Posts Tagged ‘Hubby’

Oatmeal with syrup

Hubby came home the other night from the gym complaining that he weighs more now than he ever has, and it’s time to do something about it. “Yeah,” I say, “honey, please pass the cheese and olives.”

The next morning, as I’m heading downstairs to get breakfast going, he yells from Baby’s changing table, “No maple syrup in my oatmeal anymore, please!”


Are you kidding?

Now, if he were a candidate for bypass surgery, I might be more supportive. But he’s not. He is just fine. Which makes me think, if he thinks he needs to leave out maple syrup, what the hell should I be leaving out?

When it comes to dieting, you see, I suck. Super suck. I rebel against the very idea… which is probably a problem. When I even think about starting to watch carbs, I purposefully march to the corner bakery and get a chocolate strawberry scone (which was delicious, by the way) with a large latte. Dieting feels oppressive, and I want no one telling me what I can or cannot eat. I honestly thank the gods often for giving me a life free of food allergies.

So, if dieting doesn’t work, I guess the lbs need to be shed at the gym. This is a really good idea because I belong to a pretty swanky gym, complete with steam room, sauna, and massage rooms. Yum! Oh, and child care, which is the only way I can possibly justify my membership.

I go to the gym today, full of angry fat energy and ready to burn, baby, burn! Then I run into a good friend, just as I’m signing up for treadmill #7. “Hey!” we’re so happy to see each other. “How was your weekend. No way! And then what? Well, get this…” And shaaaahhh-ling, the time just slips on by. But wait, I have 15 minutes before my 1 hour of child care expires— off to the steam room!

Whew! That was so worth the $$$ I pay in membership fees. But as for these thighs and ass…hmmm… love them or leave them, I say.

Now, where’s my wine and cheese?


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March 20th

On March 20th, we will find if we are moving, and where we are moving. March 20th is Match Day for medical students across the county. I can see it: we will all be in some swanky hotel ballroom, there will all these 22 year old single boys and girls with large excited eyes and a bit of drool coming out the corner for their mouth. I mean, could anything be more exciting than moving and starting your first real job ever?

Then there will be Hubby and me, in a corner quietly praying. We’re not religious, but we’re frantically working on it before March 20th arrives. The prayer will sound something like this, “Oh dear one, or ones, please let a fairy fall out of our envelope that will cast a (safe a reversible) sleeping spell on our three children from mid-June until mid-July, or whenever we have fully finished our move, we have found schools for them, and Mommy has found a job. It doesn’t really matter where we end up, but please put our children to sleep for that bit of time. Oh, and if it isn’t too much trouble, please cast one more tiny spell on them so that they LOVE wherever we end up. Super. Thanks!”

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You know how They say that raising children will bring up some of your own issues from childhood? Hubby had an issue experience yesterday.

Hubby is one of three boys. Middle child. If you ask him, all his issues are around being raised as a middle child. Being an only child, I don’t get it. He and his brothers used to wrestle all the time, as all good siblings will do. But their wrestling would turn into knife throwing attempts at mutual assassination. There are actual holes in their home’s walls made from their heads going through. Nice. How did their mother survive?

Sunshine and Boo have just recently began wrestling around the grass like little lion cubs, chasing each other, pushing one over and wrestling around. I find it totally adorable. Sometimes one or the other might let out a little yelp, but then they go back to playing. Well, Hubby was at home yesterday while the children were still up, which is a rare occasion, and he got to witness the transformation of our children into cubs. It was great! We were sitting outside, the kids were wrestling around, and Hubby, every three seconds was nervously hollering above their giggles, “NO PUSHING!”, “DON’T ROLL TOO CLOSE TO THE BUSHES, YOU MIGHT GET SCRATCHED!”, “STAY AWAY FROM THE CONCRETE!” Looking at me with his mouth agape, I just giggled and walked inside, leaving him to work out his issues.

Easy for me to giggle now. I’m sure I’ll have my turn(s) to view my own childhood through my children. But we must giggle, anyway, right?

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Hubby and I were a thing in college. (Yes, that would put us at 15 years of knowing each other, for those who are wondering). One evening, Hubby took me for a drive up to the Flatirons weaving a story on the way. He told me all about the spotted Snowy Owl and how, to the Native Americans, it represented freedom from bad dreams. He went on to tell me that the previous morning he had seen a Snowy Owl in the Flatirons while he was training (he was and still is a pretty serious martial artist, and used to wake before dawn to go up to the foothills and do forms). He wanted me to see it. Since owls are nocturnal, we were heading up there at night to see if we could see it again.

He pulled over to the side of road, we climbed out and started over boulders and through the trees until we reached the spot where Hubby had seen the owl. We were very quiet while he got out his flashlight and screened through the trees. I spotted something in a tree branch and whispered, “Stop! Go Back.” Sure enough, there was a beautiful Snowy Owl perched in a tree branch.

“Go on,” Hubby said, nudging me, “Get closer and see how near she will let you get.” (Are Snowy Owls dangerous? Didn’t even question it as I approached the tree.) I stepped closer, and closer and, surprisingly, the owl let me get quite close to her. So close, indeed, that I finally realized, inches from her and in the dark, that she was a stuffed Snowy Owl. Sitting on a nest of real red licorice ropes (my favorite treat in the world and where, oh where, can one find them these days?). I turn back to Hubby, shining the light directly in his face and see a sweet grin (sweet, meaning: I can’t believe you thought you were approaching a real Snowy Owl). After I collected my owl and licorice, I found him sitting on a big boulder with a bottle of champagne (that he had hidden in the bushes earlier). “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said.

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