I am a romance junkie. Love hearts, flowers, kisses, all things romantic. My husband, Mark, well he is.....a guy. Therefore, he is not a romance junkie. To add insult to injury, he is extraordinarily practical, so the whole Valentine's Day allure completely escapes him. Thus, the Parker's have a conundrum. Every year, around February 1st, we both start to get antsy. He sweats it out, knowing he will have to do something for V-Day, but not really wanting to, not because he doesn't love me, just because it's not how he is wired. Meanwhile, I am ready to freebase on romance. I picture beautiful roses and candlelit dinner and well, you can guess what else. So, since the two of us are on such different planes, this is clearly a recipe for disaster. So here we sit, on Valentine's day, with all this pressure. (mostly caused by me). This year, Mark sent me beautiful flowers to my office on Friday. A lovely gesture that made my day. Today, I planned a nice dinner, hoping we could put Matty to bed early and have a little grown up time....and a lot of wine! Alas, my husband absently invited a friend of ours over for dinner. Once this friend remembered it was Valentine's day (clearly they have no issues at their house) he politely declined. But, this brought up the whole V-Day issue again. I had told him several times about the dinner, yet he forgot. Even when our friend asked what I was making and I said Steak and Lobster, Mark was still saying to him, "Oh come over, it's gonna be good." Giving the fact that I was planning this for Valentine's day, no thought whatsover.
Now, here's the real problem. I get upset, but end up feeling so stupid because I have become "crazy valentine lady" whose husband bought her flowers and loves her and she's still not happy. What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe I watch too many movies or hallmark card commercials. I don't know. Any ideas?
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Incomplete Sentences
My son is 6 years old.
That means, for the last several years, I have been unable to complete a sentence.
Every time, I try to say something remotely meaningful to my husband, he interrupts me.
I am always three quarters of the way through the sentence and he says, "um, mumma?" I usually say, "hold on sweetie, I am talking." I continue on, trying to complete my thought, which believe me is a challenge to my brain anyway. Three more words come out of my mouth and here he comes again "um mumma." (now he's a bit more insistent) To which, I say, "let me finish what I am telling daddy." Three more words and now he's downright pushy, "Mumma!" Finally, I say, "what Matthew?" His response......"Enzo has more snowtrooper legos than I do and the ATT Walker" (whatever the hell that is)
If he wasn't so stinkin cute, I would tell him that maybe he should move to Enzo's house since the Legos are clearly superior to ours and then he could drive his mom crazy for a while. But then, I remember I love him. Which is a good thing, because if I didn't, I would have sold him to strangers long before now.
So, for now, I long for the day when I can complete a thought uninterrupted. Oh what a joyous day that will be. I am thinking I should be good around 2020.
Now if this post doesn't get me that mother of the year award, nothing will.
That means, for the last several years, I have been unable to complete a sentence.
Every time, I try to say something remotely meaningful to my husband, he interrupts me.
I am always three quarters of the way through the sentence and he says, "um, mumma?" I usually say, "hold on sweetie, I am talking." I continue on, trying to complete my thought, which believe me is a challenge to my brain anyway. Three more words come out of my mouth and here he comes again "um mumma." (now he's a bit more insistent) To which, I say, "let me finish what I am telling daddy." Three more words and now he's downright pushy, "Mumma!" Finally, I say, "what Matthew?" His response......"Enzo has more snowtrooper legos than I do and the ATT Walker" (whatever the hell that is)
If he wasn't so stinkin cute, I would tell him that maybe he should move to Enzo's house since the Legos are clearly superior to ours and then he could drive his mom crazy for a while. But then, I remember I love him. Which is a good thing, because if I didn't, I would have sold him to strangers long before now.
So, for now, I long for the day when I can complete a thought uninterrupted. Oh what a joyous day that will be. I am thinking I should be good around 2020.
Now if this post doesn't get me that mother of the year award, nothing will.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Boston!
