. Instead of wasting time to explain to him how, in my mind, I move from one subject to another (logically), I just go there. To him it seems like I'm JUMPING. To him it seems disconnected and often funny. I would love to hear what line of logic he could invent to explain some of the subject changes in conversation with me. I can see how it must go in his head:

She was talking about this cabinet and how much she wants to remove the door because I keep hearing something about a barn...and in the same breath about how she may want to make the leap from glasses to contact lenses. Let's see. Cabinets-Doors-Barns--Eye wear. The cabinets...she doesn't like the cabinets because they remind her of a barn door...a door that trapped her in a barn...where she couldn't find her glasses and she couldn't see the door...so wouldn't it be great to finally have those contacts?

No.

Piece of a conversation we had this evening:

"...so I think I'm going to paint that lamp white."

"O.k."

"I don't like to look around here and see things unfinished. I don't like living in a barn with those cabinets. I wish I didn't have to buy new cabinet doors. Do you know what we should do?"

"What?"

"We should have a plan. We should draw it out and we should organize the closets - installing shelves and drawers and different levels of bars. We should do it. Together."

"Right now?"

"No. But we should plan it."

"Right now?"

"No. Not right now."

"Then yeah. Let's do it. I'm good with that."

That train of thought is SO evident.

Jumping Back In

Eddie and I are having a tough time adjusting to the fact that we both will have to return to a normal schedule tomorrow morning. It is fast approaching. We've ordered dinner in this evening just to prolong the vacation-y feel. It's not working very well.

Looking at these helps a bit.

Chivalry

When we arrived, one of the first things on our To Do list was a trip to the local super store for food for the week, things we knew we forgot as well as a few things we discovered we forgot soon after we arrived.  Once at the store, we purchased the food, the forgotten items and one special find I just HAD to have.  A noodle.  

Later on in the ocean, I was using said noodle to float and enjoy the waves alongside my husband.  He looked a little envious of my fun, floaty toy so I offered it to him.  

"No, thank you.  You keep your noodle.  I've got my own noodle."

Indeed.

    

Vay-Kay-Shun

I've just finished cooking and eating dinner in my swim suit.  The glass door that leads to the balcony is open and I can hear the waves.  That noise is a constant in the background as I listen to Eddie's breathing deepen.  He's stretched out on the couch so relaxed he's falling into sleep.

We're both waiting for the cookies to cool that I've pulled out of the oven.  

I'm sitting here, thinking back on the day and am in awe of how effortless it is to be with him...that sunburned man over there on the couch.

  

Mini Vacation

This afternoon after work, I began my vacation.  I stopped at an outlet mall on my way home to look for more vacation-ish type clothes.  Eddie and I are headed away for the coming week...away from everything.

I left the store with a mini skirt.  It looks like I've started the vacation from myself in a timely manner.     

The last time I wore a mini skirt I was eleven.  

Boys

*Thwap*

*Thwap*

*Thwap*

"What IS that?"
"Uh. Nothing. I'm just trying to turn off the light in here.....with my socks."

*Thwap/Click*

"There."

I Teach Him The Important Things

Read no further if you are squeamish about any married couple revealing too much information about their relationship, because here it comes: Eddie and I take showers together sometimes.

When we're maneuvering around each other, even after six years, the poking, prodding and giggling haven't subsided in that environment.  I don't think we'll ever really grow up and I'm relishing in this when the giggling stops.  There's a moment of silence when Eddie reaches for the shampoo.  I'm taking my turn to wet my hair and I hear Eddie ask me: 

 

"Do you know what I learned from you?" (He holds the shampoo bottle inverted.)

"No.  What?"

"This."  (He demonstrates a swift shake of the shampoo bottle to hurry the remaining shampoo down to the neck of the bottle for an easier squeeze into his palm.)

"Yeah?"

"Before, I would just wait for it.  I would just wait patiently for the rest of the shampoo to ooze down into the top.  But you, you taught me that you can shake it like this (he demonstrates the swift shake again).  You taught me that it's shampoo.  You don't have to be nice to it."

No Sparky.  No you don't.

    

Found Objects

I recently cleaned out my husband's car because life necessitates that I drive it for a while.  I knew what would happen if I asked him to clean it out.  I'd still want to go behind him with a CSI kit, micro-vacuum and a pair of tweezers to MAKE SURE it was clean.  I knew that if I just went ahead and cleaned it myself that I would be satisfied with the job and he wouldn't be made to feel like some sub-standard car cleaner.  I know us both so well.

