Bar Exam Spillover Into The Bedroom

Husband: "I'm going to bed now."
Me: "Is that a hint? Do you want something?"
Husband: "Maybe."
Me: "Ok, but I'm warning you now, I'm a little tired."

Once again, we're off to a great start...

[lying side by side]

Me: "Well... Are you gonna make your move?"
Husband: "It's your turn to make the first move. I made the first move last night."
Me: "Excuse me, I just put on a thong. That's a first move."
Husband: "Well....I turned off the light."
Me: "That doesn't count. It's not a substantial step in furtherance of..." (I've been reading too much criminal law and the attempted crime rules popped into my head).
Husband: "Well, I... I got into bed. AND I took off my socks."
Me: "That's not sexy."
Husband: "Well, I read in Cosmo that thongs aren't sexy anymore. People ruined them by wearing low rise pants and flashing their thongs when they bend down."
Me: "Are you saying I'm not sexy?!" (Totally overlooking the fact that he reads Cosmo.)
Husband: "According to Cosmo." (Punch him in the arm)
Me: "Ok whatever. But you still have make the next move."
Husband: "Nope."
Me: "Is that a repudiation? Are you wrongfully rejecting my goods? You initiated an offer. I accepted by performance AND I made a timely delivery. You gotta pay up!"

Note to self- Lawyer speak in bed...so not a turn on.

Strange BedShowerfellows

I just totally checked out of the reality of the bar exam. My parents took Jacob overnight. Theoretically this was so I could do six practice bar exam questions, outline criminal law, and finish a lecture for criminal procedure. But, as usual, my homework to do list was much more optimistic and energetic than I was.

So, in consecutive order, I did the following instead:

1. Went on a gym date with husband and jogged for the first time in months (months and months and months). (sidebar: do they make push up sportsbras? Because as small as I am, that dern baby did a number on my body- sorry for the TMI- and no one wants to watch pancakes flapping in the wind. Ok, so very sorry for that... moving on...)

2. Went on a grocery story shopping date with my husband for an emergency stock of Skinny Cows- omg, heaven in a(n?) 150 calorie ice cream sandwich!

3. Vegged out in front of a mindless movie.

So, there's one thing I left out between #2 and #3, and that is the subject of the rest of this blog post. Between #2 and #3- the impossible happened! A rare and aweing event that only occurs every other blue moon...

I took a hot, steamy shower with my husband! Literally. It was hot. And it was steamy. Don't worry this post is staying PG-13. I think you can figure out why this is a rare event in our happily married household:

"Hey there, wanna join me in the shower as I clean away all this gym grime?" (Aren't I so tempting?) I ask while rubbing provocatively against my husband, all the while unintentionally blocking his view of the sports car images on his computer.

"Uh, maybe." He replies as he pushed me out of the way of a suped-up, shiny mustang.

I discard my gym clothes and climb into the shower. To my surprise, my husband follows behind me. SCORE! I try to show my enthusiasm by getting all friendly with him.

"Knock it off." He says. "I'm here to take a shower."

"Uh? Hello? Why do you think I asked you to shower with me?"

"OMG, the water is f*cking hot!"

"No it's not- it's perfect. Hey, now it's freezing. Turn it back up."

"Are you trying to burn my skin off?"

"Awww, you're cute when you're mad. You're also cute when you lather your hair. You look like a character from the goof troop."

"Can we stop with the commentary? Can't I just take a shower in peace please?" He pouts (he's cute when he pouts). "Please block the water while I lather."

I try to slap his bottom- you know, because it's too much to watch him rub exfoliating lavendar body wash all over his manly body.

"I said block the water! Geez!"

"Sorry" - I gave one final slap.

"Ok, now you're hogging all the water. I need to rinse."

"HEY. Now I'M freezing!" I try to join him under the waterfall.

"Knock it off, I'm trying to rinse. I still have soap on my back."

"There's no more soap on your back- now share!"

"HOLD ON!"

"You're cute when you do your bottom rinsing dance."

"AGAIN, enough of the commentary!"

"Wanna shave my legs?"

