So this is love

Eleven years. As of Friday, that's how long Steve and I have been married. Somehow, eleven finds me in a more reflective mood than ten did. Maybe because last year I was too busy planning and anticipating a trip to Niagara Falls to think much about why. But eleven. Wow. I told Steve I thought for sure he'd have left me by now. I'm not sure if he thought I was kidding or not. I wasn't. I find it a daily miracle that this man continues to put up with my crap. And sometimes he actually acts like he likes it! Yes, he comes with his own unique blend of crap - things like making up bizarre and inappropriate lyrics to songs he can't sing the tune to. But for every "Awesome Pseudical" (that would be "Pour Some Sugar On Me") of his, there seems to be a "Five Hundred Children" (umm...."five hungry children" - that's from that one Kenny Rogers song) of mine. Maybe we fit together pretty well, after all.

And as further proof of that, it seems we've started a tradition for our anniversary. For the last few years, we have each given the other two cards. One a tender, romantic, sappy, wordy one. And then the real one. This year, I think we've finally reached the pinnacle. We gave each other the mushy cards on Friday - the actual anniversary. We didn't plan it that way, but there were two cards and we each picked that one to give. Saturday we had our official night out (a babysitter, dinner AND a movie - we were living on the edge!). Before bed that night (because we forgot to take them with us when we sprinted from the house screaming "FREEDOM!!!"), we exchanged the other cards. I'm actually a little scared. Because the next step is that we're going to start looking like each other, and I don't think he's going to look good with my boobs.

Mine to him:

And his to me:

The best part? We each bought the card that we should have received. Seriously. Have you SEEN his butt? Okay, but back off. He's mine.

Maybe we could share clothes, too!

You know, I love my husband. You hear people talk about their spouse being their best friend and all, and I've always thought that was weird. I don't know why, but I don't think I'd call Steve my BFF. That's a title I give to my girlfriends who I get together and chat with and who I have fun with. I've never put Steve in that role, but really, he kind of is my BFF. He is the person who I tell everything to. Every. Thing. Yes, that includes things I don't tell the girls I consider my BFF's (and no, I'm not going to discuss the contradiction that I have multiple BESTs...let's move on). It isn't much, but yes, sometimes, there's stuff I don't tell the girls. But poor Stevie, he knows everything about me (and he's STILL married to me, can you believe it?!). I know some married people and some people who USED to be married who say that you should have separate checking accounts. Take separate vacations. Have multiple televisions so you can each watch your own shows in different rooms (yes, Internet, we only have ONE television in our house - we are THAT old school. Plus, our house is smallish.). But we don't do any of that stuff. And OH MY GAWD we sometimes get on each others' last nerves. But I really like it this way. We talk. We are really good at talking. No, not just me! Steve talks, too, I swear! If something ever happens and we actually divorce, it won't be because we never talked about our problems. No, it will definitely be because of his porn star side job. I just get so jealous when he doesn't include me!

But having said all that mushy gushy I-love-my-porn-star-Sweetie stuff, sometimes I need him to be a girl for a minute. I went shopping last night. Yes, again, it was to the crappy Wal-Mart. Don't judge me - it's all I have. While I was there, I found some clothes on big time sale for Abby. For all the clothes-shopping I feel like I do for that girl, she STILL doesn't have enough clothes for the Spring/Summer. And honestly, why would I spend crazy money to buy the really cute clothes I want from Gymboree and Baby Gap and Lands End when she is just going to get paint/marker/food/snot on them and then grow out of them before I even have time to wash them? So anyway, I ended up with ten items for $30. TEN. For THIRTY. Can you even believe that math?!? I was so excited! And? They are all color coordinated in reds and blues and khakis. NO PINK. OR PURPLE. Not that I have anything against pink or purple, but she really has the market cornered on those colors and it would be nice to have some variety. So I had found these amazing deals and I had no one to tell. It's like hitting a hole in one with no witnesses. Or catching that huge fish and then lose it to a broken line. Or...some other sports analogy that I don't have any actual experience with...with NO WITNESSES. It was a moment when I really missed my mom. She would totally get me on this. But Illinois to Indiana is a heck of a drive just to go to the Wal-Mart (and, by the way, you have to pronounce that Wawl-Maurt and with "the" in front, it's a small town rule, I think).

