Car Tripping

My family and I boarded the Quest last week and set sail for Placerville, CA. We stopped often to look and touch and taste, but what amused me the most were my husband Dennis' quips as he navigated back down the 101 towards the barren, scorpion-ridden kiln of a desert we call home.

Dennis pontificated about the fact that radio stations in coastal towns always play some sort of "lite" jazz.
Dennis: Nothing threatening: No drums, no guitar riffs, just a homogenized mixture of non-threatening musical instruments.
Heather: Soft music that feels good.
Dennis: Radio stations with call signs like KOST.
Dennis: Or KLITE. *starts laughing*
Heather: What?
Dennis: Say it out loud.
Heather: K lit... OMG!!

Dennis: Do you think Percy Sledge was the brother of Sister Sledge? Just wonderin'.

Dennis: Why is it called "Sit n' Sleep"? Shouldn't it be called "Lay and Sleep"?
Heather: I think maybe the store sells chairs and beds.
Dennis: Oh, I see. I assumed it was just a bed store. Are you sure they sell chairs?

Dennis: ♪ Oye como va, give me taco sauce for my burrito ♪ How come they have taco sauce? They don't have burrito sauce. Can you put taco sauce on a burrito? It's not the same.

Heather: They should have a computer type place and call it "Nerdstroms".
Dennis: I like that.

Heather: Does laying pipe mean pooping or having sex.
Dennis: I thought it meant having sex. Are you going to record that?

Why yes, yes I am.

What was that song called?

Joe's been acting up around dinner time lately. He flat out refuses to dine with us and bounces around the kitchen asking for food items he knows he won't be getting. "Blueberry lollipop" is his new mantra. Do blueberry lollipops even exist?

Tonight one thing led to another and Joe found himself in a two minute time out. After I sprung him, having been unsuccessful in my attempt to procure an apology, I capped things off with a fruitless round of reasoning.

Me: Some things are for sharing, but some things are not for sharing. Mommy's writing things...

Dennis: ...and Mommy's sex drawer.

Me: (Background: Last week Joe found something he was never meant to and ran around the house with it as I stood transfixed and horrified.)

Dennis (casually washing a plate now): Is that what that song is about? Sex Drawer?

Me: Do you mean Sex Dwarf?

Dennis: Yeah. *snicker*

Me: Did you know it was called Sex Dwarf, or did you really think it was called Sex Drawer?

Dennis: It's great when your wife thinks you're so stupid that you think Sex Dwarf is called Sex Drawer. *rolls eyes so far back into his head they never quite returned all the way*

Me: Well, how would you know that song? You weren't a mod. You didn't go out dancing. That song is from my day.

Dennis: No it isn't. It's from the seventies. For a period of time they played it all the time. How does it go?

Me: Something, something, and the dumb chauffeur.

Dennis: Isn't it nice? Luring disco dollies to a life of vice?

Me: Yeah, that's it.

Now I can't get the song out of my head. What was it called again?

Nuts and a Diet Coke

Image via Wikipedia

Saturday, from the master bathroom...
Dennis: It's like I opened the door and stuck my head inside your butt!
Me:
Dennis: Shouldn't it be gone by now? I've been waiting to come in here.
Me: I'm sure it wasn't as bad as...
Dennis: Baby. No, it was worse. Stink molecules are still in my nose.
*****************************
Holding up remnants on a plate...

Me: What's this?
Dennis: It's my breakfast — nuts and a Diet Coke.
Me: You are what you eat!

Trouble With Bug Tape

My husband looked me square in the eye last night and said, "I've got a Dennisism to share with you". As you can imagine, I was both excited and a little fearful. Here is my account of his recollection:

[At work the exterminator puts in bug plates on the floor]...So one of those bug plates that the exterminators put in there that has the sticky stuff to catch the bugs..? It had flipped over and somebody had walked on it and it got stuck to the carpet. So I see it there and try to peel it off and as I'm trying to peel it of it's very difficult but it's still...it's coming off a little bit but it's sticking to my hand. So at some point I don't even have my fingers free anymore because they're covered with this bug stuff.

