4 posts tagged “husband”

It's my super ovulation time of year and it's making me nuts.

It took me a few days to figure it out. I was just craving babies -- stopping in the aisle at the market to ooh and ahh over teeny-tiny newbies, imagining myself 7 moths pregnant, imagining a sweet new bundle of love in my arms.

And then I'd panic. PANIC! I don't want another baby. Well, I do. I do. But I am half way to the nut house now with the 2 lovely babes I already have. I'm screaming too much, I'm tired, my apartment's a mess, I'm behind on stuff, and out of cash to spend. So, my logical brain puts a halt on all this craziness. For a minute or two. And then I catch myself staring at babies again, or noticing some guy in the store and think "aha. He'd make a good baby." CRAZINESS.

So I was telling a friend about this when I realized it's THAT time of year. This -- end of October, beginning of November -- is when I get pregnant. Instantly. Now my husband has figured this out as well, and refuses to get anywhere near me. I'll start to get a super-nice goodbye kiss and suddenly he'll pull away in a panic. "Stop!" He'll yelp, "I know you're tricks! I see you! I see you!" and then he'll run out the door, forgetting his lunch or phone or something, and won't return.

He's right, you know. He's the smarter of the two of us right now.

I started this blog at my husband's urging after he heard that more bloggers get Hollywood contracts then actual screenwriters (or something like that). I used to journal a lot, and have gotten pretty slack about it since the girls were born. I thought this might be a good way to get it done again, seeing as I'm more likely at the computer than sitting anywhere with a pen and paper.

But now I'm thinking he had other motives.

See, I tend to chat a lot. He claims I don't really talk with him, but that I just need to empty my brain onto something. He may be partially right. My brain gets busy and needs to vent so it can be cleared out, tidy, organized, and so I don't go mad. Now, I know, I KNOW, that many times once I start talking at him, he zones out. I can hear his brain go on autopilot. It's a soft hum...hummmmmmmmm...and he's gone down his own internal tunnel, picking out players for Fantasy Football, or mentally editing his list of great 60's Brazilian cover songs, whatever.

And that's okay. If I really need his focus, I can usually pull him back. But the other day we were talking, and as I was rambling on about something, and he got a new look in his eye. A glint.

I've known this man for almost 18 years, and in the brief moment that that look passed his eyes, I swear to G-d, I heard the thought as clear as day..."Save it for your blog."

And I was right! I called him on it. He paused, and blushed, and laughed. The man thinks this will save him much mental turmoil. My mental turmoil. But you know what? I'm not going to give him the pleasure. Sure, I'll write it here, but I'm STILL going to tell him in person, too. Hell, yes, I'm now officially going to go over everything in my brain at least twice. I do anyway, so I won't notice the difference. But now, he will!

After dropping off our Bengali neighbor the other day, we made our way to the library to return some movies and take out a couple new ones to occupy my couch-ridden, low-fevered, generally beligerent, daughter. She was already groaning in the car, and clearly did not want to leave her couch to begin with, so I don't know what I was thinking. But in we went, as I hate late fees.

Mistake. Within minutes, she was hunched over, hugging herself and groaning, "Mommmm, I'm cooooold." I grabbed three movies as quickly as I could, tried to stop the baby from stealing a few more, and out we went, quick-quick, to the car, which was crammed tightly in between two minivans.

The baby was furious. She did not want to leave. She was not sick. She wanted to tear apart more book displays, or, at the very least, run around the park a bit, slide. She was refusing to get into her car seat - writhing, arching her back - while the other one, in hers, was groaning some more. I could barely reach inside the car, and our door kept hitting the van next to us.

Have I mentioned how much I hate groaning? How too much noise makes me see spots and go mad? My head was spinning, and in order to get the baby buckled in I put the three DVDs we've rented on the roof of the car.

Oooops.

Needless to say, when we get home, I can't find the DVDs and I immediately know what happened. But I can't go back. No way will the girls let me.

So I call my husband, the most patient man in the world. "I need your help, " I say, "and I don't want you to get mad at me." (Not that he would, but I've done this before, last year, with my wallet, and if the tables were reversed, I would probably let out a pretty annoyed sigh, at the very least, and the littlest bit of anger from him at that moment probably would've caused me to collapse on the ground and melt away, leaving my poor, sick and frustated children semi-orphaned. Luckily, he understood this and remained mute.)

A bit later, I get a call back from him, on his cell phone, dodging Friday rush hour traffic in front of the library.

"Was one pink?" He asks. "Was one Dora?"
"Yes," I say.
"Dora's dead," He responds. "As is the pink one."
"Springtime for Strawberry Shortcake," I tell him.

He finds shards of the smashed cases of Dora and Strawberry, but not the DVDs. He does, however, find the DVD to Mulan II, although not the case. He returns them to the library, where they mark my file ("Fool," I imagine it says, "With poor taste in movies") and tell him if I replace them with something somewhat popular by Monday, I won't be fined the $60 replacement fee.

Now tell me, in what universe is Springtime for Strawberry Shortcake and Dora the Explorer Party worth $60?

Sigh.

In any case, I found them the original Willy Wonka and Brother Bear II at a close-out sale. Actually, my husband did. I think they're getting the better end of the deal, don't you?

I just want my four pair of underwear.
And my (deceased) mother's earrings fixed so I can wear them.
And my eBay purchase that I paid for the moment I won.
I want my new email server to be working, and for the cable company to fix whatever problem caused it.
And I want my home phone number back.

All of these things should have been easily solved, really.

The details, the maddening make me crazy details of just these above items, I will spare you. Because really, if I do get into it, get into every little hairy slice of red tape of it, then you, too, will go mad. I am sure of it. And because I love you, whomever you happen to be, I will spare you the details. For now, at least.

Here I am, just trying to finish some little stuff up at 8 pm on a Monday night. I could be zoning out to TV or finishing up that felted mermaid I promised my five year old daughter for her birthday two months ago, but instead I have chosen to waste hours bogged down in the bowels of the cable company, eBay, and Nordstrom.com. It's so depressing and sad to be yelling at nice-sounding Southern gentlemen who work at a call station in the middle of the night wherever he is because your underwear hasn't been delivered and because you have a long standing gripe with your local branch of the USPS.

Seriously, is this the best way to spend a night of my life? I have been disconnected by the cable company 3 times today. Once, online, and twice on the phone. I'm just trying to get my email fixed, people.

Thank God my husband brought me home a fancy Halloween cupcake tonight. At least someone loves me. And I know this because he had to stand in line for it, most likely outside on the sidewalk under the hot, hot, LA noontime sun.

It's the little things, you know.