When I got home and we were getting ready to go to bed, I asked Steve if I could show him the clothes (I had already told him about my awesome buying super-power, but he was unimpressed). He agreed, but was clearly not committed. I showed him anyway. And made him PRETEND to be excited. Sigh. It was really just too much work that way. I needed my husband to be a girl. Seriously. And don't get all excited, I mean that in a very boring, non-sexual kind of way. Although I'm pretty sure if I mentioned this idea to Steve, his thoughts would lead him down a different - and not non-sexual - path...I said I love him, I didn't say he was perfect.

Moving on, back to 1993

Today, I left work at noon. I am running pretty low on PTO (thanks to a few too many "I think I'll take a day off" days and way too many "my kids are sick and want Mommy" days), so I went to work this morning trying to convince myself that I did not have a fever and that I could make it through the day. But by noon the cold sweats and desire to use my keyboard as a pillow convinced me it was time to pack it in. Okay, so I'm still sick and it would be best to avoid earning a new nickname around the office. Because I'm pretty sure that if I'm introduced to the new guy as Typhoid Cheri, that's going to be something that he remembers for a while.

On my way home, it was time for the WTTS Time Capsule. Today's year: 1993. And the first song played to transport me back to that milestone year: I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers (if I was as cool as Taunie HTML-book Smartypants, maybe I could embed the video right here, but since I'm not, you'll just have to follow the link). Ahh, the memories. The timing! It was Fate. It was Love. 1993, the Summer of 1993, more specifically, is when the Mississippi River introduced me to my future husband. It's just a romantic that way. And then the Proclaimers helped me fall in love with him. They're quite the match-making duo.

It's actually a little bit of a long and twisty story, and I am nothing if not long-winded, so if I try to relate the whole story here, you'll be reading a book. I'll do my best to summarize, I'll even use bullet points to see if that helps! Here goes:

• The Mississippi River floods Des Moines, where I had stayed on campus at Drake University.
• Grandpa kindly rescues me from the city without properly functioning toilets and three feet of water where downtown used to be.
• I visit my best friend in her college town, Charleston, Illinois.
• She introduces me to the guy she has a big ol' crush on.
• He almost backs over me with his car.
• I decide he's kinda cute. (My best friend moved on to other crushes, and yes, there was some other stuff between him trying to kill me and me deciding he's cute - don't look at me like that!)
• He drives me and my best friend 500 miles - JUST LIKE in the song (okay, it was more like 400 miles, but go with me here) - back to Des Moines to rescue my things from the abandoned campus.
• He gets REALLY drunk the night before we leave Des Moines, but still has to drive the entire way back because he is the only one who could drive a stick shift. (That's not all that important to the story, but it's funny, so I like to remind him of it any chance I get.)
• Yada yada yada
• We fall in love.

Okay, I had to cheat and use the yada yada...what can I say, it's a nice little story and I could go on for a while. I can't wait until the kids are old enough so I can tell it to them (of course, I'll have to take a little creative license here and there since we met at a bar and a lot of the funny stories start with "Steve was really drunk and..."). And as angry as I was at him a couple of days ago, I've moved on now. He has been more considerate of my sickliness and, truthfully, I'm whiny when I'm sick. Worse, I don't like to admit that I'm whiny, so I just take it out on him. Poor sap. If he'd known this is what he was in for, he might have tried harder to run me over that first night we met. Or maybe been less of a hottie. With those glasses, was that possible?

Nope, I'm not over it yet.

Last night's rant continued.

This morning, Andrew informed me that his homework - the homework from when he was out sick on Thursday that Steve picked up on Friday afternoon - is not completely done. This, after last night I found the homework laying on the table and he told me it wasn't done. So I told him to finish it - and Steve was involved in this conversation. And then I lapsed into delirium again. Apparently, Steve didn't follow up on the homework situation and Andrew didn't feel the need to actually finish it. This morning, he said he didn't want to finish it. Maybe they've changed things since I was in elementary school, but I don't remember homework being optional. When I told Steve, he said "That's all my fault. I didn't keep on him." I said I agreed.