So I start to pull it off and stuff like that and whatever I pull off of one hand sticks to the other hand and so I go into the restroom thinking hot water will help and I'm rubbing it on the plastic inside the liner of the trash can to get it to stick. I get some of it off there. I stick my hands under hot water to try to wash it off. So some of the paper is coming off a little bit so I do what I can and turn the water off and I grab a paper towel and then I realize that I'm drying my hands on the paper towel and the paper towels are sticking to my hand so all the paper's back on my fingers again. So at this point I'm like well okay I'll wash it off again and this time I'll let my hands dry—just air dry, you know? So I wash my hands and get as much paper as I can off of there and I stand there in the bathroom with my hands in the air trying to get them dry. I also have to go somewhere in my car and I have to get going so I can't have sticky hands.

So anyway that's what's going on and I'm getting stressed and I get the poops and I realize I have to sit down and...you know...go to the bathroom. So I sit down and come time to wipe and I grab the toilet paper and wipe and I realize I can't get the toilet paper off my fingers—it's stuck! So then I have to grab another piece of toilet paper with my other hand and try to grab the other paper so it doesn't stick and it literally is just... So through trial and error and thousands of rolls of toilet paper I finally get myself to where I want to be and I flush the toilet and get up and I've got to wash my hands again and get a bunch of paper off of there and stuff like that. So I get the paper off as much as I can but the sticky stuff is still on my fingers. I have to get in the car so I put gloves on and just hope my hands will sweat and the sticky stuff will come off so I wore gloves there and back. Even when I got back my hands still had paper stuck to them. That's my story.

Me: Baby! How did that make you feel?
Dennis: Like a character in a Jim Carrey movie.

One for My Guy

My husband married a fun, spontaneous, one might even argue sexy on a good day party girl and ended up with... wait for it... Mommy.

It's true. I almost feel sorry for the guy. It all happened so quickly. We met in 2003, married in 2005, and by the time I had Joe Joe in 2006 I'd gained 70+ pounds from pregnancy-induced hypothyroidism and had stopped doing my roots. I was so tired all the time. It was a huge effort just to do one load of laundry. I cried daily. I was fearful to take my son to the store lest a car should swipe him in the parking lot. I hovered like a bear. I eyed our dogs with steely suspicion. I felt immense pressure to make every moment magical. I thought I should be cataloging his every breath with photographs, baby book entries and emails. I felt guilty for staying at home and racked my brain 24/7 for a way I could be at home with my boy, my heart, and still contribute to our household. Yes, I thought that being a stay at home Mom meant that I wasn't contributing. I had to find a way to justify my very existence. I tried lots of things only to find that it was my son of the thing. The thing always lost out. I failed. Miserably. And often.

Hypothyroidism slows down your body functions, including your metabolism and thought processes, and basically slowly drives you insane. For real. I could barely hold my son up at six months, or walk twenty feet down the street without panting for breath. I was fearful all the time. When asked my middle name I sometimes could not remember. To make matters worse I turned to food for comfort and to quell the anxiety I was feeling.

Then, when Joe was nine months old, I was able to become pregnant with Lily. That was the plan. I We wanted anther child, and at the age of 37 the advice was to start trying when your baby is nine months old. What can I say, we got lucky or blessed or both. Standard pregnancy blood tests ensued, and miracle of miracles one day my doctor sat across from me wide-eyed with disbelief as he read me a three digit TSH number. Vindication was mine! I'd been complaining for months that I was dieting but still gaining weight and he always gave me the "Uh-huh, sneak another cookie while you're at it" look. Shortly thereafter Levothyroid became my new best friend.

It's been a long process but I'm slowly becoming me again. I want the time back with my son. I want to run with him and play and sing to him without a voice tinged with love but also sadness and desperation. We don't always get what we want.

I've decided to stop beating myself up for having been sick and tired and to start living with vitality. I tossed out a hook and snagged myself and started reeling me in. For a long time I thought that any time spent on myself was time stolen from my children. I'm beginning to realize that time spent on myself is a gift to my children. I'm taking morning walks and eating better. I'm wearing makeup. I'm brushing my hair.