"No. Be sure to put the drain plug in. And block the water as I get out..... I SAID BLOCK IT- YOU'R LETTING THE WATER GET ON THE FLOOR!"

.....


Ok so not my idea of a hot steamy shower. And this is precisely why we do not shower together- EVER.

Why I Married This Guy, Or Picking Cantaloupe: A Tutorial

My husband is (often) charming, handsome and witty (key word: often). Those are good reasons why I married him. I also married him because I knew he would produce cute babylings. But the fact that my husband worked in the produce department of a local grocery store was the real "clincher." This is what really set my heart-a-fire four plus years ago when we met. I still get weak-kneed when selects the plumbest tomatoes from a tomato mound in a matter of mere seconds. Or when he walks into a grocery store and says, "the produce here is a mess!" Or when he lectures me on the proper handling and bagging of grapes. Swoon.

The following cell phone conversation, which took place about an hour ago, is a good example of why I married my husband:

Me (freaking out): "Help! I'm standing in the produce aisle at the grocery store and there are like a million cantalopes! How do I pick the right one? Should they be green? Soft? White?!"

Husband: "No, don't pick a green cantaloupe, that means it's not ripe."

Me: "But I think they all have some green on them!"

Husband: "Ok first, locate the stem of the cantaloupe."

Me: "Huh, cantaloupes have stems? I guess that makes sense if they grow on trees right?"

I think I can hear him shaking his head in disgust.

Husband: "Well, the stem is probably cut off but locate where the stem used to be. You know, on the end of the cantaloupe."

Me: "Ok, got it- locate the stem."

Husband: "Then feel around the stem. A ripe cantaloupe will be soft around the stem. The actual stem is hard, just the areas AROUND the stem should be soft."

Me: "Ok."

Husband: "You can also try tapping the cantaloupe. If it makes a hollow sound, you know that it's ripe."

Me: "Uh, ok. Never knew this was going to be so complicated."

Husband: "You can also SMELL the area around the stem. Most cantaloupes smell like cardboard. But if your cantaloupe smells like cantaloupe, then it is ripe."

Me: "Uh, ok..."

I proceede to pick up one cantaloupe after the next, feeling them up, tapping their asses, and inhaling their cardboardy scent. I don't stop to think that I probably look like a freak. I feel like saying, "Hey there sexy cantaloupe, you have a fine ass, you feel soft and you smell great- wanna come home with me?" But there is a problem, none of the cantaloupes I see smell great, nor are they soft in the hiney.

Me: "I don't think these are ripe."

Hussband: "I doubt you'll find a ripe one. This time of year, they are rare to find. You have to take them home and wait a week for them to ripen."

Me: "That would have been nice news to know BEFORE I started molesting cantaloupe! I need it for TONIGHT!"

Husband: "You can always go to the deli and grab some freshly cut cantaloupe."

Me: "Gee, thanks."

This Happens A Little Too Frequently For My Sorry-A$$ Married Taste

Husband is under the covers in bed. I am lying on top of him having just passed out after a kiss. Our room is colder than a an ice fishing shack. We are wearing sweat pants and three layers of hoodies.

Me: "We haven't done it in a while." (That would be precisely two days to be exact.)

Him: "You should fix that."

Me: "YOU should fix that."

[one minute silence]

Him: "You should take your clothes off..."

[pause for effect laziness]

Me: "YOU should take my clothes off..."

[one minute silence]

Him: "This is too much work."

[one minute later]

Him: "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"

Me: "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"

There is always tomorrow night....

Sex & Marriage For Dummies: Don't Read Romance Novels

I'm gonna go to a dangerous place here.

First off, I am a horrible person. I read romance novels. They aren't all that subtle either. I've got a problem. I'm addicted to reading about how the strong, sexy guy gets the girl and then pleases her beyond all bounds of reality. To be honest, I actually just like reading about The Chase and imagining the witty dialogue taking place. When the author actually goes into the DEED- I get a little embarrased and start skimming as if the people AROUND me can hear what I'm reading. Weird huh?

