The Hairband, The Toilet, & the Toothbrush

I was in a sleepy, Sunday morning, slumber when Hubs stumbled from bed towards the bathroom. I laid in my warm little cocoon trying to find my way back to the sandman.

The door to the bathroom shut (loudly) and just as quickly as he entered, the door re-opened.

"Elaina! Why is you hairband in the toilet?!"

I tried to open my eyes, but all I could muster was a squint as I was bombarded with Sunday morning sunshine.

I wrestled within sleepy myself to find my voice "Ugh! I don't know!" How in the hell am I supposed to know anything at this early hour?

Hubs was already fumbling down the hall to the kids bathroom. "Well, you need to fish it out!"

{Good Morning to you, too, my love. Sleep bully. Sleep bully. Sleep bully!}

The door to the hall bath shuts (loudly).

{Hey, man! I'm trying to sleep! Don't you worry, I'll fish it out. I'll fish it out alright! I know exactly how I'll do it, too!}

Just then I hear the bathroom door open and Hubs yells, "And don't use my toothbrush, either!"

Darn!

Plan foiled.

Fine!

Where's his hairbrush?

Spousal Chatter (In the Garden)

**Originally written July, 2012**

Bigger than a bridal bouquet

I was out front watering my flowers in the garden, when Hubs came home from the hospital and pulled into the driveway.

After parking the car in the garage, he came back out to say hello and make a close inspection of my and our gardner's work.

He approved of the work, complimenting my green thumb. As he was heading back inside the house, he paused at our juniper...

"Oh, look! He shaved your bush."

Teen Girls: Here Come The Nuns

If you follow me on Twitter, you know, despite illness, I drove a car full of teen girls to a concert Saturday evening.

True to form, the girls were running late. A couple couldn't decide what to wear, one forgot her make-up and another was decompensating over not having the proper shade of metallic, lavender eyeshadow, while others were furiously texting friends who were already at the concert, yelling the latest news throughout the halls of my house.

"EILEEN IS ALREADY THERE, AND SHE SAYS SHE 'RAN INTO' JOEY!!"

"OH, YEAH, RIGHT!"

"OOOOOOOOOO!!!! MATT IS GOING TO GO CRAY-CRAY ON HER!!"

"HOLD ON, I'M GOING TO SNAP CHAT HER AND TELL HER SHE'S SCREWING HERSELF!"

"EXCUSE ME?" I say in a tone which suggests correction is needed.

"Oh, sorry, Mrs. S.... I'M GOING TO SNAP CHAT HER AND TELL HER SHE'S 'MAKING A POOR DECISION!!' "

Decorum. A little decorum.

The finally were ready to head out to the car and as they filed past me, I checked their outfits. The jean cutoff shorts were a little too short for my liking. The tanks tops were a little short, but covered the midriff (for the most part). Their makeup was little heavier than what they wore to school, but not much. It was borderline acceptable. I put away my fashion police badge.

We piled in the car and made our way through traffic to the concert venue.

As we approached the drop off area, concert goers began to appear. They were hopping out of their cars and hoofing it towards the arena.

All the girls had their noses buried in their phones as I muttered, "Oh my GAWD."

The dismay in my voice summoned the girls' attention and their heads all popped up and they looked out the car windows.

There, walking beside us, in front of us, and everywhere we looked we saw girls in fishnets and– their underwear. The tiniest boyfriend cut panties (apparently gold lamé is the all the rage), homemade bedazzled and feathered bras, and make-up jobs intense enough to scare the grim reaper and his sickle back into hiding.

With the girls mouths gaped open, I swung the car into the "passenger drop-off" zone.  Quietly, they all grabbed their phones as they opened the car doors.

I reminded my daughter where I'd be picking them up. As hootchie girls walked past her, she stood just outside the car, poking her head inside the car nodding, "Okay."

With that and her "properly" dressed friends now standing with her, my daughter turned away and yelled, "HERE COME THE NUNS, PEOPLE! HERE COME THE NUNS!" as she shut the car door.

...And I laughed as I drove off solo in my car which is adorned with her high school issued license plate frame which reads, "St. Catherine's Saints".

That Catholic education is finally beginning to pay off.

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I'm Guessing My Husband Doesn't Read This Blog

**Originally written June 3, 2012**

Hubs has a snarky sense of humor... which I LOVE!

I'm thinking Hubs doesn't read this blog. 

Or, at the very least, understand the premise of this blog.

What do you think?

... And for the record, he drove. 

And we ended up at the wrong place. 

If you ask him, we were given the wrong address.

If you ask me, the outcome would've been the same,

no matter what address we were given.

Tween Tales: Colors

**originally written May 2012**

Our youngest kid, LB, is a twelve year old middle schooler. He is a cute kid and I say this using the number of little girls who have called our home asking for him as my gauge, not the biased mommy meter.