Time spent on me is a gift to my husband as well. What? I have a husband? Oh, that's right! When I became a Mom I grew so focused on my children that I forgot to be fun. I was a good Mom, but a lackluster wife and partner. You see, any time spend on my husband was time stolen from my children. Little did I know that time spent on my husband was one of the greatest gifts I could give my children.

It has been said that the greatest gift you can give your children is to love their mother. Isn't the same true of ne'er oft thought of dear old Dad?

Last night Mom watched the kiddos while my husband Dennis and I went out for margaritas and tacos. We talked. About the kids. And then a miracle happened. We started talking about him. As he began to share with me his hopes for the future I saw him come to life. It was like watching a train huff and puff and rattle and screech, eventually working up to a smooth and proud glide. It was beautiful.

We finished our food and checked his watch and determined that if we were to head home right then and there we would arrive just as Mom was putting the kids down. That's a big no-no. The distraction would have them in a frenzy and they wouldn't be able to go down for hours. So we did what any couple would do. We went to Target and picked up a t-ball stand and a twelve pack of beer. As we got back in the car and realized that we had failed to kill enough time for an uneventful re-entry we decided to stop by the driving range just down the street from our house and have a beer. Dare we? We dared. I asked Dennis what might happen if a policeman discovered our folly. He said, "You're right, officer. You got us. Two middle-aged people sitting in a parking lot at a driving range on a date night having a beer." I giggled. We hadn't done this since we were teenagers. He began detailing some teenage exploits of yore. A friend had scaled a fence and stolen a keg. Another had punched his cousin in the face. I asked if these friends were on Facebook so I could tease them. We smiled and laughed. And it was good.

As Father's Day approaches, I'm going to make a point to remember my husband more often. Not as a partner in parenting, we've got that one nailed, but as a partner in his dreams and in fun.

I love you Mr. Snugglepants.


Photo credit: hhttp://www.retroland.com/retrotalk/userfiles/10081561_gal.jpg

Would you rather be brave or smart?

The other day I took one of those silly Facebook quizzes, "Where would the Sorting Hat place you?", and ended up in Gryffindor.

For those not familiar with the Harry Potter book and movie phenomenon, or who need a little brushing up like myself, here's more information about the four houses of Hogwarts, taken from the Hogwarts Wiki: (scroll down past the info if you're in the know)

Gryffindor

Gryffindor values courage, daring, nerve and chivalry. Its mascot is the lion, and its colours are scarlet and gold. The Head of this house is the Transfiguration teacher, Minerva McGonagall, and the house ghost is Nearly Headless Nick. According to Rowling, Gryffindor corresponds roughly to the element of fire. The founder of the house is Godric Gryffindor.

Though Gryffindor is the house of most of the major protagonists, not all Gryffindors fall into that category. Cormac McLaggen is the negative qualities of Gryffindor personified; he is ill-tempered and pushy. Romilda Vane is underhanded and displays a deceptive and devious nature by trying unsuccessfully to ply Harry with a love potion. On the Hogwarts Express, she is somewhat condescending towards Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. However, both McLaggen and Vane certainly are bold, and show confidence, two very Gryffindor qualities, and were therefore sorted into the house. Death Eater Peter Pettigrew also went into this house.

The Gryffindor common room is located in one of the castle's highest towers, the entrance to which is located on the seventh floor in the east wing of the castle and is guarded by a painting of The Fat Lady, who is garbed in a pink dress. She permits entry only after being given the correct password.

Hufflepuff

Hufflepuff, founded by Helga Hufflepuff, values hard work, loyalty, tolerance, and fair play. The house mascot is the badger, and canary yellow and black are its colours. The Head of this house is the Herbology teacher Pomona Sprout, and the house ghost is The Fat Friar. According to Rowling, Hufflepuff corresponds roughly to the element of earth. The Hufflepuff dormitories and common room are located somewhere in the basement, their entrance found through a still-life painting that is somewhere near the kitchens. Students must give a password to the painting to enter. The Hufflepuff common room is filled with yellow hangings and fat armchairs and it has little underground tunnels leading to the dormitories, all of which have perfectly round doors, like barrel tops (very much like a badger sett).^[16]

Ravenclaw

Ravenclaw values intelligence, creativity, wit, and wisdom. "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure" is an oft-repeated Ravenclaw proverb.^[HP5][HP7] The house mascot is an eagle, the house colours are blue and bronze (changed to blue and silver in the films). The head of this house is the Charms professor, Filius Flitwick, and the house ghost is The Grey Lady. According to Rowling, Ravenclaw corresponds roughly to the element of air. The founder of this house is Rowena Ravenclaw.

