Tag: mommy blog

#NaBloPoMo Day 14: Dolla’ Dolla’ Bill Y’all

On By VeeIn Family, Upstate New York8 Comments

Happy NaBloPoMo Day 14, where my self-assigned theme is Money.  As Wyclef Jean would say, dolla’ dolla’ bill y’all!  Don’t forget to read yesterday’s post, where I admit I would pay so many big ones to get my daughter to sleep through the night.

Allow me to get a bit inelegant up in here as I crudely discuss my family’s finances.  So Hubby and I, we have an MD and a JD to our respective names.  We must be rolling in it, right? Well, no, not so much.  Not when you consider the fact that I left my high-paying job to be a stay-at-home mom indefinitely.  And not when you consider the fact that Hubby is in his first year of residency, and residents are paid almost zero dollars.  I’m not even joking when I say his salary is 1/6 of what my salary was when I left my biglaw job.

We’re a family of four living on a pretty meager paycheck.  Are we broke or what?  Thankfully, we’re not about to be in the poorhouse.  When I was working and Hubby was in med school, we weren’t the most frugal people you ever met.  But we were careful enough to pay off my loans, cover about half of his education bills, and build a nice little nest egg in a savings account. And now — as we’ve always planned — we’re tapping into that nest egg so we can afford for me to stay at home with the kids for a bit.

That being said, we’d like to have some savings left on the other side of Hubby’s residency.  Our lifestyle still has to change drastically.  Drastically.  When we crunch the numbers, after everything, we’ve really got to be spending about 1/4 as much as we did before I left my job.

So how do you do that? No, seriously, this isn’t a how-to post. I need somebody to tell me how to do that.  Here’s what we’ve figured out so far:

 

  • We did ourselves a big favor by leaving the DC metro area.  Thank you, Upstate NY, for being about half as expensive.
  • We can no longer eat out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Sometimes, I actually have to cook meals.  Which means I’ve had to learn how to cook.  Which means I’ve had to learn that I’m not very good at cooking.  Which is a hard pill to swallow, since I’ve made a bit of a career out of criticizing my mother-in-law’s cooking.
  • We have to stop going to fucking Target.  WE HAVE TO STOP GOING TO FUCKING TARGET.  Sorry, I’m still trying to convince myself of this one.  Because I heart Target so freaking bad.  I know it is a perilous money pit, but it is my true happy place.  Bored? Let’s go to Target. Kids are acting crazy? Let’s go to Target. Need Starbucks? Let’s go to the one in Target.
  • Getting paid to take online surveys will earn you about $1.00 an hour.  That’s 4.5 hours of work for a Starbucks chai latte.
  • Goodbye Starbucks, hello Dunkin’ Donuts.  (But really, goodbye Dunkin’ Donuts too, because see bullet point #2).

It’s a steep learning curve, but we’ll figure it out, right?

Until next time,

Vee

#NaBloPoMo Day 13: Eleven, Twelve, Fourteen

On By VeeIn Family, Parenting5 Comments

It’s the 13th of the month, so today’s NaBloPoMo theme is Superstition. Peek back at yesterday’s post for a cute photo of Ell-Bell doing some chores.

Are you superstitious? I think my son K-man might be. When he counts to twenty, he almost always skips the number thirteen. It’s probably because his two-year-old brain can’t distinguish between the words thirteen and fourteen, but still, cute.

I’ve never been an overly superstitious person.  One superstition I think all moms subscribe to, though, is that you should never ever EVER vocalize when things are going well with your kid.  It’s a classic rookie mistake. Because the moment you admit that things are going well, the literal moment, they take a turn for the worse. Sometimes it’s a full 180. Ugh. Kids are so spiteful.

