The long and shorts of it.

Hubby's doing a new play. He did one last year, and played the psychiatrist. Yes, I see the irony of that. this year, he's playing a character role, as the town bum. I don't know much about the play, but I was told one thing: he has to strip down to his longjohns on stage.

Like that's anything new.

Granted, the man has never done it onstage, but most people who've known him for any time become familiar with his bum. It's a commonly known fact: hubby likes to be known. I had a Pampered Chef party one time, and he wandered out in a towel right in the middle of it. The girls just shook their heads -- they know how he is.

He used to go on a bike trip with church -- five days on bicycles, biking anywhere from 30-60 miles a day. Oh yeah, heaven on wheels. And most people are on tandems, too. Not us. I decided very early on that our marriage wasn't going to survive it, so I didn't go. Well, there was one year that I drove him there, cause he couldn't start when everyone else did. I drove him to where they were, then got a bed at the local B&B. Stayed the night by myself, then met them for dinner at the next stop. Two nights alone, whilst he sweated on the bike. I had a great time. So did he. And we're still married.

The group on the bike trip used to say that the trip wasn't complete until they'd all seen dh's bum. One time, when they were back home, they did a head count to see how many people had had The View.

Everyone in the room raised their hand.

So there they are, making a pit stop in the middle of southern Indiana somewhere. Dh is out in a bean field that's up to his waist. The girls look over, and suddenly he is dancing around the field, swingin' his shorts over his head. They started cracking up and shaking their heads, when one of them decides to record it for posterity. But when she raised her camera up, posterity slapped her camera right in the lens -- she snapped the pic just as he leapt up to show his posterior.

And it got recorded on film, for all time.

In that picture, a car is just coming into view. Wonder what THEY thought.

Eternal mysteries of life Part 2: Football

Well, you all know, if you've read my blog at all, that the hubby is the #1 Broncos fan east of the Mississippi. LOVES them. So imagine how odd it was at my house last week. Hubby came home on Wednesday and told me that on Saturday night, we were going to have about 20 people over for the Colts game. Greaaaaat, cause I was working all day on Saturday. And the game was to start at 4:30. And the house was a pit. And the hubby is an OCD housecleaner. When the kids were little and he wanted to clean the house, I would take them and leave the house whilst he went nuts cleaning. Kept everyone happy.

When ds17 found out what was happening last week, he immediately said he was going to work all day Saturday. No matter that they didn't need him, he was going to be out of the house, whilst the maniac cleaned. The other two kids ran for cover in their rooms, and I left for work, with threats of all sorts of evil if he drove anyone nuts about the cleaning, because he had invited everyone over without checking with me first.

So, once people started arriving, I looked up and realized that there, in the middle of our living room, right over the mantle, was a COLTS poster. I about dropped dead. Everyone thought I was nuts, but I've lived with this man in this house for 14 years, and have never, ever seen anything but Broncos stuff here. Including the 8 foot high Broncos helmet painted on the boys' bedroom wall, when they were little.

And that poster is still up, cause he invited everyone over again tomorrow for the game. Tonight, we went downtown with the dd to see all the blue and white lights. Reminded me of the night that we drove around Monument Circle -- actually, it was Christmas Eve -- playing KC and the Sunshine Band full blast on our radio. We had the windows rolled down and were singing "Do a Little Dance, Make a Little Love, Get Down Tonight" at the top of our lungs, with the three kids, who were 6, 10 and 11 at the time.

They still talk about that one, and it still give me a giggle, thinking of us passing limos and shouting disco music at them on Christmas Eve.

Eternal mysteries of life, part 1

It's cold here in Indiana. I think that we forgot that it was winter for a while, because ds12 was running around in shorts as late as last week, but now it's in the 20s -- not frigid, mind you, but not shorts weather.

No snow though. My theory about winter is that, if it's cold, by golly there'd better be snow. The snow gods aren't listening around here, because we have only had one snow -- enough to make people drive like idiots, but not enough to get the kids out of the house.

I've always enjoyed winter, and the kids are no different. They like to hook our two dogs up to the sled and have them pull them down the street. It's a pretty funny sight. And my dogs are so dumb, they seem to actually enjoy it.

I remember the first winter we homeschooled. The weather was really cold, but they wanted to go out and play in the snow. Who am I to argue when the kids want to go outside and leave mom in peace for a while? So we bundled them up, and out the door they went, happily trolling around in the white stuff for probably at least 1/2 an hour.

Then suddenly, they all came flying in the house, and ds (now 17) was sobbing hysterically. Figuring he'd taken a snowball in the face, I asked what was going on -- then I realized that he had blood all over his chin and the front of his snowsuit. And his tongue was hanging out.

Yep, you guessed it. My "gifted" child had decided, in all his brilliance, to see if that eternal mystery of life is indeed true: does your tongue really adhere to metal when it's cold outside?

The answer, in short, is YES.

He paid a bloody price for that one, and couldn't eat for days after he yanked that poor tongue off of our metal front doorknob. I ended up laughing, bad mom that I am, and calling my friend. She sold first aid supplies at the time, and any time we were out, if someone got any type of injury, she'd say "I have something for that," and magically the necessary supplies appeared. It was kind of a joke between us. I called her and said "I want to see if you have something for THIS," to which she just started cracking up and saying, "nope, I can't carry popsicles. They melt."

Day at the Museum

I took the kids to the children's museum here in town today. Actually, I just took the youngest two, because the oldest is far beyond that now. They've been bugging me for weeks to go, since we usually go either in the first week of September or the first week of January, when its the quietest. Well, we had too much going on, so it was better late than never.

