Long Live Stephen!

Stephen seems to be back to his normal self again after a nasty bout with a gastrointestinal virus. Let me take this moment to say a gigantic AMEN.

It's never fun when your spouse is sick. He's whiny, you feel a certain obligation to be nice and maybe even cater to his demands a bit more than you usually would, he dirties up the bed from lying in it all blessed day with his yucky sick germs, you have no one to make you popcorn and hot chocolate in the evening, and it's pretty much a given that you'll be spending the evening at home. But when you have a baby, it's so much worse. You work a full day at a place that makes you crazy, come home exhausted to find a baby who is crabby because he's out of his routine and can sense things aren't right and is ready for a diaper change and dinner, but you just want to put your sweats on and make a TV dinner for yourself because you're starved but too tired to make a real dinner, but first it's bath time, pajama time, book reading time, bottle time, toothbrush time, sleepy time, and then there are dishes to be put away and washed, cats to be fed, a litter box to be scooped, a path of destruction created by Baby to be picked up, your own getting ready for bed routine...and did you ever find time or even remember to change out of your work clothes and grab yourself some dinner? Single parents out there: YOU ARE MY HEROES!

Ok, so it was only for a couple of days, and Stephen wasn't a demanding patient at all. In fact, I was lucky if I heard ten words from him - after that initial round of sickness, he slept for most of the duration of the rest of it. And, thankfully, Stephen has an awesome dad who was willing to drive almost three hours in horrendous driving conditions yesterday so he could watch Asher while Stephen rested and I worked.

My point is, though, that I tend to take for granted how great my husband is. I'm always bitching about how the laundry isn't done, or how he hasn't packed a single box for the move, or how the bed isn't made, and I often overlook all the things he does for us around here: making dinner, doing the dishes, straightening up the kitchen, giving Asher his bath, scooping the litter box, feeding the cats, just being a second set of hands and eyes for keeping tabs on The Boy...It's not until times when Stephen is sick, or has to work late hours in the evening, that I'm reminded of how much it SUCKS not having him and his assistance around. Not to mention, how lonely it is without his company. I was so excited last night when he was feeling well enough to lie in bed and watch TV with me for a little while.

So he's back to normal, and now I feel so much more back to normal. It's sort of been an eye-opening experience over the past couple of days. I've been beyond stressed out because of the house stuff and work stuff. His being so sick has put things into perspective for me and now that he's better, I feel so much more calm and collected than I did before he was sick. I'm sure he wouldn't agree that his spending an afternoon at the Emergency Room was worth me learning a life lesson - and I'm not saying it was, especially considering the fact that I could very well be next in line to have this nasty flu - but I guess something good came out of it. I just pray that Stephen doesn't try to teach me anymore life lessons for a good long while. I'm done with learning.

Read more...

Six Years Hitched

Yesterday was our sixth wedding anniversary and we may have possibly hit an all-time low on the romance scale. Asher and I spent the weekend at my mom's (again) while Stephen worked all weekend (again), so we didn't even get to spend the day together. We did enjoy a lovely dinner at the very fancy Olive Garden, complete with a delicious dessert of tiramisu, and the best part was we ate for FREE. You know, because we dined with my parents (who were nice enough to treat us, as usual). And the baby. ROMANTIC, I know.

But that's okay. Something I've learned about us over the years is that we simply aren't the romantic kind of people. Sure, we hold hands and are affectionate and say "I love you" to each other all the time. But we aren't very mushy about it. It's all sort of matter-of-fact. Maybe it's because we've been together for twelve years and are way past trying to impress one another or proving our love to the other. Really, though, I think it's largely to do with the fact that we're both very, very lazy. Romance takes a lot of time, energy, and effort that we just aren't willing to put forth.

I love our un-romantic life together, though. I love being with someone who lets me be me, no holds barred, and loves me nevertheless. I love not feeling like I have to be wearing make-up at all times, or shaving every day, or showering every day. I love being able to belch and fart full force without fear of judgment. Everything is out in the open, our life is boring and maybe even a little lame, but it's real. And sometimes smelly.

Now that we have a baby, life has become even more real. In the past year, I've been amazed at how much lack of sleep, stress, hormones, and a grumpy baby can affect a marriage. I'm very glad that we waited as long as we did before throwing a baby into the mix because, honestly? I can completely understand how marriages can end once kids are in the picture. I thought there was no way our relationship could ever be shaken until we brought that little munchkin home from the hospital. Whew. Let's just say that Stephen's patience is ASTOUNDING. But seriously, it's been both strange and wonderful for me to watch my doting husband become a doting father and to go from being a couple to a family. When I think of us dating back in high school, it feels like that was a lifetime ago. In a good way.