But all these romance novels have gone to my head. Now I have a slew of unreal expectations about how MY romance life should be like. For example, husbands will always tell wives how they feel. They will pour out their soul at a deeply feminine and emotional level when the need arises.

They will always make you feel sexy and loved and wanted. Oh and the obvious, husbands will always want to have sex. They will crave your body more than their favorite internet car message boards. More than sleep. Even more than nachos!

And sex will be often and spontaneous and romantic and HE will make the first move (think rain sex, in a woman's dressing room sex, on the kitchen table right in the pecan pie sex). He will always start by kissing you wildly before he explores every inch of your body -because, although he's seen it a million times (even during those times when there was a baby coming out of you), he is just as mesmorized by your every sexy cellular membrane as he is by watching the the final pass of a tied super bowl game (they do have passes in football, right?).

Let's not forget the obvious (and the most disgusting myth from the romance novel genre)- you will be PLEASED each time. Sometime you will be PLEASED multiple times in one serving, if you catch my drift. Romance writers- STOP feeding me unrealistic bullsh*t!!

When I'm separated from my husband during the day, I often rumninate over what will happen when the baby goes to bed. Of course it's steamy and piping hot. Then I focus on that all day. I look forward to things playing out the way I pictured them- steamy and hot and....EXISTENT. Then I come home and life happens. Husband wants to play on the internet or is tired or has work to do. I put on something sexy- trying my darndest to catch his eye. Not even a glance. Are these panties defective? Can I return them?

I lay in bed thinking about my failed day time fantasy. I'm a little let down and have lost all faith in the reality of romance. I think, hey, it's NOT me. It's these dang romance novels. They teach us to have high and unrealistic expectations of the male sex. It's not fair to us and it's not fair to the men.

I am two lessons wiser now:

1. Don't try to be sexy. Guys don't care what you do or don't wear. As long as you have the parts, they will take a drink when they get thirsty (that's pretty much what sex is you know, the meeting of physical needs- just about as romantic as taking a drink or a poop.)

2. Don't have any expectations. None at all.

Girls, that's all you need to know about sex and marriage.

Husbands: Don't Argue With Your Lawyer Wives.

Today, my husband and I ACTUALLY had this discussion.

Me: "Can I have a pony."
Husband: "You can have an imaginary pony!"
Me: "That's stupid! I want a REAL pony."
Husband: "Yeah but can a REAL pony do backflips?"
Me "Uh...."
Husband: "I have an imaginary pony and HE can do backflips."
Me: "My real pony could do imaginary backflips."
Husband: "My imaginary pony can do REAL backfips!"
Me: "NO WAY. An imaginary pony can only do imaginary backflips. And ANY real pony could do an imaginary backflip."
Husband: "That's ridiculous. Imaginary ponies can do REAL backflips."
Me: "That's like saying an invisible man can do a visible cartwheel."
Husband: "Just because the pony is imaginary doesn't mean his backflips are imaginary. He can still do both imaginary and real backflips."
Me: "Ok, have your pony do a "real" backflip and I will tell you if it was real or not....Don't make me call an expert witness."

Thankfully our check came at this point in the conversation.

Famous Last Words

"Just one more cookie..." (there goes the whole box).

"I think I can make it one more hour without changing Jacob's diaper." (major wipeout ensues).

"I'm not going to brief for this class, the Prof never calls on us anyway" (you can guess this one).

"The recipe says this dish only takes 30 minutes to make." (dinner is 1.5 hours later).

"Oops, forgot deoderant. It will be ok, I'll just try not to sweat." (P.U.)

"This stairmaster is so easy! I'll increase intensity" (Why don't they make underwear with ice pack pockets?)

****
Oh and tonight my husband turned down a session of lovemaking. Yes, that's right, he turned down my seductive advances (i.e. "wanna do me?!") so that he could do something else. But I think we will take a poll and I'll let YOU guess what that something else might be.

My husband turned out an evening of awesome love making with me to:
(a) finish a manly action film co-starring a half naked chick
(b) take a dump (when you gotta go, you gotta go!)
(c) eat a box of pepperoni pizza and guzzle a keg of beer with his guy friends
(d) iron clothes.

