Custard, GOOOOOOD.

Pin It Me: "Hey hon, are you gonna be here soon? 'Cuz I made dinner."

Husband: "Cool, what are we having?"

Me: "I made something new. It's called Hamburger Roll-Ups."

Husband: "Hamburger Roll-ups."

Me: "Yeah - my mom used to make them."

(long silence)

Me: "They're GOOD, I promise."

Husband: "What are they exactly?"

Me: "Well, you make this meat mixture and you make this dough from bisquick and you roll it up like a jelly roll and you slice it and bake it. And there's sauce."

Husband: "Hmmmm."

Me: "I PROMISE it's good."

Husband: "Why does this sound like an episode of Friends?"

Me: "It's not a beef trifle."

Husband: "You know, if you want, I can take over the cooking again. I can just whip something up really quick every night after I get home."

Me: "I'm perfectly capable of making --"

Husband: "Or I could make it the night before and freeze it. All you'd have to do is warm it up."

Me: "Hamburger Rollups were good enough for me and my brothers and sisters and I think they're probably --"

Husband: "Or, wait, I KNOW, we could starve. Sometimes starving is good. This could be like the first part of the fasting thing you were talking about."

Me: "I'm hanging up now."

The Evolution of Packing

Pin It I wrote this post back when we were in the middle of packing, but I couldn't upload my pictures, so I'm inflicting it on you now. (Because one thing I know people can never quite get enough of is bloggers who whine about packing.) (Yes, that was sarcasm.) You're welcome.

-----------------------------
(DISCLAIMER: It is possible that back when these conversations took place, they involved more swearing. And possibly they involved throwing newspaper at each other. And then again with the swearing.)

(BONUS DISCLAIMER: That is, unless you are reading this and you are a) my mother, b) my next door neighbor, or c) someone I know from church. Because if you are one of those groups of people, you know that I NEVER SWEAR.)

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Packing, Day One:

"Hon, come take a look at this."

"What?"

I show him my box. "My system. I think it's gonna help us stay organized when we move into the new house."

He looks at me skeptically. "I don't think we need a system."

"But this is a good one. Let me explain it to you. See, first I write the name of the room it goes in, and then I write what's in the box."


He snorts. "That's not a system. That's just - writing down what's in the box."

I stare at him. "Well, I write it on every side of the box. And I write the name of the room it goes in."

"Still not a system."

"It's sort of a system."

"It's not a system."

"It is."

"O.k. But it's a dumb system."

I throw something at him.

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Packing, Day Three:

My husband points to a box. "What's this? There's nothing written on it."

I grab my marker and label it. "Happy now?"

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Packing, Day Five:

"We forgot to pack the underwear that was sitting in the dryer."

"We're out of boxes. Toss it."

"The kids kind of need underwear."

"FINE." I grab a garbage bag and hand it to him, mumbling under my breath. "Do we have to take EVERYTHING?"

"That's sort of the idea behind moving." He looks at the bag. "How are we gonna know which bag is which?"

I shoot him an incredulous look. "We AREN'T. Does it MATTER? What are you - the labeling police?"

He backs out of the room slowly.

-----------------------------
Packing, Day Seven:

My husband wanders into the room. "Where's the tape?

"We're out of tape."

"Where are the markers?"

"Awww... It's so cute that you think I might know."

"So I'm gathering the system is --"

"It wasn't really a system."

"THANK YOU."

Change of Heart

Pin It Guys, I'm sorry. I'm afraid I had to delete my last post. I suddenly realized - if any of my friends/neighbors saw my whining about packing, they might decide to drop by and help me pack. And that would be incredibly embarrassing.

"Hey Sue, where's the trash?"

"Right here - Oh. Um. That's my strainer."

"But it's all smashed and broken and --"

"Yeah. Well it still works pretty well."

"Oh. I see."

"Right."

"Uh.... What about this - melted old spoon?"

"Oh. Well. We still like to use that sometimes."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Awesome friend smiles awkwardly as she tries to figure out what is trash and what is actual stuff.

So, friends - NO NEED TO STOP BY TO HELP. EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL.

SORT OF.

JUST IGNORE ANY HOWLING NOISES.

IT'S PROBABLY JUST THE DOG.


P.S. When I find my camera I will have to post a whole series of mushiness about leaving, and my wonderful friends, and the kids, and the whole - moving THING. (I know, you are biting your fingernails in anticipation, aren't you? I can tell.)

Pillow Talk

Pin It

“Honey, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Do you really?”

“Yes.”

“REALLY?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

He turns over. “Do we have to do this right now?”

“HONEY. I’m just saying - I really, REALLY love you. I really do.”

“You mean, as opposed to my fake love.”

“I know you love me, but I love you so much that sometimes I think my head might explode. I love you so much that if we weren’t already married I might stalk you. That’s the kind of love I’m talking about. Do you love me like that?”

(Long silence) “Hon, I’m really tired.”

“Clearly, our love is dead.”

“Go to sleep.”

“How can I sleep knowing you’re all cold and dead inside?”

“Try.”

“If I had a stroke, would you put me in a home?”

He fake snores.

I steal back some covers. “Fine. I'll leave you alone. But I can't believe you won’t even say those three little words before we go to sleep.”

“I ALREADY DID.”

“But you didn't really MEAN them."

“Here’s three words for you, and I really, really mean them: YOU’RE A DORK.”

