Bedroom Eyes

Adam and I enjoyed a much-needed weekend in Seattle without the kiddos recently, and we attempted to keep most of our conversation “adult” (i.e. not revolving around our babies). Wow, that is difficult! We managed, for the most part.

At lunch on Sunday, we somehow began discussing pretty movie stars. I had accused Adam of only being attracted to “exotic” women (Salma Hayek is pretty much his dream girl), and he got all bent out of shape.

Adam: That is SO not true!

Me: Name a non-exotic movie star you think is hot.

Adam: Blake Lively.

Me: Shocker. Every man is attracted to her, she’s got those “I’d rather be in bed” eyes.

Adam: Is that what it is? Man… you should work on that!

Me: Ummm… I’m pretty sure as a mom with a full time job and two kids under the age of 3, I ALWAYS have “I’d rather be in bed” eyes.

Adam: *sigh*

Seriously though… I’d rather be in bed. I haven’t blogged in 3 months because every time I have a second – you guessed it – I’d rather be in bed.

So, SuperMommies – you can now tell everyone you’ve got “bedroom eyes.” Unless of course you’ve got some special secret for waking up completely rested and ready to go, and in that case, start talking. 

Anyway… g’night!

Movie Star Bedroom Eyes
 
New Mommy Bedroom Eyes

(That pic of me is totally from 2010 when Ellie was a baby… but I assure you I still have the same eyes. There may be slightly darker circles under them now.)

 

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.

Me: *SNORT*

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.

 

Super-versary: 4 Years!

Adam and I were laughing the other day at the fact that we’ve only been married 4 years, yet we sit in separate recliners in the living room, sleep with a pillow barricade between us in our king-sized bed, and spend 2-3 nights per week away from eachother. I think a lot of people would look at us and say “well that’s a loveless way to live!”…

They would be so, so wrong.

I frequently think about how much I love my life: my job, my family, my dog, my house, my baby, my husband… and my MARRIAGE. Sure, Adam doesn’t clean as much as I’d like him to, and he generates more laundry than an army, and he often forgets what I’ve just said as it’s coming out of my mouth, but we have a wonderful, wonderful life. He is thoughtful, and funny, and incredibly sincere, and protective in all the right ways, and ohhhhh my gosh does he love me.

Sure, we argue. About money, housework, jobs, parenting, the dog, family, whether or not some B-list celebrity was in some movie from the 80’s… but we have grown so much in our 7+ years together that we now know the most important thing about arguments – how to end them (and every year, we get closer to figuring out how not to begin them).

Adam and I learn from each and every relationship in our lives – our parents, our grandparents, our friends, our siblings, our aunts and uncles and cousins – they have all taught us something valuable to incorporate into our own relationship. I know that there are really only two people who make up a marriage, but I also believe that support plays a valuable role in the success of a marriage. We have the mose incredible support system – and I thank you ALL for that.

Our marriage is successful because we LOVE. We respect. We think. We forgive. We don’t walk away. We hug and kiss. We compromise. We compliment. We trust. We apologize. We consult. We accept. We laugh. We laugh even more. We wrestle and tickle. We support. We surprise. We pray. And we LOVE.

I just spent the last 45 minutes going through pictures of our life together, and I was brought to tears more than once. Adam has enriched my life more than he will ever know, and I am so, so thankful that God gave him to me.

Now… a little wedding anecdote for you, and then I’ll send you on with your day.

On the very same day I became a Superwife… I was also dubbed a “Superfreak.” I had chosen the song “September” by Earth, Wind & Fire for Adam and I to walk back up the aisle to once we were pronounced husband and wife. It was an inside joke, and I couldn’t wait to see his face when he heard the song.

When the moment came for us to actually turn around, face all of our family and friends, and walk back up that wedding aisle… my DJ accidentally blasted “Super Freak” by Rick James.  So instead of getting a kick out of my little inside joke, I saw confused (and definitely amused) expressions on everyone’s faces as I paraded back up that aisle to the words “SHE’S A VERY KINKY GIIRRRRRRLLLL”!

And to this day, that is absolutely one of the funniest memories from our wedding. Unplanned, but hilarious! :)

So, to my Superhubby, happy 4th anniversary! Love love love you.

 

 

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.