And this is true in every facet of parenthood. Behavioral issues. Eating. Potty training. And of course, sleep.  Mother effing sleep. Aka the joy killer. Aka optimism’s kryptonite.  If you’re a masochist, if you really truly hate yourself, go ahead and roll over in bed one night and tell your partner that you think your child is finally sleeping better.  Go ahead, I dare you.  I guarantee you that same child will wake up crying within five minutes. And then again every hour for the rest of the night.  You done messed up.

Honestly, there’s no safe way to acknowledge a trend of sleep improvement. Ell-Bell has had some major sleep issues for the past, oh, five months or so. Multiple night wakings, every night. But lately, it seemed like we were turning over a new leaf. Gosh, a few nights in a row she didn’t even wake up for the first time until about 4 a.m! Pure heaven.

Since I’m talking in the past tense, you already know I messed it up somehow.  But if you think I’m naive enough to have uttered a word about my giddiness to another living soul, you’re not giving me enough credit.  This isn’t my first rodeo! I wouldn’t even meet Hubby’s eyes when he asked me in the mornings how things went the night before. I just gave him the usual old miserable grunt.  So here’s where I went wrong.  I dared to think about it.  How could I have been so stupid?  Obviously the sleep gods can read minds, too!

Guess I need to bone up on my occlumency, just in case my daughter ever starts sleeping through the night.

Until next time,

Vee

 

 

 

#NaBloPoMo Day 12: Life With An Almost-Toddler

On By VeeIn Family, Parenting5 Comments

Happy November 12th, more popularly known as Day 12 of NaBloPoMo.  Today’s theme is Photograph.  You can go ahead and raise your hand if you just started humming some Ed Sheeran.

When I drafted my NaBloPoMo list, I thought it might be helpful to have a few light days here and there, because blogging every day is no joke!  So after a few days of heavier posts that have nothing to do with #cutekids, I thought today I would share a photograph that is a little more true to the actual title of my blog.

As Ell-Bell narrows in on her first birthday, she is becoming much more toddler-like.  And boy, if I can’t already tell that she’s going to be trouble.  I think most parents know that once babies turn mobile, you can only do anything in 5-second increments.  But I swear, I was only looking in the bathroom mirror long enough to put a SINGLE bobby pin in my hair when I turned around to behold this:

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Mom fail!

And yes, I probably should have taken the toilet scrubber out of her hand instead of reaching for the camera.

And yes, my bathroom is disgusting and the toilet paper roll needs refilling.  Give me a break, ok? I’m busy trying to churn out a blog a day over here.

Until next time,

Vee

#NaBloPoMo Day 10: A Former Daddy’s Girl

On By VeeIn Family, Parenting, Upstate New York3 Comments

I’m still here blogging my way through November, NaBloPoMo style.  We’re in the double digits with Day 10, and today’s theme is Fathers.  Yesterday, I blogged about my experiences at boarding school, which my own father was nice enough to pay for.

Shout out to my dad, who is another member of the November birthday club.  When I think about it, it makes perfect sense that my dad and I would have birthdays so close together.  We’ve always been kind of in sync.

Now if you ask my dad about me, the very first thing he will tell you is that he held me first.  You see, he and my mom kept having all these babies together, and it was starting to annoy him that she always got to hold the babies first thing after they were born.  (I mean, I think she kind of earned that right, but whatever).  Anyway, when I was born, my dad allegedly insisted that he get to hold me before I was passed over to my mom.  And thus a special bond was formed.  You can guess how much my siblings love hearing that story.

My dad was amazing when we were growing up.  He devoted a lot of time and energy to raising us, and he was always around.  He encouraged our imagination, our education, our physical prowess.  He invented fun games that we played for years and years.  He made up characters and told us stories on long car rides.  He was the perfect tutor and the perfect coach.  He was a shoulder to cry on, always.

He was so good at his job as a dad that I didn’t realize how rough things were for him sometimes behind the scenes.  Not only were finances extremely tight in the early years, but he was also suffering from a dangerous depression.  I was oblivious to all of it; he was my hero and I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world.  So I really think that’s a testament to him.