Needless to say, there were a bunch of unhappy people in my house this morning. Pretty much everyone was fairly miserable with life in general by the time we left. And Andrew was working on his homework when I left him at day care. He gave me a little practicing-for-adolescence attitude when I told him I would be checking with his teacher today to make sure he turned it in. He said it wouldn't be. Because he just enjoys being in trouble both at school and home, I guess.

It should be a fun evening. If I can stay awake that long.

Sick. And tired. And very very bitchy.

I had a topic. It was good. A catchy title and everything. But it will have to wait, because I need to vent. And what good is a blog if you can't use it to complain about your husband?

Okay, so I went to San Diego. It as for work, but yes, I had a good time. Okay. And while I was away, he got sick - very sick. 102 degree fever, very raw very sore throat, chills, body aches. The whole thing. And while he was there, dealing with being sick, he was responsible for taking care of the kids. He didn't call his mommy or anyone else for help, he just sucked it up and dealt with it. Okay. It sucked. I get it. I felt terrible about it while I was gone, I really did. And when I got back, I took over. Completely. I put the house back in order - because it looked worse than I could have ever imagined. I waited on him - and the kids, who acted starved for attention - hand and ever loving foot. Seriously. Food brought to him while he laid on the couch, kids kept as quiet as possible. I even did the DISHES for crying out loud, and anyone who really knows me knows that is a major event. And even more than that, I didn't complain. I know it's hard to believe of me, but really, I didn't. Not once all day Thursday, Friday (when I took an EXTRA day off from work, using more of my quickly dwindling PTO bucket because Abby was running a fever), and Saturday, and I made it to Sunday night before I let loose a little. Sunday night, when I got myself a bowl of ice cream and brought it in to the living room, he said "Oh, that's real nice. Thanks for bringing me some." Seriously?!? So I kinda went off a little. But just that once. Really.

He has taken a long time to get over this virus, and when he came home from work Monday, Tuesday (my birthday - he was asleep when we got home, but he did wake up and take me out to dinner), and Wednesday, he took a nap. And I took care of the kids. And made dinner. And put the kids to bed. He did help out some, but he was on fairly light duty. And I understood. He was still feeling puny. I got it. But I was tired, too, and was having trouble shifting my internal clock back from California time and then from the time change. And I was getting a little cranky.

Thursday, Andrew was sick. We pulled a split shift - Steve worked in the morning, I went in for the afternoon. Friday, Andrew and Abby were both sick. We split the shift again. And by the time I got home Friday night, I had it. Oh, crap. No sore throat, but maybe one of the worst colds I ever remember having. I was wiped out, butt kicked. Head cold, coughing, sneezing, nose that is both runny and stuffy at the same time, fever, lost my voice, general bleachness. Saturday, I laid around a lot. Didn't do too much. And I did get a nap. But I also took care of kids, picked up around the house, made the kids lunch, made dinner, and answered almost every one of the approximately 4,000 times one of the kids said "Mom." I didn't do it all, but I did enough. I was nearly delirious.

And then today. OMG, today. Wait, first let me back up a little. I need to point out that it is March. If you don't know anything about basketball, let me tell you that there is a reason they call it March Madness. My husband is a big fan of college basketball. And when he is using all of his visual sense to watch college basketball, he often loses function in his other senses - especially hearing. So while the tournament is going on, it's a hit or miss proposition as to whether he's aware of what is going on around him. I only wish I was exaggerating. So even on Saturday, there were many times when he would wait until I prompted him before he would react to whatever needed reacting. Things that I didn't have the energy to give the proper amount of authority. Like kids hitting each other, throwing Legos, spilling food, etc., etc.

So last night, I got some things ready that needed to go to church - prepared them for Steve to take since I obviously wouldn't be going. I also helped to finish the church directory so the church secretary and her husband could finish printing it for today's service. All of this while I couldn't breathe - it was really quite an accomplishment. He took the things to church today, but only did half of what I had asked - because he didn't have time. Uh, that's because you didn't get your ass up out of bed when I told you to (since I was already up taking care of the kids, still sick), Jack Ass! Okay. Moving on.

