How I Met My Husband

Oh I love stories of true love and how people met the loves of their lives.  And ok, who doesn't love a bad date story, too?  This week's #VlogMom prompt comes from Alissa Enders of Clever Compass.  She's a romantic.

She wants to know: How did you meet your spouse/partner?

It's a good question, no?  I know you have to have some great stories.  So... learn how I met my husband, and then tell me how you met yours!

It's Not A Smart Phone Park

We've spent the last week in Florida.  We had a lot of fun in our last hurrah before the start of school - and now I'm scrambling to do all the school prep I haven't done over the past week - and I am going to do a few write ups of our experiences at some of the new parks we hadn't been to previously, with a slant towards the perspective of taking someone with special needs to the park.

Overall, we had a blast.  Most of us anyway.  I noticed that whenever the wee ones were on a ride at Legoland (many are truly designed for little kids and parents can't join them), my husband was constantly on his phone.  Apparently my reluctance for him to join the smart phone age was well justified...

Rather than watching the wee ones cavorting - in this instance, driving in the Ford Motor School Driving Test, heading the wrong way down streets and blowing past stop signs they swear they didn't see - my husband was checking the weather.  Or maybe Facebook.  Or maybe reading news.  Or who knows, maybe it was online poker.

For him, watching the wee ones have fun and sharing in their enjoyment is something he wasn't raised with.  His parents didn't interact with him in the same way that my parents did - nor do they interact with the wee ones when we visit.  It's a completely different style of parenting, and from my perspective, it's not a fun or filled with joy.  It isn't that it's wrong, but it's not how I am.

I've given up trying to change him, for the most part.  The second he's finished eating, he's up clearing dishes and moving on to the next thing, regardless of how many of the rest of us are still eating and trying to enjoy a family meal.  When he plays a board game with the wee ones, it's about getting to the end of the game instead of having fun along the way - you don't want to be the one having a conversation when it's your turn! And that's all he ever knew.

How about you?  How were you raised?  Do you follow the same tenets of child rearing that your parents used?  And what's your take on hanging out on smart phones around your children?

Wordless Wednesday - A Fashion Statement

My husband came downstairs the other night after changing into more comfortable clothes after work. He has a bit of a uniform that ... doesn't make it outside. He wears flannel pajama pants topped with a fraying hoodie. None of it matches, and he has a variety of pajama pants and hoodies from which to choose. I have no issue with it, although it sometimes makes me giggle.

The other night, though? He took it to a whole new level. I'm still giggling. Apparently our house was a little cold that night?

What's your style when you're hanging out at home?

I'm Rooting For The Texas Rangers Tonight

My husband is from St. Louis. He's a Cardinals fan and still has his Rams season tickets in the obscure hope that they'll someday go to the Super Bowl again and he'll have a chance at tickets. Let's just say that this playoff season has been making him happy.

Me, not so much. Why?

On Tuesday, my husband called me from work. "Soooo just as an FYI, I bought tickets to Game 7 of the World Series. Do you want to go with me?"

Question 1: Wait, back up. Before I answer your question, exactly how much did you pay for your World Series tickets," I asked, knowing that friends of mine had paid over $1,000 per ticket to see a World Series game a few years ago.

"Oh. Well, just the $225 face value (ummm really, "just" $225? I don't pay "just" $225 for just about anything, do you?) because I entered the ticket lottery back before the playoffs started and won rights to World Series tickets. I promise, I just paid face value."

Oh. Because that makes it all better, never mind the fact that he neglected to mention this little detail to me until 48 hours - ok, to be fair, 49 hours - before the game.

"Well, when is the game?" I asked - the first logical question I have before answering whether I want to drive five hours to and from St. Louis. Gah, road trips.

"The game is this Thursday," he responded, as if that were obvious and no big deal.

Ummm, I can't go. It's a school night. And we have two children. In school. Well, one child in school and one child who has no school on Friday, which is worse. And we have Little Miss's conference after school on Thursday. And Mister Man has a Cub Scout meeting Thursday night. And my parents have a board meeting for their neighborhood and I already have to pick Little Miss up from gymnastics at the same time Mister Man needs to be on his way to Cub Scouts. And my husband has classes to teach on Thursday and Friday.


"How exactly are you thinking of going?" I asked, very calmly I might add, just figuring that maybe he forgot these little tidbits of detail.

"Well, flights right now to St. Louis are only $350 per person-" he started before I interrupted and asked if he was joking about paying another $700 to go, knowing that flights are only going to increase by the next night when he'd know if there was even going to be a Game 7.

His next strategy, after realizing that I wasn't going once I listed all the commitments that would prevent - in my mind - both of us from going, was for him to fly down one way himself then take the Mega Bus back. The only "issue" with that was that he'd somehow have to pick up his car at 6:10am from the airport, and the Mega Bus depot is not exactly in the best neighborhood to start. Then he decided he'd drive down - missing the end of the school day but getting other teachers to cover his classes - and then drive back Friday, taking a personal day. Except that since he has no personal days left this school year, it would be an unpaid personal day. Ummm, no. His last plan involved him driving to the game and then turning around after the game and driving home overnight and teaching Friday. As a parent, I would not be happy having my child taught by a teacher that exhausted and not with it, forget the danger of driving overnight on little to no sleep.

