Oh, I'm totally keeping him

The Husband is not often around.

When something in the house breaks, I am usually the one to deal with it. I have successfully navigated broken toilets, fixed doors, and even saved us what a plumber would cost by unclogging my own disgusting sink.

Yes, I am awesome.

But the Husband makes up for his absence in our day-to-day lives in many other ways.

Like this, for instance:

Photobucket

I saw a similar idea at our local Ethan Allen store and wanted one of my own. I didn't like theirs quite as well, and described to the Husband exactly what I was wanting. He then happily spent his day off doing my bidding and I now have this fantastic shelf above the sofa in our basement.

I wanted prints of all different sizes, textures, and mountings to adorn the shelf. I didn't want frames - felt the naked, raw look of the prints would make the images pop.

Plus, the basement has been declared a breakable-free zone. We want the kids to be able to go down there in the winter and play or toss a ball around without fear of glass shattering on their heads. So frames were definitely an impracticality.

Photobucket

Some are mounted on mat board, some on canvas, some on foam core. They are all pictures of our favorite places and our favorite people. I just love it.

Photobucket

The photos here just can't do justice to the scale of the prints. The larger pictures are like 24x30 and the smallest ones are 8x10.

The display is HUGE.

You know, like my ego.

Photobucket

But I am so happy with how it turned out and am perfectly willing to keep unclogging drains in exchange for the Husband's free time being spent on pursuits that are far more beneficial to me.

It's a win-win for both of us.

[I am also shopping for throw pillows to go on that sofa. Any suggestions or favorite sites? Your help would be much appreciated.]

His thirty-eighth

Photobucket

Today was a very ordinary day as far as days go. He got up. He went to work. Maybe a little extraordinary in that his wife actually got up with him and made his breakfast.

Early. Not sleeping in like she usually does.

Because she loves him. And he's worth it.

He went to work and returned calls. He worked on documents. His co-workers got him a cake and sang to him in the middle of the day. He undoubtedly shrugged and blushed, embarrassed.

He came home early, refusing to let his wife man the grill. After all, the man really should cook the meat. She made fresh guacamole and got the good chips to go with it. She cooked fresh corn on the cob and cut up lots of fruit.

She made him a cake with help from his kids.

It definitely looked homemade. But it tasted delicious.

He laughed at it, then enjoyed a large slice with a smile on his face. His kids beamed with pride before diving into their own slices.

Photobucket

He got his mother on speaker phone, so she could continue the tradition she started years ago: The telling of the birth story. His kids laughed, incredulous at life in the old days. She told the story with the enthusiasm and vigor that makes all of her stories so fun to hear. Even his father chimed in to add his part. His kids stared at him in wonder - amazed that he ever was anything other than the man before them.

His wife cleaned up the dishes, and he helped her - in spite of her insistence otherwise. He hugged her and thanked her for a fantastic day.

She hugged him right back and thanked him for a fantastic life.

He had a good day.

He is loved.

Oh, you'd better believe he's in the doghouse for this one

Remember the awesomeness that was the mohawks? You know, the ones that after four years I have finally embraced?

Well.

Somebody decided that we were done with them for this year and took the scissors to my poor boy's head:

Photobucket

No, it was not McKay, as you can see in this terribly out of focus picture. [Sorry. I was in a hurry.]

It was definitely not Chase or Hannah. Not even our cousin Emmie, who is fond of playing barbershop on her own bangs from time to time, committed this travesty. It was not the two-year-old boy who lives down the street.

Though we would expect such behavior out of him.

IT. WAS. THE. HUSBAND.

Photobucket

As you can see, he took the scissors to my little Mack's head, chopping to the scalp in some spots. One would THINK that a grown man would not attempt such a juvenile, foolish, and insensible act of vandalism.

The tragedy in all of this is the damage was unfixable by the barber. Not even the fine specimens one finds at the local Super Cuts could fix what the Husband had done.

So sadly, for the next month or two, this is what my darling boy will look like:

Photobucket

And believe me when I tell you, the angry look on McKay's face is mirrored exactly by my own.