Of course, as most people do, I grew up and realized my parents aren’t perfect.  As I moved away and was able to analyze our relationship with a little more objectivity, I discovered that my dad was just as flawed as everybody else.  He was emotionally manipulative, belligerently opinionated, overly critical of others.  I found myself having to take a step back from the close bond.  It was important to preserve my own independence, and I couldn’t do that if I regarded his opinions above my own.

And in the midst of all those adult realizations, my parents went through a heartbreaking divorce.  Heartbreaking for me, anyway.   It put a huge crack in the foundation of my relationship with my dad because I couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault.  You see, my parents got married really young, after only a few months of dating.  And my whole life, it was uncomfortably obvious that my mom loved my dad more than he loved her.  He was the center of her universe, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was just staying together for the kids.  So my mom walked away from the marriage heartbroken, and my dad walked away relieved.

And as I was healing my heart, trying to accept that this lifelong bedrock was gone, my dad moved to a new country and married another woman.  Someone he only knew for a few months beforehand.  It didn’t help that he married her secretly, without telling us when it happened.  And then a few months later, she was pregnant with his child.  Just in time for him to bring her to my own wedding with a full baby-bump on display.  My poor mom.

I could forgive that my dad moved on with another woman and had another kid, though I would have loved for him to wait a little longer before doing it.  What I can’t forgive, though, is that he made himself miserable all over again.  If he would have paused for a second before marrying this new woman, he would have learned that she is certifiably crazy.  Instead, he just made the same mistakes all over again.  Met a woman, fell passionately in love in a matter of months, got married, had a child, and then was stuck in another relationship he wanted out of.  He is still hurting.  Which makes me hurt.  Which makes me mad.  I know that sounds self-centered, but it’s how I feel.

So here we are in present day, working to mend a relationship that was never explicitly broken, though I think we both know we fell pretty far from the paradigm.  Luckily, our hearts are open and we both want the same thing.  And what’s really helping bring us back together is the common ground we share in my own kids.  One thing I couldn’t appreciate more is that my dad is an excellent Grandpa. Of course, he doesn’t like to be called  Grandpa, he thinks he’s too young for that.  Haha, time to face the music, old man.

Until next time,

Vee

#NaBloPoMo Day 9: A Tale of Two High Schools

On By VeeIn Family, Uncategorized6 Comments

We’re 9 days into NaBloPoMo already, wow!  Today’s theme is High School, because who doesn’t want to relive those glory days?

What is the one thing you’ve done that you are most proud of? You know, excluding marriage and kids and all that obligatory stuff?

I think my proudest moment came in high school.  I started off attending my local public school in my home state in the American southwest.  And I hated it.  There was this girl, Katie, who I was friends with already through extracurricular soccer.  She was pretty much the only person I knew when I showed up Day 1 of Freshman year, so I think we became better friends than we should have been.  She introduced me to these two other girls, and we became this little alternative clique.  You know, dark eye make-up, wanna-be skater clothes, ditching class, drinking on the weekends.

And I was so uncomfortable, because that wasn’t me.  But how do you switch social groups in high school?  I felt really stuck, and I was depressed because I just wasn’t having the high school experience that I wanted.

So I did something drastic.  Junior year, I enrolled in a prep boarding school in New England.  I picked myself up and moved clear across the country; away from my parents, my siblings, my friends, every one and everything I ever knew, all because I really wanted to start over.

And it was everything I wanted it to be.  I took full advantage of the opportunity:  I made the varsity soccer team, joined the a capella group, and even auditioned for the hand-bell choir! (But I didn’t actually join the hand-bell choir because that’s social suicide.)

social_suicide

Even though I was the weird new Junior from really far away, other students welcomed me with open arms, and I made a really nice group of diverse friends.  I won’t go so far as to say I was majorly popular, because that would be a bold-faced lie.  But I never felt lonely or dissatisfied with the people I surrounded myself with.

