Category Archives: hole-y matrimony

Surprise grapefruit

Surprise Grapefruit

Tate came home, vibrating with excitement.

“Hey kids!  I got you a surprise for your breakfast tomorrow!  Grapefruit!”

Grapefruit. (Imagine I’m saying that like Seinfeld used to say, “Newman.”)

“And how is it a surprise, ding dong, if you just told them about it?”  I said this to myself, I’m not the type to have silly arguments with my husband.

(On a side note, he paid $40 for these surprise grapefruit.  One of his coworker’s daughters was selling them as a fundraiser for her high school.  I just have to say that had _I_ brought home a surprise $40 box of grapefruit, Tate would have thought I was nuts.  Now, if I had bought $40 worth of Girl Scout Cookies (two boxes), he’d have jumped for joy!  We didn’t even get ONE box of  Girl Scout Cookies this year because when I tried to buy Samoas from the cute little chirping Girl Scouts at the Kroger, they were OUT.  Frankly if I can’t have Samoas, I’ll just do without Girl Scout Cookies for the year.)

So where was I?  Oh right! Grapefruit. (Newman.)

Of course, since Tate had mentioned this magical, surprise grapefruit right before Carson went to bed, there he stood at 7 AM at the side of my bed.

“G’morning, Mommy!  I’ve been thinking about eating that special surprise grapefruit!  Get up!  Carson said, bounding out of my room and down the stairs.  “I’ll go wake up Ella so we can eat!”

There’s a few things that could potentially go wrong with this whole surprise grapefruit scenarino, besides the fact that we are having to get up unnecessarily early.  1)  I’m not sure that Carson or Ella really knows what grapefruit is.  They could be thinking it’s a “grape”-like fruit and will be undesirably shocked to see that it’s a giant orange.  And 2) I’m not so sure that my two children’s palates are sophisticated enough for grapefruit.

This was a (possible) giant fiasco just waiting to happen.  “Thanks, TATE.” I thought to myself.  “So glad you’re at work and are going to miss out on their ‘surprise’.”

I was torn as to whether I should try to make this a learning opportunity or just be nonchalant about it.  I mean, if I made an even bigger deal out of these surprise grapefruits, I could pay dearly with my sanity.  But maybe the educational lesson could be just the diversion enough to make the surprise grapefruits less of a disappointment.

Because I’m a pretty awesome mom and overall human being, I decided to go the educational route.  We studied the no longer surprise grapefruit, inside and out.  We talked about how they could roll, how they look a lot like oranges, how they have seeds, and how MUCH THEY WERE GOING TO LOVE EATING THEM.

My wager paid off, they did love eating them.  They also loved the grapefruit juice that I squeezed fresh for them.  (See?  Pretty awesome mom and overall human being.)  Tate is off the hook, for now.  Well, at least until next week, when I’m sick of segmenting grapefruit and hand squeezing their juice.

A little bit of this and a little bit of that.

Phew.  Betcha thought I forgot all about posting on this lazy NaBloPoMo Sunday, huh?  No?  You didn’t even notice?  Well.

**Ella has this really red rash that started yesterday.  By last night she was practically covered with it.  I took her to a doc in the box this morning and the nurse practitioner thought that it she could be having an allergic reaction to her antibiotic that she’s been on for almost 10 days for an ear infection.  So that lazy Sunday I mentioned in the first paragraph was not, in fact, lazy.  It was filled with worry and tender kisses on itchy foreheads, calamine lotion, oatmeal baths,  and holding and rocking a sweet baby girl.  I fully embodied the spirit of Ma Ingalls.

**I came home from the doctor to my husband questioning me, which is completely different than asking me questions.  “Why didn’t they do a histamine test?”  “The doctor didn’t even know WHAT the rash was and was just giving a cop out answer that it’s a drug reaction, wasn’t she?”  “You ARE going to call the REAL doctor in the morning, AREN’T YOU?”

In case you were wondering my husband does not actually earn a paycheck as a hard-nosed detective.

**There is a direct correlation between the number of sunny days and the amount of housework that gets completed.  My house is a freaking disaster area.  Can you guess the weather?!

**I never, ever (EVER) write reviews, but an opportunity to try out a Shabby Apple Dress came my way and wouldn’t you know, I wrote a review.  You can check out my review here!

Dates

I completely forgot that October 31 was the ten year anniversary of when Tate and I became engaged.  Apparently he forgot, too.