I was admiring the wonderful new sculpture they have in there, called Fireworks of Light, by Dale Chiluly. It stretches up from the basement to the top floor, and it is fantastic. I particularly loved being underneath it. They have a glassed area beneath it, on the lowest level, where you can view some of his work while leaning back on seating that revolves, so you can view it from different angles. Really cool! Of course, the kids couldn't appreciate it, so I told them to go ahead and I would catch up -- they are 16 and 12 now, so they don't need constant supervision, just the threat of a parent catching them in the act, and they'll behave.

Kind of reminded me of the time that I took all three kids there, when ds12 was about 3. They had a Lego exhibit at the time that was really cool, with an underwater theme. We went straight there, and I got all three kids comfortably entranced in the activities in the room, and turned to sit down. It was literally two seconds that it took me to sit, and ds was gone.

::sigh:: I wish I could say that this was unusual, but no, it wasn't. But it was that fast.

I looked around the room and couldn't find him anywhere. The exhibit was on the second level, with an overlook to the entry to the museum. I went out and looked over the railing, and there was my kid, being pulled in a wagon by a volunteer, up to the Information desk. I reflexively shouted down "SETH DANIEL" to which he responded by looking straight up at me, and looking down the index finger now pointing straight at me and yelling "YOU GOT LOST!"

::sigh:: I went flying down the stairs to collect him, and found the volunteer absolutely cracking up. He told me "normally we ask for some identification or someone else to verify that you are indeed the parent, but I guess he just did."

Yep, that's my kid.

Create Your Own Countdown

He is not worthy....he is not worthy.........

I have had these shoes for months. MONTHS. I love them -- seriously. Red is my favorite color, and I just think that they are fantastic.

But, reality being what it is, I have come to realize that they will never fit my feet. Maybe in 6th grade they would've fit, but I have, as my hubby says, duck feet, and these will never fit me. ::sob::

So, they have sat on my desk for months, where I have admired them from near and far, as well as the vintage 40s Mary Janes that I bought at the same time. I just look at them and sigh, I love them so much.

Fast forward to tonight. I'm sitting on the couch, laptop on my lap, measuring tape around my neck. Hubby is next to me, watching basketball. I set one shoe on the edge of my laptop, sighed, and informed hubby that if these shoes fit me, they would never leave my feet. I would sleep in them. I'm serious - I love these shoes.

To which hubby looks at me blankly, and says:
"Why?"
::gets the look from the wife::
Him: "What are they?"
Me: They're 40sfauxreptilevintageREDpeeptoeslingbackplatforms. And I love them.
Him: "Who would WEAR them?"

At which point, I snatched it away and told him he wasn't allowed to touch them. He is not worthy.

Some guys have all the bull

I've never quite understood a man's fascination with certain things.

Take, for example, Viagra man. He used to chronically call us at work, daily or even more often, to report that he had taken Viagra that wasn't prescibed for him and now, what went up, won't come down. Never gave a name, like we couldn't figure out who he was. ::sigh:: EVERY day. Multiple times. We would try to scare him off occasionally, telling him exactly what the would do to rectify the problem. Nothing helped, till the day my friend said "you've called us before, haven't you?" He hung up and never called back. Of course, when I switched jobs to another call center, there he was, but we got rid of him the same way.

And when I worked in the hospital, we used to have a guy who would call on a fairly regular basis, claiming he was in various stages of labor. Sometimes it was twins, sometimes he was in active labor and could see the head coming out. Buddy, step away from the crack pipe.

And yeah, there are the guys who like to get their jollies, telling us every little detail of the family jewels. Just the facts, Mack, and I'm off the phone.

Smoking or non?

Hubby quit smoking on Jan 1, and I am so proud of him. Of course, he quit when ds17 was born, when dd16 was born, when he turned 30 (for three years), when ds12 was born, when he turned 40.....you get my drift. He's a habitual quitter. But he's cute, so I'll keep him.

He doesn't smoke much, but he works with his best friend from high school, and their smoking has a heritage on it. Of course, his friend doesn't smoke unless he's around dh, and doesn't buy the ciggies -- he bums from dh. So why in the world do they smoke, when they both want to quit? It's one of those mysteries of life.

DH is evil when he quits. OK, maybe not EVIL, but it's not pretty. So this time, when he was getting, shall we say, FUSSY, about six hours into the "I'm quitting smoking" thing, I told him that either he was getting a patch, or he was leaving, or I was moving out. Cause I was not about to go through that again.

"Nope," he said, "I'm doin' it cold turkey." "Nope," I said, "I see a patch in your future." He wanted to argue, till I told him HIS definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.

He didn't argue.

So I found myself standing at the CVS counter, buying the patches, when it occurred to me: this is an ego issue. The man just couldn't bring himself to buy the patch, but he'll wear 'em if I buy them. And he has. Granted, I make sure that they go on every day, but he wears them, and it's working, so far.

Only problem with the patch: it gives him weird dreams if he leaves it on too long. The first night, he left it on all night, then complained about nightmares and weird dreams. He started taking it off, and was doing fine, but the other night he forgot and left it on. And I woke up with him bicycling madly in the air, with all four extremities. I have no idea where the man was biking to, but he was going FAST.

This morning, he got up and complained again about weird dreams, after leaving the patch on. Said he dreamt that he was singing on stage with Bono. I don't get it -- THAT's a problem? Hubby sat back and thought for a minute, then agreed -- we should all be so lucky as to sing onstage with Bono. So fuggetaboutit. Just don't smoke.

And ten days into it, he's cheery, and hasn't smoked. Those patches are great.