If you guess a, b, or c, you assumed my husband was a normal human male. If you guessed d, then you know that is just simply NOT the case.

It went a little like this:
My husband walks into our bedroom where I am reading in bed. I look at him seductively and ask, "Want to join me in bed? Wink, wink."My husband rolls his eyes, gives an exasperated sigh and stated, "I JUST turned on the iron!" He then grabs a stack of clothes and marches out of the room. Like seriously, WHAT WAS I THINKING? He needs a freshly pressed wardrobe for the week and I'm over here being a sabateur by trying to force bodily pleasure onto him! Come ON!

Please tell me, the romance gets hotter with each year of marriage, right?

Never Drink & Booty Call

Last night my husband gifted me with a drunk phone call from a bar (he and his buddies were out celebrating after the Seahawks game). My husband is basically a lovey drunk. Get five or six beers in him (he sincerely claimed he had 14?- can that BE?). And he is the happiest, mushiest man on the planet.

However, he could use a lesson in flowery language or at least learn how to channel his affection into more romantic words.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my eloquent husband:

"You are the hottest piece of ass ever! SERIOUSLY. These girls at the bar have nothing on you."

"Seriously! I'm serious! I want to lick your legs off."

"Right now, all I'm thinking about is you. I promise. Well, ok. I'm thinking about two things: 1) I'm thinking about you, 2) I'm thinking about eating McDonald's $1.99 ten piece chicken nuggets."

Seriously, I'm so flattered.

Two Years Of Marriage Has Taught Me Plenty

How I tell if my husband is simply buzzed or drunker than a hillbilly in a rooster fight...

1) Spill my drink. If he immediately swears and runs for the paper towels muttering something about the floors getting sticky, then he's still got his head on straight. BUT if he tries to do a riverdance around the melting ice cubes, he's hammered out of his mind. Oh boy, I'm in for it in the morning when his feet stick to the floor.

2) Tell him I speak elven. If he looks as if he just discovered his wife of two years has a third nipple and asks in amazement where I learned to speak it so well, there's sufficent evidence that he is lit. If he tries to converse back with me, then I know he's a goner.

3) Two words: "attemped foreplay." To the male audience out there, this is worse than no foreplay and should be a crime- seriously, you could do serious damage to my eardrum sticking that tongue so far down my ear canal). Sidenote: why is it that drunk men (who, in their drunken state, would even be hopeless with a GPS tailored to the woman's body-- "approaching intersection, turn right... a little more to the right") have no problem with foreplay while it wouldn't cross a sober man's mind even if a mime acted it out in front of him.

If You Were Stuck On A Deserted Island

With one super-mini fridge, what five refrigerated items would you take with you?

So our refrigerator is broken. I think it was actually broken for three days before I really noticed it. I kept wondering why my juice was warm, why my yogurt was the wrong texture and why the inside smelled like rotting carcass. Hopefully this is an easy fix but in the meantime we are using a friend's dorm room sized mini fridge.

I left it up to my husband to transfer items from the broken fridge to the mini fride. But, surprisingly enough, not everything fits into this shoebox sized fridge. My husband had to sacrifice some items to the gods of broken fridge food spoilage. I have to say his choice of items differs greatly from what I would have chosen to save.

I would have saved, you know, things like a whole carton of eggs, my $10 five pound bag of pepperoni slices, delicious take-out leftovers and the over priced baby juice. Apparently my husband prefers a fridge full of condiments- like mayo, mutard, salad dressing, marinade, vinegar, soy sauce and barbeque sauce. Apparently its better to have things to dip your food in rather than to have actual real food.

When I challenged my husband on his somewhat odd choice he answered very practically, "we have more money invested in condiments than actual food."

Gift Of The Magi II: The Darker Version

The story of my birthday revealed itself as a real Catch-22. In some ways it reminds me of The Gift of the Magi...but a darker alternative version.