Figuring that my husband was a mature and responsible man, I left the choice up to him. And before you start chastising me for not getting it, let me stress that I am a sports fan. I love my baseball (Twins) and football (NU Wildcats and Minnesota Vikings) and hockey (Chicago Blackhawks) and that my loyalties don't waver. I've gone to the Northwestern bowl games - because I was able to plan it out in advance. I'd love to go to a Vikings Super Bowl one day. I'd love to go to a Twins World Series game (don't ask about 1987 or 1991 when I lived in Minnesota and my dad had the opportunity to get tickets but chose not to do so). I chose not to attend a Blackhawks Stanley Cup playoff because the tickets were insanely expensive. At some point, you look at your commitments and your priorities and say "Wow, that would be really cool to do, but unfortunately, I just can't do it this time around and that's a real bummer." Or at least that's what I do.

My husband was going to the game. I was now going to Little Miss's conference by myself - after we'd moved it from the official conference dates because my husband had his own conferences to attend and couldn't make it - before picking up Mister Man to have him do his homework in the car while we headed to Little Miss's gymnastics where I'd pick her up and eat dinner in the car as I took her to his Cub Scout meeting - hoping this wasn't totally against Cub Scout etiquette - and keeping both of them up way past bedtime instead of just him, knowing that we'd be late to his Cub Scout meeting because there's no way to get from one activity to the other in enough time.

Whee.

I held my tongue, however, after suggesting that he put those tickets on StubHub and reap the benefits while watching the game from home (his tickets are selling for well over $1,000). It wasn't taken.

But someone, somewhere likes me. Last night's Game Six was rained out in St. Louis, so it was moved to tonight (the Thursday in the above story) with Game Seven, if necessary, scheduled for Friday.

And yes, my husband is still planning to go. Forget that he has a football game he's supposed to work on Friday night. Forget Mister Man's Tae Kwon Do that coincides with Little Miss's church Faith In. Forget her Daisy meeting that follows immediately that he'll now need to attend, which is always a joy, as I've had to do it last year when he was coaching.

So to be honest? Tonight, I'm rooting for the Rangers. I'm pretty sure that makes me a bad person, but I'm ok with that.

Come enter a very very fast giveaway ending Sunday night for a Freschetta coupon and two sets of earbuds

My Husband, The Cynic

On Father's Day, the wee ones were super excited to find a gift for my husband. They wanted to find something that was all their own that they were giving him. Since they didn't decide this until Father's Day, their choices were somewhat limited. That didn't deter them, and Mister Man found his Luke Skywalker action figure to give to Daddy, and Little Miss discovered a Chicago Wolves hockey stick that she thought he'd enjoy since he loves sports so much.

As we trooped upstairs with our chocolate cherry (homemade) scones for Daddy's breakfast in bed, the wee ones whispered together then scurried back downstairs, begging me to wait for "just a few minutes, Mommy, please!" I set the tray down and waited for them to head back upstairs. Within a few moments, they reappeared on the stairs, and we continued on our merry way to feed - and more importantly, coffee - my husband.

After passing the tray to my husband, the wee ones presented him with their gifts. He smiled at them and tried to graciously give them back. Mister Man then piped up, And, Daddy, Little Miss and I cleaned up the homework room for you, too. There's no more Legos and stuff all over the floor. Happy Father's Day, Daddy!

After my husband opened the remainder of his gifts and started eating his breakfast, the wee ones remembered that they were hungry, too, and had left scones sitting down at their places at the kitchen table. They scampered away, and my husband turned to me with a smile on his face.

I'm going to mow the lawn this week, Honey. Happy anniversary.

Cynic.

Win a Therapon Skin Renewal System
Win a Wendy's gift card

Wordless Wednesday

Soooo.

This is why my husband doesn't put away the laundry.

And why I should really go to bed earlier. I didn't notice the mismatch until I was at the gym and putting on my running shoes. Oy vey.

I am also giving away a Progresso Souper You Debut gift pack here.

Oh, and while you're at it, I finally set up a Facebook Fan page for my blog (and corrected the link here - oops!). It's way overdue. Go like me on Facebook if you would so I can get an official username - once I get enough likes. You can also follow me on Twitter, too, if you're so inclined.

Cooking Is A Learned Skill

My husband can cook. Sorta. He's generally my prep guy when I need one, and his part of the bargain involves doing the dishes that I've dirtied with my cooking and baking.

One of my favorite stories involves him needing diced tomatoes for a recipe he was determined to cook himself. I had a can of whole tomatoes but none diced. He couldn't use the whole tomatoes (for a recipe that would end up pureed). It made me giggle - cooking is all about the adjustments and the improvisation, but you don't know that if you don't live it.