I also really loved living in New England.  It was a welcome change from the desert where I grew up, even if I didn’t know how to dress for the cold.  (Flip flops in the snow, anyone?)

Of course, moving across the country came at a high cost.  Quite literally, because boarding school was not cheap.  I have to acknowledge how incredibly lucky I was to be able to take advantage of the opportunity.  It was certainly a financial stretch for my parents to send me for those two years, but they made it work so I could realize my dream.  Beyond the financial cost, the move was also emotionally taxing: I missed my family A LOT.  But I absolutely do not regret doing it, and I am still so proud of myself for taking control of my life when it wasn’t going my way.  I think that’s a pretty bad-assed thing for a 15-year-old to do.

Until next time,

Vee

 

 

#NaBloPoMo Day 6: Birthday Month

On By VeeIn Family, Marriage, Parenting, Upstate New York12 Comments

Welcome to NaBloPoMo Day 6, where the theme du jour is Birthdays!  Don’t forget to read yesterday’s post, where I talk about how jealous I am of my sister-in-law’s very ripe cervix.  How’s that for a non-sequitur?

November is my Birthday Month — no wonder I love it so much.  (And yes, forget birthday weeks, I’m all about birthday months).

This year I am turning 32, which sounds just so old to me.  But then I think about the year I turned 12, when I ugly cried because I was sad about how ancient I was.  So maybe with a little perspective, I can appreciate that when I turn 52, I’ll also feel like that sounds pretty old.  And I’ll laugh back at my 32-year-old self because I was actually so young back then.

Honestly, I’m quite tempted to feel sorry for myself on my birthday this year.  Because I’m going to be spending it so very, very alone.  I’m introverted, and shy, and awkward, and most of the time, I don’t even care.  But there’s something about birthdays, at least for me.  As much as I don’t want to be noticed in general, I do secretly always hope people will make a big deal on my birthday.

But alas, I’m alone in a new city, taking my sweet introverted time making new friends.  No extended family within hundreds of miles in any direction.  So all of my birthday hopes fall on my husband.  My poor husband who is in the throes of his intern year.  My poor husband who is working six or seven days a week.  Who leaves the house every day at 5:00 a.m. and doesn’t get home until 7:00 or 8:00 p.m.  Yeah, that husband.  I don’t expect much from him, but it’s a bit of a bummer that we won’t really get to spend any time together.  Maybe I can I count on my two-year-old and my 11-month-old for some birthday love?

I guess the good news is, no adults will be around to witness my annual birthday face-stuffing.  I’m going to shot-gun an entire pizza, Liz Lemon-style.

And as I’m eating my way through my feelings, I’ll try to remember that a birthday is just one day in a year full of other days.  And that year is just one year in a lifetime full of other years.  So what if  the actual Day Of is kind of underwhelming? It’s been a good year, and it’s been a great life.

Until next time,

Vee

Birth Story Jealousy (#NaBloPoMo Day 5)

On By VeeIn Family, Parenting, Pregnancy5 Comments

It’s Day 5 of my NaBloPoMo, which means we’re already 1/6th of the way through November, folks.  I’m having a blast exploring topics like how my husband is a doofus and how working for biglaw is like working for the devil.  Today’s NaBloPoMo theme is Jealousy, that beautiful green-eyed monster.  Ugh, why does she have to be so beautiful?

Confession time: I struggle with birth story jealousy.  Is it just me, or do people classify birth stories based only the the level of perceived bad-assery?  If you had a vaginal birth after 105 hours of drug-free, doctor-free labor, you are a warrior.  And if you had a c-section after 2 hours of laboring on the good stuff, you are a wimp.

Well I think that dichotomy is really fucking stupid, but I still can’t help but feel jealous of women whose birth stories resemble the former rather than the latter.  I guess I want to be regarded as a warrior, too?