Saturday, my birthday, I was pretty pouty from the moment I woke up. I guess I was expecting to be disappointed. As the day unfolded, things didn't go exactly the way I wanted them and I got even more pouty. Well by the end of the evening I realized my foul mood would not be rescued by an extravagant (or even minor) showing of attention from my husband. When this expectation sunk into reality, I became completely pissed off (read: bitchy).

The day had come and gone and I thought my husband had made no attempt to make me feel special. I was angry for a whole two days. I thought I was married to the most Horrible man on Earth. Remembering all our fights in the past (probably only one or two so far), after which I was always the one who gave in first to apologize or make things right, I was determined to make him suffer until he could take it no more and came grovelling for forgiveness. This didn't happen for a long time- thus, I was angry for a long time and man, was that hard work.

Now my husband's side (because there is always another side). To my husband, I woke up crabby for no reason. I pouted around the house and gave him the silent treatment. He had, in fact, bought me a gift. It was a gift that he had picked out with great care. But as my attitude grew colder and meaner towards him, his desire to give me this gift waned. By the end of the night, as I became a Total Drama Queen Bitch, it disappeared altogether.

When I slept on the couch and refused to talk to him for two days, he became more angry (and confused-he had no idea why I was acting the way I was). He was bitter for my continued coldness. He thought I was acting out at him for no reason.

Finally, he sent me an email telling me he was sorry. I was still pissed because he didn't say what he was sorry for. But his email explained that he didn't know what was wrong with me. What was wrong with me? Is he crazy? No, what is wrong with him! How the hell do you not do anything for your wife's birthday. He actually did buy me a gift but was too mad to give it to me. Really? Oops. Now I felt a tad bit like a selfish high maintenance drama queen.

So, I was crabby because I thought he did not do anything for my birthday.
He bought a gift but didn't give it to me or celebrate my birthday because I was crabby.

This is a prime example that women are from Venus and men are from Mars.

By the way, my husband gave me a gift card to Nordstroms, a bow-tie (I was dying for him to wear a sexy bowtie for me), and the movie Sleepless in Seattle which I had been wanting to see. So last night we watched the movie and he wore the bowtie (only) and we made up. While I ended up getting a gift on my birthday, I feel awful for all of you out there who have confessed to receiving nothing for birthdays and celebrations. Everyone should take the advice expressed int he comments and tell your husbands what your expectations are. Maybe this should be a topic in engagement retreats and pre-nuptial counseling.

BTW- the person who made an anonymous comment which I deleted-- I know who you are- it's really obvious because you are one of the only people who knows about the content that you posted. Seriously, that was rude and I don't appreciate it.

Interrobanging

Me: "We are driving an eleven year old Subaru. Why the heck do you have to park as far away from the store as possible?! Who cares if someone dings the door!"
Husband: "I just like parking away from other cars. It's better."
Me: "Fine. I'm staying here."
Husband: "What?!"
Me: "Dude, it's raining and we have to lug around the baby carseat. I'm not walking that far!"
Husband: "UHHHHH. Are you kidding?"
Me: "Newp. Staying RIGHT here!"
Husband: "Fine. YOU pick out the spot then"

Another win for me.

~~~

Me [calling husband]: "Hey, it's me."
Husband: "Me who?"
Me: "It's your LOVA"..."And don't you dare say "which one" because I'm your only!"
Husband: "Fine, what do you want?"
Me: "What time will you be home? I'm making an awesome surprise dinner."
Husband: "I have a late meeting so probably not until 7:30."
Me: "Wait, aren't you going to ask me what I'm making?"
Husband: "Would you tell me if I did?"
Me: "It's going to be so amazing."
Husband: "Just tell me."
Me: "No, you have to ask."
Husband: "Sigh. Fine. What are you making?"
Me: "I'm not telling! It's a surprize!"

~~~

Me: "Can we go to Hawaii this summer?!"
Husband: "Hawaii is for tourists. Let's go to Mexico."
Me: "But I love Hawaii! You can body board and hang out on the beach drinking margaritas. And have hotel sex!"
Husband: "You can do all of that in Mexico, for a lot less money."
Me: "I don't want to go to Mexico."
Husband: "Why not?!"
Me: "They don't speak English, you can't drink the water AND they put those stupid towel animals on your bed!"

