BloggingDangerously

Clue...

The company I work for was acquired by another company some time ago and we're in the process of merging.  What this means is that some people are doing two jobs and some people are doing none depending on their sense of responsibiltiy and I'd like to think you know me well enough to guess which one is me.

Anyway, work has been insane lately and today I worked through my vacation day, through my running time and through most of the prep time for dinner.  Unfortunately I forgot to tell my husband to start dinner and so I arrived in the kitchen at quarter to 6 to start a recipe that takes 90 minutes.

Oops.

Thank goodness it's winter break in Boston.

I started the recipe and then my husband walked into the kitchen.  Realizing that I was completely stressed out he said, "You go work out, I'll make dinner."

I raced upstairs and changed - then hit the elliptical for a half hour while he made dinner.

We sat down to dinner late but had a great meal.  The enchiladas were fantastic and the kids are so relaxed and happy.

After dinner we went upstairs and tried to get everyone ready for bed.  It was like herding cats.

Finally the boys were in bed and the girls were walking down the hall toward their room with my husband behind them.  My 6yo daughter ripped a huge fart as she passed by the boys room.

Everyone went dead silent.   Without missing a beat, she glanced back over her shoulder toward her brothers and father and said, "The butler did it."

At which point my entire family fell down laughing.

I have a bad feeling that the butler will be blamed for a good deal more gaseous anomalies in the future...

 

And Now I Know Why...

My husband and I rarely go to bed at the same time.  Mostly this is because I stay up way too late blogging but in general it's because I need less sleep than he does...

One night last week, however, I had crossed pretty much everything off my to-do list and was ready for bed.  I was also getting over my sinus infection so I was insanely tired.

I crawled into bed and luxuriated in the warmth of our electric blanket.  Then I crawled toward my husband and I kissed him.  I knew we were both exhausted so I didn't think there was any chance of it getting out of control so I gave him a long romantic kiss.  The kind we never have time for.

He hugged me and we kissed some more.  Usually when we're kissing like that we're also fumbling around trying to get our clothes off and it's not very romantic.  But this time it was great.  

"Are you trying to seduce me?" he asked me.

"No." I said, honestly.  "I'm exhausted."

"Then do you want to give me a blow job?" he asked completely unclear on the concept of too-tired-for-sex.

I think my laughter clued him in.

After a couple more minutes of kissing I asked him, "Do you want to?"

"I thought you were exhausted?" he said.

"Apparently not." I answered.

At which point the getting naked fumbling began...

... the following morning he looked at me accusingly, "You seduced me!" he said.

"I did not!" I objected.

"You did too!" he insisted.

"Well I didn't MEAN to." I defended.

"Yes you did." he said.

"No," I argued.  "I thought that since we were both exhausted it would be safe to just snuggle and kiss - because we NEVER do that..."

...And now I know why." I added.

How Valentine's Day (Didn't) Go Down At My House

It's a bummer coming off a week of being sick to a Valentine's Day filled with "revelling in my womanhood" (and yes, I'm talking about cramps and Midol.)

DH and I knowing that there wasn't going to be any fireworks didn't even pretend to be romantic.  I finished our taxes and he watched tv - in different rooms, of course.

And then it was bedtime and he came in to my office to talk for a bit before bed.  We talked about the house we want to build and then he kissed me and said, "Happy Valentine's Day" and I said, "oh damn! It's Valentine's Day! I should have come downstairs and hung out with you!" and he just smiled and kissed me again.

 We went into the bedroom and he crawled into bed.  I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face.  These two things typically take me 10 minutes because I like to stop in the middle and come talk to him.  He loves this - particularly while he is trying to fall asleep.

So I finally come out of the bathroom and crawl into bed and kiss him goodnight.  And then I ask him to roll over and cuddle with me.  He moans.

"It's Valentine's Day!" I argue.

"I'm half asleep!" he argues back.

"NOBODY LOVES ME!" I say.  And then say it again 5 or 6 times.  He doesn't budge or respond.

I reach out and put my hand on his back.  "NOBODY LOVES ME!" I cry.

"How about a Valentine's Back Scratch?" he asks.

"Ooh!" I exclaim. "I'd love one!" and I pull my hand off his back and roll over so that he can scratch my back.

Behind me I hear chuckling, and then "You stink."

"Oh come on, you would do it if you thought it would lead to sex" I trump.

He groans again because he knows that I am right.  And then he rolls over and snuggles me.

We talk for a minute and then I feel a creature in the bed between us, stirring.

"Ok!" I say, "goodnight."

"What?" he asks.

"You know we're not going to have sex." I remind him.

"You could give me a blowjob." he offers.

An enormous laugh bursts out of me and I tell him, "That honestly NEVER even occurred to me."

"Ok, well, Goodnight." I say, realizing that I have awakened a sleeping monster and pretending not to notice.