The dormitories are located in Ravenclaw Tower on the west side of the school. The common room, which went undescribed in the series until the climax of Deathly Hallows, is round and filled with blue hangings and fat armchairs, has a domed ceiling painted with stars, and also features a replica statue of Rowena Ravenclaw wearing her diadem. Harry also notes that, by day, the Ravenclaws "would have a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains." A logical riddle must be solved in order to gain entry, whereas the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Slytherin common rooms only require a password.

Slytherin

Slytherin house values ambition, cunning, and resourcefulness. The book also suggests that the hunger for power is a characteristic of Slytherins. The animal representing Slytherin is the serpent, and the house colours are green and silver. The Head of this house is Severus Snape in the first five books and most of the sixth book. At the end of the sixth book and in the seventh book, the old Potions master and previous Head of House who has come out of retirement, Horace Slughorn, reassumes authority of the house. The ghost of Slytherin house is The Bloody Baron. According to Rowling, Slytherin corresponds roughly to the element of water.^[17] The Slytherin dormitories and common room are reached through a bare stone wall in the dungeons. The Slytherin common room is a long, low, dungeon-style room, located under the Hogwarts Lake, furnished with green lamps and carved armchairs.

Harry developed a negative view of Slytherin and asked the Sorting Hat not to place him in that house because of its sinister reputation. Rubeus Hagrid told him, "There isn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin." This seems to be an exaggeration on Hagrid's part, as at the time, he believed that Sirius Black, a Gryffindor, was a Death Eater. Still, Slytherin House seems to have attracted more evil wizards than any other house, including Voldemort himself and almost all of his supporters. However, Slytherin itself is not evil; it is just that having ambition as a core quality results in a disproportionate amount of self-important, competitive students. There are some good Slytherins such as Slughorn and Snape (although his loyalties are unclear until the Deathly Hallows).

The Sorting Hat claims that blood purity is a factor in selecting Slytherins, although this is not mentioned until the fifth book. There is no reason to believe, however, that Muggle-born students are not sorted there, merely that pure-blooded students are more desirable to that house, as there are several examples of half-bloods in the house. In Deathly Hallows, a group of Snatchers claim that "not many Mudbloods" are sorted into Slytherin, which suggests that while Muggle-born Slytherins may be uncommon, they are not unknown.

When believing Harry to be dead and thinking that he has final victory in his grasp, Voldemort proclaims his intention to abolish the other three houses and force all Hogwarts students into Slytherin. This design is foiled by his defeat and death, after which Slytherin becomes more diluted in its blood purity, no longer remaining the pureblood bastion it once was. Its dark reputation, however, does linger.^[16]

I was disappointed. More disappointed than I had a rational right to be based upon the results of such a silly little quiz. You see, I wanted to be sorted into Ravenclaw. And I let my husband Dennis know about it last night when he was trying to watch a You Tube video of some chick playing Oingo Boingo's "We Close Our Eyes" on the ukulele.

"I just like the song. It's kind of unusual" he said, refering to the uke.

Heather: "How come you got sorted into Ravenclaw and I didn't? Everyone got sorted into Ravenclaw but me."

Dennis: "What are you talking about? Everyone got sorted into Gryffindor. Look, your cousin Tony's in Gryffindor."

Heather: "Tony's the only one and he's a former military guy."

Dennis: Looks at me closer and says, "Are you serious? Look, here's what it says... courage, chivalry... Isn't Harry Potter in Gryffindor?"

Heather: "I thought Harry Potter was in Ravenclaw. Would you look it up, please?"

Dennis: Googles it and confirms that Harry Potter was in fact in Gryffindor

Heather: "I thought all the mean people were from Gryffindor."