The other day, he was making pancakes for the wee ones. I happened to come downstairs as he was measuring dry ingredients into a bowl. I watched him carefully dip the measuring spoon into the baking powder and pull out a mounded teaspoon. Gingerly, he tried to use his finger to try to scrape off the excess back into the can. Not surprisingly, he missed with a good portion of the baking powder, and it spilled onto the counter.

I watched in silence, with my jaw hanging open.

Maybe it was because my mom's best and most frequent cooking with my sister and I was chocolate chip cookies. I had that recipe memorized by the time I was four or so. She made it with us all the time, and she taught me everything from how to break an egg to how to mix the dry ingredients.

Apparently she also taught me a skill that I didn't even realize was a skill. She taught me how to properly measure out baking powder (and soda, for that matter). There is a handy straight edge on the top of each container. You simply drag a full teaspoon along the edge, and voila - a perfectly measured teaspoon!

I've now taught my husband this skill, but not before giggling at him a little. It really reinforces how many things are taught when it comes to cooking, so many things that I luckily take for granted.

But that doesn't mean it doesn't make me snicker at my husband anyway. Yep, I'm definitely a bad person.

Can I get you to tweet once a day for me so I can win a Super Bowl Party with Flatout Wraps pretty please? Just tweet this daily: I think @honestandtruly would make a fabulous @FlatoutBread Super Bowl party host! http://bit.ly/f9w6wN #FlatoutSB (And thanks!)

My Mr. Mathy

Sometimes my husband makes me giggle. My favorite is when he tries to show me up with some sort of a mental challenge (c'mon, he's a math teacher; he's got the confidence in his skills). He doesn't succeed as often as he'd like.

This morning was a perfect example. My husband was still sleeping, as were the wee ones. In an effort to keep from waking anyone in the household earlier than necessary, I carefully rolled over to grab my phone where I started playing with the new game I'd downloaded (sound off, of course!).

Slice It is a game where you essentially try to make even sized (by area) pieces of a shape by drawing the required number of lines through it. It starts off pretty easy with circles and squares and equilateral triangles, needing to create four or fewer pieces using one or two lines. As you get further into it, it gets a little more complicated.

By the eighth level, you need to split a rhombus into six equal pieces using four lines. It's not hard to get somewhat close, cutting it in half vertically then drawing segments horizontally. Depending on how close in area the various pieces are, you can receive one to five stars. Me being me, I want five stars for every level. Because that's how I roll.

The rhombus took me a few (possibly an understatement) tries to get five stars. By that time, my husband had woken up and was watching me. As I explained the game to him, he became interested. He scoffed at my method and declared that there was a better mathematical resolution to it. He could calculate it.

I smiled and handed him my phone, interested to see what he would do. In my way, I cut it in half vertically then added my segments. (See my really bad Paint pictures below. This is why I'm not an artist by the way.)

My husband stared at it a moment or two. Long enough for the screen to go black. He handed it to me to fix it, and I suggested he start drawing his lines. He drew his first line, then sat back and scratched his head. It wasn't as easy as he'd thought.

He erased the line. Then he started calculating the size of it and decided that it was a bad size. He needed pen and paper. I giggled.

He tried drawing another line but refused to let me see it. He puzzled some more, and the screen went black again. My phone buzzed to let me know it was down to 15% of the battery remaining.

I extolled the virtues of visualization and spatial relations. He waved me away. Seven or eight minutes later, he handed me the phone back, sighing. He had never even drawn three lines to make the cuts. He gave up before that point because he couldn't do it exact without calculating the exact area of what each segment would be with pen and paper.

I giggled again. This is the same man who could not use a can of whole tomatoes in a recipe because the recipe called for diced tomatoes - even after I offered to dice them for him (and yes, they would eventually have been pureed in that recipe anyway).

As he handed it back to me, he looked at me with a bit of embarrassment in his eyes. I suppose this makes it a little harder to talk you into letting me play games on your phone, huh? Mmmm yeah. Maybe.

Giveaways:
Family 4 pack of tickets to Toy Story 3 on ice in Chicago here
Win one of two copies of Avatar in Blu-Ray here
Monster Truck Jam family 4 pack of tickets in Chicago here

I Delegated

The wee ones go to the chiropractor each Wednesday, as do both my husband and I. This week, I asked my husband if I could drop the wee ones at the chiro on my way home with carpool and he could take them while I made dinner and had it waiting on the table.

Why do you want to dump the wee ones on me? he asked.

Ummm well, I didn't consider it "dumping" our own children on him, but I was proud of myself for not making a snarky comment.

Wednesdays are my really long, hard day, and by the time we're done with the chiro, I'm just done, and I'd appreciate it if you could help me out by being in charge of the chiro which would also allow you to have a warm meal when you got home, I replied, calmly - and truly, I was calm.