The one bright spot in this bleak storm of blinding rage was Chase's comment to McKay. He said, "Don't worry, Mack. It takes confidence to wear a buzz. You'll see. You'll feel great by the time it grows back in."

Unfortunately, that will be long before I'm ready to forgive the Husband.

P.S. Have you seen my other blog lately? There are some amazing sessions for your viewing pleasure. Stop by and take a peek.

A good man

Photobucket

I married a good man.

A man who takes the trash out without being told. A man who plays games with our kids and sometimes lets them win. A man who can't wait to get home at the end of the day, just so he can be with us.

A man who builds me up when I am doubting myself. (which, let's be honest here, is a lot)

A man who laughs at my "chair closet" when I get lazy and don't want to hang things up. (And also a man who doesn't take that time to remind me how often I nag him about hanging his own things up.)

[Note to self: No more nagging about the clothes]

A man who loves freckles and dimpled thighs. (or at least pretends to anyway)

A practical man who approaches life with logic and intelligence.

A man who sees me at the end of my rope, and always ties a big knot for me to hold onto.

Yes, I married a good man.

And today I thought I should tell him that.

Channeling my inner Elaine

Remember that old Seinfeld episode when Elaine has the arduous task of finding the perfect pair of socks for Mr. Pitt?

And how she gets him tight ones, loose ones, skinny ones, fat ones - and none of them are quite right? And in a fit of rage, he throws a torrent of socks around the room while Elaine covers her head in the fetal position?

Well, let's just say that in my life I am Elaine, and the Husband is Mr. Pitt.

Now Lord knows I love me the Husband. Love him more n' my luggage. He completes me, and all those other trite movie cliches, if you know what I mean.

But, man, the guy has got some serious sock issues.

For Easter, I got him some very nice, soft, not-too-tight (or so I thought) Ralph Lauren socks to wear with his suits. Hunted at several stores, and fondled dozens of socks in my quest. I happily found the perfect socks and spent a pretty penny to get them. And the Husband liked them, he really did. Except for the tiny, microscopic part at the top is just a wee bit too tight. The rest of the sock fits like a dream. But he rejects them due to a quarter-inch bit at the top.

Mind you, these socks leave no marks on his calves. No sock tattoo remains after he takes them off at the end of the day. But still, he cannot be comfortable.

And goodness knows, we want the man to be comfortable.

[What with him spending all day earning the money and such for me to spend on my frivolous, bad self.]

This is not the first time my sock hunting skills have failed me. I've tried getting him looser socks, and he hates those because they just fall down. I've tried tighter socks, and he hates those because they're too constricting. He hates them for being too scratchy. Or too silky. Too thin. Too fat. Too long. Too short.

[INSERT EXPLETIVE OF YOUR CHOICE HERE]

So he's resorted to wearing his old ones, with holes in the toes, and he laughs while telling me that the airport security people ALWAYS comment on his poor holey socks.

Not knowing, of course, that he's got about 19 pairs without holes sitting rejected in his sock drawer at home.

I guess it means that this Elaine will just have to continue her search for the ever-elusive pair of socks for her picky Mr. Pitt.

It's a good thing that he's so darn lovable. Otherwise, I might have to sock him in the jaw...

Sixteen



You still make me laugh, after all these years.

You know everything about me. And yet you love me anyway.

You gave me three perfectly fantastic children.

And you're as in love with them as I am.

You believe in accountability and don't accept excuses for anything in your life.

You live deliberately, not allowing yourself to waste a single moment.

You never question how I spend my days. Even when they're less productive than they could be.

You support the dreams I have, and help me to make them a reality.

You buy me that silly People magazine on your way through the airport. Because you know that I like it.

You let me sleep in, even though it irritates you.

You always tell me I'm beautiful. Even when I'm not.

You play my favorite song in the car. Just to see me smile.

You tolerate my cooking, in spite of how bad it is.

You let me have my way. Even when it's not my turn.

You hold my heart.

And you trusted me enough to give me yours in return. All those years and lifetimes ago.

Happy anniversary, baby. I love you.