My Mommy Made Me Do It

    When I decided to go into social work all those years ago, I knew, even then, that it was going to be a difficult journey. There are days when I come home and all I want to do is scream at the top of my lungs in frustration, anger, or just pure helplessness. Other days, I want to cry or just stare blankly at a wall (I'm not even kidding). But no matter what the emotion, I always feel like I need to vent. Unfortunately, my loved ones seem to be on the receiving end of this. (I'd like to take a moment to thank my husband, family, and friends... I'm sure it's always a pleasure to hear about horrific child abuse and listen to me go off on tirades about "The System" (Curses! Don't GET me started!)). My man understands my need to unload my guts on him and gives me that daily allotment of time willingly (or so I thought).
    I arrived home around 8:30 this evening and, after cooking dinner, cleaning up the kitchen, and doing some paperwork in my office, my husband called upstairs and asked me if I'd like to talk about my day... he was all ears, just for me! So, feeling like I have the most considerate husband in the world, I came down and chatted about my most recent work frustrations (cutting the stories short... why make him suffer through the details when he was being so sweet?). As I was telling him how nice it was to have a husband that truly recognizes what his wife needs, he tells me, "Oh, well, it's ok. My mom told me I should spend more time with you." Sigh. Well, on the bright side, maybe our future children will get their obedient nature from their father.

Ribs. It's What's For Dinner.

    Cooking for my husband (as previously mentioned) can be tricky. I've learned to either ask ahead for specific instructions, or to make something and simply refuse to tell him what it is (or what's in it) until he tastes it first. This brings me to today's dilemma. I (like a normal person) have a love for barbeque spare ribs. My husband (like a dummy) "doesn't really care for them". That being said, I noticed while going through coupons this week that ribs were going to be one of the only proteins on sale at our local grocer. I mentioned this out loud, and to my shock, my husband said "Oh, I like ribs, that sounds good". Huh? Since when? So I responded, "Huh? Since when?" He explained that he doesn't feel like them all the time, but he does, in fact, like spare ribs. "But I thought you didn't like barbeque sauce..." He responded, "I like barbeque sauce!" (was that defiance I heard???) So I bought the meat and set it out for dinner.
    Eight hours in a crock pot later, the ribs (rubbed with chipotle seasoning, garlic, and pepper) smelled delicious and were literally falling apart. Still leerly of my husband's earlier bbq claim, I mixed up two separate sides of honey mustard and barbeque for dipping... just in case. He sits down and looks at the sauces skeptically. He points at the honey mustard and asks, "Is THAT the barbeque sauce?" Um, no, does it look like it? I'm already getting irritated, knowing where this is going. So I tried to head him off by taking a bite and saying, "Wow, isn't this good?" (A little reverse psychology never hurt anyone.) He takes a few bites and made some noncommittal comments. Finally, at the end of the meal, he says, "Ya know, I'm just not a big fan of ribs."

UGGHH!!!

Evil Ink Cartridges

    Yesterday morning, Molly, (better known as Pansy Dog) came into the computer room where I was sitting to check my email before leaving for work. As usual, she sat by my chair, put her head in my lap, and looked up at me with big, puppy eyes, waiting for her morning affection. I gave her a little lovin', which quickly turned into play time. I cupped her face and moved her head back and forth as she tried to nibble my hands. During her excitement, Molly's tail knocked my black ink cartridge (still in it's box, waiting to go into the printer) off the desk. She turned around with a start and upon seeing the foreign object lying on the floor behind her (proving that my dog truly is OCD... she can't handle being subjected to out-of-place objects in her world), she proceded to bark ferociously at the cartridge. I calmly saved the ink package and put it back on the desk. She eyed it suspiciously but eventually moved on.... or so I thought.
    This afternoon I arrived home from work and found myself at my computer desk again. Molly followed me in, anxious to hunker down for an afternoon nap at my feet. But then she caught a glimpse of the dreaded ink cartridge. She cautiously neared the printer, eyes intense and tail alert. When her nose was about 6 inches from the cartridge box, she began her low, gutteral growl. (Seriousy?) It wasn't until I picked up the box and spent time petting and hugging the ink cartridge that Molly finally realized that the ink is friend and not foe. (But I wouldn't be surprised one bit to find her guarding the door of the computer room tonight, just in case the ink were to try to escape....)