My birth story jealousy started before I even gave birth to my first kid.  I had a “we’ll see” mentality about the epidural, and I was most definitely planning to have my son in the hospital.  But, I was surrounded by women who had the most natural of natural births.  Both my mom and my sister — six children between them — birthed at home without epidurals or doctors.  I mean, my sister freaking squat-pushed her first baby out onto her living room floor.  Even if I didn’t want to do that, I felt incredibly inadequate because I wasn’t willing to try.

As much as I yearned to tell an epic, amazonian birth story, I was actually terrified of —  and grossed out by — the idea of childbirth.  Maybe even a little bit hopeful that I would end up with a c-section? Is that awful?

So you can probably guess from the preamble that both of my children were born via c-section.  With K-Man, I developed hypertension and suspected pre-eclampsia at 37 weeks.  I was induced with pitocin, but failed to ever progress past 1 cm after about 20 hours.  So when K-Man started having decelerations, I was taken in for a somewhat emergent c-section.  With Ell-Bell, though I was hoping for a VBAC, I developed that darned hypertension again at 37 weeks.  My OBs didn’t really want to induce me for a VBAC when I was not even a little bit dilated, so back to the OR I went.

In case you were wondering, both of my c-sections were actually great.  I was awake and lucid, I experienced overwhelming love when my children came into the world, and my recovery was A+.  But I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that I was “just” a c-section momma — like I had copped out somehow.  (Why did I feel like that? I was fricking cut in half, is that not badass?)

It didn’t help that my sister-in-law (SIL) had both of her children at the same time I had both of my children, and that both of her births were, well, warrior status.

A few weeks after after I had K-Man, SIL was overdue with her first born and developed actual eclampsia.  When her doctor prescribed her magnesium sulfate — the supposed death knell for any natural birth plan — her midwife reportedly cried.  (Major eye roll.)  But of course, SIL powered through, labored forever, refused the epidural, and had a vaginal birth.  Of course.

And a few months after I had Ell-Bell, SIL accidentally had her baby at home.  Like, she didn’t make it to the hospital. I guess her cervix was just too ripe (why even is that a thing that I am jealous of?)  But seriously, how gross is it that when I heard my precious niece was born, my first reaction was a jealous “ugh, of course.”  I’m a bad person.

 

But anyways, I know — I know — it’s time to let this jealousy go.  There is a much bigger picture here, which is that that I am so incredibly lucky to have two beautiful, healthy children.  Who cares whether they came out of my vagina, or my abdomen, or some other woman’s body?

Until next time,

Vee

#NaBloPoMo Day 4: Embarrassed at the Pediatrician

On By VeeIn Family, Parenting6 Comments

It’s Day 4 of my NaBloPoMo November, and I’m having a blast!  Speaking of fun, today’s theme is Embarrassing*.  Speaking of not fun, be sure to catch yesterday’s post about how much I hated being a lawyer.

I knew when I decided to have kids that they would embarrass me from time to time.  So far so good though, for the most part.  Ell-Bell is too young to be embarrassing (except when she’s pulling down my shirt and exposing me in public), and K-Man tends to save his truly horrifying antics for inside the home.

But I have to say, K-Man got me good at the pediatrician the other day.  You see, Hubby and I have decided not to mess around with cute names for the more private parts of the human anatomy.  We’ve taught K-Man that a butt is a butt, and a penis is a penis.  And now that Ell-Bell is in the picture, he knows all about vaginas too!  Every night during bath time, K-Man is encouraged to wash his butt and his penis, and he likes to talk about it as he does it.  “I need wash my butt and I need wash my pee-nis!”  Perfectly normal, I think.  That is, perfectly normal in the privacy of our own home!

So we were at the pediatrician the other day for flu shots, and K-Man was getting a quick check-up beforehand.  He’s a really cute patient. He told the pediatrician what the otoscope was for, and then he leaned in helpfully as she looked in his ear.

But things got weird when the pediatrician pulled out the stethoscope.  After first listening to his chest, she then leaned over him and said, “I’m just going to listen to your back now, ok?”