Dennis: "I think that's Slitheren."

Heather: "You could be right, but still. Would you rather be brave or smart?"

Dennis: Thinks for a moment and nods almost apologetically and admits "smart."

Heather: "Exactly!"

*pregnant silence*

Dennis: "You'd think Harry Potter would have been in Ravenclaw."

Heather: "Why?"

Dennis: More silence, then nervous laughter from Dennis

Heather: "Because he's smart?"

Dennis: "You're smart! You know, they only put me in Ravenclaw because of my answers on that quiz. Just take the quiz again."

Heather: "It's too late, it is what it is. You know, people judge you on this stuff."

Dennis:

Heather: "They do. Based upon the results of that quiz, my Facebook friends are going to jump to certain conclusions about me."

Dennis: "You're being silly."

Heather: "Easy for you to say, you got sorted into Ravenclaw."

Wolf Cat

While eating dinner last night, my husband Dennis grabbed a pen and began to entertain our son Joe via his artwork in an attempt to distract him from destroying my laptop.




And thus, Wolf Cat was born...



I could tell that Dennis was proud of this one, so I began to gush, "Oh, it's so cuuuuuute just look at his skinny leg!"

Dennis put on a face that was a strange mixture of pride, shock and hurt and said, "I was entertaining our son!"

Me:


Dennis: I was saying that it wasn't my best work. I was just in a hurry to draw a picture.

Me: Okay then, what's your best work? Show me your best work.

Dennis: I'm busy.

Me: Okay well, when you're done...I want to compare them. *smirk*

Dennis: If I look at something I can draw, but I can't do it from memory.

Joe:

In and Out

Yesterday my husband Dennis and I decided to bite the bullet and drive up to our old rental and clean. We'd planned to do it on Wednesday, but the bullet presented itself and invited us to bite.

The initial 10 minutes of the drive were like a death march. What's worse than returning to a former home to clean? Our dread was epic. Slumped and defeated, we made sidelong glances at each other that said we were blaming the other for our current predicament. And then we saw it. Aaaaaaaaaaa!! The In and Out burger sign on the corner of 1-10 and Ramon Road. Suddenly the van was careening off to the right and Dennis was yelling at a truck, "Are you going to turn or what, jackass?!?!?!?". And we were happy again.

Sitting in the drive-thru line behind fifteen or so cars, we settled in and tuned our attention to the radio which was unabashedly playing "Unskinny Bop".



In case you've never heard of said tune, "Unskinny Bop" is a Poison song, and probably the worst one (which is saying a lot). I realize that Poison has legions of rabid fans, none of which are Dennis or myself. After a long turn of groaning and making gag faces and feeling musically superior, we settled down to the business of analyzing the song. "But what does it mean?", I inquired. Eyebrows furled. We both leaned in a bit closer. If it weren't for the crooning and big hair smacking sounds you could have heard a pin drop. Then he said it. "Is it about having sex with fat girls?". And then it's quiet and he looks over at me. I said, "Why are you looking at me?!?". Nervous laughter ensued.

Then we pulled up to the window and it was clear it was time to pay the piper. Dennis wasn't sure if he brought his wallet so I said, "I have it if you don't have it", meaning atm card, to which he rightfully countered, "You have my wallet??". He found it and paid, and suddenly we are being told, "Here are some lap mats for you", and a smiling woman hands them to Dennis, who puts them both on my lap. I said, "Why did you do that? Is my lap so big it needs two lap mats?". He's been around long enough to know when there's not right answer and said, "I'm saying nothing".

The burgers were good. I think I still have onion breath, so watch out!

Rest Assured

You should have been here last night. My husband Dennis tossed a bite of guacamole into his mouth, lit up like a glowfish, then dashed over to his work bag and returned with an etching. I'd seen this wide-eyed look before. It was the one he gets when he's about to flip out over something ridiculously small and unimportant (to me). Don't get me wrong. My husband is a rock. He can and does handle the middle and big things, and most small things, with steely nerves and the grace of a nobleman. But every few days or so his sanity consciousness wavers, he senses foul play where none exists and becomes irate about something most people wouldn't be able to fathom.

