254,052 hours, and starting to get the hang of it.
As of right now I am 254,052 hours old. For those mathematically challenged like myself, that is 29 years, 12 hours old. 29 sounds like the age of a grown up. This has not been such a great week. Actually, it has kind of sucked. You know why? Because I have had to be a grown-up way too many times this week.
One of the reasons I love being a SAHM is I have an outlet for all of the bizarre stuff I want to do. An audience that always plays along and giggles. Do I want to put on slippery socks and ice skate in the hallway? He thinks it is awesome. Do I want to use mini marshmallows as snow on the island of Sodor? I rule! Should we give each other tattoos with washable markers and then spend an hour in a bubble bath? Of course we should! Moral of the story? We do not act like grown-ups. We have fun. I figure as long as we are relatively well fed, have on clean underwear, and at least try to take a nap, that is good enough.
This week? I have been 29. Want to know some of the sentences I have been told this week? “We are going to total the car, but you can buy it from us at salvage cost if you want.” “We should do that, it will be cheaper than buying a whole new car.” “The injury is worse than we first thought, now we think a rib is separated too.” “He will need several weeks of physical therapy.” “We will not settle the claim until he is well.” “Since I work as a contractor I will not get paid at all for the time I was off because of the wreck.” “Since your husband was not a full-time student last semester, he will have to start repaying his student loans now.” “You owe us 12 hundred dollars.” “Your no interest financing on the hot water heater from last year is up next month.” “The Huckablazer is making a funny sound.” “Your grandmother forgot what month Valentine’s day is in.” “Maybe if you hang up some hearts over the bows on them you can call them Valentine’s decorations.” “No! No, Mama! I NO wear coat!” “No! No! Mama! I not eat toast. I eat candy!” “I not eat oatmeal, I eat CANDY MAMA!” “I eat CANDY NOT BEAKFAST!” “No, I no go to time out! I will hit!” “NO, I no dink cup, I Nur-nur.” “No I go night-night in Mama Daddy bed.” “No, I no go potty.” “NO! NO! NO!”
Arg. I have been a grown-up. And, then as if someone out there said, “Hey, it is her birthday, we should let her have a good day instead,” today has been a good day. The Husband went out in the ten degree weather to buy me a vanilla latte. The Son did not injure himself or others at play group. My mom fed me homemade minestrone and from scratch bread for lunch. The Son curled up next to me and took a nap. The Husband and I went out for Sashimi. Now we are home and going to snuggle up and watch tv from i tunes. A good day. Oh, and guess what? My husband has been sticking away money and has enough saved up for this. He said not to worry about student loans, or car wrecks, or hot water heaters, so I am going to let him be the grown-up and I am going to count the days until my new camera is delivered.
Filed under Parenting for Dummies, The Husband, lexapro lexplains it | Comments (6)Close Call
The Husband is fine! Really! He is talking to me! —but he was in a car wreck this morning, so we are off on a whirlwind of doctor’s visits and insurance calls so that is why we are out of touch. The little old lady in her plastic rain hat that could barely see over the steering wheel? She is okay too. Little work car we just spent 2 grand fixing? Not so much. The Husband just told me that all that was wrong with her truck was that her turn signal did not work. Maybe we need to get a work truck instead.
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Update 7pm:
He has a separated shoulder and gets to take muscle relaxers, hydrocodone, some muscle gel thing, wear a sling, and just generally be cranky. I am sorry he is hurt….but I mostly feel blessed because a thousand different variables and he would be, at the least, in the hospital right now.
He was embarrassed that I brought the camera to the x-ray room, but this is prime blog material.
Ouch!
I told him to stand by his car and look pathetic.
Alma miss you too.
Shoeshe’s birthday was Thursday and that seemed a good excuse to go visit our old home town, just in time for Alma Mater’s last home game of the season. We were not really going to see football but rather to see Shoeshe and eat at some of our favorite old haunts. The Husband used to work at a hotel in *Alma Mater, so he dropped the owner’s name when we were making reservations and got us a huge discount…big enough that we stayed two nights instead of one. When we got to town on Friday night we checked in, fed Ellie-Mae and met Shoeshe at the best Italian restaurant ever. We told our server it was her birthday and she got free cake, which she gave to The Son, because she hates us and thought it was fun to watch his head spin around backwards.