 

Sorry I’ve been unavailable, I’m folding socks…

I wrote a while back about how I don’t do Adam’s laundry… stop judging me, he’s a dude and his laundry is gross. And he generates like, seven times as much dirty clothing as I do so if I did his laundry I’d be doing laundry all day every damn day.

Anyway, I was feeling nice recently (no idea why) and while he was gone for the weekend I decided I’d surprise him by getting his MOUNTAIN of smelly clothes all clean and put away (you know now that I think about it, I might not actually have been feeling nice, but actually super-annoyed that I couldn’t walk through our bedroom…).

You guys, I’d just like to give you an idea of  how long it’s been since Adam actually operated the washing machine. Here is a breakdown of all of the separate categories of clothing – each which constituted a FULL load of laundry – I had to lay out before I even started this chore: 

1. boxers

2. white socks

3. hunting socks

4. button-up work shirts

5. fleece pants

6. waffle shirts (long-john material)

7. orange t-shirts

8. dark t-shirts

9. white t-shirts

10. jeans

11. weird materials (workout shirts, nylon, underarmour, etc.)

12. cargo shorts

13. sweatshirts/sweatpants

14. miscellaneous color load

Okay… I know who I married, so I’m not particularly surprised by most of this, but who the heck has an entire load of dirty hunting socks??? Or really, an entire load of orange t-shirts?

 OR FOURTEEN F***ING LOADS OF LAUNDRY IN GENERAL??

Aaaaaaaand now I’ve retreated blissfully back into my “no man-laundry” rule after a weekend spent folding laundry gave me carpal-tunnel. Next time you see my husband, tell him his socks look clean.

I think I’ve been had…

My dad gave me this beautiful hanging plant that my stepmom used as a decoration at our wedding (I don’t know what it is, but it’s pretty white flowers in a basket). I hung it off of my porch, which lets it hang over the small walkway to our front door — you can’t really avoid walking underneath it to get in and out of the house.

ANYWAY… a few weeks ago Adam comes in and says, to no one in particular, “You know, I like that plant out there, but the downside is that it really attracts the spiders.”

I didn’t think I was listening… until this afternoon when I was walking in from my car… and I realized that for the LAST FEW WEEKS, everysingletime I leave or return to my house, I duck/sway/cringe/make whimpering noises/leap out of the way and/or cuss to avoid the damn “spider-pot”!!!

And for the record… I have not seen ONE SINGLE SPIDER.

So… was he messing with me? Because it totally worked. And my neighbors probably think I have Tourette’s, dancing around out there in my lovely work clothes every day.

I’ll get you, my pretty… I’ll get you.

Can you find the ketchup?

Yesterday Adam yelled down the stairs at me to “please go out to the truck and get his clean boxers because he’s taking a shower and he already has all of his clothes off…”

To which I replied “you only have ONE pair of boxers that are clean?” and he said “I only have like 6 pairs” and I said “WE’RE NOT POOR, YOU KNOW.”

Anyway, I agreed to run outside. The last words I had heard included “on the floor behind the driver’s seat” so naturally that’s where I looked.

Obviously, I am stupid.

I searched and searched for a good 5 minutes, and then came in. No boxers. Adam told me “Jenny, I SAID they’re on the floor  the driver’s seat toward the back you have to lift it up”!!!!

Oh, my bad. So I went out and searched again following the new/old directions I think. Came in. No boxers.

Adam, superpissed, storms out the front door in a towel, immediately reaches in without even looking and magically pulls out a wrinkled, holey pair of scraggleboxers (actually, a lot like a magician pulling a bunny out of a hat, now that I think of it). “SEE? I was perfectly clear.”

Upon further inspection, I see that he pulled out the boxers from behind the driver’s seat, behind a case of wine, under the folded-down seat, between the seat and the floor. Obviously, I am stupid.

My favorite part of this whole exchange?

Me: Why are you so upset? Because I couldn’t follow your 18-sentence directions on how to find your holey wrinkly boxers stuffed into the inner workings of your truck? 

Adam: GAAAH. I swear, Jenny… this is just like how you get mad at me for not being able to find shit in the fridge.

Oh, I’m so sorry honey. Yes, this is *exactly* like when I ask you to get the ketchup out of the fridge and you look for 5 minutes and then give up.

Let’s play a supergame: Can YOU find the ketchup?