What, you don't think I'm working all day, too? he asked incredulously.

It wasn't that. My husband is out of the house and to school before seven where he then spends his day molding 120 plus young minds. While he's absolutely got the personality for it and loves doing it, I don't dispute in any way that he's working hard.

But Wednesdays are my hardest day. From the moment the wee ones wake up, I am haranguing them to get ready, get dressed, clean their rooms, eat breakfast, get out the door, go go go so we can get to school on time. While our chore chart helps, there are still days when I need to redirect the wee ones and keep us on track. Once I get the wee ones out the door, I head to the gym for a quick workout - my me time, I'll admit. As soon as I'm done, I rush to do whatever errands need to be done, typically grocery shopping. I head home to put things away, toss in a load of laundry and begin making dinner. I then race to Mister Man's school (20+ minutes away) to pick him up for speech therapy at another school. I have to rush him out the door and into the car and into the other school to get there on time, as his class gets in from recess as we need to leave if we want to get to speech on time. I then race him back to his school and sign him back in before running home to get Little Miss off the bus where I change the laundry and - if I'm lucky - get a little housework done before I pack up Little Miss and rush to get to Mister Man's school to do the carpool pickup. I drop off the other kids in the carpool then head back to town to the chiro where I am directing the wee ones on what they're supposed to do and ensuring that in an unstructured and stimulating environment, they are behaving appropriately - especially given the small space. Then we head to the library (our only chance of the week and the wee ones' reward for good behavior at the chiro) before going home for the night. Then I have to finish making dinner before feeding them and rushing them into bed.

I can only push the wee ones to go quick hurry fast we can't be late so much before, mentally, I am exhausted. Having to come home after all this only to make dinner and try to ensure the wee ones get to bed on time (yes, we still have "early" bedtimes because they need the sleep) makes the day that much harder.

By delegating the chiropractor, I have take out almost a half hour of car time driving back and forth from carpool dropoff to the chiro and back home again. And it's two rushings around that I can avoid - the chiro and dinner; I actually rather enjoy the library time with the wee ones.

Ideally, I'd restructure our week so that there wasn't so much rushing, but the chiropractor really helps, especially Mister Man and his regulation. And with OT and tae kwon do taking up most of the rest of the week... it is what it is.

But yesterday, I dropped off the wee ones with my husband at the chiro before continuing to finish the carpool run (it is literally on the way home). Then I got home and sauteed some chicken and made some cous cous for dinner before slicing up a pineapple for dessert. I place everyone's plates on the table and added glasses of milk. I had just watered the Christmas tree and dealt with the day's mail when my husband and the wee ones walked in.

We all had a nice dinner before we headed upstairs for our bedtime routine, without me nervously glancing at the clock and calculating how long I could let the wee ones continue eating before I had to cut them off and hustle them to bed. Instead they finished, put their dishes away, and we got to bed at a good time.

And you know what? I felt good. I felt really good. I think I need to embrace this strategy of not "dumping" the wee ones on my husband but rather delegating and communicating when I need some help and to change how we're doing things in the house.

Current Giveaways:
The Dolphin: Story of a Dreamer DVD with 2 winners here
Professional cookware, courtesy Jewel here
Baby Einstein Discovery Kit here

I'm Not In Charge - And Thank Goodness

This past weekend, Mister Man went on his very first Boy Scout campout. His den headed out to Wisconsin to do some cave camping for two nights. Or... I thought this den did. Boy Scouts is my husband's thing to do with Mister Man, so I don't have a lot of information - for one my husband doesn't share it, but neither does he find out as much information as I would.

Because this was his thing, I decided to stay out of it as best I could. If it were me, I would have bought a three person tent for the two of us, knowing that I wouldn't want to be claustrophobic, and I'd want extra space for my gear.

I would have gotten a list of needed items from experienced Boy Scouting campers and then updated it to meet our needs (e.g., including Mister Man's homeopathic attention and learning spray).

I would have practiced putting the tent together and taking it apart several times starting at least a week before the camping trip.

I would have packed everything the night before - checking items off my list as I went. I would have picked Mister Man up from school and headed straight up to the camp so as not to get there at a ridiculously late hour.

But it wasn't my trip, and I was not in charge. I decided to keep my mouth shut after my husband brought home a two person tent (that's five feet by seven feet at the base, and it narrows quickly) thinking that would be plenty of room for the two of them. Measuring out five by seven on the foyer carpet (which is bigger than that, interestingly) and then laying the sleeping bags atop my measurement showed my husband that their sleeping bags would overlap in the tent. Ok, so after that bit of interference, I decided to keep my mouth shut.

I did it, too. Or at least I did until the night before the trip when the new three person tent was still sitting in its box in my foyer, unopened. I couldn't help myself but to suggest that my husband at least practice putting it together, given the hour they were likely to arrive at the camp and his utter inexperience with camping.

That was it, though.

