This boy’s delusional

I’m convinced, somedays, that my husband lives in an alternate universe from the rest of the inhabitants of the planet.  Today is one of those days.

This morning I hop into the shower just as my delusional hubby is lathering up.

“Be careful,” daydreaming man warns me, “I’m dangerous to be around now.”

The strange look on my face prompts him to show me this.

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“Um. Ok,” I say.

Skip forward about an hour as fantasy-land man is heading out the door…  “I guess this is goodbye.  I’m heading out to my meeting and when the chics there get a whiff of me, it’ll all be over.  They’ll devour me.”

“We’ve had a good run.  I’ll miss you.”  (Insert image of me rolling my eyes and shaking my head.)

I sure hope he returns.  I might be too embarrassed to fill out that missing person’s report.

‘Well officer, he used to Axe body wash and then I let him leave for a meeting….’

 

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Sweet-talker

I live with a family of allergy babies.  And by babies, I mean whiny, cry-baby, wimps.  It’s a beautiful spring day.  Can I open the windows and let the breeze in?  Nope.   “Close that window!  You’re going to let all the pollen in!”  Owww… There’s an extra couple of bucks in the check book, maybe I can buy a new read or some yarn.  Nope.   “My throat itches.  Where are the allergy pills?”  There goes another $30 on stupid allergy meds just so you can breathe better, whatever.

I’ve always felt pretty lucky to have escaped the trappings on their season pity party.

Unfortunately, it looks like they are going to have to make room at the table for one more runny nosed, itchy, sneezing complainer.

I was pleasantly minding my own business on Sunday night when it all began.

Rub eye.  Rub it again.  Blink, blink, blink.  Rub eye.  Rub other eye.  Eye begins dripping.  Drip, drip, drip.  What the hell?

Itch arm.  Itch arm again.  Scratch the heck out of arm.  What are those bumps on my arm?

Drip, drip.  That darn eye.  Wait, that’s my nose.  Oh hell….

I’m going to go to bed and pretend none of this is happening.

Wake up Monday….  Sniffle, drip, sniffle, drip.  How can a nose be clogged and runny at the same time?  Itch, scratch, itch, scratch.  Great, the bumps are still there.  If the bumps are on my arm, why does the back of my throat itch?  Can I even scratch that?  Crap, now my eye is leaking again.

This is stupid.  I don’t have allergies.  This is NOT happening to me.  It’s just a spring cold.  People still get those, right?  Yes, spring cold.  I just need some extra sleep.  I’m going to bed.

Wake up Tuesday….  Now I know I’m awake, so why can’t I see anything?  What’s on my eyes?  Sweet, they are crusted shut.  Is crusted a word?  It is now.  I lose few eyelashes, but I finally get my eyes open.  Now I’m wishing I hadn’t.  Not only are my crusted over, but they are also swollen.  The left one more so than the right.  Uneven, swollen, puffy, crusty eyes….very attractive.  And to add to the look, the crustys have traveled to my nose where a mixture of a running and bleeding nose has created a Jackson Pollack-esk rendition on my face and hand.  My throat still itches and I still can’t scratch it.  Plus, now my head feels like it’s in a vice grip.  Ugh!

At that exact moment, my super sensitive husband walked in.

Me – “I feel like shit.”

IP – “You look like shit!”

Me – “Thanks”

I see IP has been attending his charm school classes again.  Heck, with wooing words like that, he could teach the courses.

Now, could someone please point me in the direction of the nearest bottles of Zyrtec and Allegra…. and close that window while you’re at it!

 

Be careful what you wish for

“I wish he’d put the seat down.”

“I washed the clothes.  The least he could do it fold them.”

“Would it kill him to wash a dish every now and again?”

Ask any woman and she will tell you that she would love to have her man help out more around the house.

Well I have a confession to make.  As much as I like to make IP the butt of my jokes, he does help out around the house as much as he can.  Unfortunately, it’s not always as much as I’d like it to be, but, hey, I’ll take what I can get.