Match Made In Heaven

    I'm constantly getting on my husband for being dirty and smelly. Granted, he works outside a lot and it's nearly impossible for him to look like a J.Crew model all the time (nearly?). And even though he does wear his "work uniform" (AKA same gross clothes from his closet that are his favorites, which he wears everyday) and I should expect them to be stinky, today I realized that we are just a few squirts of scented lotion away from being one in the same. As I sat in my hot car this afternoon (sweating / glistening like a pig), I looked in the rearview mirror and reality tore through me. In the light of day (sadly far different from the artifical and, might I add, more flattering light of my bathroom), I realized that my upper lip hair and chin hairs were out of control, along with my smudged lipstick line! To top it off, my carefully-concealed adult acne (thank you very much, summer humidity) was beginning to show through my precisely applied foundation and cover up from just hours before. AND the curly up-do that I left the house with? Yeah, totally starting to frizz and flatten in all the wrong places (thank you AGAIN, summer humidity)! Sitting in my sweat (and smelling significantly less fresh than at 8am), I thought back to my nasty husband and realized that, yes, he is pretty gross.... but he manages to love me even when he sees my dripping face, puffy hair, and pimply forehead. So I guess I can forgive him for those crazy back hairs he refuses to attend to, as I hold my breath, pucker up, and let our hairy upper lips meet in a kiss that is a match made in heaven.

Quality Time

    Last night, my hubby and I spent some quality time together. Naturally, that meant that we bickered for about 3 hours. But that's ok because it's our way of showing that we love each other to death (meaning that one of us will end up biting it before the argument is up). So we nit-picked about being in the kitchen at the same time (it's a huge area, but we always end up in the same little corner of it, practically on top of one another's counter space), how long it takes us (him) to get ready for the movie, and the fact that the DVD player never works because (although we have a trillion available outlets) he always manages to unplug the player to plug something else into that exact spot (which means that when I look behind the TV and see 18 cords going in every direction, I just give up and walk away). Thankfully, he made an excellent choice with the movie selection, and I tried to make it through with only having him stop it a few times (even though sometimes I do it one extra time, just because I know it annoys him...). And afterwards, we kissed, said goodnight, and headed to our separate bedrooms. It really was a great night.

The Scarlet Suitcase

    Why is it that my husband can spot a camouflaged deer standing 500 yards away, but he can't manage to see his suitcase that is STILL sitting in the living room where he left it exactly one week ago? When we returned from Michigan last Sunday, I immediately unpacked my luggage, putting all of the contents back in their rightful places, whereas my husband dropped his suitcase and garment bag by the front door and left it there. I mean, I know he HAS to see it. He's gotten into the case many times to retrieve items throughout this past week....plus, I have shifted the suitcase several times so that it blocks his path. But will he put it away? No, the man just steps over it! In fact, I went away for the weekend and left 3 simple instructions for him, one of which was to clean up his travel remains. Unsurprisingly enough, when I returned home, I saw that they were exactly where I had left them. Does he think that the bellhop fairy is going to escort his bags to his room? Or perhaps he thinks that if he leaves his belongings there long enough, I will (although wild with rage) put his things away for him?
    Visions of returning from our honeymoon are zipping through my mind like flashbacks from a bad dream. He left his suitcase AND carry on sitting out (STILL PACKED) for an entire month before I angrily heaved them up the stairs and tossed them into the closet. It's honestly to the point where I'm willing to pay flight attendants to intentionally lose his luggage, just so we can avoid this issue altogether. It would be worth it just to be able to lay my head down at night and know that there isn't a suitcase growing mold in the living room. When he actually gets around to moving it, the floor underneath is probably going to be a different color. Bad eyes or not, this time this fairy won't be suckered into cleaning up for him. The final step is me moving his bags into the middle of the yard. Maybe when the tractor shreds his undies he'll realize that the front door is not his closet!

Downward Facing Dog Drool

    After a thoroughly stressful day at work, I had the best of intentions of hitting up my yoga class (for the first time in nearly 3 weeks) for a little unwinding and refocusing. Sadly enough, I (yet again) was about 15 minutes late and decided that I would just head home and do my own yoga class there. It was a great work out and it did manage to relieve some of the stress that I'd been holding in my shoulders all week. I was so relaxed that I actually fell asleep during relaxation pose, soft music playing, lavender-scented rice bag over my eyes.... it wasn't until I felt a wet tongue on my mouth (no, it wasn't my husband) that I woke up and realized I had taken a bit of a cat nap (dog nap, as it turns out). I pulled off my eye mask in time to see Molly, my 80 lb lap dog, standing over top of me. Her ears were flopped forward and the baggy skin on her face all smooshed toward her snout as gravity played it's role while she looked down on me with a smile.
    Just as I was about to greet her with loving, baby-talking words, a giant stream of drool drained out of the right side of her mouth and landed directly in my left eye (my left eye, my left ear, my cheek, and my hair, to be precise). I tried to sit up and wipe the smeary fluid from my eye, but Molly was just so happy that I was getting up (obviously to play with her.... what else could I possibly be doing), that she pummeled into my lap and proceded to lick my face up one side and down the other. Whoever came up with the term Downward Facing Dog obviously did not have a dog.... otherwise they would have realized that dogs and yoga do NOT mix.