I said nothing about the lack of packing that I saw when I woke up on Friday morning. I said nothing as I watched my husband scramble around the house trying to pack at 3:30 on Friday, hoping to finish before Mister Man arrived home from school in carpool. I said nothing about what snacks I would have brought to maximize protein and minimize sugar for Mister Man while my husband dug through the cabinets - obviously not wanting my help. I didn't even look at the contents of what was packed.

And you know what? They came back today, and it all worked out just fine. Sure, their clothes are wet and filled with mud - I'd expect no less from a cave camping trip. They were overtired (I got an update phone call at 10:55pm on Friday night), but I wasn't exactly surprised by that. I don't know if they were short anything or had to borrow anything. I don't know if they packed things they didn't need or did it just right. It doesn't matter. This was their trip, not mine. It was their trip, and they did great.

In fact, Mister Man has already announced that he wants to go cave camping again. Really soon. And to Boy Scout summer camp.

Good thing this is my husband's department, huh?



Current Giveaways:
Activeion ionator HOM $180RV here
Fiber One Prize Pack including a $25 gift card here
InchBug Bumpy Orbit Labels here

Oh Yeah - Til Death Do Us Part

Last night, I had a brainstorm after my husband and I had a ... discussion of him not eating his pizza crusts and therefore wasting food (he doesn't just not eat the bready tip parts but leaves behind some of the sauce and cheese that are at the end of the pizza slice) - not choosing to simply take a middle piece befuddles me. Granted, it's a silly thing, but isn't that the point of marriage? Having fun and enjoying the little silly things?

Forget the cherishing, the keeping in sickness and in health. There are more important things we forgot. Without Further Ado (or is that without further "I do" - ha!), I present to you my top ten list of items I neglected to include in my (husband's) wedding vows:

10) I will eat all that my wife puts in front of me, whether it's my favorite food or whether it is something that I need to tolerate.

9) I will always empty the trash when it begins to near the top of the trash can without reminders from others in the household.

8) When I pick something up, I will replace it where I found it.

Corollary: I will remember where that place is the next time I want to use it.

7) When it is bedtime for the children, I will not start unrelated projects that distract them from going to bed and me from helping them to get ready for bed.

6) When there is icky, nasty food that's been left in the fridge for far too long, I will uncomplainingly remove it from its container out of my wife's sight and smell, dispose of it, and clean said container.

5) I will offer nightly foot massages.

4) I will not start up my car and run it for ten minutes before leaving the house in the morning once Jack Frost begins visiting. Instead of wasting gas and money, I will not be lazy and instead will scrape the frost from my car.

3) When sent to the grocery store with a list, I will purchase the items requested.

Corollary: I will not come home with random other items that are not needed or wanted in the household.

2) I will let me wife get the mail from the mailbox, knowing that it brings her an unexpected sense of pleasure to be the one to get and sort through the mail.

and the number one thing I forgot to add to my (husband's) wedding vows?

1) I shall learn to chew with my mouth closed and without smacking my lips.

So what kinds of things did you neglect to include in your wedding vows that you wish you could renegotiate?



Current Giveaways:
Family pass to the Chicago Toy and Game Fair in Chicago November 20 or 21 here
Activeion ionator HOM $180RV here
Fiber One Prize Pack including a $25 gift card here

Now That's A Backhanded Compliment

Current Giveaways:

$40 gift card to 1-800-Flowers.com here
Two Aquaphor Wonder Sets here
Disney Live! Presents Mickey's Magic Show tickets here

***

On Saturday, my husband arrived home after a long day coaching. He walked in the door and into the family room where the wee ones and I were having Movie Night With Mommy and eating popcorn. Immediately, he leaned over me to give me a kiss in greeting.

I ummm (ok, so we've been married awhile), shrank back a bit as I inhaled. With an offended look, he insisted he didn't smell that bad. I simply shrugged and returned my attention to the movie and the popcorn Little Miss and I were sharing.

My husband walked over to Mister Man.

I'll get an unbiased opinion. Mister Man, do I smell bad?

After breathing in a whiff, Mister Man leaned back, and with his most earnest expression replied, No, Daddy, you smell much better than bad.

Fortunately, I wasn't the only one dying of laughter. My husband also thought Mister Man's careful wording was hilarious. Gotta love this kid!

Let Me Be A Little More Clear...

Current Giveaways:

E is for Ethics children's book here
Precious Moments here

***

I went grocery shopping yesterday and was running late to a meeting by the time I walked in the door. I needed to change before leaving again. As I walked quickly through the kitchen, I asked my husband to bring in the groceries from the back seat of my car and deal with them as I needed to leave.

When I arrived home hours later, I discovered this.

The milk and turkey bacon were put in the fridge. I'll give him that, but both reusable bags and the Costco box still contained the majority of their groceries. Apparently I need to be more specific next time. I should know that after this many years of marriage, shouldn’t I?

