I'll try to foget how much you annoy me....

So after we dropped kiddo off at book club last night, husband and I hit the mall. We were sitting in the food court having a cup of Timmie's when out of the corner of my eye I spot him.... 6 feet tall, 120 pounds, pristine mullet combed to perfection, sleeves of his yellowish white shirt rolled up over a pack of smokes, cut off cowboy boots and chips missing from both front teeth (think real life Joe Dirt) I divert my eyes and try not to giggle, when husband leans over... "Next time I annoy you, remember what's out there."

I'll try and forget how much you annoy me. For a while.

WARNING: this post may offend some

Yesterday marked my 11th wedding anniversary. It was also my first exam of this semester. I won't bore you with the whole story of meeting husband (he used to date my cousin) or how I started dating husband (after one to many beers) or even how we got married (on a cold friday night, in a court house by a justice of the peace when I was 22) or even how we have tried to kill each other over the years (and failed obviously).

Instead, I would like to share this.... a note that was attached to pink roses on my kitchen couter after my exam yesterday. {Warning, here comes the schmaltz}


I share my fries with you when you're finished all yours and still want more.
I am never rude to your tummy when I hear it gurgle and growl, instead, I bend down and reply respectfully.
I eat your pepperoni when we order pizza.
I kiss away the papercuts, the door-slammed fingers and the counter-bumped hips.
I try my hardest not to get annoyed when you whisper questions and comments during movies.
I am the big spoon.
I let you win arguments. Sometimes, other times I do not.
I push when you when you need to be pushed and tease you when you don't.
I stand with you in all our parenting decisions, even the hard ones.
I send you random texts and buy you silly gifts, just because I want to.
I check your tire pressure, and remind you to put gas in the car.
I hold your hand.
I love you.

I will always love you.

Fall of the socks

The cool breeze. The changing colors of the leaves. The angry skies. The smell of burning wood in fireplaces. Flannel sheets tucked warmly on the bed. Daylight Savings Time cussed about in line at the coffee shop. Teen aged girls are fully covered, wearing sweater and furry boots. The smells. Starbucks peppermint mocha is back for a 'limited time'. I think I like fall.

Except for the socks!

During the summer husband wears sandals (without socks of course, I already won that battle) and during the fall makes the transition to socks and shoes, but not one pair of socks, no. Husband wears two pairs of socks during the winter... Which means, not only more laundry, but more for me to pick up.

When husband arrives home from work, he sheds the first pair of socks. These usually land on his side of the bed, the foot of the bed or on top of the laundry hamper. Never IN the laundry hamper. The second pair of socks linger on his feet a little longer, they make it through supper and coffee, but depart during TV time. This second pair of socks almost faithfully land on the corner of the couch.




So apart from the dirty stinky socks all over my house, I like fall. UGH.

Ungrateful wife that I am

He thinks I should show more appreciation....



At least he did the dishes.

Stand back, he's all mine

The following is a grown up conversation between me and husband.

"Hon, I need your help. Can you help me think of a name for this post?"

"How about BUTTCRACK?"

"Umm Yeah, that's a great name, but seriously any ideas?"

"How about VERY SERIOUS CRACK OF THE BUTT?"

-Its a wonder no one else wanted him!