I remembered on November 6, the eleventh anniversary of our first date.  (Jesse James’ Hideout in Rolla, MO.  Jealous much?)  (I also puked the next morning right in front of him.)  (Again.  Jealous much?)

I can’t believe that neither of us even REMEMBERED that October 31 was the TEN YEAR anniversary of when we became engaged.  How could we have both completely forgotten!?!  Since I feel like he and I are having some blips on our marital radar, and I tend to overanalyze A LOT, it made me particularly sad and introspective to have forgotten.

I’ve been thinking about all of our special dates.  We don’t celebrate any of these days except for our wedding anniversary anymore, but I remember those early days when we at least acknowledged (wink, wink) all those significant days.

December 29, 1998, This one is none of yo business
December 30, 1998, The first time we told each other we loved one another
May 17, 1999, The day we moved in together in Knoxville, the day after I graduated from graduate school.
July 14, 2001, Our wedding day

I miss those days when we celebrated that we’d been together a WHOLE MONTH! or a three months or eight months. When we got married, we decided that it would be too much to try and remember all the milestones.  Celebrating our wedding anniversary would be plenty, we’d agreed.

Maybe we should reinstate celebrating those milestones.  Maybe we should do what we did before.

Do you still celebrate those little days?  Or do you only celebrate your anniversary?

New! and Improved! Jennifer! It’s! Exhausting!

I drank two cups of coffee this morning and I don’t even drink coffee and I feel a leeeeetle bit like I might have just intravenously injected the caffeine because I feel a little bit loooooopy.  This must be what it feels like to be high, high, high!

I needed the two cups because I got up VERY EARLY to go running.

I got up VERY EARLY to go running because I have big, beefy thighs and I’m tired of carrying around the jelly donut that’s strapped to my waist.

Not only am I motivated! to exercise!, I’m motivated! to improve ALL of myself!  Why not start now!

Writing:  I’m doing this whole NaBloPoMo thing to try and reset my love of writing and blogging.

My marriage:  I don’t like Tate about 75% of the time and I’m trying to cut that number down to about only 10% so I’m reminding myself to stop being a dick to him.  I’ve also been listening to Focus on the Family marriage related podcasts (while I’m running) (which are kinda weird to listen to, but also kinda good.)

Health:  Did I mention I’ve been running?  Well I have been!  And I’ve been drinking more water, which is almost harder than running because I can’t ever remember to actually drink it.

Parenting:  I’ve given up yelling for Lent.  Who cares that Lent doesn’t start until February?  I can give it up now.  It’ll be good practice because it’s going to take that long for the not yelling to actually stick.  Also I’ve been reading some parenting books on topics such as “how to keep your head from exploding when your child throws a tantrum in a busy restaurant” and “exorcising demons from toddlers.”

I know “experts” say that people are “supposed” to make small changes when trying to achieve their goals, but if I do that, I’ll be 350 lbs, divorced, dehydrated, hoarse, AND my blog will suck even harder by the time I get around to fixing all that needs fixing.

Okay, fine, I know I’m being petty

I was home from the grocery store for less than an hour when I noticed Tate, his mouth stuffed full of newly purchased, thinly sliced ham.

“Tate, there better be enough of that ham left for the kids’ lunches this week,” I said in my well-practiced irritated voice.

His face registered shock and fear as both of our eyes looked down upon a nearly empty package of just purchased honey cured ham.

“TATE!  I JUST bought that!  It was supposed to last the WHOLE week!”

End scene.

Replace ham with any food that has been specially purchased for the children and has the potential to create MELTDOWNS! and HAVOC! if we were to run out.  Despite my huffing and well-practiced irritated looks, Tate continues to leave ONE granola bar in the box, that of course I realize seconds after promising TWO children their own granola bar for snack.  Or he’ll leave *just enough* orange juice for a flea.  He’s even been known to eat the last two cheese sticks I’d promised our children for their snack.

“How was I supposed to know you were saving that?!”  he’ll reply, while I stand behind him holding a fake knife, making stabbing motions.

Look.  I know I’m being petty.  Of course he has as much right as anyone in our family to eat.  Poor wittle Tate, I don’t want him to go hungwy!

I just want him to be able to read my mind and realize that I have plans for certain foods and that his eating said foods will make me want rip out his toenails.

Off Waivers

Some of you are going to be in shock when you read this.  Others of you may question whether or not you feel like we can continue being friends.