This Is Why I Do Homework

Current Giveaways:

9Lives Prize Pack here
Scotch-Brite Greener Clean Products here
Eucerin Gift Bags here

***

Every Monday, Little Miss's kindergarten teacher sends home a packet of homework. It's generally six or so pages of things for them to practice - from grouping numbers to figuring out the first letter in a word and the like. I sort of like it, as it allows us to do the homework throughout the week when we have time and Little Miss is in the right mindset to work.

Granted, it's in Spanish, so it takes Little Miss a bit longer than I'd expect to complete it, but it's not rocket science yet. And thankfully, the teacher provides the vocabulary words so that I know that "ojo" starts with and "o" and not an "e" like it does in English (that would be an eye, by the way - I'm learning a bit of Spanish, too!

This week, the homework didn't come home until Tuesday. With Mister Man's OT session on Mondays, Little Miss and I usually knock out the majority of it while he's there. And Tuesday and Wednesday this week, we were occupied doing other things. Thursday my husband kept Little Miss at home while I took Mister Man to tae kwon do. I requested that he be sure Little Miss does her homework, including the vocabulary words (colors and all sorts of things related to apples and trees).

When I arrived home an hour and a half later, I was informed that everything was done. My husband was sitting on the floor in the homework room, essentially napping, and Little Miss was paging through books. I nodded, thanked him, and proceeded to make dinner (yes - I was gone for an hour and a half while my husband was at home after school and I still made dinner).

I noticed yesterday morning that Little Miss's homework was still sitting on her desk, and that it was open to the last page. I took a quick look at it to see what she was doing this week... and I sighed.

On this page, she is supposed to write the first letter of each word in both capital and lowercase. They are focusing on correct formation, meaning they need to start and end at the proper places on the lines, for instance. Interstingly, only one word had both the capital and lower case letter. And few were written properly (she's fully capable of writing them properly, so this is not asking too much).

I decided that maybe I should flip through the rest of the packet. That's when I noticed this page.

It's simple enough - simply write in the missing numbers - and Little Miss loves to count, so knowing her numbers is an easy thing for her. Note that she simply forgot to complete one of the numbers. It wasn't because she didn't know how; she simply didn't see it.

Now, I'm not a parent who believes in doing homework for my wee ones, but I absolutely believe in looking over what they've done and pointing out where they need to fix things. Doing something for the sake of doing it rather than to reinforce what you've learned just doesn't seem to make sense to me - yet.

I'm somewhat entertained that my husband - who is a teacher - simply points her at the homework, tells her the directions, and then assumes she's done when she says she is without veryifying anything. Once the wee ones are older and should have proper study habits developed, I'll likely go much closer to this route.

But for now, with Little Miss and Mister Man in early elementary? I'll be making sure they do their homework - and do it right.

I'm Such A Rebel!

Current Giveaways:

Strawberry Shortcake DVDs here
9Lives Prize Pack here
Scotch-Brite Greener Clean Products here
Eucerin Gift Bags here

***

Both the wee ones' schools - as I'm sure the majority of yours - have a rule. If you child is sick, the child must stay home. If there is a fever over 99.5 degrees, diarrhea, vomting, etc - stay home. And that includes for 24 hours after symptoms subside.

I understand the rule completely. There have been plenty of times when I thought the wee ones were fine, only to have symptoms recur four or five hours later. I'd much rather ensure the wee ones are totally healthy before sending them back to school than push them and have them be sicker longer.

The parents who send their kids back to school because they gave their kids Tylenol and the fever went away? Oh they drive me nuts. Tylenol is a fever rdeucer not an illness remover, and those children are most likely still contagious and getting others sick when they're at school when they shouldn't be.

On a side note, I firmly believe that this rule should hold for teachers, too. I get that you have only so many sick days (although being married to a teacher, you have way more sick days than I ever did, and he'll likely retire with the maximum days banked) and don't want to miss out on teaching if at all possible, but I don't want you getting my wee ones sick either! Stay home if you're sick.

I write this as my husband - a teacher - is upstairs sleeping at 1:30pm. It's the second time in the last two or so weeks that he's been sick (shouldn't he be immune by now?), and he's miserable. He called a sub last night and didn't even go to the school to set up the classroom for the sub, which he usually does even when sick. When he had his cold two weeks ago though? He went into school just dosed up on DayQuil, much to my chagrin.

I haven't always followed this requirement though.

In fact, I can think of a specific instance when I sent Little Miss back to school about eight hours after her last incident of diarrhea. I had a good reason, though. I promise.

Little Miss has had a huge issue with dairy, and we've kept her clean for almost two years. Or ... nearly clean. Her teachers in preschool a year and a half ago gave her cheddar Goldfish, not realizing that there would be dairy in them. I'm not sure if the word "cheddar" or "cheese" was more confusing, or if they simply neglected to look at the box with the big milk in bold letters just under the ingredient list showing allergens.

Needless to say, I got a call from the nurse shortly thereafter saying that I needed to come pick up Little Miss, as she'd had two nasty bouts of diarrhea already. I found out about the Goldfish the next day.

