Tag Archives: husband

Word-Up: Show Me Your Weenus

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My summer has been as crazier than a redneck at an opera (my husband should know).   And while I continue to chuck back lemons at life , the little suckers appear to be getting smaller and easier to manage.  Anyway, all that means is that I have had less time to hang here on Sweet Spot.  So, I thought I would share one of my favorite moments from last spring.  Some things just never get old…especially boy humor, at least in my world.

I knew it!  I feared the day would come – the moment when I would finally be presented with undeniable proof I was failing as a parent.  I wanted to deny it, but the evidence was right there staring me in the face.  Clearly, I was raising a depraved sociopath.

You know the age old story, in the aftermath of a sociopath’s identification, when the neighbors wax poetic for the press?  Statements of disbelief such as:  “But, they were such a nice family”…  “Never heard a peep out of them”…”mostly kept to themselves”…”They had a lot of garden gnomes.”

Right, well, I could just see the entire future unfolding. How had it come to this?

You see, last weekend as we drove endlessly in the car from one activity to another, the irrefutable proof of my impending catastrophe occurred. I don’t know, maybe my kids were bored.  And what is it ‘they’ say?  Boredom is the devil’s playground?  Boredom is the Mother of Invention?  Either way, from the depths of the backseat, my son called out,

“Mom, I scraped my weenus, could you put a band aide on it?”

What?!

Before I could even process his statement, the situation deteriorated further. Apparently, my parental fiasco was farther reaching than just one dissolute sociopath as both boys continued in a flourish of depravity.

“Mom, my weenus is exposed”.

“I need some sunscreen for my weenus”.

“Hey, get your weenus out of my face”.

“Look, my weenus is all wrinkled”.

“I am going to touch you with my weenus”.

“I have the weirdest weenus, want to see?”.

The situation seemed dire at best.

But then, just as I was getting ready to take preventative action (you can google for a psychotherapist, right?), I was saved.  In the nick of time, I was informed by my little backseat degenerates their particular word “weenus” came with its own specific definition. However, just to be sure (and to have proof for possible future penal encounters – ha, get it?), I googled it myself- lo and behold:

According to Urban Dictionary:Weenus is the flap of skin on your elbow”.

Sigh of relief.  Apparently I am not raising a couple of depraved sociopaths, just a couple of depraved smart alecks.

But that I can live with, proudly.

For more word abuse, check out these earlier posts!

Word-Up:  Poop

Word-Up: We’ve Got Big Balls

Word-Up: Opus Anyone?

Word-Up: Get a Yob!

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The Hippie: What’s Your Idea of a Good Time?

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There is this guy who lives in my house.  He has been around for a long time.  Point of fact, I married the guy 17 years ago this week.

He has some special skills:  he can fix most anything, never panics and makes me laugh on a regular basis.

He is fond of sending me notes like this – Destroy This Note After Reading, and this No Joke Left Behind.  And he is never one to shun a gratuitous laugh.

Every once is a while, when he has exhausted his home audience, he takes his “act” on the road…or rather, down the street to our local theatre, where he is sure to find  a fresh group of listeners (victims?) for his humor.

To celebrate my anniversary, I wanted to share the laughter with Sweet Spot readers in the form of a recent performance of his character,  The Hippie.

Gratuitous? probably…Funny? definitely.  In fact,  I can promise you some laughs. The wig alone, should get you started.

Enjoy

The Hippie

How we met:  True Love By Way of a Kitty Dance and a Bucking Horse

Other stuff: Til Death Do Us Part, Which May Be Sooner Than You Think

 

No Joke Left Behind

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I have known my husband for about 18 years now.  There is one thing I know about the guy…he has never met a joke he didn’t like. (Destroy this Note After Reading)

He believes there is something good to be found in any joke.  There is no bad joke, only bad timing,  He is the friend to even the most meek and lowly joke,  the champion of the completely pathetic joke,  and a hero to the forgotten joke. The depths he will stoop to in order to lift up the most puny of jokes knows no bounds.  And a joke lucky enough to bask in the glory of his repertoire does not just have one day in the sun, but enjoys the warmth again…and again…and again.

As it happens, an event happened last week that  poetically illustrates my point ever so perfectly.

Last week, my husband had an accident while jumping off a piece of farm equipment.  Well, actually, it was a mower… ok, well not the actual mower but rather a dirt grader being dragged behind the mower (but man, that one foot down was a long way).  Anyway, in the process of jumping off said equipment, his foot got caught and twisted his leg in a way it was not really meant to go (either that or the muscles just don’t bend and stretch the way they used to).  Either way, the end result was his leg hurt, and hurt bad – bad enough for him to take himself off to the Doctor to have it checked out.