I cleared out all of the trash, wiped down all of the surfaces and extracted some of the things he keeps in his car, which I divided into manageable sections for him to "do something about."  One of the objects I excavated removed from the car was a hibachi grill.  Still in the box.  I put it aside to ask him about it.

This morning, I got the chance.

"Hey, what's with this hibachi grill?  Who gave it to you?"

"My grandmother..."

"Oh.  O.k."

"...like... a LONG time ago."

 

I keep looking at him.

"...like...before we were married.  It was in my office and I didn't want to take it home...so when I moved it out of my office and into the car...it was progress."

Blink.  Blink.

"And yes.  I deserve that look."

*Just as a point of reference for those who may happen upon this: We've been married almost SIX years.

 

A Rose By Any Other Name

To navigate outside of our homes we have named streets, towns, states, countries, rivers and oceans.  These names help us to communicate with each other about these places or about their relationship to other places.  It is the same system within the home.  We name rooms within the home, generally according to their use.  We eat in the dining room, we bathe in the bathroom and so on.  Eddie and I have a home office, one that we call The Computer Room.  That name just kind of evolved.  I suppose it was unintentional, but I don't think we wanted to associate that room with work so neither of us used the word "office" when referring to it, the room with the computer.  So, it was The Computer Room.

A couple of evenings ago, Eddie asked me to retrieve something for him from a room in our house that HE named, a name I had not yet heard.  

"Sparky, can you find that thing for me in the Toilet Paper Room?"

The Toilet Paper Room.

The Toilet Paper Room is not the bathroom.  Since one room in our new house has essentially been used for storage since we moved in, it really hasn't received a name.  Neither one of us wants to refer to it as The Storage Room and I suppose that calling it The Spare Bedroom wouldn't have been a bad idea, but who wants normal?

One day, we brought home an exceptionally large purchase of toilet paper.  Instead of opening the entire thing and dividing the rolls between bathrooms (and taking up a lot of storage space), it wound up in the 'other' bedroom.  I knew exactly where my Sparky wanted me to go to get the thing he needed - the room with the toilet paper.  The Toilet Paper Room.

When we go to sell this house, that will be a special feature.  

    

 

Naive Is Evian Spelled Backwards

Every single day since January 1 of this year, I've been religiously registering to win the HGTV Dream Home.  (You can totally register every day until February 19th!)  I love the idea that I COULD win.  I like daydreaming about what we'd do with it, when we'd go and how much easier it would make our lives, you know, when we win.  (After we sell it for the cash.)

So, one of the days that I entered while at work (it literally takes 30 seconds), I came home and started talking to Eddie about it.  I started planning out loud what we'd do when we won.  He was quiet for a while and then his facial expression started to change from "just listening" to "a little concerned."  At this point, I stopped my optimistic, out-loud planning for our future dream home and asked him what else he was thinking about.

He hesitates.

"You know, we're not going to win this thing."

Blink.  Blink.  Blink.

"You just seem a little too sure about this and I don't want your feelings to get hurt when we don't win."

Not wanting to give up: "But we COULD win.  Right?"

"We're NOT going to win.  Do you even know what the odds are?"

"O.k.  WE'RE not going to win.  I'M going to win.  When I win, YOU'LL have to admit you were wrong.  And you won't be invited to MY house."

"O.k, O.k, O.k.  I take it back.  You're going to win and when you do, I'll go around saying, 'I was wrong.'  I want to come to the house."

When we win, we're totally getting a new desk and a new chair.

He Could Write A Tips Column For A Men's Magazine

We had an engagement that evening and neither one of us wanted to get up off the couch, off of each other, leaving a comfortable cuddle to get appropriately dressed. I knew I had to leave the cocoon first because getting ready to go, for me, doesn't end with a shower. That's where it begins. After I bathed myself and washed my hair, I was spending time in the mirror on hair and make-up when Eddie passes my bathroom fully dressed.

"You know, it's not really fair. It takes you so much less time to get dressed to go out. I'm jealous."

"Yeah. But no matter how long I'd spend, I'd never look as good as you."





Smooth.