It takes several more parries but he finally realizes that the crampy, cranky wife is not going to be performing oral sex.  He huffs, "Well, I guess I just have to take matters into my own hands."

Which would be fine except that my husband is a vigorous man and when matters get into his hands the whole bed shakes so violently that I feel like I am going to be get motion sickness.

In fact, I used to wonder about a recurring dream I had where I was lost and tossed at sea until I woke one night to find my husband beside me shaking the bed like there was a hurricane.

I suppose I should be grateful he doesn't wake me but my goodness I need to roll over to a place where I can see the horizon when it's happening so I don't throw up.

Which is what happened the other night.  I rolled onto my stomach so I could keep an eye on the furniture and as I did I thought my husband was "finishing."

Apparently he wasn't, he was just becoming a little self conscious as I rolled over so he lifted his head toward me to see if I was watching him.

I thought that he was checking to see if I was asleep, and I THOUGHT he was FINISHED, so when I saw him look over at me I gave a HUGE, FAKE, FRED FLINTSTONE snore which caused him to completely crack up and give up (because apparently he wasn't done.)

And then I asked him a question about his mother because I figured if I wasn't going to help him take care of his erection one way, the least I could do was help him get rid of it another.

And what do you know, we were both asleep in minutes.

Well at least I was.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Things My Grandma Taught Me...

My grandmother was a bit of a snob.  

Unfortunately she never rose to the level of her own snobbishness and had to settle for looking down her nose at people she would have preferred never to have associated with in the first place.

One of these people was "Aunt Alice."  Aunt Alice was my grandmother's best friend even though Alice's favorite thing to do was talk about her "Harvard years" and my grandmother's favorite thing to do was to follow along behind telling people that the only time Alice had ever gone to Harvard was once when she took the 64 bus instead of the 67 and got lost in Cambridge.

I remember one summer when we lived with my grandparents at their beach house - the same one I talk about owning now.  (Note: It is more fun to be the child in someone else's beach house than it is to be 1/3 owner of your own.)

Anyway, we spent the summer with my grandparents and my grandmother would often tell us stories and regale us with lines from the plays she was in when she was young and beautiful and before the war came and ruined it all. 

One day we heard that Aunt Alice was to come and my grandmother made us get dressed up (at the beach, even!) and promise to be on our best behavior.

When Alice arrived we sat for lunch and made pleasant small talk.

I was about 10 and my siblings were 8 and 7.

After lunch, my grandmother turned to us and, preparing to show off, said, "Children, why don't you recite for Aunt Alice the poem I taught you the other day?"

Now, 30 years later, I remember the poem as if it were my name:

Learn little maiden, before you grow old.

Learning is better than silver or gold.

Silver and gold may tarnish away,

But a good education will never decay!

 

But at the time, these words escaped me.

And then suddenly it came to me!  Just the day before my grandmother was telling us about a poem she had learned as a child!  And wanting to be a good granddaughter and make my grandmother proud the words came tumbling out of me before I realized that they may have NOT been the ones my grandmother was so proud of...

For in my best Boston accent I recited:

Artha Partha Laid a Fartha

and Blew the House Far Apartha!

I could tell by the look on my grandmother's face that something had gone terribly wrong but Aunt Alice looked as pleased as punch.  And so my siblings and I scampered off to the beach and my grandmother never asked us to recite poetry again!

The Wayward Goldfish...

My youngest is five so we've been off the Goldfish thing for a while but recently got back into it with the discovery of "Flavor Burst" goldfish.  They're basically regular goldfish dipped in cheddar powder but they're pretty good and the kids like to take them to school for snack.

Last week at dinner one night my son was talking with his mouth full.

"Don't talk with your mouth full." I admonished.

He swallowed, put more food into his mouth and started talking again.

"Stop talking." I said and then, wanting to demonstrate the wisdom of exactly WHY you shouldn't talk with your mouth full I continued, "I'll tell you a story." I said.  A hush fell over the table as all four children turned toward me with RAPT attention for the story.  My husband waited as well.

"Yesterday," I began, "I needed a snack so I came downstairs and got some goldfish.  But while I was EATING the goldfish, I burped and a goldfish popped out."

Ok, that's what I MEANT to say and that's what ACTUALLY HAPPENED.  But I was tired and it was late so what I actually said was:

"While I was eating the goldfish, I FARTED and a goldfish popped out."

Well when the four upturned faces heard this you CANNOT POSSIBLY IMAGINE the hilarity that ensued with all of them laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their faces as they struggled for breath and fell out of their chairs!

And then my the son that started it all said, "I can't wait to tell the boys on the bus THAT story."

At which point my gallant husband, who had almost choked on his dinner from laughing so hard rushed to my defense and said, "YOU NEVER TELL ANYONE THAT STORY."

"Unless," I interjected, "You tell them that it was a LIVE GOLDFISH."