Ang and JHJ both used to work at the best restaurant ever, and the menu had not changed a bit. When the waitress brought my 24 with extra mushrooms (penne and chicken in cream sauce), I remembered why Ang and I would always share an order. Ang would pick it up, between her lunch and dinner shift as hostess, and bring it to me while I worked at the senator’s office. I would close the door, and we would sit at my desk, eat and watch Rosie O’Donnell on the TV that was supposed to stay tuned to CSPAN. That was just the beginning of a weekend full of memories. Some were bad, but they were overwhelmingly good.
The next morning we perused the awesome new mall they have built at Alma Mater, and The Son beamed a little girl in the mall kiddie corral. In his defense, the child was sitting at the bottom of the slide as he was coming down it. We left and took him to a real playground instead, and I swear, it was the BEST playground I have EVER seen, and that is saying something because I do consider myself a bit of a playground connoisseur. It is located at a nearby lake, the lake where we had church cookouts, and Ang and I walked miles upon miles so I would fit in my wedding dress. It was really cold, but that did not slow us down any.
The Son fit in the tire swing much better than the adults. Like his new hat? Target special in Alma Mater colors.
This is one of those barrel rolling things. The Son had it easy.
Although The Husband also did really well.
Shoeshe pretty much sucked. So did I, and there is a picture of me on this thing as well, but it is my blog so I get choose which pictures to publish. Awesome.
This may look like a normal slide but it is made of of lots of tiny little rollers. I was worried about his fingers getting caught, but he was fine.
The Husband thought he would be fine too….but it was not made for more ample adult-sized bottoms. He tried it on his stomach the next go around and now we can not have any more children.
We had so much fun playing that we were late for the game! When we got there they were already doing…um something. I have no idea. But doesn’t the field look pretty?
There was a lot of um hugging? And running. And throwing. I just cheered when people around me cheered and started to boo when they booed, but The Husband said that was teaching The Son bad sportsmanship, so instead when other people booed we just yelled, “Awe that’s a shame. Better luck next time!” Shoeshe pretended she did not know us.
We really enjoyed the band! They were entertaining. They could play and dance at the same time. Ohhhh. Ahhhh.
We left after the half time show. It was just way too cold, especially since The Son flat out refused to wear his mittens and I had already flashed our whole section when he threw a temper tantrum demanding to Nur-Nur during the second quarter. Whoever thought it was a good idea to plan a game at nap time obviously did not have a toddler. The score was tied when we left, but I hear Alma Mater won, so YAY! I guess. Whatever. They still have a great debate team.
The Son fell asleep in the Huckablazer before we were even off campus so Shoeshe gave us a tour down memory lane. Campus is completely unrecognizable from just six years ago. My dorm is now Co-ed! The student union is so massive it takes up the whole center of campus. The college owned apartments, that were considered the height of cool with their T1 lines, are now obsolete because they are the only part of campus that is not wireless. Trees are gone and a parking garage is in their spot. The Wesley foundation where Cat and I spent so many hours looks so much better, and has bought out the Church of Christ next door. The new science building has a lovely greenhouse on the top, and the road I used to speed down to get to work on time is now just for bikes and pedestrians. Get Cat to tell you about the time she got run over by a bike on that road.
Since The Son was snoozing away, we drove by every apartment either of us lived in. The first one, still across from a mosque is now owned by HUD, that should tell you something. It was never a nice apartment complex, when I first moved in just for the summer while the dorms were closed, I was so scared to live there by myself that I begged HYR to live there with me. She complied, and we toughed it out together. The next apartment we lived in was bought out by my old church and they tore it down to put up a parking lot. It was a change for the better. My first apartment I ever lived in alone** was so small that I could not open the front door without hitting the coffee table, and yet I still crammed in a full-sized Christmas tree. It looked exactly the same, as did the huge old house turned duplex The Husband and I first lived in as newlyweds. That is where he carried me over the threshold and hit my head on the door frame. Oh the memories. We drove by his old apartment too, the one he shared with BIL and had so much dust that the first (only) time I cleaned it for them I found thirty-seven dollars in change under the dust on their entertainment center. It looked the same as well, although that part of town seems to really be going downhill.