This time it was the Rest Assured toilet seat covers in his bathroom at work.





Dennis: This is my mission in life. Everybody else would ignore this.

Heather:

Dennis: It could be called "Pleasant Days" or "Good Answers" or "Fishers" or "Baldwin Supplies", but it's called Rest ASS sured.

Heather:

Dennis: Don't make me think I'm insane. If there's no way to convey it without sounding insane does that mean I shouldn't say it?

Heather:

Dennis: Baby! That smug look on your face when you're typing. You think you're better than me. You'll do something tonight. You'll s%*t your pants. You've sharted before. See the R Trademark? They're not making a comment, that's their company. I mean, they thought long and hard about the name of their company. It's called rest ass sured. Those esses are in a different font almost. They paid a lot of money to some company to make those esses stand out. I was going to tape over the ured but then I thought "This is bigger than that!". I'm going to take it home and share it. I'm like Columbus. I've made a discovery!

Heather:

Dennis: It's almost like rest ass you red. Rest your ass or you'll get red. You're not writing down what I'm saying are you because some of it's jibberish. You're like "Some of it? All of it". *laughs*

Dennis: (Looks at the tv and says...) Pinot grigio.

So I decide to Google 'Rest Assured'. Not unlike a saint, I concede that in this version of the logo the word "Ass" does in fact appear to be highlighted to make a point.

What do you think?

Women Generals say the darndest things

This morning The Bitter Half pussyfooted into the kitchen, Newsweek in hand, brimming with giggles. (He would call them chortles). He said, "You've got to post this on your blog!". What he was referring to was a funny quote from Perspectives section of the 11/24 issue of Newsweek:

"There is no one more surprised than I—except my husband. You know what they say: 'Behind every successful woman, there is an astonished man'."

~ Gen, Ann Dunwoody, speaking at a ceremony in Washington, D.C., honoring her for becoming the first woman to achieve the rank of four-star general in the U.S. military

It was funny! He was right. I responded with a "Well, good thing you'll never have to worry about that!" and a smile.

Not having been a victim of astounding success in any field, I can't speak to the truth of her statement. Is it true? Are the "men behind the women" (figuratively of course) astounded when their xx's achieve critical acclaim, accolades, or crash though a plexiglass ceiling? Successful women out there, please speak to this if you can.

I can't help but wonder if this is the curse of familiarity rather than a gender issue. You know. You've been there and done that. Your loved one introduces you to something, be it a concept or product, and tells you how wonderful it is. You give outward gestures of support and encouragement even though your mind is glazing over. But it isn't until a source outside your bubble of love and nurturance introduces you to the very same thing that you begin to get excited about it.

Then you do it—that thing you swore you'd never do. The thing you'd stab your significant other in the eye for. You go back to your loved one and tell him or her about this great new concept or product, about how it's going to change their life and make everything finally gel and develop new meaning. It's going to crack open their artistic eye and reveal life's true hidden purpose and God's real intentions. Your loved one spontanously combusts in a fit of fury and rightly so.

Generally speaking, that is.

The great garage cleanup 2008

Here's how it's going so far. I'll keep you updated as I know you'll be on the edge of your seat.

Me: Why don't you call Brian to see if he can bring his truck by this weekend. I don't want to clear out a bunch of junk and have it just sitting there in front of the house.

My Bitter Half:

Me: Do you want to do anything today or do you want to just sit there?

My Bitter Half: Watching Iron Chef It's after two o'clock, so the day's almost over. *

* Is that in the man handbook? Two o'clock is the understood point after which no projects should be started?

[ETA My Bitter Half: Yes, it's the point of no return ! }

Ways for Stay at Home Moms to irritate their husbands upon their arrival home

Photo Cred: CC (that is not Dennis)

I was reading and appreciating a really good post on brip blap today called How to be a good partner to a stay at home spouse, and it got me to thinking. Not only was I thinking about what a great blog brip blap is, and wondering to myself what the heck brip blap means, I was wondering how I, as a stay at home Mom, might be a better partner to My Bitter Half, who works outside the home. Now I'm also wondering if it's possible to be arrested for excessive comma use.