He kept talking about going to see a movie. Alone. A movie I didn't want to see. Today. While I'm SICK and the kids are getting over being sick and are whiny because they've been basically cooped up in the house since Thursday. I just let him talk. Surely he didn't really intend to go. On his way home from church, he stopped to pick up groceries to make this special cheesy tomato rice dish that his mother used to make. I hate it. Can barely stand the smell of it. And he knows this. We've had many discussions about it. So he clearly didn't intend on including me in this lunch he was planning to make. Just as well, I had already fed the children and planned on eating some of the soup I had made the day before. You know, when I was also sick. Fine. Okay. The cheesy tomato rice preparation took long enough that he missed the starting time of the movie. So I still don't know if he really intended to go or not. But he looked at the listings for a long time. And he made plans with Andrew to take him to the TMNT movie next weekend. So I'm pretty sure he at least considered it.

I mentioned that we were going to need more Kleenexes - we're going through quite a few of them around here right now - and we were getting low on bottled water. And I asked what the chance was of him going to Wal-Mart. He said "Not," but that's a pretty typical response for him. Smart ass, all the time. Then we ran out of bottled water. And I don't drink Indiana tap water - it's gross. If you don't live here, just trust me on this. And I'm sick (have I mentioned?), so I really need to drink a lot of water. At 7:30, I got up to MAKE MYSELF DINNER - he ate cheesy tomato rice leftovers at 5:30. Didn't offer to make me anything (but to be fair, I was half-asleep), didn't feed the kids. The kids asked ME to get them some dinner. So I did. And he sat on the couch. And then I ate while the kids yelled and ran and fought and did not go to bed. And he sat on the couch. So at 8:30, I tried to make myself presentable enough as to not scare the innocent public, made a list, put on my shoes, and prepared to go to Wal-Mart. And he sat on the couch. When he finally asked what I was doing and I told him, he actually asked me if I wanted him to go. Seriously? YES! So he said I should give him the list. I told him to forget it and just take care of getting the kids to bed (because honestly, going to Wal-Mart takes a lot less energy and I knew I was going to be stuck with one or the other). And I went to Wal-Mart.

When I got home, and UNLOADED EVERYTHING, INCLUDING TWO CASES OF WATER, I came inside to find the kids in the back of the house, but most certainly not laying in bed. And he was sitting on the couch. They were yelling and giggling and very clearly together in one room, not each in their own, they were up and playing in the bathroom, they were playing in the hall. And he SAT ON THE COUCH. Finally, at 9:30 (NINE FRIPPING THIRTY), I got up and asked if he was actually going to sit there and do nothing and make me be the bitch. You'll just never guess what he did. Jerk. So I went and yelled at the children, put them back in their own beds, threatened them as any proper Mommy Ogre does, and came out here to type all this streaming vent in one massive bitch-a-thon.

And he's now laying on the couch.

God, he's hot. Or maybe that's the cold medicine I just chugged talking.

Ode to Krinkle Fries

Oh, crinkle fries, how I do love thee, let me count you as I shove you into my mouth...

Hi, my name is Cheri, and I'm a fry-aholic. Specifically, the thick crinkle cut fries. Just thinking about them makes my mouth water.

I used to work downtown and happily fed my crinkle fry cravings at the Loading Dock. Oh, Dock, how I miss you. Your smoke-filled atmosphere, tables right outside the restroom door, decor of antique cars - IN side the building...ahh...and the best greasy grilled cheese sandwiches EVER. And the fries. Oh, the fries that filled me with a special crinkly kind of joy. There were days when the fries were all I needed. No need to bother with the sandwich - it was just a justification for the fries, anyway. Just knowing that the crinkle fries were always there for me helped to make the bad days just a little bit better.

Now I work further north. For a while, my fry cravings went unsatisfied. And I was cranky. I longed for my fries and wondered if my decision to leave my employer was the right one - after all, what had I given up - how would I live without my crinkle fries (yes, yes, and most certainly YES it was the right decision to leave - but that's a story for another time). And then, a miracle. An angel appeared in the form of a co-worker who said she had found a new place to eat that had just opened: the Boathouse Grill. We went to try it and discovered - yes, they had Krinkle fries. Oh, yes, these Krinkle fries are spelled with a 'K' and capitalized, my friend. They are THAT good. They are perfectly crinkled and beautiful and delicious. And even better, at the Boathouse, we can watch the Price is Right during lunch. This might be what Heaven is like.