We went back to the hotel to finish naps, check on the dog and to lose some of the layers we had on, and then met Shoeshe for sushi and hibachi. The Son thought a Boston roll was a cupcake and got mad when it tasted like kelp instead of icing. We told our server it was her birthday and she got free cake, which she gave to The Son. Because she hates us and thought it was fun to watch his head spin around backwards. Hey Deja Vu!
We finished the night in the indoor pool at the hotel doing something The Son has been begging to do since August.
The next morning we made it just in time for the contemporary service at the church I went to the whole time I lived there, and only saw one person I knew. We finished the trip up with lunch at the same place The Husband and I had our third date. I asked him if he remembered that date and he told me he did because he really liked the v-necked sweater I wore.
When we pulled out of the parking lot after giving Shoeshe final kisses, The Son cried saying, “Shoeshe, Shoeshe, you come back, I want you back!” and it was not just because she gives him presents.
We will be back soon. Alma Mater has a basketball team right?
*Alma Mater is code for the town the actual university is located in.
**I used the term alone very loosely because The Husband and I were newly engaged and were pretty much inseparable.
Filed under Friends-All three of them, NaBloPoMo, Photography, The Husband, The Son | Comments (3)Blame him.
See this guy? He is kinda cute isn’t he. This is sort of a goobery picture of him and he is still adorable. 
Well, this guy is really tired. He drove all the way to Alma Mater and back, he slept with a two year old for two nights, he has been a trooper all weekend doing exactly what Shoeshe and I have wanted to do. But now he is grumpy. He asked me to throw up a cheater post just for NaBloPoMo real quick, and then to come chill with him. And that is what I am doing. Details about our awesome weekend later.
Overheard in the Huckablazer.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah, boring grown up stuff, blah, blah.”
“Mama! Daddy! Mama! Daddy! iisen to me!”
“Okay, we are listening Son, what’s up?”
Puts hand over his heart, “I pwedge agence flag under God, invisible Spagetthi-O’s. Amen.” Grins and applauds himself.
“Did he just say the pledge to invisible spagetthi-o’s?”
“Erm. Yeah, I think so.”
“I am not sure if I am proud our two year old knows the concept of pledging allegiance to something, or if I am concerned he is doing it to such a fascist like Chef Boyardee.”
“You think Chef Boyardee was a fascist?”
“Totally. I think he was Mussolini’s personal chef.”
“Huh. Why do you think the spaghetti-O’s were invisible?”
“I think he meant invincible.”
“Oh, well that totally makes sense. Even Tums can’t touch those things.”
Filed under Boy is my face red, NaBloPoMo, The Husband, The Son, stupidity | Comments (7)“My wife made me do it.”
This would be the last time The Husband enjoyed dressing up for Halloween. 1984.
His wife loves Halloween, and he loves his wife. He loves her so much he will dress up like a tree hugging hippie. (You can really see the hole-ishness of that house in the background. Our washer was in the kitchen. Our dryer was outside.)
He really liked his sword this year, but got mad when I said that his Russian Cossack hat looked like a baby orangutan sitting on his head. See the dog dish on planter in the back ground? That is so Polly would not eat all of Katy’s food. She had a bit of a weight problem, oh, and no teeth. The crock pot is full of The Husband’s secret recipe little weenies.
This is right after The Son was born, we were cave people. I used a washable marker to give The Husband a unibrow, and he made me take it right off, but you can still see it a little. Look how long my hair was!
Turn about is fair play so here is me as a cave woman…..
…..and as a gypsy. This is the hole again. I hated that house; I think it was haunted. Also, I was a wee bit over accessorized.
Here I am as the not-evil-mostly-good-witch-of-the-south. My eyes were glowing red in this picture, so I tried to photoshop them and they came out looking kinda cyborgish. Also? Good lord, what kind of bra did I have on to get those suckers so high? Or maybe that is just how they looked before breastfeeding for 26 months?
