Monday, February 7, 2011

Five More Questions for my Husband

I have written five questions for my husband before.  I just didn't realize that I would have to continue ask him stuff. But apparently I do...

The Longest Yard? Is in the Kitchen.
Rinsing off your dishes and then putting them on the counter will only make me want to kill you in your sleep. Because the dishwasher is right there. RIGHT THERE.  Picture me pointing.  Literally right beneath where you just set your slightly moistened dishes.

While we’re at it, can we talk about the recycling? The recycling goes right outside the back door. I know you’re worried that your dishes will get lonely on the counter. They won’t, I promise. They hate each other. The recycling resents the dishes because, while we keep the dishes and wash them in a sudsy bath of warm water in a special machine, the recycling gets dumped unloved in a big plastic bin outside. The dishes are snotty to the recycling because, let’s face it, the recycling barely even qualifies as “the help.” Don’t leave the dishes and the recycling next to each on the counter because they’ll fight and the dishes will gloat and use bad language around our children. And the recycling basically plays the part of the orphan in this kitchen melodrama, and I don’t want to see our two-year old dancing around with a beer bottle singing “Hard Knock Life” . . . again.

Oh, you’re interested in sports?
I hadn’t noticed. Here’s what I have noticed. I can’t get near my own laptop between the hours of whenever you are home and whenever you leave. And I’ve noticed that I’m unable to have a conversation with you that doesn’t include something about the recruiting efforts of the University of Michigan football team. And I keep hearing about pitchers and catchers reporting. Reporting what? Are they snitches or tattletales? Oh wait, that’s right. Spring Training. Moving on. Could you please have your love of sports motivate you to register your son for Little League before the early-registration deadline passes? It’s like a coupon that’s sports-related, so that should count as a double coupon or a double-double or whatever works for you (I hope).

I know you want a Man-Cave, but you do know I could use a little help in the other rooms, right?
If you actually ever get a man-cave, will it mean you're giving up all ownership over the rest of the house? I hope not. I could really use your help. You see, there are some other rooms with some major issues. The kitchen, for example, is a room that benefits you a few times a day that could really use your help. You see, that’s where the food is cooked and the dishes go to be washed. I KNOW! Who would’ve thought of that? There are no helper monkeys or elves or fairies who cook and clean for us. It’s been . . . dirty secret time here. . . ME. And I could really use a little help in the cook’s station and in the other rooms. And if you want to get cable wired into the kitchen so you can help occasionally with the benefit of your friends at ESPN, I’d be agreeable and even be willing to call the whole house the Man-Cave if it gets the job done.

Thank you for stating the glaringly obvious. What do you think I do all day?
You know what’s funny to me? When you’re home on the weekends and spending long stretches of time with the kids, that you feel compelled to make glaringly obvious observations about them. To me. I’m a stay at home mom. Paying attention to them all the time is sort of my job. So when you say things like: “Mini steals yogurt from the fridge all the time! Like enough yogurt to keep Jamie Lee Curtis regular forever.” or “Why is Thumbelina saying things like “You GO, Girl!” and “You KNOW that’s right, baby” like she’s on the Steve Harvey Show?”

Dude. Your baby learned to open the fridge right after Thanksgiving and my life has pretty much been over since then. Remember that time she put a pork chop on your face at like 6:00 am while you were sleeping?That's right. Because she can get in the fridge and pilfer stuff. I find half-eaten sticks of butter all over the house. And Thumbelina apparently watched an episode of that show at a friend’s house and was deeply impressed. We’re hoping it’s a phase that passes quickly as she called our 94 year old neighbor “Babygirl” yesterday.

Two year olds can’t dress themselves. And you understand why they shouldn’t, right?
I agree that kids should be taught to be independent. And to wear what they want. But remember that time when Thumbelina was 2 and you told her that if she got dressed all by herself that you’d take her to Starbucks? And ten minutes later she walked out wearing a bathing suit, sweatpants, 25 strands of mardi gras beads, snow boots, red sunglasses and a Santa hat? And then you took her to Starbucks? Or that time when you let Mini wear a Tinkerbelle costume and Crocs to church? Right. When you do things like that, people see the two of you and think: “Awwww… It’s daddy’s weekend” or “That man has no idea that his baby’s pants are on inside out.”

Our 2 year old must not be allowed to dress herself for one very important reason. She is sneaky. She will tell you she has a diaper on when she doesn’t. And then, when you least expect it she will pee on you. Actually. Just kidding. That last part was a joke. Go ahead and let her get dressed on her own.

Bye! Looooove you! Have fun at Starbucks! Be sure to take your car!

We have a brand new post about little girls, make-up and Walmart in our column at the Washington Times Communities.  Please check it out if you have a minute!
(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011

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