What makes my husband cry

Most people who know me know that I cry easily. Sappy romantic comedies, commercials, country songs, seeing someone on t.v. cry, radio telethons...they all make me cry.

My husband, on the other hand, is a MAN. He doesn't cry. It's a Man Rule or something. Boys don't cry. I have only seen him cry a couple of times since I've known him - at the funerals of his grandparents - and to be honest, it freaks me out a little because I don't know what to do when it happens. Now, he does get a little emotional about weird boy-movies. Like the one where Joaquin Phoenix is a firefighter and John Travolta is trying to save him and then he dies in the end anyway...he doesn't exactly cry, but it gets him a little verklempt, if you will (I on the other hand, cry - someone in a movie DIES, people, c'mon!). And also, Days of Thunder. When Tom Cruise has to drive through the accident and he can't see and the other guy tells him that he can do it, "I know it in my heart, Cole." Yeah, that line gets him every time. Oddly, that is one of the few things that does NOT make me cry. Strange.

But yesterday, my husband showed me something he found on YouTube and he was pretty choked up. First of all, my husband was on YouTube - this is momentous! I asked how he found this video and it came from something I signed him up for (I will pull him kicking and screaming into the 21st century yet!). A while back, I heard an ad for an All-Pro Dads event. I Googled them to see what it was all about and was very impressed. They have a newsletter they send out to men with snippets of info and motivational/inspirational advice on being a better dad. I signed Steve up, not because I think he is not a good father, but because I thought it might give him some thought points and he would like that is was kind of sports-related (The Colts' coach, Tony Dungy is very heavily involved in the organization). He didn't say anything for a while, but finally he mentioned something in one of the e-mails and I was happy to hear he was getting the e-mails, reading them, and enjoying them. The e-mail this week had a story about a father and son, Dick and Rick Hoyt. Their story is here and here and it is amazing. And it will make you cry, unless you are a robot or your heart is made of stone. And if your heart is made of some kind of metal or stone, try this video and make sure you have a Kleenex or two handy. Your heart will be a big pool of goo by the end. We watched both of the videos and my husband - my big, strong, manly-man husband - was very teary-eyed. It is in moments like these that I know I married the right one.

It's so romantic

Happy Valentine's Day!

Today is day two of being snowed in. Here is a picture of our front yard today after 15 inches of drifting snow:

The drift by the front door is almost four feet tall at its peak. We all stayed home today for the second day. Since it's Valentine's Day, I gave Steve a gift any husband would love - I helped him shovel our driveway and sidewalks. I found his gift after I got out of the shower.

A hickie.

Oh, yes, that's right. A HICKIE. Am I in high school? No, I most certainly am not. Are we some drunk college kids getting it on in a dark dorm room while a roommate sleeps in the top bunk? Nope. We've been married for ten years for crying out loud. And we have two kids - we're not even supposed to be having sex at this point, let alone leaving EVIDENCE of the crime. Oh sure, I could tell you it was just the hickie, but you wouldn't really believe me, now would you? So yes, we had sex. And don't worry - that's all the details I feel the need to provide. You know, I wouldn't want to make anyone jealous with tales of my wild, cavorting, let's-hurry-up-and-do-it-now-that-the-kids-are-asleep-so-we-can-go-to-sleep, married sex. It's pretty hot and steamy. Seriously.

School is closed again tomorrow, but work is on and day care is open, so life is almost back to normal. We'll all be leaving the house tomorrow and maybe that's a good thing. You know, maybe the hickie is a result of us being cooped up in the house all day. We need to go to work to expend some energy in order to avoid any more incriminating evidence showing up on my neck.

Well, I think Steve is asleep. I think it's safe for me to head off to bed. After I lay out that lovely turtleneck sweater I'll be wearing tomorrow.

Saved by the snow

While watching a news report about our record snowfall (12 -15 inches - most places shut down due to Snow Emergency) - they were discussing the difficulty of florists delivering their Valentine's Day orders:

Steve: This is probably killing their business from all those last minute people.

Me: Yeah, and with everything shut down, do you think they'll just wait and deliver my flowers tomorrow?

Steve: No, they'll probably just say 'Forget it,' and give me my money back.

Me: You're hilarious.

Steve: I better call Troyer and tell him to use that one on Michelle!