Just rambling

Despite having taught 3 children the poem, The Duel, it is only on my fourth child that I really “get” the line The Chinese Plate looked very blue.

Maybe I’m just feeling punchy, but that line has me LOLing.

*******

I was trying to help a friend out by watching her baby so she could have a break.  When I started mentioning weekend times, she hemmed and hawed and finally said that another friend was trying to help my husband out by watching my kids so we could have a date.  She made me promise to act surprised.

Then the babysitting friend complains that my husband hasn’t called her to arrange the date, but I’m supposed to be surprised.

Last night, talking to my husband, I mentioned that my friend told me to tell him to call her.

“Do you know why?” he asked.

I paused to think how best to answer that question.

“Why?” I responded.

He then told me all about the possible date. 

I wondered if he was going to ask me to act surprised.

*******

I found a great way to save money at the grocery store: get there 10 minutes before closing time.  You will only buy what you absolutely have to.

Unfortunately, milk, butter, flour, sugar, a few boxes of cereal (with coupons), and canned tomatoes for Saturday’s chili will still cost you nearly $75.

*******

Speaking of grocery stores, several weeks ago, I was in the produce section of our local store at the same time that they were having some sort of meeting.  As the meeting was wrapping up, someone said “Gimme a K!” and the employees said “K!”

“Gimme a R!”

“R!”

“Gimme a O!”

“O!”

I thought I would die of embarrassment on behalf of these adults.  But the worst was yet to come as they concluded their cheer:

“Gimme a GRRRRRR!”

I don’t think adults should have to growl like a wild animal in public, do you?

*******

I’m so glad the weekend is here.

Not ready to take on the day

Lying in bed in an early morning haze, I ask myself, “Is it Friday or Saturday?”

Saturday?  Please, oh, please, oh please?  Please let it be Saturday.

It’s too early to think, but I force myself:  “Was yesterday Thursday or Friday?”

It had to be Friday if today is Saturday.

“What did I do yesterday?  School…”

You do school on Fridays!

“Isn’t that noise Bill’s alarm clock?”

No, no, you’re only dreaming…

“If that’s his alarm clock, it can’t be Saturday.  It must be Friday.”

NOOOOOO!

“Bummer.”

Love hurts

Amazing how happy a man can be when his favorite team wins.

*******

When doing our Saturday cleaning, I finally threw away a branch of old shriveled mistletoe my husband had plucked from a tree in our yard.  He had mounted it above the kitchen sink.

When I saw it there, I asked, “Do you really need that as an excuse?”

*******

Two years ago, I bought my husband a shotgun.

Back in November, he bought me ear protection.  We never did go out shooting, though.  I think he got sick.

Finally, yesterday morning, we went to a shooting range and fired that gun for the first time.  He shot skeet, and used up most of the one box of ammo we brought.  Fritz had baseball tryouts in the early afternoon, so we had only a bit of time left.  My husband offered to buy more ammo, but I thought the two shots left would be enough for this time.  I just wanted to know how to load and fire the gun.

If you’ve never shot before, the people showing you how to load the gun, chamber a round, keep your finger on the side until you’re ready to fire, place the butt in the pocket between your arm and torso, keep both eyes open and your cheek against the stock, and line the target up with the sight, might fail to mention that you have to put most of your weight on your front foot.

Just so you know, if you don’t do that, you might fall over backwards.

I managed to catch myself, but, boy, what a kick.

And, that pocket between the arm and the torso where you placed the butt of the gun?  The same force that wants to throw you backward is also exerted on your shoulder there.  I only shot two rounds, but I can feel them today.  Not sure I want to shoot an entire box.  Ouch.

*******

Is it Monday again already?  I’m trying to figure out what time I should make my happy Packers fans get out of bed.  It’s events like these that make me want to live on the West Coast.

Humble Cake

My yellow food dye turned out rather…orange-y.

Oh, the humiliation.  What will my husband say when he sees it?  I am confident he will be chuckling at me for…ever.

And Mary would like you to know that food dye tastes yucky.

Just in case you were ever tempted to eat some.

Who’s playing today?

The bakery at the supermarket had decorated cupcakes for the big game.

You could buy a half dozen where half (that’s three, for those of you not into higher math) had black frosting and the other half had yellow frosting.

OK.

Then there were other half dozen packages.  Half were green.

The other half were…orange.

Um.  Hum.

I bought eggs to make our own. 

We’ll be using green and yellow frosting.

Crazy love

Last night, my husband happened to climb into bed at the exact same time as I did.  We usually go to bed around the same time, but one of us is still brushing teeth or checking on the kids or something, so we don’t physically get into the bed together.

As I often do, I reached down and pulled the comforter closer to the head of the bed. 

“Oh, thank you,” my husband gushed, “I always feel like I have to curl up at the bottom of the bed to keep warm.”

Ahem.

My husband generally makes the bed.  I almost always change the sheets, and sometimes I make the bed if my husband isn’t home or if there was still a warm body in it when he left for work.  But most mornings, making the bed is a little act of service that my husband does for me, and I love him for it.

Now, if you have ever done something nice for somebody and had them criticize you for it, perhaps you did your lazy, filthy sweet boyfriend’s laundry for no reason other than because he had been wearing the same outfit for 2 weeks you were trying to be nice and he then told you that you folded all the clothes wrong and even the method by which you paired the socks was incorrect, you might recognize that a gift of service is a gift and should not be received in any way other than with supreme gratitude.

And Heaven forbid you should marry this young punk man, I guarantee that he will make you change the way you fold your towels.

{This, of course, happened to a friend of a friend and not me (oh, no), and I am merely relating what I learned from her experience.}

So, even though, every night, the comforter would slip a bit down toward the foot of the bed, and every morning, my husband would neatly make the bed with the comforter a bit lower, I did not point this out to him.  I thanked him graciously, and every few nights, I would haul the comforter closer to the top with, I assure you, no malice or irritation at all.  I am truly grateful for my husband’s act of service.

But then he caught me pulling the comforter up, and I pointed out to him that when I change the sheets, the comforter is at the top of the bed.  I gently reminded him that he makes the bed, usually, and pointed out that the comforter slips lower every night.

He did not know that, and promised me he would do a better job making the bed.  He was so contrite, that I wonder for how long he had been irritated at how I placed the comforter toward the foot of the bed, but had been suppressing his irritation out of love.  Old married couples do that, you know.  Each offers up annoyance at how things are done, thinking that the other person likes it that way…but meanwhile the spouse thinks you like it that way and is equally annoyed. 

My husband will laugh when he reads this post and I tell him that we have been living an Abilene paradox.

This morning, Mary was curled up in our bed when he left for work.  I pulled the covers up with one hand while holding her with my other arm, so the bed is not well made.  Later I will fix it.  And I’m looking forward to an agreeably well made bed from here on out.