“So romantic.”

“And yet, so true.”

My Husband is a Patient, Patient Man

Pin It

“Hon, I think I have narcolepsy.”

“You don’t have narcolepsy.”

“But it says right here on Wikipedia ---“

(muttering) “Oh freakin’ A. Here we go...”

“It says a person with narcolepsy is likely to become drowsy or to fall asleep, often at inappropriate times and places.“

“(silence due to excessive eye rolling)”

“Oh my gosh. That’s SO ME.”

“That’s so everybody. That’s called – being an adult with small children.”

“And it says daytime naps may occur without warning and may be physically irresistible... Holy crap. I TOTALLY HAVE NARCOLEPSY.”

“You don’t have narcolepsy.”

“But what do you call it when I fall asleep instantaneously after I lie down?”

“Really, really annoying.”

Will You Marry Me Maybe Kinda Sorta?

Pin It My husband is out of town – he left me here with the kids and the dog for a few days – AGAIN, and so I figure this is as good a time as any to talk about him behind his back. It's the best way, really.

Taking a page from Kimberly’s book, I thought I’d tell you about his super duper romantic totally impulsive marriage proposal. Like a lot of things in our life, our engagement started off as sort of a joke.

We were friends for a while before we started dating, but once we took that step we clicked instantly and we were in love, just like that, no muss, no fuss. I love you, you love me, no games, no drama. It was awesome.

One night after we’d been dating for about three weeks, we were sitting in his driveway, in the back of his truck, just talking. It was about ten o’clock at night and his mom kept coming to the front window and peering out at us. She wasn’t totally sold on me yet and I know she was wondering if I was trying to corrupt him. In the driveway. In front of her house. While she was watching.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depends on how you look at it), we weren’t doing anything interesting, just talking and laughing about how fast people we knew from the singles congregation at church got engaged once they started dating. Sometimes they got engaged after they'd been dating for only a couple of weeks. We joked around about how it was so idiotic, so very desperate, so very Mormon cliché.

I remember saying, “Wouldn’t it be funny if we told everyone we were engaged? Can you imagine? My friends would die.”

He chuckled. “My parents would freak out. They'd think we were nuts.” He laughed again. “We should. We should tell them that. Just to see the looks on their faces.”

I laughed. “Hilarious. Let’s do it.”

He was playing with my fingers and he said, “Wouldn’t it be weird if we actually got engaged?”

I remember freezing up a little. Um... What? Was he serious? Play it cool. Play it cool. I let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah. That would be really weird.”

He was watching me closely but then grinned mischeviously. “What would you say if I actually asked you to marry me?”

I stared at him, thunderstruck. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“No!" He said it a little too emphatically and I scowled a little. "I’m just asking you – what would you say if I asked you?”

I laughed. “You can’t ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because, you coward, you just have to ask.” I hit him. “Freak.”

“Can’t you even give me a hint, just so I know?” he wheedled.

"No." No way in heck was I gonna tell him my real answer, which was - yes, of course. Despite all of my blustering about fast engagements, I'd marry him in an instant. I knew about ten minutes after we started dating that we were perfect for each other. Perfect. But I couldn't tell HIM that.

“No, you wouldn’t marry me, or no you won't give me a hint?"

“No hints. Geez. Are you a man or a mouse?"

“That's not a very nice thing to say to someone who may or may not possibly be hypothetically proposing to you," he said reproachfully.

“Well, you aren't supposed to ask me like that," I said, exasperated.

“But I just did. So ANSWER THE QUESTION," he said. The expression on his face made me laugh.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“So you’d maybe marry me if I maybe asked you to marry me. At some point in the future.”

“You’d have to ask to know for sure.”

He kissed my hand. “What if I ask?”

My mind went blank again. “What if – what if you ask? Are you asking now?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically? I'm not answering a hypothetical marriage proposal.” The whole conversation feel surreal and we were both laughing again.

“O.k. I’m asking.”

“You’re asking? Seriously?”

“Yes.”

I checked him out. He DID look suddenly very serious. How incredibly strange and bizarre. “Really?”

“No, I’m just kidding.” He grinned again.

I hit him.

He leaned in to give me a kiss. “You love me, right?”

“Not at the moment," I grumped.

"I'll take that as a yes." He pulled me to my feet. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Once again, I was lost.

“Go tell my parents we’re getting married.”

I was so confused. “What? Fake married?”

And he smiled at me and gave me another kiss, a longer one this time. “You know we’re gonna do it eventually. Let’s just – cut to the chase.” And he kissed me again.

I never knew the words, "cut to the chase" could be so romantic. I don't think we got around to telling his parents that night. His mom sure got an eyeful though.

And cut to the chase we did. There was a real proposal about a week later, after he’d gotten a ring, but I think of that, that strange little conversation in the driveway, as our real engagement. That was when we knew we were in it for the long haul. Three months later, we got married. And we've been married for 11 really happy years.

(I would never recommend this by the way. If my kids try something similar I will beat them. We were SO LUCKY that it worked out. Because, really, at least in theory - what a train-wreck waiting to happen.)

This is a picture of an engagement picture. My scanner is down. The blurriness is probably for the best anyway. Check out that hair. Did I just go to the salon and ask them to bring out a salad bowl and cut around it? Sheesh. And the eyebrows. And what were we wearing? And why didn't someone tell us to change? Yikes.