Husbands Take Note: How to Rekindle Your Love Affair in Four Easy Steps

1. On the morning of the thirteenth anniversary of your wife’s twenty-ninth birthday, wake her with kisses and whispers of sweet nothings. Or, feed her chocolate; your call.

2. Take her to dinner at one of the finest restaurants in town. When she orders a third glass of wine, resist the temptation to spout sexual innuendo while waggling your eyebrows at her; the phrase “Looks like I’m gonna get lucky tonight” is a phrase best left for a day not involving the thirteenth anniversary of your wife’s twenty-ninth birthday.

3. Following dinner, take her to see the local community theater’s production of My Fair Lady. Look interested and engaged. Applaud at all the right moments; bonus points for not ditching the theater at intermission.

4. Give her the gift that keeps on giving, a brand new state-of-the-art Kindle.

You might just get lucky after all.

Thanks for a fabulous thirteenth anniversary of my twenty-ninth birthday, Hugh. You are the best gift I ever got.

P.S. The Kindle is pretty amazing, too.

We Made It Out Alive

Black Friday. Just the words are enough to give me the hives, never mind the crowds, lines, traffic snarls, grumpy shoppers and stifling hot, overcrowded stores. No thanks, not for me; I’m more a day-after-Thanksgiving-recluse. So, how did I find myself driving to Neighboring City at seven o’clock this morning for an end-run on the mall? Blame The Teenager who just had to have new pants, new bras and new shoes. Actually, blame it on the growth spurt that brought her to within an inch of my height in the past two weeks.

And, while that doesn’t completely explain why we went today, of all days, the sales were pretty darn good and, assuming she will grow another inch (or eight) in the next two weeks; paying full retail just wouldn’t make sense.

Thriftiness didn’t stop me from breaking into hives the minute we hit Old Navy and saw check-out lines stretching the entire length of the store, however.

As I said, we survived and, I even managed to knock out the majority of my Christmas shopping so, despite the itching, burning and general redness caused by the allergic reaction to the unwashed masses; it was a successful mission (a bra-mission, as the Man-Cub insisted on referring to it despite the fact that his merely vocalizing the word bra, mortified his sister).

Upon arriving home from the not-so-secret-bra-mission, I set about decorating the house for Christmas. I have everything done save for decorating the tree which we will do once Hugh gets home, tonight. In the meanwhile, I am sorely tempted to eat the last remaining slice of my from-scratch-homemade-pumpkin pie, not because I am a glutton, nor because it is the best damn from-scratch-homemade pumpkin-pie-in-the-history-of pie but; because I heard, somewhere, that it pumpkin pie cures hives.

Not a glutton. Not, at all.

Why Are Things Never as Easy as I Remember Them?

My contribution to Thanksgiving dinner at Oscar and Emily’s house is pumpkin pie and, since I’m not terribly fond of canned pumpkin, I chose to bake my own pumpkin for the filling. Right now, there are two sugar pumpkins, cut into quarters, baking in my oven.

It isn’t the first time that I have done this but, for whatever reason, I must have blocked out the horror of cutting and gutting baby pumpkins because, people? It was a bitch.

All is well that ends well, however and, with any luck, my pumpkin puree will be the star ingredient in my pies.

Unless, of course, I’m forgetting some other head-banging stress involved with the making of a pie from scratch and, at this point; I’m not ruling that out.

Pray for my sanity, please.

And We Waited This Long Because I Am Mean

Hugh and I are taking the children to see New Moon tonight. I avoided the theater like the plague when the movie came out last Friday because

1. I hate lines,

2. I hate crowds,

3. The Teenager was grounded, and

4. I am meeeean.

Although The Teenager is still grounded (til she’s thirty!), we made the decision to let her see the movie with us because:

1. We enjoy spending time with a sullen, morose child,

2. She actually hasn’t been terribly sullen nor morose, surprisingly,

3. We realize the importance of doing things together as a family, and;

4. I need someone to catch the drool when Taylor Lautner’s abs are revealed on-screen and Hugh really isn’t up to the challenge whereas, The Teenager is quite capable of wiping my drool, wiping her own drool and texting her friends about the experience, simultaneously. She’s gifted.

Now, I just hope the movie lives up to all the hype.

Oh, who am I kidding? As long as there is popcorn, soda and Milk Duds, I really don’t care how bad the movie is.

And, you know, abs!