That was on a Monday. On Wednesday, she was still suffering, my poor girl. She'd missed three days of school because her teachers had given her a food she was not allowed to have - though her allergy was well-known and documented in the classroom. I was not a happy camper.

Once she made it through Wednesday overnight unscathed and it had been almost three full days, I knew she was fine. She'd managed to get to the bathroom in time the entire previous day, and her classroom had a bathroom in it. There was no way she was contagious (much as I wished at that time that she could pass her dairy allergy along to the teacher who gave her the Goldfish), as she hadn't been "sick" before that anyway.

So.... Thursday morning, I sent her off to school. Luckily, she had no issues, and I received an apology from the teacher. But technically, she shouldn't have returned to school probably until the following Monday, as she was still a little ummmmmm off on Thursday. Shhhhh, don't tell that I broke the rule there (and no, if it was an actual contagious illness, I wouldn't have done it).

My only hope right now is that we contain the current illness to the "sick room" (read: guest bedroom) where my husband is currently quarrantined. I'm already tired of being the nurses on call! (And I mean that in the nicest possible way....)

Wish us luck. I'm off to go down some more Vitamin D!

You Can't Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

I'm giving away our new favorite book - Is Your Buffalo Ready for Kindergarten here.

I have a new giveaway up for a Monopoly board game here.

***

I wrote a little while ago about how the handle on the door to my refrigerator broke off. Trust me, you want to go read that post for the backstory.

While I was at BlogHer last week, my husband had a big week at home by himself - since my parents had taken the wee ones to Florida. I called the first evening I was gone to talk to him.

So how's it been going? Are you having a good day?

Well, I managed to get in two naps. And I dropped off my car at the dealer. Oh, and I waited for the Sears guy to come.

Yep, that's the extent of my husband's day. Ok, five days I was gone. We won't get into the details of what I would have done had I been home by myself or the differences between men and women. That's an entirely different post.

The Sears man he referred to did come, and he repaired the door to the fridge. Finally. We'd had to cancel a few appointments prior to this, but we finally again have a fully functioning door and handle.

He was so proud to show it off to me once I arrived home on Sunday.

Look how shiny. And clean.

He offered to fill up my water bottle for me, and he opened the fridge to get to our water pitcher. He didn't use the new handle. Nope, just as he's done for the past ummmmm sixteen months, he reached to the top of the fridge and used the door itself to open the fridge.

It's possible that I've done the same once or twice. I'm trying really hard to remember that you can use a handle to open a fridge. And that we once again have one. It's surprisingly tough.

Take *That* Evil Fruit Flies

Brand new giveaway for e.l.f. cosmetics here.

And I have a chance to win tickets to The Emperor's New Clothes from the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre here for my Chicago friends.

***

It's that time of year again (read: summer), and I made a tactical error. When I went to St. Louis this past week and left my husband behind with the wee ones for two plus days before they joined me, I didn't make my usual "I'm traveling" kitchen adjustments.

I assumed that my husband would feed the wee ones fruit at all or most meals just like I do. Therefore, I didn't put the uncut pineapple, the apples or the oranges into the fridge as I normally would.

When we walked into the house on Sunday evening, we were greeted by our housesitters, the fruit flies.

Ick. I hate them. Really, really hate them. And yet every year, at one point or another, we have a fruit fly invasion. It generally happens in August when it's super hot and humid and they appear within a day of fruit being placed on the counter.

The good news? With that experience comes expertise in getting rid of them. Humanely (realtively), cheaply, and - most importantly - effectively.

Witness:

Yep, those little black specks are the sucker fruit flies that have gotten trapped by my husband's nifty little device. They can (and do!) get in, but they can't escape. Eventually they get tired and fall into the liquid below, drowning. Or my husband gets nice and lets them out far far from our house.

Two days after putting the trap out, we're nearly fruit fly-less.

So how can you too make such a trap and save yourself?

Simply take a piece of paper and roll it into a cone with a small hole in the bottom. Tape it into that shape. Place the cone into a glass or jar of some sort that you have placed a small amount of vinegar (not my expensive balsamic vinegar as my husband originally tried!). Then just wait.

It's amazing how quickly those nasty little buggers will fly down to find that sweet (to them) vinegar - and yes, the apple cider stuff seems to work the best. Once they get through the hole, they can't figure it out. When they crawl towards the tip of the cone, they can't make the u-turn and climb out, and none of them are smart enough to hover below and then simply fly through the hole again.

You're welcome.

Now go enjoy your fruit in peace.

I'm Taking It Back. Again

Brand new giveaway for Chicago peeps - The Emperor's New Clothes at the Shakespeare Theater here!

***

Hmmm. I just realized that I'm posting about my husband two days in a row here, which is very unusual for me. I usually don't post about him at all. Don't read anything into this. Apparently with him home for the summer (he's a teacher), he's cracking me up a little more than normal!

So.