Last night we were on our way home from dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant and decided to stop at a popular frozen yogurt shop for dessert. This shop is a little out of our neighborhood and we had to drive through a section of town we don't usually frequent.

It was dark, and at one particular intersection we came upon a parked police cruiser with its siren lights on alerting motorist to a closed portion of the roadway. Pedestrians were gathered around.

LB sees the commotion and declares, "LOOK! Crime scene, ahead! Are we in an area known for gang activity?"

I assured him we were not and continue, "LB, all those people are holding candles. They must be holding a candlelight vigil for someone who died right there. The police car is just there to make sure no one gets hit by a car."

"Oh, welllllllll... um... did you know you could get shot for accidentally wearing the wrong color in a gang neighborhood? One gang is blue and the other red."

"Yeah, that's crazy and very scary."

"Yeah, so if I ever have to go to {city known for prolific gang violence and daily gang shootings} I'm going to make sure I'm wearing pink.... or purple."

As I look out the window at the other cars, I envision LB sticking out like a sore thumb in such an environment, with his Justin Bieber hair cut, vans and pink outfit. I smile to myself and tell him, "Great idea, LB, that's good."

...Yeah, pink would most definitely keep him safe.

Spousal Chatter {Drive Thru}

Running three hours behind on our road trip, Hubs and I decide to run through a drive-thru. We don't do fast food often, so we really don't know how or what to order. Since Hubs had only slept about 10 hours out of the last 72 hours, I was driving.

Obesity Pusher (OP): Welcome to "We Feed You Pink Slime and Fill Your Arteries with Plaque Build UP". May I take your order?
Me: I'll have a mini-meal.
OP: Which one?
Me: Cheeseburger.
OP: We only have a double cheeseburger mini-meal.
Me: Uhhh, okay, but no mayo. With a plain iced tea, please.
OP: Will you be ordering anything else today?
Me: (to Hubs) What do you want?
Hubs: (half asleep in passenger seat) Get me a #11.
Me: (to OP) I need a #11.
OP: Would you like to up that to a large?
Hubs: (to me, very emphatically and disgusted) NO! That's a heart stopper! (he's awake now)
OP: Excuse me?
Me: (to OP) No, no. No large!
OP: What drink would you like with that?

I turn to Hubs and he quickly yells across me, "I'll have an M&M McFlurry with that!"

Heart Stopper.

Spousal Chatter {Morsels}

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A very rare event took place last night– Hubs and I both went to bed very early.  In our home, that can only mean one thing. Neither of us were feeling well. We had caught #3's cooties.

So, there, laid flat on our backs, sheets up to our necks, sore throats, stuffy noses, croaky voices, and hearing stifled thanks to head congestion, I had a craving.

I say, "I want cake or cookies."

Hubs perks up a bit, and clears his sore throat to question what he just heard, "You want a quickie?"

Rolling my eyes and full of disbelief and sarcasm I retort, "I WANT CAKE OR COOKIES! Yeah. With all this (motioning to my head) going on, I want a quickie!"

"Well that's what I thought you said." He paused to cough and think. Then, he did something he really shouldn't have done. He should know by now. Despite phlegm, he tried to be cute. "Well, I do have some morsels for you."

"Yeah, but they're tiny."

**Badda-bing!! Put one more up on the scoreboard for me!!**

Spousal Chatter

We spent the weekend at our vacation home (really future retirement home, but we're in denial... "vacation" sounds more palatable). We have already completed the bulk of the remodel, but we still have a few little odds and ends which need to be completed. Since we have family coming, we drove out for a quick weekend trip hoping we could cross a few items of the "to do" list.

Our new place is located is a somewhat rural area. The closest mall is two hours away. The town's economy is primarily driven by tourism, so we do have some hoi-ty toi-ty boutique-style shops, but certainly no department stores...we do have a RiteAid, though.

These are not Calvin Klein's
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(...driving in the car)
Hubs: I forgot to pack underwear. I have to buy some.
Me: We're here for one more night. Can't you just turn them inside out?
Hubs No! Where can I find some?
Me: I don't think you're going to find any.
Hubs: There's an apparel store! (Brakes, squeal, pulls over, ouch, whip lash...we go inside)

Hubs: Hello, Ms. Saleslady. Do you carry men's underwear?
Saleslady: (frowning) Nooooooo, we don't. Saw-reeeee....
Hubs: Do you know where I can buy some?
Saleslady: Umm... did you try RiteAid???

(back in the car)
Hubs: (despondent and defeated) RiteAid?!!! I'm not wearing under from RITEAID!
Me: Where do all the locals buy their underwear?
Doc H: They must all go commando.

*******************************

(...trying to mount a bathroom mirror)
Doc H: (getting tired of holding up the heavy mirror and frustrated with my slow mechanical abilities) Did you get it?!!
Me: I can't get it in the hole!
Hubs: Thank God you're not a man.