Happy anniversary, Stephen. Thank you for putting up with me, thank you for being a wonderful father to our child, and thank you most of all for laughing with me every time I toot on the leather seats in the car. That's what makes this marriage work. You are the best and I love you more than life itself, and I mean that in a totally non-mushy way.

Read more...

Singing the Praises of Stephen

Asher wanted to write his daddy a letter to wish him a happy Father's Day, but pretty much the only words that came out of his mouth were, "Pshlurrrrrb aye aye aye GAK! Dwerdle glurb." I'll be honest - I really don't speak Baby very fluently, not even after studying it for the past few months nonstop. I began to write a letter for him, but we both decided that would come off as extremely cheesy. So, we'll wait until his vocabulary builds just a touch before we go having any posts directly from Asher on here. In the interim, I can speak on what a wonderful partner in parenting I have.

He's not afraid of baby poop. That, to me, is like the sexiest thing in all of the world. Screw good looks, intelligence, money, success...give me a man who isn't opposed to changing a few dirty diapers. He will stay up late to rock Asher to sleep so that I can go to bed. There were times in the early post-birth days in which I would call him while he was at work, an absolute wreck, and he would come home to give me relief and reassurance. He's been by my side from me puking during labor to the recovery period, when he had to not only help me to the toilet, but also help clean me up afterwards. He's comforted me during my depression, and laughed with me during all of Asher's peeing and pooping mishaps. He's made me feel pretty when I was hugely pregnant with Asher, when I was an unshowered, unkempt, flannel-pajamas-wearing wreck that month after I had Asher, and even now with my deflated boobs and unshaven legs. He's catered to my every need and suffered all my mood swings, and doesn't even demand sex from me. He's worked nonstop for us, and he's stayed home for us.

He truly is the glue that keeps us together, and we would fall apart without him.

Happy first Father's Day, Stephen. Despite all my nagging, complaints, and criticism, you honestly are the best father I could ever want for my child. I'm blessed to have you as my husband, and Asher is blessed to have you as his daddy. We love you so much, and I hope you realize how important you are, both to me and your little buddy.

Read more...

New Contributor

I, Stephen, have added myself as a contributor to Neener Neener (until Kim reads this and pulls the plug). I have made a post already and hope to make more in the near future.

The Flatulating Unicorn isn't dead. I just have no idea what to do with it.

Read more...

Bestest Husband Ever

I came home this evening all cranky - which, by the way, is totally not abnormal, but I was much crankier than usual because some of the higher-ups in my company were in for a lovely meeting with my office - to find my darling husband all worked up in a sweat.

"Oh, honey, you painted!" (I am referring to the spot in the family room where touch ups were made on nail pops during our 18-month inspection in JUNE. You know....eleven months ago.)

"Yep. I also painted in there," he says, pointing to the spot in the dining room where a crack in the wall was touched up in DECEMBER for our 2-year inspection. "And, I bought mulch and spread it out around the patio."

The icing on the cake? He also went to the store and bought not one, but TWO packs of buttwipes. That's 100 moist sheets of clean goodness!

Crappiest day ever turned into most awesome day ever (no pun intended). The man knows the way to my heart like the back of his hand.

Read more...

How Normal People Store Their Underwear

I don't know which is more interesting about this picture: the fact that we have several boxes of men's underwear strewn across the office floor, or the cat who has made himself cozy by nestling himself in the midst of pictures of hunky tighty-whitey clad men.

Our office tends to be the junk dumping grounds of the house. One of my goals for the year is to get it cleaned up again. I did this last year, but alas, it's long since been trashed. I blame having too much stuff and not enough storage space, because I'm sure our laziness has absolutely nothing to do with it. Anyway, the year's only a quarter over, so I have plenty of time to accomplish my goal and, besides, if I clean it up now, chances are someone will just mess it up again before the year's over. Then, does the fact that it was once clean even count? Shouldn't the resolution remain resolved by the year's end to really qualify as accomplished?

(Seriously, I freaking need to clean this mess of a room this weekend before I completely lose it.)

On to the boxes of underwear themselves...Stephen is very particular about his man-panties. He's always on the hunt for the perfect pair. After buying like ten boxes and trying on a pair at home (because Heaven forbid he try something on in a dressing room or just buy one item in case he doesn't like it), he decided they don't quite live up to his high man-panty expectations and must go back to the store. So like all things we don't know what to do with in the house, they ended up in a pile in the office awaiting their return to the store.

As for Sam, who knows. Maybe he has big dreams of becoming a hunky underwear model himself one day. Or maybe this is just another example of his tendency for man love.

Read more...

Maybe I Should Give Up Talking for Lent

Stephen calls me at work this afternoon and asks how things are going. I reply, wonderful, because my attorneys are out of the office and it's so quiet and peaceful. So quiet and peaceful, in fact, that I don't want to waste it by polluting it with my radio. I have to keep it pure and heavy. It's so quiet, that all I I'm listening to is the hum of the fluorescent lights.