I hope this doesn’t change things between us.

I do not really care for chocolate or sweets.  I KNOW!  Shocking!  It’s like I just told you that I actually have a pen!s.

I can say with 100% certainty that I despise plain milk chocolate, but when forced (like when it’s sitting in front of me and my husband bought it for me as a “gift” and looks at me with wide, expectant eyes), I will eat it.

Chocolate with some sort of nut accompaniment is preferred, though it’s still not as delicious to me as a big plate of nachos with melting cheese and jalapenos.  I do enjoy candies and pies and cakes and ice creams occasionally, but if given a choice, I’d prefer prime rib and a baked potato with butter and sour cream.  I actually have an entire list of Chocolate and Sweets Consumption and the Enjoyment Thereof  Bylaws that can be obtained for a nominal fee of $27 plus $9.95 shipping and handling, in the event you are curious as to my specific preferences and whims.  (Bylaw #314b:  I adore all things gummy, when the tide is out on the third Tuesday of every other month during leap years.)

I’m telling you all of this because I’m a superior wife and blogger that feels as if you need to know the aforementioned information before making a final judgment regarding an argument I’m having with my husband.

Every so often, or rather, too often, Tate comes home with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s for each of us.   He prefers the chocolately ones, I like Cookies & Cream or Raspberry Cobbler.  In the past, I’ve shamefully eaten every last bite of my pint of ice cream.  Since I’ve been trying to be wiser about my eating habits and become a better friend to my thighs, I’ve tried to eat only 1/4 to a 1/3 of the pint, while Tate continues to snarf down all of his.  I put the remainder of my ice cream in the freezer to save for another night.

Imagine my shock and horror when a few days later I discover the scent of MY ICE CREAM on Tate’s breath and find the tell tale ice cream soiled spoon on the counter.  Alright, that may be hard to imagine since I just basically told you that I’m just not that into sweets, BUT!!  It was MY ice cream that I WAS going to eat eventually.  AND!!  Having saved ice cream in the fridge meant that Tate wouldn’t have buy MORE when he inevitably went out to get Ben and Jerry’s.  Also, why can’t Tate figure out how to open the dishwasher and place dirty dishes INSIDE???

Tate rolled his eyes and sighed his exasperated sigh when I yelled at him for eating MY ice cream.  He explained that once the ice cream pint goes back into the freezer uneaten, it becomes fair game and that he has every right to pick up the ice cream off waivers.

“It’s not like you even really like it that much,” he retorted, getting in the last word.  He then stole the remote control from my hands and forced me to watch American Rifleman, while I sat in stunned silence, mourning the loss of my ice cream.  (I just made up the events in the last sentence.)

I feel that once I’ve started a pint of ice cream, particularly when he originally had his very own pint, that the ice cream remains mine for my personal consumption whenever I feel like eating it.  There is no rule stating that I MUST finish the whole pint of ice cream in one sitting.  I also feel that I should not have to live in fear in my own HOME that my saved ice cream will be robbed, never to be seen again…(well, you know what I mean.)

So.  If you were able to work past the fact that I’m not a superfan of chocolate and sweets and read this, what do you think?  Does Tate have the right to eat my ice cream off waivers because “It’s not like [I] even really like it that much?”  (Am refraining from capitalizing the word “MY” in the previous sentence and not using the word “steal” in the place of “eat” because I want to be a RESPONSIBLE and FAIR blogger and not sway your decision in any way.)

It was like looking at a mom, or something.

I recently mentioned my neighbor who doesn’t have anything covering her windows, allowing us lucky neighbors to peer inside.  My husband Tate, who leaves for work ridiculously early in the morning when it’s still pitch black outside, has seen our neighbor naked twice.

“You saw her naked again!” I asked, both appalled and oddly intrigued.

“I couldn’t help it,” Tate reasoned.  “Her light was on, it was dark outside, how could I not look?  And there she was!  Completely naked.”

“Welllll…,” Of course I had to pry for details. “Was she hot?”

“It was like looking at a mom, or something.  It’s not like she was hot.”  Tate said, his disgust apparent until he saw the look of shock on my face.

“Oh! Wait!  That’s not what I meant…”

There are some things that just can’t be taken back.

For those of you reading and concerned about Tate’s well being, I’d like to assure you that he is still alive and with all of his parts intact.  Barely.

UT/UCLA