Who Says Romance Dies When You Become A Parent?

Pillow Talk from last night:

Me: "Wanna have sex tonight?"
Husband: "I dunno, do YOU wanna have sex tonight?"
Me: "sure."
Husband: "ok..."

Neither of us makes an effort. [insert crickets chirping]

And five minutes later:

"ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ"

What She Thinks About During Sex

My husband started making the moves on me last night but I wasn't in the mood. But who am I to turn a man down? Especially a man who wants ME. A man who gets excited about ME. Regardless of the mood I am in, it is always reasurring to be the object of someone's desire. So I caved. Well, physically anyway.

In my head, my thoughts were going in all directions BUT the bedroom. At least three times during our session I had to stop myself from making my internal dialogue external.

The night went something like this- ok I exercised my creative license with the sex talk, but don't you wish we talked like this?:

He says: "You're so sexy baby."
She wants to say, "Did you ever send a Christmas card to the Stanleys? They sent us one but I can't remember sending them one."
She actually says: "You make me so hot."

He says: "Is this how you like it?"
She wants to say: "Our cute customized return address labels were delivered today- I can't wait to show them to you!"
She actually says: "oooooh, yeah- like that!"

He says: "You're so naughty- here's your spanking."
She wants to say: "Should I get a sitter for New Year's Eve or should we just hang out at home?"
She actually says: "Spank me harder- yeah..."

And another Mommy Milestone is complete.

There Is A Reason It's Called Family PLANNING

Things change when your household size grows from 2 to 2.5.

I can no longer sleep on my stomache when all of us are sharing our miniature double bed. I have to turn sideways to fit. (Seriously? What kind of married couple still sleeps in a double? Maybe that's how I got pregnant- husband had a wild dream, got excited, rolled over, and OOPS! There was just no where else for his man part to go except for- you guessed it.)

We often have to eat in shifts and it's rare that I get to enjoy a meal without a screaming baby in the background. Dinner time is crabby time.

For someone who is a one-eighth of my size, Jacob generates a TON of extra laundry! Maybe it has to do with the fact that he doesn't know how to NOT (excuse the language) shit himself.

And we have to PLAN sex. PLAN. That is he definition of unsexy right there.

"When Jacob goes to sleep do you wanna do me?"
"Before he wakes up for the first time or the second time?"
"How about the first time so I'm not tired."
"You better NOT be tired you owe me more than five minutes."
"Ok deal."

Mid-deed:
"Is the baby monitor on?"
"Yes."
"I thought I heard a noise."
"It's the cats wrestling."
"They will wake him up! Quick, put them in the basement!"

3/4 of the way through the deed:
"I think the laundry machine buzzer is going to go off soon."
"So."
"I have to stop it before it wakes Jacob up!"

Amost done with deed:
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
"CRAP!!!"
"Can you finish in less than 60 seconds?"
"The mood. It's dead."

Jacob is finally sound asleep again:
"Let's try this again."
"I'm too tired. But you can help yourself if you want..."

Why I Burned The French Toast And Why The Chicken Piccata Tastes Like Gasoline

Once there was a girl. Her name rhymed with pee. She liked to cook. Alot. But her parents talked her out of going to culinary school (Liberal Arts Education or Bust!). They also talked her out of going to Montana State University, thank goodness- but that's another story. So she went to law school. But sitting in front of her laptop in Business Entities, she missed her apron. And her rolling pin. And the crazy measuring cups with the numbers rubbed off (Is this the 1/3 cup measurer? We'll say it is).

Her love affair with the kitchen continued in her spare time (i.e. when she was supposed to be reading casebooks). Cee made spicey pumpkin breads and to-die-for tamarind chicken. She whipped up delicious blackberry cobblers and pan roasted exotic moroccan steaks. Cee was in heaven. She was having fun. So MUCH fun, in fact, that Cee felt she must be doing something a little bit naughty (the Catholic in her).

One day Cee got pregnant. She decided to take a semester off of law school to cook all day take care of her baby. She laid awake each night dreaming of the creations she would make in the kitchen.