Ever since the beginning of our wedded bliss, IP has been the duster of the family.  He was born with a dominant ‘love of dusting’ gene.  Which is good, because I carry a ‘I could care less how much dust is on the end table’ gene.  My vice is vacuuming.

In equal symmetry, IP prefers to cook dinner, especially Sunday dinner, if his schedule allows.  This trait meshes perfectly with me since I loathe cooking.  Maybe, if I was good at it or could dream up inventive meals, I might care more, but I don’t.  Strangely enough, as much as I hate cooking, I equally enjoy doing the dishes.  (I know.  I know.  There is something wrong with me.  Heck, we remodeled our kitchen and I didn’t even put in a dishwasher.  I still scrub everything by hand.  Add it to my list of issues.)

Anyhoo….

Well, yesterday I came around the corner and found this sight to behold in my kitchen.

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Marinara anyone?  Who wants a meatball?

What they don’t tell you

As I walked around the corner into the kitchen this morning, my eyes were assaulted by the sight of IP sipping his coffee while picking lint out of his belly button.  

(I apologize for the lack of picture, but I assumed NO ONE else wanted to see that.  You’re welcome.)

Me – “Oh the joys of marriage.  Why wasn’t this discussed in anywhere in the marriage manual?”

IP – “Hey Babe.  Just think how lucky you are to have all of this.  There’s a line of women out there dying to have all this that you get to enjoy everyday.”

Me – “Lucky me…..”

 

 

 

Such a charmer

He’s at it again ladies and gentlemen.  These are the first words my lovely betrothed said to me this morning.

“Wow!  You look like 60!   Could you shower and put some make-up on.  I mean.  You’re supposed to look hot.  That’s what I said yes to at the altar.”

Does anyone remember where I put my shovel?  I’m suddenly feeling the need to do some gardening…..

Brusha, brusha, brusha

An occupational hazard of being a video guy is that IP is occasionally hired to produce productions outside the boundaries of our hometown.  As I type, he is stuck in sunny Florida, while I’m single parenting it for the week.  Not only am I the only taxi on duty, but we are adjusting to being back in school and work, plus we are in the final stages of some bedroom remodeling.  (Because why wouldn’t one start bedroom remodeling in August, when we are preparing to go back to school.  Sure, I’ve got tons of sanity to spare.)

IP and I dropped the mini-mes off at school on Wednesday and he jetted out-of-town.

I woke up on Thursday morning and was barreling through the morning routine solo when I was stopped dead in my tracks….. my toothbrush was MIA.  Now, I a firm believer in the whole ‘Toy Story‘ phenomenon.  I know that when I leave a room, my kid’s toys get up and boogie on down.  But I don’t believe those characteristics apply to my hygiene products.  At least I hope they don’t….

A quick scan of the counter and I realize not only is my toothbrush missing, but IP’s is still very present.

Great, he took my toothbrush to the beach and left me at home.

So I handled the situation the best way I knew how.

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Not liking being the fodder for my jokes, IP fought fire with fire.

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Damn, I think he wins!

 

Packing Master?

To know me, is to know that I am a crazily, obsessive planner.  I make daily To-Do lists.  I talk to myself about what I need to get accomplished.  I double check after I’ve done things to make sure I really have them in the order I want them done it.  I drive myself nutty.  I stress and worry and, then stress some more.  IP does not.  He has more of a grab and go persona, not seeing the point in wasting time stressing out or worrying.  In his mind’s eye, it will be what it is.  Being laid back has it’s advantages sometimes, but not always…..

Peter once went to Baltimore

He packed as he ran out the door

Day two came around

No new shirts to be found

Stinky traveler in the same shirt on day four

Summer means vacation.  Being the Type A I am, I began my pre-pre-planning by making lists of the things we would need to pack for an upcoming trip.  IP takes a quick peek at my list and begins to mock me.

“You actually put ‘clothes’ on your list.  Do you really think that was necessary?”

“This from the man who flew to Baltimore without any shirts.”

(Insert image of IP sticking his tongue out at me.)

FYI ~ If this whole blogging/parenting/social working/household managing/trip planning thing doesn’t work out for me, I think I have a future in limerick writing.