A Watched Sorbet Never Softens

Sometimes I swear I feel like an alien in my own house.

I pulled out a rock-hard tub of raspberry sorbet tonight after dinner, and told Ellie to go play for a few minutes while it softened up. She promptly perched herself directly in front of it at the counter, and said “Mom I’m just gonna watch it.”

Adam was in the living room with Jamie, and I laughed as I called out to him, “Hey Babe? Will you tell your daughter that a watched pot never boils?”

Adam: A what never what?

Me: A watched pot never boils.

Adam: A washed what?

Me: A watched pot never boils!

Adam: A washtot?


Adam: Yeah I’ve never heard that. What’s that?

Ellie: I’m not watching a pot, MOM, I’m watching the ice cream!

Me: *siiiiiiiigh*



Potty Time – Husbands vs. Toddlers (again)

I am continually flabbergasted by the amount of time my husband (and most men, I assume) spend in the bathroom. Seriously, is it just their “get away” time? Not that Ellie thinks any room in our house is private or anything (“I’ll be right back Mom, I’m gonna go watch Daddy poop“), but at least Adam knows I won’t bother him if he’s in the bathroom (ew). I just don’t get it – I mean, do ANY women out there (who don’t have like the flu or some other tummy-related illness) spend HOURS a day on the toilet? Because seriously, if I add up the amount of time my husband spends there in a 24-hr period, I can guarantee there are some days where it’s HOURS. PLURAL.


Sometimes I can’t even find an extra 5 seconds to actually use toothpaste when I brush my teeth, but there are men out there who just have HOURS to spend on the toilet, playing Angry Birds or Words with Friends or shopping on Craigslist or whateverthehelltheydointhere.

So… now that I’ve ranted about that, here is your dose of SuperLaughter for the day:

Adam was getting Ellie ready for bed the other night, and he took her upstairs to “flush-n-brush” before books and prayers. Ellie had been on the toilet for MAYBE 45 seconds, claiming she needed to poop, when I heard Adam let out a frustrated sigh and say,

“Okay now, this is just getting ridiculous.”

And then I almost died laughing.

I laughed out loud for at least 10 minutes, and I still giggle every time I think about it. Does anyone remember the other potty-post I put up a while back? Let’s refresh our memories: click here.

Yes, let’s talk about ridiculous. 

It just doesn’t look that inviting to me…


Apparently I made it all up…

Adam and I – while (im)patiently awaiting baby #2 to make his/her debut – were watching an episode of a tv show called Traffic Light last night. In the show, one of the men swears up and down that the reason he’s still married is because he’s got a florist on speed-dial to deliver flowers to his wife anytime he says something really stupid.

Me: Why don’t I get flowers when you say stupid things?

Adam: C’mon. I don’t really say a lot of stupid things.

Me: *snort*

Adam: What?? I don’t!

Me: Um, I hear there’s like a whole blog dedicated to stupid things you say.

Adam: You make a lot of that up.


Boys are so oblivious.

May I refer you all to the ENTIRE CATEGORY ON THIS BLOG titled “Shit My Husband Says“? Or perhaps the category called “Shit My Husband Does“? Enjoy.


Toilet Training: Husbands vs Toddlers

We women have spent YEARS attempting to train our husbands (and boyfriends/brothers/fathers/sons) to put the toilet seat back down afte they pee. YEARS, I tell you. Have you been successful? Because I have not. I don’t even think Adam hears the words coming out of my mouth once he realizes it’s a “nag” statement.

It’s just ridiculous the number of times I’ve mentioned (and nicely, at that!) how it would be really helpful and much less unsightly if Adam would *PLEASE* just close the toiled lid when he’s finished. I’ve pretty much given up on that – hell, at this point I’m just happy if he manages to actually FLUSH the damn toilet when he’s finished…

…which is why I found it absolutely, knee-smackingly, pee-my-pants (literally, thanks to my currently being 8 months pregnant) hilarious when my husband and I recently had this conversation:

Adam:(calling to me from the bathroom) Hey is there somewhere for me to put this stupid Dora potty seat of Ellie’s?

Me: Yes, Honey, there’s a hook on the side of the toilet. Just hang the seat right on it, please don’t leave it on the floor.

Adam:(coming out of the bathroom) Well I guess it’s cool that it came with a hook. Hey, you know what we should do? We should train Ellie to put her seat away when she’s finished using it.

Me: Oh, so it won’t be so annoying when the next person goes to use the toilet?

Adam: Yeah, it’s such a pain in the ass to have to deal with that every time I pee. I mean, she’s old enough to learn how to put her seat away, right?


He still doesn’t get the irony.


Of course that’s the first thing he thought of…

When Adam and I went in for my first baby appointment for Superkid #2, we were told our due date was Thanksgiving. I immediately teared up, thinking of how this was such a wonderful thing to be able to give thanks for.

Adam, on the other hand, laughed out loud. My doctor and I both looked at him in confusion.

Me: Please share what is so humorous, Dear.

Adam: Oh nothing. Just thinking about the awesome timing. It should actually save us a lot of money this year.

Me: Huh?

Adam: Yeah… you’re totally not going to be able to go Black Friday shopping.

Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Can I hold it in?? Or push it out sooner???

I really, really hate it when he’s right.

At least there’s still Cyber Monday. :)

Interpretation: Husbands vs Wives

Today I went in for my monthly prenatal appointment (I’m at 17 weeks!), armed with a few questions about some new, disturbing “side effects” I’ve been experiencing this pregnancy. With the first occurrence being about a month ago, I’ve been having pretty regular (but unpredictable) panic attacks.

I wrote a little quip on Facebook a few weeks ago about crying on an airport tram in Vegas, but really they’re very scary. I know a bunch of you are going to be all “oh haha I’ve totally had those before don’t worry about it” – but I have NEVER experienced anything like this, and it scares the crap outta me. I don’t get high anxiety, I don’t worry myself to death about anything and I certainly have never had a claustrophobic panic-like attack. Until this baby (grubby little boy, I’m telling you).

So this is what happens: I’m minding my own business, definitely not thinking about scary things or worrying about anything, when all of a sudden my chest starts to feel like someone has put a giant strap around it and is slowly tightening it. Then my breath quickens, I immediately start sweating, and in some cases I’ve gotten that tunnel vision where you starts to see stars and darkening around the edge of your sightline. WHAT THE F*CK IS THAT ALL ABOUT??? 

It’e definitely influenced by the number of people in my vicinity (read: this baby is antisocial), and temperature makes everything worse (read: no more Hawaii or Vegas). So… please don’t invite me to any parties in small spaces, okay? I’ve now experienced “the crazy” in a limo, on a crowded beach, in an elevator, on an airport tram, and most recently in a movie theater. Seriously, a movie theater?? But I really wanna go see Magic Mike next month!!

ANYHOO… I spoke to the doctor about it and she did offer to put me on Zoloft or a beta blocker. When I said I’d reeeeeeally rather not take a daily pill that alters my brain chemistry while I’m pregnant, she said there were a few coping mechanisms I could try out:

First, ummm, don’t put myself in small spaces with lots of people (lol DUH). Second, apply pressure to my hand between my thumb and my forefinger. Third, chew gum! Doc says that when you press your lips together and chew gum, it sends anti-anxiety signals to your brain. My thoughts when I heard all of these suggestions? “Well good! I’ll just head to Costco and buy an economy pack of Trident!”

Now, here is that same information presented to Adam in a phone call 5 minutes later:

Adam: Hi honey. How did the appt go – are you still crazy?

Me: Hardy har. Yes, but she gave me some suggestions on how to work through the insanity. Apparently chewing gum is comething that will help, because pressing yor lips together can send anti-anxiety signals to your brain!

Adam: So basically the medical doctor told you that whenever you feel crazy to press your lips together and keep your mouth occupied?

Me: Um, NO, she said to CHEW GUM. I see where this is going, sicko.

Adam: I can think of something else you could do that costs less than a pack of gum…

So… now Adam seems to think I got a doctor-backed prescription to give bjs whenever I feel panicky. Funny, I didn’t see that one coming.


It’s hard work growing a… baby.

I’ve been saving this story for a few weeks because I hadn’t made my announcement yet, but now that you (well, you that follow Superwife on Facebook) know that I’m growin’ Superbaby #2, here you go!

Adam and I found out we were pregnant on March 10th… right after I got back from a week in Chicago for work, during which I nearly fainted twice, had abnormally high blood pressure, and endured a monster migraine from hell (all while training on a new product I’m selling). I had suspected something was up, so I took two pregnancy tests the week I got home. Both turned out negative.

I had a dream a few nights later and shot out of a dead sleep at 3am just KNOWING I was pregnant. I knew it in my bones, if that even makes sense. When I took that 3rd pregnancy test at 6am the next morning… BINGO!! Got my positive. :)

So… we only shared with family and a few close friends, and then I waited to share with the entire world (aka Facebook) until after I had broken the news to my boss. And now here we are – 16 weeks pregnant!

This baby is totally a boy. No, we’re not finding out until I push it out of me on or around Thanksgiving Day (my due date!), but I just know it’s a boy. My pregnancy with Ellie was relatively smooth sailing (except for the damn kidney stones)… THIS little monster, however, decided to torture me for the first 4 months. I was sick, ALLLLLL the time, and I seriously had to pull over in the middle of my sales calls almost every day to take little 15-minute power naps so I didn’t fall asleep at stop lights. Therefore, I’ve decided it’s a boy. Only a dirty, grimy little mischevious mini-Adam could make me feel so terrible, lol. Slugs and snails and puppy-dog tails, right?

And now, a little bit of SuperHubs for you (I know you’ve all been missing him)…

Adam: How are you feeling today, babe?

Me: Ugh, terrible. I just want to go to sleep and wake up in June.

Adam: What’s wrong?

Me: Well I just feel like I can’t keep my eyes open. I’m so fricken exhausted I can’t do ANYTHING!

Adam: Well, it does make sense.

Me: No, it doesn’t. I never felt like this with Ellie. NEVER.

Adam: Yeah but this time you’re all tired because it’s super hard work growing a huge baby penis.

(Obviously we know what Adam is rooting for.)