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My new renter for the week is one of my favorite bloggers. If you haven’t been to see her, you ought to go now. She’s a sharp-tongued, strong-minded woman, and as she says, you either love her or you hate her. I love her like a fat kid love cake.
My house that is. Hubby has been spending every spare minute working on this project. We are turning two rooms in our 2nd level basement (there is a level below this for storage) into one big family room. We took out a load-bearing wall and are creating this space for toys, t.v. and a cool place to retreat to. Once this project is complete, the current livingroom will become a place I can dust and vaccuum and yell at the kids for going into. Excellent. I need another reason to yell at those kids.
The walls are chocolate brown on the bottom half of the walls, then there is a kick ass cream coloured ledge all the way around the room, and above the ledge is a caramel colour. I’m gaining weight daily from looking at these walls, but yelling burns calories, right?
I’m thinking of leaving those beer bottles there. Hubby drinks Labatt 50. I can’t believe I just admitted that to the internet. For those of you who don’t know what Labatt 50 is, it is “old man beer.” People stare at you if you order it in the beer store. Many a time, beer store cashiers have asked me to speak up when I go get his beer, which is rare.
One time (at band camp) I was up north, middle of a sweltering day, getting beer for a party at my cousin’s place. The line was out the door and everyone was sweaty, but jovial, talking and joking in this friendly town beer store. My cousin was with me, and my stomach was churning about having to order 50 in such a crowded beer store. I was embarrassed while I was still in line, behind 10 burly guys in redneck gear. (Yes, we have rednecks in Canada too). I get up to the cash, and I know the talking and laughing of these men is loud, so I figure I’m okay. I order it, and like in McDonalds, the cashier relays my order into THE MICROPHONE. I die a little inside, as the entire store gets quiet. “It’s for my husband,” I say meekly to the crowd. Someone says, “Little lady musta married herself a sugar-daddy eh?”
Daren is 37, but I keep telling him he is going to have to break out the Oil of Olay and the Depends if he keeps drinking this shit.
Since I grew up in apartments, owning a house has been an educational experience for me. These little do-dads separate tiles while you’re laying them so they are even. Aren’t they freaking adorable? If I was a scrapbooking type of gal, I would use these in every project. I even popped a couple in my mouth out of sheer excitement. Hey, I grew up poor, we didn’t have money for cute little plus signs, okay? Back off.
Look how fast Daren can work….(more like look how blurry Karen can take a picture….my camera and I are still in the ‘getting to know you stage, what can I say?) If I told you I meant to take this picture, you’d be impressed. Okay, I meant to take this picture. No, really.
The carpet people called yesterday to tell me that the measuring guy will be calling me. Um, okay, you’re calling me to tell me one of your own will be calling me? Mmmkay thanks. I’ll be sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for it.
Honestly, I have butterflies that this big family space is going to be done very soon. We are outgrowing the whole, “living in half a house” concept. I need room to yell at my kids. How did my mom ever manage yelling in just an apartment?
****WARNING: Insignificant and Small Desperate Housewives Tidbit Enclosed - if you haven’t seen tonight’s episode, you may not want to proceed - but it is really stupid and little, I promise. It won’t really spoil everything for you. Not your show, not your life, not your milk, nor your dinner. I swear.****
Too often, I see sitcoms, movies and commercials where the men are portrayed as complete idiots, especially when it comes to domestic chores and child rearing. It irks me to no end.
Everybody Loves Raymond? Everybody does not love Raymond, least of all my husband and I. Raymond is a fucking moron. Poor Debra tires of her own voice, since she must nag the shit out of him while he sits on his ass watching sports, or fucking up something simple, like say, cutting the cord from his mother. I’m sure there are still (cave)men out there that act like they are helpless, and perhaps they are, because their own parents never gave them the life skills needed to survive with or without a partner. And who gets to be the bad guy? The wife. Not cool. I know there are many women out there who married a child and have had to train them to be a man, or parent them.
As I write this, my husband is *gasp* folding laundry. He is doing this WITHOUT BEING ASKED. How sweet is that? If you’re a husband and you’re reading this, let me just say that this teamwork thing, fella, is ROMANCE. This will get you Scooby Snacks galore. For those of you who are not familiar with this term, what rhymes with Scoobies?
I didn’t teach Daren this teamwork thing. His parents did. He was also smart enough to live on his own before settling down to marry. There is a lot that can be said for a guy who knows how to take care of a household alone.
In fact, my own mother did such a shitty job teaching me anything, that Daren was the one who taught me to cook. I was surviving on Pop Tarts and Kraft Dinner before I met him. Which begs another question: if I was living on carbs back then, weighing in at a measly 118 pounds, how the hell did my ass get so big now that I’m eating healthier? Riiiight…… children.