Anyway, I really don't know how to be kind of wife who inspires her husband to leap over halted traffic in a single bound to fly home for the privilege of flinging himself into my arms because he can't stand even one more second apart from me. Let me share some tips on something nearer and dearer to my heart. How to irritate your husband. I'm not saying I do all of these things, have done them in the past, or plan to do them in the future, but I've been around long enough how to know what would irritate him. And if it would irritate him, it would probably irritate your husband as well.

1. Cry. As soon as your husband walks in the door, be sure to let him find you in tears. Even better, be sure to let him know that he is the cause of those tears. Best yet, let him know that there's nothing he can do about them.


2. Be sitting on the couch laughing with a male friend. The sight of you sitting at home laughing with a male friend, who in your husband's eyes is sure to be seen as a slacker for not being on the job, is sure to clench his teeth. Doesn't matter if the man is five hundred pounds and toothless. He's been spending the day making headway at the purposeful seduction of his wife.


3. Ask him to take out the trash. NOW. Men love it when you bark orders at them, and then refuse to allow them the opportunity to do them at their own discretion.


4. Refuse him a snack, even though dinner won't be ready for an hour. This is just cruel. You've been feeding your cat pieces of chicken and cheese all day long. If you wouldn't do it to your cat, don't do it to your husband. Always a good rule of thumb.


5. Complain when he turns on the game. Unless you're right in the middle of a program, or your husband routinely treats you like a stinky jock strap when his game is on, hold your tongue. It's just something he has to do. How can he explain why to you when he doesn't even know himself?


6. Knock on the bathroom door and say "Are you still in there?". This is the first moment of peace he's had in ten hours. Don't you dare ruin it. Exception: All three of your triplets just took a runny dump at exactly the same moment.


7. Ask him if any of his co-workers are prettier than you. Unless your husband works at the DMV, the odds are not in your favor. It's best not to even think about it.


8. Casually suggest that he might be more comfortable without his shoes. He wants them on. I don't get it either, but it's true. The house could burn down at any moment. How's he going to save you and the kids without shoes?


9. Ask him to run out to the store. He just arrived home. The last thing he wants to do is face the hard, cold world again so soon.


10. Deny him even the possibility of a nap. If there's no possibility of a nap that evening, what's the point of it all?

Afford your husband the opportunity to do the right thing with regards to the toilet paper

<- Please take notice of a familiar recurring scene at our home.

I've been alerted to the presence of a new roll of toilet paper.

If my husband had done the right thing, honored his wedding vows, and put the new tp on the roll, I may never have known that we ran out.

Why is this a big deal you might ask? Because as a woman, every piece of the untidy puzzle latches onto my sense of serenity and drags it down. I could go on about my day with that new roll of tp on the counter, but the unrightliness of it all would stick with me. I might snap at one of the dogs and not know "where that came from". How would I ever know that it came from the toilet paper? I couldn't! Who could??

I've decided to step outside of myself for a while, risk snapping at the dog, and leave the roll right where it is. I'm going to give My Better Half the opportunity to set things right. I will, of course, keep you updated as you are on a need to know basis. Keep your fingers crossed.

Our Afternoon

Ah, yes. My husband just emerged from working out in the garage singing "I'm a steel cowboy...". For those of you not acquainted with Bon Jovi who, for me, is sort of like white bread, those lyrics are a bastardization of his song 'Wanted Dead or Alive'. "I don't know how that man has a career", he continues with a snarled lip and stiff back.

I hightail it into the office as we've been in the Bon Jovi zone many times before and I knew this tirade wasn't about to end any time soon. I am not alone. I am fervently clutching in my right hand a torn piece of a Diet Coke box containing a code worth 10 My Coke Rewards points. My eyes are bulging. My tongue is flicking like a snake. I've been waiting for the Heather equivalent of a year, a week, for the final 9 points required to net me a subscription to Country Home—my latest obsession.



Along with other fans of the time-worn paint trick, I too will be living it up in "unfussy elegance" in 4-6 weeks. I'm giddy with anticipation. I'm smiling like The Grinch before the Yahooo Doooreeesss scene. I want it so bad I can taste it.