Monday, February 20, 2012


I love hearing him move around the house.

I sit on the couch reading my book and hear sounds from another room, and I don't have to ask what he's doing to know.

He listens to my Pandora account on his phone while he gets ready because he doesn't know how to set up his own. He runs a slow stream of warm water in the kitchen sink as he does the dishes, scrubbing every one completely clean before loading them into the dishwasher. When he blows his nose, I know he has folded toilet paper into a perfect little square first. He clicks his mouse over and over as he sits in his chair because he is playing a silly computer game from which he earns "badges," aka, clip art on a website, a reward that is strangely motivating for this 32-year-old. He takes the laundry out of the dryer after it plays its little song because he and I both know that he folds towels much better than I do. When he balances the checkbook, he crumples up the receipts into little balls and throws them on the living room floor in a pile, which he will pick up later and take to the trash.

Every sound he makes in this house is a reminder that I know him.

And most of the sounds he makes in this house are a reminder that he is taking care of me.

Friday, February 17, 2012

I am not good at typing on a tablet and other tales

I am taking a break from cleaning to blog from my new tablet. Jack surprised me with it yesterday, and it's all kinds of fancy. It's a Droid OS, which I'm really liking but it's taking me forever to type because I don't really know where things are on this platform. Oh well, no time like the present to learn, I guess.

Speaking of learning, Jack is currently ripping a CD semi-by-himself for the first time. I am walking him through it from across the room but I feel that this is a really important "teach a man to fish" moment. Mostly because I do not want to get up from the couch. Next, I'm going to make him sync his own iPhone. Seriously, this is actually something he has never done on his own before. And the fact that I feeling ridiculously smug about my having not lost it on him yet after answering about a hundred questions about how to install iTunes is a true testimant to just how incredibly, incredibly, incredibly impatient and douchey that I usually am. It's a really good thing I'm not a teacher.

So, the cleaning. Earlier this evening I was going to tweet how I love it when my OCD friend Brittany comes into town because my house gets really, really clean. And then I thought maybe people would think that I was making her clean my house.

But I don't make her clean my house. That would be really mean, actually, since anything unsanitary or that she perceives as unsanitary really freaks her out. I learned a few quirks of her OCD when I rudely insisted that I stay in her room for the rest of the trip at my brother's house after a mouse attacked me in my bed (I would link to that post about the mouse but I do not know how in the Blogger tablet app. I am lost, here [Oh, look, here it is!]). I didn't realize just how much any dirt, any dirt at all, freaked her out until then.

So, obviously, my house gets really clean before she visits. Ain't nothin' like somebody to notice every flaw to turn you into Martha Stewart. I actually kind of like the challenge... I like to think that someday, maybe I'll get my house so immaculate that Brittany will, at least for a second, consider going barefoot in her bedroom. It's a tall order, and it will probably never happen, but a girl can dream.

In other news, it was my friend Joel's last day at work today. This is a terribly depressing blog topic as he is one of my very favorite people in the whole world and I will likely not be seeing him any more ever since he lives far away. So, just forget I said anything about that. We don't need to talk about it.

I completely realize that this has been quite a boring blog post, but since its main purpose was for me to try typing something longer than a GroupMe message on the tablet and avoiding cleaning (You thought my purpose was to write interesting, witty posts that would entertain you? Well I am not your clown. Move along now. Nothing to see here.) , I think I have accomplished my purpose here.

Check, and check.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012


I will be the first to admit it: I freaking LOVE Valentine's Day.

In fact, I'm kind of offended when people don't.



Anyway, I don't love Valentine's Day in an "I have a Valentine" kind of way. (I mean, I know. I have a Valentine. We've been together for 9 years. That isn't about rubbing it in or whatever. It's just a given.) But we don't do things for Valentine's Day. No gifts. No dinners. Nothing special.

No, I love Valentine's Day in an "elementary school" way. Remember when everybody put little paper valentines with cartoon animals on them that said things like "You're beary special!" and "Will you BEE my valentine?" in the homemade "mail box" taped on the front of your desk? And the awesome kids taped candy to said paper valentine.

Those were GOOD DAYS.

Also good days? These.

Because I scribbled "Love, your Valentine until 2087"* once on a note to Jack once, probably about eight years ago or so. And so far? That was a fantastic choice.

Because even though Jack and I usually do nothing, nothing at all, nothing ever for Valentine's day? I woke up to this this morning:

He cooked.


There aren't adequate words to describe to you how much he does not cook. Cooking? Not his thang.

But somehow, I was late for work because I was eating bacon (that I did not cook!) in bed with a boy and a dog.

It's going to be a good 75 more years with this Valentine.


*After 2087? I have full license to get a new Valentine. Especially since he'll be 109 years old at that point. I mean, come on. I'll still be a hot 102.

Monday, February 13, 2012

We went skiing and things!

Oh hey, I still have a blog! Look at that!

Jack and I went to Colorado. My brother and sister-in-law live there now. And my nephew, if you're a believer in that whole "life begins at conception" thing.

And Colorado has mountains! And those mountains have snow on them! And apparently, people like to strap big long pieces of wood to their feet and slide down said snow-covered mountains as a form of recreation.

In other words, we went skiing and things!

The last time I went skiing was in high school, so I was pleasantly surprised that I could balance on skis at all at this point, but I didn't really fall much. I did have a moment at the end of the day when I got on a slope with my brother that I had no business on and basically thought I was going to die. If I thought I could have crawled down that hill, I probably would have done it. I was a super-star, is what I'm saying!

And Jack?

Well, he had never skied before. My brother was a fantastic instructor (and I was really glad he was the one doing the teaching because Jack and I don't communicate terribly well when I'm trying to teach him things [see also: I am a terrible, impatient teacher to anybody on any subject]), but Jack had some trouble, uh, staying upright.

He fell a lot. A LOT.

Shane and I watched warily as Jack would ski about six feet and fall over as he was trying to turn. Then he would push himself back up, ski another six feet, and disappear into another cloud of snow.

It was quite a sight. And some wives (not me of course) of the kind of husbands who are naturally SO DANG GOOD AT EVERYTHING ELSE THEY DO might enjoy seeing such a spectacle from said husbands for a change.

Not me though, obviously. I am supportive.

We got a little concerned that Jack would never want to ski again, though. Especially when, at one point, he nearly crashed into a tree, then tried to hit the tree with his ski pole out of frustration and then just laid down in the deep snow instead of trying to get back up.

But he came off the ski slopes like he comes off the golf course - after having been throughout pissed off all day long, exclaiming "that was fun!" and "we should do that again sometime!"

And aside from some very sore muscles the next day and a bout of altitude sickness, I would have to agree.

We should do that again sometime.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

A work-related text message conversation

For the record, I still won.