Anyhoooo…..
Some of those commercials out there are the worst. Consider the one for a certain cleaning product where they are showing the different messes that the product can clean up, and the very last mess is “Dad’s Spaghetti Night.” Okay Dad’s Spaghetti Night looks like a bloody massacre. There is sauce everywhere - including the wall….not just the usual splotches and droplets, but we’re talking Dad dove into the spaghetti and did flutterkicks on his belly. COME ON. No one makes that kind of mess. Or how about the dorky dad who quickly and easily makes some packaged dinner and the kids are amazed that dad can “cook.” Yeah, Dad heated up some processed shit and it tastes great. It probably has 4568 milligrams of sodium! Fortunately, my boys are growing up and seeing that both Mommy and Daddy can cook and that we work together to get things done.
My husband is amazing. He’s part of a team. He cooks, cleans, does laundry, handles yard work, and plants an enormous veggie garden every year. He takes as much pride in our home as I do. More importantly, he is an amazing father. He’s involved with every aspect of our children’s lives and is the best role model they have. He is a real man. None of this “Honey, could you do everything for me because I’m just a helpless man?” On top of all of that, he is a supportive and attentive husband. Amazing, I tell you. Amazing Amazing Amazing.
Even tonight, Desperate Housewives’ storyline showed Tom feeling ‘less of a man’ because Lynette now earns the money, while he takes care of the kids, and at the end of the show, he struggles with the thoughts that a vasectomy would be taking the last of what makes him a man. He is near tears when he proclaims that he isn’t happy. Earlier in the show, he is whining and acting like a child while Lynette dotes on him. Why can’t they show Tom as being the proud stay at home dad, who is capable and confident? I was really rooting for his success when he made the rash decision to stay home.
These sterotypes have got to go. In my eyes, a man is someone who grows up, take accountability for his actions, and is a team member, should he decide to settle down with a a partner. A father is a man who teaches his kids to do the same, both by guiding and by setting an example. Sure, we’re whiny and lean on each other once in a while, but we stand together as a team in every aspect.
Thanks Daren, for being exactly who you are. I love you with everything I’ve got.
I haven’t been able to sleep since I posted this. I feel really bad about it. I know you’re probably over it, but I feel the need to make up for it somehow. I hope you can forgive me. Thank you to my dear friend Nicole for sending this to me this morning. I’m pretty sure my readers (God that sounds so self-absorbed and pretenious, doesn’t it? Who the fuck does she think she is? Good God.)
As a North Bay trucker stops for a red light on Hwy. 11, a blonde catches up. She jumps out of her car, runs up to his truck, and knocks on the door.
The trucker lowers the window, and she says, “Hi, my name is Heather, and you are losing some of your load!” The trucker ignores her and proceeds down the street.
When the truck stops for another red light, the girl catches up again. She jumps out of her car runs up and knocks on the door. Again, the trucker lowers the window. As if they’ve never spoken, the blonde says brightly,
“Hi, my name is Heather, and you are losing some of your load!”
Shaking his head, the trucker ignores her again and continues down the street.
At the third red light, the same thing happens again. All out of breath, the blonde gets
out of her car, runs up, knocks on the truck door. The trucker lowers the window.
Again she says, “Hi, my name is Heather, and you are losing some of your
load!”
When the light turns green the trucker revs up and races to the next light.
When he stops this time, he hurriedly gets out of the truck, and runs back to the blonde.
He knocks on her window, and as she lowers it, he says,”Hi, my name is Kevin, it’s winter in CANADA, and I’m driving the fucking SALT TRUCK.
Dylan, like a lot of other 7 year olds, is a real dawdler at bedtime. He uses every excuse in the book but the one that really burns my ass is, “I’m hungry.” He uses that one EVERY NIGHT. This is preceeded by a half eaten dinner and protests of “I’m full,” not an hour and a half before.
He is THE Drama King. He BEGS me to let him snack after school, and since he eats lunch at 11 at his school, I always give him an after school snack of course or else he will DIE (his words). But dinnertime is a fight. He inpects his food and if his chicken so much as looks at his potatoes, it’s game over. Any sort of skin on his potatoes? Nope. Any fat on his meat? Nope. Won’t touch it. Some nights his face is so close to the plate I want to smoosh his face into the food, just for kicks. I’m evil like that.
Last week he insisted that he doesn’t like chicken anymore. Well I hate pork, so that leaves steak and beef, and a) I’m not a fan of the red meat; and b) We aren’t rolling in money over here. So we eat alot of chicken and fish. Oh Daren? He will eat anything. Except Hamburger Helper. Which is kife anyway and I wouldn’t feed it to my dog. I hate processed crap. Hamburger Helper is the very definition of processed crap. Please tell me you don’t eat that shit.