Next up? Pictures of some of thehuckablog’s regular commentors.
Filed under Boy is my face red, Photography, The Husband | Comments (2)To love and protect.
Um, yeah. This is not a fun blog post. It was hard to write, and is hard to read, so my feelings will not be hurt if you just pass right on by this one. It is in honor of National Domestic Violence Month, and all money made from ads here on thehuckablog for the month of October will be donated here, so feel free to click away.
Sometimes I wonder if I am protective enough of The Son. I always keep an eagle eye on him, but tend to err more on the side of letting him test his limits rather than helicopter over him. I let him climb, jump, taste things, wear what he wants, kiss the dog, play with other kids. I so do not want him growing up afraid, or wary of new experiences, or to be shy around new people. He looks just like The Husband’s side of the family, but the older he gets, it is becoming more and more obvious his personality is all me. He is bossy, he is chatty, he is loving and a cuddler, he is curious, he is pouty if he does not get his way, he can be manipulative, he gets obsessed with certain things, and he is brave. I do not want him to get hurt, but I also want him to experience life to the fullest. The hard truth is that if you are really living your life, sometimes you will get hurt.
I started liking boys around the fifth grade. I had my first boyfriend in the sixth grade and he was tall and lanky and had an identical twin. His name was Kris with a K, it was short for Kristian. When I was twelve, we sat next to each other in beanbag chairs in our GT social studies class as we watched Ben Hur, he leaned over and kissed me, it lasted exactly two seconds when our teacher looked over and made us separate our beanbag chairs. Kris with a K was the first in a long line of middle school and high school loves, we would pass notes, hold hands at the skating rink, later on we would go horseback riding or slow dance to Bryan Adams songs. Fun, but not serious. When I was sixteen my family moved to another state. It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school and I was-to put it lightly-pissed off about moving. We found a church right away and I started going to youth group. Now I am-and was-a good Christian girl, but the best thing about youth group were the boys.
I had lived in my new hometown for all of a month when I got asked out by Ryan. By the time school started, we were “going steady”. We had lockers right next to each other, and I would daily find little flowers or poems or presents that he had left for me. He declared his love for me, he showered me with compliments, he was jealous over other boys, and I was….overwhelmed. I never really made any close friends those last two years of high school because I would spend every waking moment with–or at least on the phone with– Ryan. I should say right from the beginning my parents were not too crazy about him, probably more because they did not want their sixteen year old child to be so serious about a boy than anything else, but they knew if they had tried to keep us apart, it would just drive me closer to him. Wise parents that they were, they did the opposite. Invite him over, sure he can have dinner with us, sure he can come with us on our family trip, at least that way they could keep an eye on us–let me test my limits while keeping an eagle eye on me.
We had fun, but slowly but surely things started to turn for the worst. Being a year older, he chose to go to college here in town because I was still in high school. We still spent every second together possible after he graduated, me barely fitting in the extracurriculars I was passionate about (I was a drama geek). It stopped being fun around Christmas of my senior year, he was just pissy all the time, he would yell at me, and then say how sorry he was we had argued, how much he loved me, blah, blah, blah. He would get mad if I excluded him to do something with my friends or family. Every now and again….he would grab my arm, or kind of pinch my waist during an argument. I obviously did not like it, but guess that I did not realize what a slippery slope that kind of (now I know it for its real name) abuse is. I think I thought we would break up when I went away to college, and just kept stringing him along until then. Would you all think I was the worst, most shallow person in the world if I told you I was worried about not having a date for my senior prom if we broke up? In the mean time the yelling, and possessiveness just got worse and worse, I knew something was not right, but did a good job of covering it up in front of my family. I would say if anyone knew what was really going on, it was probably my brother. I had developed this weird habit of inviting JHJ along whenever Ryan and I went someplace, partly because I love my brother and enjoyed spending time with him, but also because….I was maybe starting to be a little afraid to spend time alone with my own boyfriend.