He asks me twice to repeat myself. I do both times.

My whore is a wife??

Then, on our way to dine at the almighty Boston Market for my weekly feast of sweet potato casserole, we drive past this park in which a couple of bell towers were built last year. These remind me of the Bell Tower on Purdue's campus. So I point toward them and say, look, we're at Purdue!

He says, huh? I repeat myself. He looks all around with a confused look on his face.

Combat Purdue??

I may need to enunciate more and speak LOUDER, or someone really needs to clean his ears out. Either way, sometimes I swear the Mexican cleaning lady at work who speaks only five or six English words would do a better job of communicating with my husband. Not to mention, she also keeps the toilets much cleaner than I do, so I think that would probably be another big plus for him.

Read more...

My Husband, the Romantic

Stephen gave my Valentine's Day gift to me a week early. This isn't uncommon; when it comes to gift-giving, he's like a little kid and can't wait until the appropriate day. Normally, I find this endearing, but...

Last Tuesday, we had a snowstorm that wasn't as bad as yesterday's, but it was snowing heavy enough to make driving conditions pretty awful and prompted my boss to send us home 2 1/2 hours early. Stephen picked me up from work, and we decided to stop by Kroger on the way home to return a movie we had rented from the nifty $1 rental machine we recently discovered. Pulling into the little shopping center's parking lot, we were appalled that there had been virtually no plowing done. Between knowing our luck and the crappy condition of the lot, you'd think we wouldn't have been surprised when we ran completely over a cement parking lot divider slab thingy. Nope, it still managed to scare me enough to cause me to duck and then frantically search the rearview mirrors for the bloody remains of the midget or dog I was positive we had just run over. Either there were no bloody remains, or it was just snowing so freakin' hard that it masked the evidence from my eyes, but either way I was relieved.

As always, relief is only temporary, and moments later Stephen's bout of rage began when he concluded he had demolished his tire. We pulled into a "space" and got out to find a perfectly flat tire with its sidewall blown out. Our Hyundai has a lovely 60 month roadside assistance feature, where they'll bring you gas if you run out, tow your car for free, change your flate tire, etc. Unfortunately, it was going to take three hours for someone to get to us to change our tire. Did I mention we were only about a mile from our house? It seemed silly, to me, to sit there, a mile away from home, waiting in the car for three hours for someone to change the flat tire. Granted, I'm a girl, and if I'd been alone and had no one else to call, I sure as hell would have waited that three hours for flat tire assistance. Not because I'm lazy, though I totally am, but because I'd have absolutely no idea how on earth to change a flat. I know the spare tire is usually kept in the trunk, and I know you have to jack the car up before changing it, but that's about as far as my knowledge goes. But anyway, since my husband is, duh, a boy, why couldn't he just change it himself? Easy peasey, I thought!

We had no shovel with us because, well, who keeps a shovel in their car? I came up with the brilliant idea to use the ice scraper/snow brush to clear off the area around the car and the tire. This is when the F-bombs started flying out of the mouth of my sweet, sweet husband.

"What the f**k do you think you're doing?! Get your f**kin' ass back in the f**kin' car!"

It's okay, sweetie, look, it's working!

"I said to get your ass back in the car! Damnit! F**K!!!" (Jumps out of the car and slams the car door.) "F**KER!" (Did I mention we were in the Kroger parking lot? Could this explain why not one of the dozens of cars that drove by us stopped to offer assistance?)

*blink, blink* Did you just call me a f**ker?

"NO, I didn't call YOU a f**ker! I hate my f**king job! I hate this f**king car! I hate carting all this f**king sh*t around in my f**king car I f**king hate for the f**king job I f**king hate!!"

Sweetie, let me help. Just tell me what to do. I know I can't do much between the several inches of snow on the ground and the HEELS I'm wearing, but let me do something. Can I help clean out your trunk so we can get to the tire?

"HERE," thrusting a few things into my arms, including a tissue-wrapped package. "AND HAPPY F**KIN' VALENTINE'S DAY!"

I just want you to know, anything you say at this moment, I'm completely disregarding because of the situation. (And because I noticed the Coach tissue paper surrounding the package. Call me a f**ker again, I don't care. As long as I get a f**kin' purse out of the f**kin' deal, I could care less.)

So, although celebrated early, I had a memorable Valentine's Day. I got a fabulous brown leather Coach purse to add to my collection, a tire changed by my ever-so-manly man, and a new nickname. (F**ker, in case you forgot. I haven't.) I just wish he'd said those heartfelt words in a card so I could cherish them forever:

HAPPY F**KIN' VALENTINE'S DAY, F**KER! Love Always, Stephen

Read more...