Anyway, Dylan’s diet leaves alot to be desired lately and although I can (and do) make him eat his veggies, that kid would leave on peanut butter and honey sandwiches, Kraft Dinner and Cheerios for the rest of his childhood if I let him. I came from a “clean your plate” household and we were made to sit until the plate was clean. I won’t do that to my kids for several obvious reasons. I think it’s child abuse, for one.
Dylan has been eating non-stop for days. I’m thrilled! Last night, we had spaghetti and he went for seconds. That never happens. I know it’s a growth spurt, but I made the huge mistake of saying it in front of him. On our mother-son quality talk-n-walk to get a few groceries the other night, he asked me what it meant. I explained that he would be more hungry, more tired and his legs might ache a little, but it was just his body’s way of dealing with the growth spurt and that it shouldn’t last too long.
So tonight, after snacking from after school until dinner, polishing off a huge plate of mashed potatoes, carrots and half a pork chop (he would have kept going but there was ‘FAT, MOM’), THEN eating a bowl of Cheerios an hour later…..I ask him to put his jammies on and what’s his response? “I’m hungry.”
“No you’re not. You just ate for the last 4 hours.”
“I’m HAVING a GROWTH SPURT! Can’t you SEE I’m having a GROWTH SPURT MOM? You HAVE to feed me something!” Falls to the floor, pretending to convulse and drool.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Now he has had some kiwi, and he’s reading in his bed.
What do you want to bet he will tell me he’s hungry when I say lights out?
I’ll bet you a box of Hamburger Kife.
And look! Hamburger Helper Nutrition Facts from this site. Disgusting. Look at the sodium! And the fat! The calories! My stomach is churning just thinking about it.
…..Charlie has the best blonde joke ever!
40. Your sheer intelligence and the way you sorta flaunt it (Mensa, Cliff Claven).
39. You get excited when you come home from hockey and see I ve waited up for you.
38. The orgasmic look on your face when you torture my warm skin with your frigid hands (especially after hockey).
37. The way you still think you can turn your head (but keep your eyes fixed on the T.V.) and pretend to pay attention.
36. The way you get silly with me.
35. Your excitement about stories from work.
34. The sly smile you get right before you do/say something evil, and then say what? all innocent.
33. Your big warm hugs where I disappear into your arms.
32. The way you tell me stuff when I m asleep and expect me to remember.
31. The way you try to talk to me when you’re still 98.75% asleep.
30. Your sweaters look better on you but you let me wear them.
29. The way you call me every day, sometimes more than once.
28. You always notice when I buy something new, whether it s a shirt or a jar of pickles.
27. You can pull off hats.
26. You get physically nervous during the end of any close game on TV.
25. I can see pieces of your personality in each of our boys, like you left them laying around and the boys grabbed them.
24. You know all the words to every Willie Nelson song.
23. You hate stupid people, bad drivers and hidden fees just like me.
22. You were SURE that you didn t throw out the Christmas wreath.
21. You’ll actually endure America s Next Top Model with me even though you don’t like them ~ although I know you like Desperate Housewives!.
20. You get excited when I do.
19. You think laundry should be sorted by person.
18. Your frustrated face when I challenge you on something.
17. You are a Leafs fan some of the time.
16. You will change out of pajamas and back into your clothes if I need you to go out somewhere.
15. When you smile, you smile with your eyes.
14. When you want something, you go after it.
13. In your sleep, your legs and feet come over to my side of the bed and keep me warm.
12. My hands fit exactly into yours.
11. You make me laugh.
10. You appreciate when I dress up.
9. If my food isn’t quite right, you don t tell me; when it s really good, you rave.
8. When you laugh at my feeble attempt to tell jokes.
7. You’re gorgeous, but you think you aren’t.
6. You have a great knack for spooning me in bed. (how did this not make the top 5?)
5. The look on your face when we say the same thing at the same time is priceless.
4. Your absolutely beautiful relationship with your dad and the relationship you are building with our boys.
3. Your eyes tell me you love me twice as many times as your voice does.
2. You know when I need a break, a nap, a kick in the ass, a kiss on the neck (on rare occasions, all four).
1. When I’m with you, I can be myself ……when I’m not with you, I wear your sweaters and pretend you’re there.
Whatchoo lookin’ at? I’m secure enough in my boyhood to wear pink.
Then go read the blog behind the shirt.
Mama got a new t-shirt too…..this is the only pic you will ever get of my bodacious ta-tas. Relish the moment.
Feed Yourself Sugarpants!