My husband - like many men these days - uses an electric razor to shave. It's easier, you don't need shaving cream, it works better, it doesn't require replacing...

Oh. Wait.

My husband's razor has been replaced. He somehow broke the one he'd bought for himself early in our marriage. With his birthday coming up soon after he broke it, I bought him a new one. A nicer one.

He broke that one a couple years later.

Father's Day was rapidly approaching, and I bought him another newer, nicer one. This one even had a little holder thingie that cleaned your razor for you, so you didn't even have to do that - just press a button and whir it went.

Fast forward another couple years, and that razor stopped holding a charge. Primarily because there was a little orange light that shone on it that drained the battery. Rapidly.

He would plug it in and leave it plugged in until the next morning (rather than simply plugging in it a minute or two before he needed to use it). Being the frugal cheap environmentally-conscious person that I am, I unplugged it every time I walked past it.

Magically, one day last spring, the orange light turned off, and once again, all was well with the world. I was even able to return the new razor I'd purchased for him for Father's Day.

Then came fall, where the light reappeared. Needless to say, we returned to our habits - my husband leaving it plugged in forever and me following behind to unplug it after he'd used it. Oh, and I bought him another new razor for Christmas.

Shortly after Thanksgiving, he went snooping in my car and found his gift hidden in my storage panel. Unlike his family, which tells people what to buy for them, I'm a big believer in gifts being a surprise. On the principle of it (and hoping that orange light would magically fix itself again), I returned the razor.

The light is still on today.

And with Father's Day having occurred less than a week ago, I once again bought him a new razor. This time, it wasn't nicer than the one he was using. Silly me, I bought him one that's identical to the one he had previously - we'll see how long before the orange light comes on. (And hey - if ANYone has a solution to the orange light on a Norelco electric razor, let me know!)

This time, I gave him the razor.

Upstairs in our bathroom, do you know what's on our counter today? Several days after Father's Day?

Yep, that's how I was able to take a picture of the orange light today. My husband is still using his mostly broken down razor. The new one remains in the box. I figure my husband has another two, maybe three, days before I decide to return the new razor. Again.

Men. They Think They're Funny

I have a very yummy - and natural! - kettle corn giveaway here!

***

I have a cool little thing in my shower - and no, it's not what you'd expect. I have a waterproof notepad and pencil. You know, so I can make those lists that I talk about sometimes. It's actually a pretty cool thing to have.

Some people abuse the privilege though, as evidenced by this "conversation."

Let me translate for those of you who don't read scribble.

My husband: I reserved a rm 4 Friday (7/23 drawn in with an arrow - just in case I wasn't sure from the context of the rest of the note what date he was talking about ... and because it was so germane to the discussion anyway) night at Imperial Palace (right there, this should give you a clue that he's going alone and I'm staying home!) for $56 (including tax), and I'll take the $5 shuttle instead of a taxi.

Me: Do you know how much I hate text speak? (It's truly a pet peeve of mine, especially coming from educated people when writing and not actually texting.) And is this really something to share via shower mail? (Because, ya know - when talking about vacations, especially guy weekends, maybe this should be a real converation?)  Am I that scary? (Hey, there has to be some justification, right? I'm trying to throw him a lifeline here.)

My husband: Shower mail! Ha! Good one! We've invented a whole new form of communication!

And once again? Men are from Mars, women are from Venus. At least I can find the humor in how guys take in information and process it, right?

My Husband, The Urban Dictionary

So. It's summer. The church choir hasn't been together in awhile. But we had a drop in choir practice. I made the mistake of going. It was the first time some of the members had seen my new haircut.

The choir director told me I didn't have to sing, just flip my hair and look pretty. So, as a joke -- beacause we're like that in my church -- I did the perfect hair flip.

The woman behind me, well, let me clarify, the nearly seventy year old woman behind me, leaned over and whispered, "She's a cougar!"

Umm, what?

I was insulted by that on a few levels. Really, it was the haircut? And I can't possibly be old enough to be a cougar, can I?

*sigh*

Oh, how times have changed.

I went hom and complaied about it to my husband. He was quite helpful. Being my husband, he of course had to make a diagram for me because he's incapable of describing something or giving directions without drawing.


It's a little blurry, I know, but bear with me. He wrote it on a small Post-It, and I don't have a fancy camera.

Apparently, there are many categories, and they're not all mutually exclusive.

So while MILFs apparently encompass a wide range of people, the subcategories do not overlap. Cougars encompass the "older" women who are MILFS and really only include women 35 and over. Oh, goodie. I have a whole year and four months before I actually fit that category. I'm hoping it's like "old people" where as a child I thought twenty was ancient and now I see seventy or so as the point at which you're old, thank God.

Then he introduced me to a new category -- and I'm so proud of him for knowing this... -- pumas. Pumas are apparently the MILFs that fall into the younger category of women. He assured me that I'm definitely a puma. For now.

And I think I'm insulted all over again! And really scared to see what searches I'm going to bring over here.