They Call That "Business Naked"

This is a term Eddie coined after seeing me in a stage of undress after work.  

Eddie, let's trademark it.

12.18.79

Happy Birthday Russell.

Russell would have been 28 today. He was/is my little brother.

Last month I wrote a bit about my sister.  My brother was the middle child, my sister was the youngest.  Ever since I started this blog, I wanted to write about each of them, but I never thought I could sit down long enough, reach deep, and do their memories justice.  One day I will.  

Russell died twelve years ago, just ten days after his 16th birthday.  Car accident.

I miss his laugh.  It was contagious.  

For My Sparky

Happy Birthday my love. Oh so glad you were born.

This Comes Highly Recommended

A Sunday afternoon nap on a comfy couch with a warm, cuddly dog in a living room lit by only a Christmas tree.

mmmmmm.

Some People Have To Shovel Snow...

While others have to rake. In December.

Our front yard this morning:

Our Christmas Tree Has Crabs

Yes, that's real popcorn that I strung for the tree. It's become a tradition for us to adorn the tree with exploded corn since we've been married. Six bags of microwave popcorn. Six. That's how much popcorn it takes to adequately cover a seven and a half foot tree. I don't want to flock the tree, but in the south it's a little taste of something like snow on the large green thing in the living room. Except the corn is a little butterier I would imagine.

Eddie and I have also collected Christmas ornaments each year of our marriage. If we travel, we'll try to pick up something interesting that reminds us of our adventure. Below is an ornament we picked up when I took Eddie on a tour of the town where I work (I commute an hour). Yes, that's a real crab shell painted with a wintry scene. The Quintessential Louisiana Christmas ornament. We would have paid almost any price.

Discover The Hidden Value Of Your Purchases By Reading The Instructions

When Eddie and I moved into this house, there was a list of things I wanted to change.  Notice I didn't type, "...we wanted to change."  I believe this is a fundamental difference between most of the men I know and most of the women I know.  Eddie is generally thankful to have a place to lay his head.  He needs very little.  For him, a comfortable bed and a fan in a room with pink walls provides a relaxing sanctuary for a night of good sleep.  The same bed and fan and walls for me is a pink prison that must be changed.  Immediately.  I will dwell on the pinkness of the pink and how it ugli-fies my comfortable bed until I paint it.  Eddie will pass the walls and only see cool pillows and soft sheets.  It astounds me that happiness can exist with so much less work than I seem to have to put into it.  (In our previous house, the master bedroom was PINK when we moved in.  Not pink when we moved out.)      

We began the changes in this house by ripping out the carpet in a majority of the rooms and replacing it with wood.  This was priority one for me.  Notice I typed, "We began the changes..." because it took more than one of us to pay for it.

Next on the list of affordable improvements was the sink/faucet combo in the kitchen.  After many trips to the local home improvement store, we (I) decided on exactly what would replace our way-too-small, hard-to-turn-on-and-off sink and faucet.  We bought and brought home to install.  We loved everything about them.  

Except one thing.

Our faucet would only run as a sprayer.  When we would do dishes or get a drink of water, more of the spray would bounce off of a dish or the bottom of the sink to DRENCH us EVERY TIME we used it.  But it was pretty and it was what I wanted, so I didn't want to complain.  I didn't want to complain to Eddie about the rather expensive faucet that I picked out.  Dangerous territory.

So we lived with it.  For about seven months.  

Last week, I've gotten another grand idea for more organization in the house and am cataloguing and storing all of our instruction manuals we've collected over the years.  I'm discarding those that are no longer necessary and perusing those that are still applicable when I stop at the one with pictures of our faucet on the front and I started to read.

There it was.  Right under the heading: YES, YOU ARE A MORON.  YOU SHOULD HAVE READ THESE INSTRUCTIONS WHEN YOU GOT THE FAUCET TO AVOID GETTING WET EVERY TIME YOU USE IT. 

The key to removing the barrier to my almost-perfect faucet's perfection was before me:  The instructions for switching the spray on the nozzle.  There were even diagrams.  I swear an untouched light bulb turned on somewhere in the house at that very moment.

It took 1 second to change from get-me-wet spray to flowing-stream-of-lovely-dryness.  

I ran to show Eddie my genius.  I left the water running.  

It wasn't going to drench the counter (and the floor and the rug) this time. 

Next:  The counters.