Then Cee actually had her baby. And she found that she was suddenly missing one hand. Where did it go? It was constantly tucked under the smellier side of That Baby. That Crying Insomniac Baby. But Cee didn't let That Baby get in the way of her Kitchen Lust. Cee continued to chop onions and measure spices and peel potatoes and mix cookie dough with her one free hand.

Cooking with one hand is very hard and can even interfer with one's motor skills. And sometimes, having a baby over your shoulder can impair your vision. That is why Cee often had to explain to The Husband why gooey chocolate chips, minced garlic or marinated capers found their way onto That Baby's head and inside That Baby's clothing. That is also why Cee's culinary creations are now sometimes left untouched by her dinner guests. (NOTE: Husband is not so lucky. He must eat the food on the table or STARVE. So what if he gets indigestion. It's called a "Marital Hazard").

Bi-Polar Holiday

I spent Thanksgiving feeling a mix between thankful and disappointed.

Lately, I've been spending a lot of time realizing how lucky I am. I have a little family that brings me so much happiness and love. While we certainly do not have much money right now, we have enough to pay the mortgage on a nice and (mostly) warm home. We have enough to eat well, to pay our bills and buy the things need. Lately, I have been carrying around this gut sickness over how materialistic I can be and how much we live in a country of consumers. I keep feeling haunted by guilt over the fact that we can purchase so much unecessary stuff when other people are trying hard to feed their families and provide a christmas gift or warm jacket for their chidren.

I'm so blessed with love AND material needs. I definately need to look into ways I can help others this holiday season.

While I was thankful for food, family and friends, my Thanksgiving this year did not live up to Thanksgivings of the past. I built it up so much in my mind the past week and I wanted our first Thanksgiving with Jacob to me AMAZING. I always get holiday let down, even on the best holidays.

We divided our Thanksgiving Day between my family and my husband's family. I don't think I recommend that, nor will we be doing that again in the future. Dinner with my family was an hour late so we had to leave before we could gather around the table with everyone. When we got to husband's family, they had already eaten. So while there were plenty of leftovers for us, we didn't get to sit around the table with everyone and enjoy their company.

After dinner, Jacob was really fussy. I spend the rest of the evening walking him up and down the hallway trying to get him to settle down or take a nap. It's frustrating right now that I'm the only one who can (or is it that I'm the only one who is willing to) calm him down. when he's really fussy, he will cry in my arms forever fighting off sleep. Husband will make an attempt but hands Jacob over to me after 5 or 10 minutes of his crying.

I came home feeling a little gloomy. Then my husband got crabby at me. Sometimes if I make a mess or leave a sock in the bathroom, he freaks out and I feel like he's treating me like a child. Because, you know, when you have a fussy baby in one hand and you are trying to cook, do household chores, or do simple "me" things like put PJs on or brush teeth, it should be impossible to leave a trail of messes behind you. Next time he complains, I'm handing the baby over to him for the rest of the evening.

(note: This post is mostly me letting off steam. USUALLY husband is pretty good about taking the baby and playing with him for a while so I can get stuff done. But, you know, everyone has their bad days)

What Happens When You Give Two Overworked People A Night Off

Back in May we celebrated our Elopmentversary. And last night we celebrated our Wedding Anniversary (the Catholic Version of our vow recital). I dropped Jacob off at my parent's house, our first night apart, so we could enjoy a dinner out on the town and a night at a nearby hotel.

So it was a two star hotel, but HELLO, any hotel room without a baby means one full night of pure uninterrupted sleeping BLISS!! By the way this was the same two star hotel that my dad booked us for the night of our wedding (yeah, he's a REAL splurger that one). But I have to admit this year we CHOSE to return to this particular hotel, not for the romanticism of reliving our first night, but solely for the make-your-own waffle breakfast bar. This could become our own little white trash tradition.