And for god knows what reason, Keegan responded quietly, “Tha’s my back.  Aaaand tha’s my butt, aaand tha’s my pee-nis!” And words weren’t enough, no, he also gestured with his little finger in the direction of first his butt, and then his penis.  And then he looked up at the pediatrician expectantly, with a super odd little smile on his face.  What? Why? Why did he need to identify his butt and penis for her when she merely indicated that she was going to listen to his back? What was going on in that weird little brain?

I, of course, devolved into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, and didn’t come up for air for probably half a minute.  Uncomfortable laughter, much?  The pediatrician smiled gently and kept working through the check-up.  I’m sure she hears weirder shit multiple times a day.

I don’t know why I was so embarrassed.  I mean, I should be proud, right? My son knows his anatomy! But for whatever reason, I was totally mortified, and I think my face was red for the rest of the visit.  I guess I’m not as down with potty language as I thought.

It’s ok though, K-man can embarrass me all he wants right now.  I’m going to get him back so fricking good when he’s a teenager.

 

Until next time,

Vee

*Embarrassing is spelled with two Rs? Really? Since when?

 

 

#NaBloPoMo Day 3: Will I Ever Lawyer Again?

On By VeeIn Family, Parenting5 Comments

Today’s theme in my self-designed NaBloPoMo is Career.  Don’t forget to read yesterday’s  post, where I reminisced about my stupid ex-boyfriend.

This week, I have to shell out $375 big ones to renew my biannual attorney registration in New York.  Blurgh.  It’s giving me a lot of heartburn, not just because my old firm used to cover this cost, but also because I don’t know if I’ll ever lawyer again.  Am I wasting my money?*

As much as I’m enjoying it, I don’t plan to be a stay-at-home-mom indefinitely.  I expect to re-enter the out-of-home work force again someday, probably once the kids are in school.  But that is about as solid as my plans get.  In a few years, will I be ready to return to lawyering? I’m really not sure.

Lawyering and I — we knew each other for seven years.  And after all that time, I’m still not sure I would call us friends.  Most of the time, I hated my old job at a big corporate law firm.  It really boiled down to two things:

  • They treated associates like garbage.  Partners had zero respect for personal time, a life outside of the office, family commitments, etc.  Even when I was very pregnant, I was being asked to pull unnecessary all-nighters.  And after I had K-man, I was given a talking to because my hours took a hit. That left a bad taste.
  • They treated clients like garbage.  Clients were billed by the hour, and partners went to great effort to conjure up extraneous work that needed doing so that those hours really racked up.  (And as you can imagine, associates who were creative with their billing were rewarded).  We worked for some of the least sympathetic corporate clients you could imagine, but I still felt icky when we sent them bills for shit they never asked us to do.

Maybe corporate law isn’t in my future, but does that mean I have to walk away from the legal field entirely? I invested six figures and three years into getting my JD.  That’s a lot to leave on the table, and surely there are other areas of law that aren’t as wholly demoralizing.  But will anyone want to hire me for a specialty that I’m not trained in, especially after a 3+ year hiatus?

To be fair, I have paid off all my law school loans, and I was a lawyer for longer than I was a law student, so maybe it’s okay to move on?  The real problem with moving on is, I have zero — ZERO — clue what else I could do as a career.

I like sports . . . I could do something in sports? [There’s a little George Costanza Easter egg for you.]

More seriously, when I was having a rough day at my old job, you know what I dreamed about doing instead? Being a math tutor. Weird, right?

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Maybe I’ll get lucky and my dream job will fall into my lap.  Or who knows, maybe I’ll embrace the long-term SAHM-gig, go hard with the PTA, and coach the shit out of some little league.  I have a few years to figure it out.

Until next time,

Vee

*I can’t just let my registration lapse while I take some time off.  I mean, I could, but then if I ever wanted to go back to the lawyer world, I would have to apply to get reinstated with the bar, which would be a major bummer.

