No Kidding

I had to clean the stove today, since I can't even turn it on without setting off the fire alarm; so I thought I would make the task fun by taking before and after pictures. Well, I must be a lousy photographer; despite my best efforts , the after pictures really do not look much better than the before ones. Go figure. Maybe it is my camera's idea of an April Fool's joke.

I hate April Fool's Day. I have never understood what is so funny about making someone else (as in, um, me) feel like an idiot. Not that I resent it or anything, Another Gray Hair; but if you do end up actually pregnant at some point in the future, enjoy that morning sickness, okay? Humph.

I took the younger kids to the library this afternoon; I only had to pay 25 dollars this time to get my account thawed out. If any of you are keeping a running tally of how much money I have paid to that lovely institution this year, please do not share it with me - I don't want to know.

Remember the other dad Larry spent 24 hours with on the Boy Scout camping trip? The one whose son became best friends with David? Turns out Larry learned neither his last name nor where he lives. This incident just may explain why Americans resorted to torture* to get information out of detainees: the interrogators were male and had no idea how to gather information in a normal fashion.

*If you are one of those benighted individuals who doubts whether waterboarding is technically torture, I suggest you go experience it; then come back here and make your report. Make sure to bring pictures so we can see what a great time you are having.
[No one splits legal hairs better than our current Administration, I must say.]


And yes, I did let my toddler poop in her pants while I wrote this post - how did you guess?

Handbag Math

The few guys who read this may just want to leave the room now. No, I'm not going to be talking about anything embarrassing like tampons or such; but I'm willing to bet that you could care less about handbags. Go check out The Clay Pigeon - Grundir the Implacable is dispensing work life advice, and there's the scariest bunch of trash-talkin' math wizards you could ever hope to meet. You can come on back for the last 2 paragraphs, where I discuss the mean trick my husband played on me this morning.

Anyway, gals, I went to Target tonight for some Vagisil (ha, ha, just kidding, just wanted to get rid of those interfering men) and I spotted a new handbag. It sort of leapt out at me and asked me to hold it and check out its cellphone pocket (isn't this the first thing you do with purses now, look for where the cellphone goes?). It's fun, it's flirty; in other words, it's totally not me. So I was trying to decide whether or not to take a big leap of faith and buy it and pretend to be fun and flirty. I mean, this isn't just a handbag, it's a statement, right? It's saying that I am not going gently into the dowdiness of middle age; this handbag can let the world know that a few wrinkles doth not an old hag make.

[By the way, Larry wonders why it takes me hours to come out of Target. It's because all these philosophical questions arise. They are very time-consuming.]

Where was I? Oh, yes...at that point I thought, hey, why am I agonizing over this decision? The purse cost 17 dollars. The handbag I bought 2 years ago (2 whole years ago!) was also 17 dollars. At that rate, I cost my husband only $8.50 (plus tax) in handbags a year. You know, there's frugal (which I am, believe it or not), and then there's just plain stupid.

So I bought 6.

No, no, no, I just felt like typing that. But it occurred to me that my husband doesn't understand how expensive handbag-acquisition habits can be, because he has been spoiled all these years by his undemanding wife. I'm totally on board for (with?) keeping to our budget and saving for our retirement; but I need him to realize that things could be much worse, wife-spending-wise, you know what I mean? What's the use of unappreciated sacrifice, anyway?

So whaddaya think? Should I buy lots of stuff at once and bring it home and then say, loudly, "But no, that would be wrong!" and then return all of it (except the handbag, of course). Or is there an easier way to get my point across?

Okay, guys, come back in. Sometimes we just need a little girl talk, you know? Anyway, Larry made sure this morning that I would never, ever bother him at work again. So you menfolks may just want to take notes on this. You see, he asked me for our dentist's phone number so he could confirm a dental appointment for later this week, and I asked him to get me a make-up appointment for a cleaning while he was on the phone with them. He sounded a little annoyed and rushed when I asked, but tough.

So, yeah, he got me the appointment. For 7:30 AM. By my calculations, that means I have to be up, showered, and dressed by 7:15. (I'm spoiled, all right? I haven't managed that all winter.) Think I'll ever ask him to schedule anything for me again? I don't think so. He's diabolically clever, he is.

She Said, He Said

So, I had to do our monthly commissary shopping trip today (that's the military version of a grocery store) and I sent the boys to do some chores before we left. A few minutes later, forgetting they were still working, I said, "Okay, everyone, shoes on, let's go!" Whereupon Rachel (5) marched to the top of the basement stairs and yelled, in her very best boss-the-boys-around style,

"Brian! David! Get your shoes on! We're going!"

And Brian (7) bellowed back, "Rachel! I'm doin' the laundry!" in an exasperated, male, give-me-a-break voice.

Gee, I wonder where they picked up those methods of communication?

It was funnier if you could hear it. Larry and I laughed until our stomachs hurt.

In other news, I spent 560 dollars on food today. Did you?

And, we have more gray stripes on our living room wall. We needed to argue for a couple of hours over whether Larry had inadvertently switched the sample-paint-can lids, an argument which necessitated painting Misty and Gray Screen (or what we think were Misty and Gray Screen) directly next to what we know were Misty and Gray Screen (are you following me here?) to see if they matched. This is not a healthy exercise for any marriage.

We have yet to decide which color to paint the kitchen; it's hard to pick the right color without the tile floor in place yet (not that there is anything wrong with not having a floor in one's kitchen) (ahem). Let it be known here that I was perfectly happy with the kitchen we had originally; it was painted a cheerful apple green, with an ugly yet serviceable linoleum floor. But Larry suffered the childhood trauma of growing up with a kitchen decorated in a 1970's-style avocado color, which rendered him allergic to any shades of green in a food preparation area. We all have our issues, I guess. His are just weirder than most.

In short, it's hard for me to imagine that there are people who enjoy the process of painting and renovating their homes. To me, it's more agonizing than...than...well, than knitting. And way more expensive.

My time is running out here - at midnight my blog turns into a pumpkin and NaBloPoMo is over. Thanks for listening to me every day for an entire month - I think it's taken some of the pressure off my husband to actually pay attention to what I'm saying. So he thanks you, too.