We ate out at this place that had great atmosphere- there is library room with a fireplace and you can eat on COUCHES! My husband never lets me eat on the couch at home!- but the food was not so great. My burger was burnt on the outside and raw on the inside. Plus the lemon drop, which I only ordered for the sugar rimmed glass and did not COME with a sugar rimmed glass, tasted the way rubbing alcohol smells.

Then we went to a bar near our hotel so we could stumble back by foot. I recognized our bartender right away- she was someone I went to middle school with. I was too embarassed to say anything because I was a major nerd in middle school and I didn't want her to remember me. Then my lovely husband yelled from across the room, "Hey, she went to middle school with you!"

When the bartender looked at us like we were crazy, I asked, "Is your name Ashley?"
"Yes!"
I responded with, "Do you remember Cee" as if the past me were another person. As she was thinking, I almost qualified my question with "you know, the girl with the short hair who read star wars books in the hallway walking to class, who always sat in the very front and volunteered to answer grammar questions? yah, her. well, she's me." Turns out she did remember me and was nice enough to forgo any comments about my past nerdiness.

After a couple rounds of drinks my drunk self asked for a Mongolian Margarita which it turns out is actually called a Moonglow Margarita. Later in a mment of brilliance, my husband and I decided that Taco Bell's next competitor should be called Taco Chime.

We returned to the two-star hotel for the Grand Finale of drinks, a bottle of oregon raspberry wine we'd been saving for a year, only to realize that we didn't bring a corkscrew. Yeah, I'm not a details person. Then (forgive the forwardness) we enjoyed fifteen minutes of amazing, long overdue drunken sex (the best kind). Somehow, during our little session, the headboard came off the wall (don't look at ME!).

The best part of the night (after the drunken sex) was that the next morning, my husband forgot I had taken a picture of him drinking a cosmo in the nude while lounging on the bed. So it is now uploaded to my computer. SCORE!

Oh and I only cheked my phone for messages like five times (an hour).

One Wife's Junk Is Her Husband's Home Decor

My husband is a neat freak. He always thinks the house is a mess, even when I think it's exceptionally tidy. That's why I totally thought he would appreciate that I organized and dusted the house for two hours.

Except when he walked in the door for lunch the only thing he said was, "Hey, where'd you put all my crap?!" In defense, I yelled, "I just spent TWO HOURS cleaning your house, thank you very much!" His reply was, "You didn't vacuum the rug."

OMG. Enough Said. But I will continue anyway...

This is what I don't get. I tidy up and the house is still a mess. But my husband considers the following to be valuable additions to our home decor:

• a two year old receipt for The Kite Runner (and various other purchases)
• business cards of people he doesn't even remember
• padlocks that are missing keys
• Seahawks construction hat
• a bagillion fugly ceramic pinch pots he made in third grade
• an old rooster serving tray (the infamous Cock Plate) that he found in the basement from the previous owner

Seriously, he can leave these things all over the house in random piles and be completely content. This makes me think he's only anal about MY stuff. I'm praying for the day when I'm brave enough to throw away the provacative girly poster he keeps in the basement along with all his ugly bachelor pad Dredge posters. But I'm going to need a lot more than "I'm the mother of your child" to keep myself alive when I do so.

Creative Ways to Keep It Hot

Our awesome 1910 house (no, that's not the address, that's the year it was built!) has little to no insulation. Obviously, this is a problem in the winter (and summer and fall and spring). But the biggest problem is not the house, it's my husband. He pays the bills right now and he has me on strict thermostat control. Though the inside temperature may be nearing 15 degrees F, I cannot turn on the thermostat until October 1st and even then, the thermostat is not to exceed 65 degrees. If I were to break my husband's precious rule, I would probably risk having to do my own laundry for the rest of my life.

So now that we have a baby, we have to figure out how to keep him warm at night. I've been putting together a list of creative, thrifty ideas...

1. Wrap baby in an aluminum emergency blanket.

2. Duct tape a cat on each side of baby to help generate more body heat (good thing we have two cats!)

3. Stick heat patches on his abdomen, legs and arms and replace every 4-6 hours.

4. Buy a reptile heat lamp to assemble above baby's bassinet.

5. Invest in a space heater.

I think we'll go with number 5.