 

 

 

#NaBloPoMo Day 1: Marriage is Hard

On By VeeIn Family, Marriage, Parenting10 Comments

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’m taking on NaBloPoMo this November, and because I’m a little special at using the internet, I’ve gone ahead and crafted my own list of 30 themes.  Marriage is kind of a big deal, so I figured why not kick things off on Day 1 with a post dedicated to Married Life?

First things first, am I the only person who hears the word “marriage” and immediately converts it to “mawwiage”? Raise your hand if you grew up watching the Princess Bride. (Side story, Hubby and I were in a fit of giggles during our vows on our wedding day, because we kept whispering “mawwiage” to each other. #RealMature).

mawwiage

Anyway, marriage is hard, y’all.  Every marriage requires major compromise and consists of significant unrest (let’s be honest).  And also, marriage is petty.  So in the spirit of being majorly petty, I’m going to take a few minutes to dish on my husband.  Because, god love him, he can be a bit of a butt-head.

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So why, you ask, is Hubby a butt-head? Well…

  • He DEMANDS that the toilet paper be installed with the flap on top.  When we first started dating, I unknowingly replaced the toilet paper with the flap hiding in the back, and boy oh boy did I get an earful. But I mean, I had lived the first 21 years of my life with no rhyme or reason to how each new roll of toilet paper was installed, and I turned out ok, so …
  • While we’re on the subject of toilets, Hubby spends HOURS on the porcelain throne.  And he usually decides to go to the bathroom at the worst time.  Like, when I’m drowning in kids. He’s all, “oops, nature calls, gotta go sit on the toilet and scroll  Imgur for 30 minutes.” And let’s be honest, I’m not above texting him while he’s relieving himself and asking him to hurry the EFF up.  I mean, I’m drowning in kids, after all.
  • Moving out of the bathroom and into the kitchen: when Hubby is done using a knife, he likes to leave it on the counter with the handle hanging over the edge.  Jesus H, it’s not like we have two little munchkins running around pulling shit off the counters at every opportunity or anything . . .  Fack!
  • Hubby does not know how to load the dishwasher.  He’s like, SO bad at it that I’ve considered writing him a manual.  Of course, I should be so lucky when he actually takes it upon himself to load the dishwasher.  More often than not, he puts his used dishware on the counter … the completely clean counter … the one that I’ve just cleared of dirty dishes that are now in the dishwasher.  I brought this up last night and Hubby said, “How am I supposed to know that the dishes in the dishwasher are dirty?”  Gee, mystery of mysteries.
  • He is a horrible grocery shopper.  It takes him like an hour and a half to get a cart-full of things that would take me 20 minutes to collect.  I don’t understand it, and I have to do a lot of “serenity now”-ing while I sit at home (drowning in kids) waiting for him to finish.
  • Hubby likes to slip into accidental naps on the couch while I’m in the other room, drowning in kids.
  • He does not wake up to the baby crying in the middle of the night.  So, you know, I’m not allowed to get mad at him that he doesn’t volunteer to go in to soothe the baby, because it’s not his fault that he doesn’t wake up.

So yeah, that’s Hubby in all his Imgur-scrolling, couch-napping glory.  As for me, well, I think I have a pretty good idea what this list would look like if Hubby was writing about me.  I won’t lie to you guys, I’m not perfect: I like to leave the Pringles foil seal partially attached to the can after I open it; I never EVER notice the perforated lines when I’m opening a box of food; and uh, yeah, I guess I’m a bit of a nag.

Every marriage has its quirks, and honestly, I think we need these minor frustrations to keep things running.  If we didn’t blow off steam nagging each other about the dishes and the Pringles foil seal, who knows what kind of epic explosion could be in store down the road.  And to be completely honest, the things that make Hubby a butt-head, well, I think most of them are kind of cute.  I’d miss them if, heaven forbid, we were no longer together.

The dude drives me nuts, but he sure makes me smile.

Until next time,

Vee