My Kingdom for a Tylenol Caplet

This morning, I switched from my regular two cups of half-caf to decaf and I. Want. To. Die.

I never realized how dependent I had become on caffeine until, when I stepped down from regular to the half-caf about a year ago; I suffered typical withdrawal symptoms, including a raging headache. With that accomplished, I guess I thought the step down from half-caf to decaf would be a breeze and, yet; here I am.

Caffeine is the debil, my friends.

Also, decaf tastes like ass but, I’ll get used to it.

In news unrelated to my aching head, I had a really nice weekend.

As predicted, Hugh and I had a great time at the annual Holiday Festival Friday night; we ate and drank wine and caught up with old friends whom we don’t see regularly. Also, as predicted, the basket that I put together for the silent auction went for a higher dollar amount than the majority of other baskets; there was even a good-spirited bidding war for it between one of my friends from the club and the husband of our club president. My friend won and I have no doubt that her husband will be thrilled to use the fishing gear.

The rest of the weekend was occupied with mundane household chores as well as a visit with one of the elderly citizens of our community, where I installed a Lifeline unit. What was expected to be a twenty minute visit stretched into an hour but, the woman was quite interesting and it would have been rude to turn down the offer to meet her chickens.

You heard me.

Today, as I mentioned, my head is full to the brim with jack hammers and freight trains but; I am young and able-bodied and shouldn’t need a Lifeline unit anytime soon so, I am blessed.

I will take that Tylenol, however.

Suspicious

Earlier this morning, the Man-Cub handed me his letter to Santa so that I may proof-read it and make any corrections that needed to be made prior to him placing it under his pillow on December 5th for the elves to spirit away in the night. In the letter, he asks for a hat from one of the elves. Specifically, a real, honest to goodness Santa’s elf hat from a working elf at the North Pole.

Last Christmas, the Cub left a note on the plate of cookies that we leave out for Santa, begging for a bell from Rudolph’s harness. You have no idea the scramble that followed; finding a suitable harness bell at midnight on Christmas Eve is a bitch.

All of this leads me to the horrible conclusion that the Cub, at age eleven, is beginning to question the validity of Santa Claus and is desperately grasping for evidence of his existence.

That, or his sister ratted out the Big Guy a while ago and the Man-Cub is totally fucking with me.

Could go either way.

I’m Going to Rent a Copy of The Breakfast Club for Purposes of Comparison

So, yeah, The Teenager spent the last three days in a bleak classroom, serving time in ISS (In School Suspension). The transgression leading to the sentence was suitably horrifying from a parental perspective but, I am not at liberty to discuss it as I have promised The Teenager that I wouldn’t.

Suffice it to say, she knows what she did was wrong and she is doing her time without complaint. On the home front, we have unplugged her television and internet connections, limited her texting and phoning capabilities to family only and have taken more strict control over her before and after school free time. In essence, we have pulled the plug on her life support system yet, she seems to be doing just fine; she’s still breathing and everything.

And, that is all I can say about that.

Oh, except, I will say; Junior High girls are evil incarnate.

And, in other news, the Earth is round, the sky is blue and Yoko Ono totally broke up the Beatles.

Moving on.

This weekend is shaping up to be another busy one. I have my woman’s club’s annual Holiday Festival fundraiser tonight and, while I have decorated trees, centerpieces and garlands for it in past years, this year I opted out of the decorating and chose instead to put together a gift basket. The baskets are auctioned off the same as the decorative pieces and, with any luck; the club will raise enough money to fund our charitable works.

A large number of men attend the event yet, the items are generally quite feminine in nature so; I chose to do a fishing themed gift basket. I used a wicker fish creel for the basket itself and then filled it with a number of fishing related gadgets, Power Bait and, a really cute tree ornament that features Santa Claus in fishing waders. I’m guessing the basket will go high, given the dearth of masculine products from which to choose, otherwise.

Tomorrow, I plan to clean my house from top to bottom, a task which I have not accomplished in quite some time. I’m also entertaining the notion of starting my Christmas decorating since the Festival usually kick-starts my holiday mood.

Once the mood has been firmly established, I’m planning to take pictures for our annual Christmas cards. Last year’s card came together so easily and was such a hit, I’m struggling to follow it but, never fear; I has an ideer.

Of course, we’ll end the weekend with a viewing of The Breakfast Club because, as I said earlier, I think a comparison of the movie and The Teenager’s experiences this week is in order. Followed by a written report, naturally.

Punishment, it’s what’s for breakfast.