Later, when I arrived home, as my husband lay with his leg up and cocooned in ice, I went in search of the diagnosis and recovery paper from the Doctor –  as he knew I would!

As I rounded the kitchen door, I saw the medical paper conveniently displayed  for my discovery (I should have sensed a trap right then and there):

"Here I am, look at me!!!"

“Here I am, look at me!!!”

On closer inspection – and with some very directive arrow sticky notes attached to the paper to make sure I read the intended passage on the paper, I discovered this:

Doctor's notes

Whether he bribed the Doctor to be a party to his joke plot or surreptitiously somehow added the Doctor’s notes himself remains a mystery.

What is not a mystery, is that one of my husband’s favorite one liners now lives on,  forever  immortalized in medical history.

…and I will continue to perform my wifely duty of  laughing at them.

A job I don’t really mind a bit.

Irreconcilable Differences – A Marriage Made in Heaven

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Feet Untucked

Wouldn’t you want to hide those feet?

My husband and I have irreconcilable differences.  We do.  I have always known it to be true.  I suppose for a time, I thought there were reconcilable solutions (i.e. he quits being stupid and sees the light of my way).  But after several years of marriage, I have finally given up the notion.

For 17 years, my husband and I have had a cold war standoff over differences of great import such as where his muddy shoes should go, how big a pile of dirty laundry can get before going into the hamper (big enough to lose the dog?), the necessity of closing a door if you are going right back through it (personally, I don’t see the point), and whose job it is to clean up the trash after the dog has strewn it all over the yard. But, the deal breaker to, I fear,  finally bring down our wall is the pivotal “tucked” or “untucked” issue.

You see, my husband subscribes to the sheet and blanket “untucked” – free to be you and me – feet flapping in the breeze philosophy while I, on the other hand, am a sheet and blanket “tucked” –  fully covered  – feet tightly bound & gagged – extremist of the most radical kind.

I mean, really, when you take this difference into consideration,  how did we ever get together, anyway?  The reality is, when you are dating everything is all “schnukems” and “peanut wuvs monkey” – so who cares if your feet freeze (me) or can’t move (him).  But when the honeymoon is over – i.e. once you have washed his dirty underwear for the umpteenth time and he has cleaned up everyone’s puke after stomach flew (including the dog’s) – these issues begin to take on a whole new level of importance.

And thus, the cold war began.

So now, when I make the bed, I wrap the sheet and blanket tightly, all the way around to underneath the mattress.  When he makes the bed, he leaves the sheet and blanket untucked, and then surreptitiously hides the evidence with the bedspread.  Upon going to sleep at night, I will secretly check all bedding to make sure they are securely tucked.  However he, in the middle of the night, will dislodge the bedding with a hefty kick of his feet. When I am awoken by the disconcerting feeling of my cold and flapping-in-the-breeze feet I, while resisting the urge to clobber him with the bedside lamp, get up and securely re-tuck all bedding.

And so it goes – which makes me crazy and not a little bit pissed off.  The thing is, I know now beyond a shadow of a doubt, for the whole of our life together this tucked vs. untucked Cold War will continue.  Neither of us will ever raise the white flag (nor well, sheet) of surrender.  It is an issue that cannot be reconciled, ever.

But on the other hand, he does take out the trash…and can fix most anything…and never complains when I spend money…

And the truth is, I just kinda love the guy (and doubt anyone else would put up with me)

So, tucked or untucked, I guess I will keep him.

But, he might want to learn to duck in his sleep…

Today’s Best Moment: Friday 7/20

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Being a baseball parent can be rough, let me tell you.

The endless season, the stress and worry, the out-of-hand sports parents, the small town tournaments, the bad hotels,the can-never-please parents attacking coach husband, the countless hours washing and washing and washing uniforms, the  multitude of practices, the driving, the hot sun, the heartbreaking losses, and the list goes on.

But every once in a while something happens.

A bright spot.

And I am not talking about wins or successes (although clearly, those are good, too).

No, this is an event infinitely more powerful.

When  least expected, I get to see my husband do something like  this:

And suddenly, in that moment, I know it is all worth it.

To Botox or Not to Botox

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My most recent article “To Botox or Not to Botox” is up and running today on ParentSociety.com.  Now hold on there, it may not be exactly what you think.  But, I promise two things:  you will get a laugh and find out one of my husbands deep, dark secrets.  How can you resist?

It starts out like this:

For some time now, I’ve been wondering whether or not to get Botox. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, too. No really, don’t tell me, because the truth is, we would all just about give our front teeth (that can then be replaced with perfect porcelain veneers of course) for a chance to forgo the wrinkling part of aging.

My first encounter with the idea of Botox was

You will just have to Go Here to read the rest!

And don’t worry,

(No actual scientific knowledge was abused, or even, well, used, in the writing of this article).