I did try to break things off the summer before I went away to college, but he was so…heartbroken, and then would be so sweet and romantic that it never really stuck. He would always be back in my life before I knew it. In July he applied to the college I had already been accepted to and was accepted as well. He found an apartment from which he could look out the door of and see my dorm. I again tried to break up with him, but by the time school started, I was the new girl again. I did not know anyone, and he was an easy way for this social butterfly to not be lonely. He was working nights, going to class during the day, and spending time with me during the afternoons and evenings. It is amazing I can sit here and make excuses for him ten years later, but I still wonder how much sleep deprivation had to do with those final months of our relationship. Ten years ago this week, I became a statistic. I was not at home to have my wonderful parents watching over me. I was old enough to make my own decisions, and young enough to make stupid ones.
It was a gorgeous fall day, and I had been up bright and early to go to my eight AM class, World Civ, a class that Ryan and I had together. He did not show up, and I was royally ticked off. Why? I don’t know, I guess I thought I was never going to be able to break up with this guy and certainly did not want to be married to a drop out who was still working overnight at MajorRetailer. I marched over to his apartment, intending to lecture him and get him up in time for his next class. I just deleted this whole paragraph. I think it was good for me to type it out, but I do not want it out there for people whom I love to read, so let’s just paraphrase it and say that I take National Domestic Violence awareness month very seriously.
At one point he stopped and sat down on the couch and cried, saying, “Get out before I really do kill you”. I left and ran out into the parking lot and back over to campus. In my hurry, I left my bag, my phone, my keys and my shoes at his apartment. I scared the crap out of some girl going to her car, and told her I needed help. She called campus police who took me to the hospital, once I was there they x-rayed me, and made me talk to the police. While still at the hospital, I got a phone call saying it was my dad checking on me, I had not called my dad and figured the school had, I was pissed off I did not have a chance to break this gently to my parents so I called my mom from the hospital and rushedly told her what happened. She freaked and was mad my dad had not told her what he knew, so she called him. Turns out it was not my dad at all but Ryan checking on me. I was mostly fine, the only lasting (physical) damage was a broken finger that never quite healed correctly. The cops went to Ryan’s apartment and he climbed out of the back window, they never even tried to capture him. I later learned the Ryan was fired from MajorRetailer that same day because he had stolen a shotgun from the sporting goods department. That morning could have been so much worse.
I had to go tell the dean of students what happened, and the dean made me tell him the graphic details. Ryan was kicked out of school. He called many times a day for a couple of weeks to say he was going to commit suicide if I did not take him back, I secretly wished that he would. He had a spare key (NEVER GIVE OUT KEYS) to my car and stole it while I was at class. He then parked it in a deserted area, took a logging chain, put it around the back wheels and then called and told me to meet him and he would give the car and my key back. I called the police instead (using my brain for the first time in over a year) and they cut off the chain and kept my car at the university police headquarters. Ryan had the nerve to call the police station and ask if he could have his chain back.
He was not allowed on campus anymore, but one day he followed me from class and begged me to take him back. When I told him he could not come up to my dorm he pushed me really hard, and I fell and skinned my elbows–and ripped my favorite sweater. That was the last straw. I had been afraid to press charges because I thought he would get out of jail quickly, hunt me down and kill me. That day I called one of his out of state relatives whom I knew loved him, and whom he respected. I told her exactly what happened, every gory detail. I told her if he did not leave the state I was going to press charges. The next day she came with a U-haul and took him with her. He sent me a letter months later saying that he had gotten married two months later, and had joined the military.
Ten years is a long time. I am a different person than the college freshman, but I know I was shaped, in part, by that day. I was hurt, in every way–but my bravery and trusting nature is what took the biggest beating. I did not have a serious boyfriend for three years afterwards…but when I took the plunge to love, and trust, it was with The Husband. Nothing works as a salve on old wounds like love from the kindest man on the planet, the most patient, the most gentle. I know how good I have it, because I have seen the other side.
I want to be protective of the people whom I love, I do not want to see them hurt…but I also do not want them to miss out on the gifts this life can give us because of fear. I want to teach The Son the gray area between prudence and sheer nerve, a lesson I am not sure I have learned myself.
Filed under The Husband, The Son, lexapro lexplains it | Comments (11)