I am on the train, on my way back from a trip to Boston with my pal Lisa. What a lovely time.
We shopped, we spa'd, we ate, we drank and we walked. All without worry about little feet keeping up and with nary a whine from anyone asking for chocolate milk. Last night, as aI sat at the hotel bar having a nightcap (at 9:00 PM) while I waited for Lisa to return from yet another trip to JCrew (what can I say, she had to get the pants in blue too) I was chatting with some people visiting boston for the "lumber products" convention. They were from Baltimore and had to extend their trip to Boston for a few days due to the blizzard in the Mid Atlantic region. I thought it was interesting that there were so many "wood people" in one place. One guy actually introduced himself by saying, "I'm Ted, I'm in Wood." Wow. I forget how many possible careers there are out there.
Lisa and I were fascinated that the hotel was also home to the "Black Nurses Conference" We were going to try to crash the cocktail hour, but we thought we might be obvious since we are neither nurses nor are we....black. That got us wondering. Is there a"White Nurses Conference?" Wouldn't there be an uproar over that? Oh well, whatever.
As we traveled from one end of Boston to the other, we frequented several taxis. Why do all taxis (or taxi drivers) smell vaguely of moroccan spices and BO? And who are they talking to on that bluetooth? Osama Bin Laden? Could be.
Last night, we had dinner with an old and dear friend of mine from high school. We went to the North End and ate fabulous prosciutto, and shrimp and bistecca alla fiorentina. Our main main Franco at La Dolce Vita treated us like Rock Stars.....love it. Top that with the Champagne and Pedicures at Melt and you have the makings of a perfect girls getaway. Meeting the "Wood People" was really just a bonus.
So now, I am on the train, heading back to reality. I am sure my hubby and kids will be thrilled to see me and I will cook them something yummy for dinnner and cuddle with Matty tonight. And this little getaway will hold me for awhile. In about 3 or 4 months, I will get the itch again. The stress will build and I will need a little "Jilly Time" The good news is, I have any number of like minded pals I can call and we can escape.
We shopped, we spa'd, we ate, we drank and we walked. All without worry about little feet keeping up and with nary a whine from anyone asking for chocolate milk. Last night, as aI sat at the hotel bar having a nightcap (at 9:00 PM) while I waited for Lisa to return from yet another trip to JCrew (what can I say, she had to get the pants in blue too) I was chatting with some people visiting boston for the "lumber products" convention. They were from Baltimore and had to extend their trip to Boston for a few days due to the blizzard in the Mid Atlantic region. I thought it was interesting that there were so many "wood people" in one place. One guy actually introduced himself by saying, "I'm Ted, I'm in Wood." Wow. I forget how many possible careers there are out there.
Lisa and I were fascinated that the hotel was also home to the "Black Nurses Conference" We were going to try to crash the cocktail hour, but we thought we might be obvious since we are neither nurses nor are we....black. That got us wondering. Is there a"White Nurses Conference?" Wouldn't there be an uproar over that? Oh well, whatever.
As we traveled from one end of Boston to the other, we frequented several taxis. Why do all taxis (or taxi drivers) smell vaguely of moroccan spices and BO? And who are they talking to on that bluetooth? Osama Bin Laden? Could be.
Last night, we had dinner with an old and dear friend of mine from high school. We went to the North End and ate fabulous prosciutto, and shrimp and bistecca alla fiorentina. Our main main Franco at La Dolce Vita treated us like Rock Stars.....love it. Top that with the Champagne and Pedicures at Melt and you have the makings of a perfect girls getaway. Meeting the "Wood People" was really just a bonus.
So now, I am on the train, heading back to reality. I am sure my hubby and kids will be thrilled to see me and I will cook them something yummy for dinnner and cuddle with Matty tonight. And this little getaway will hold me for awhile. In about 3 or 4 months, I will get the itch again. The stress will build and I will need a little "Jilly Time" The good news is, I have any number of like minded pals I can call and we can escape.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Sumo Pantyhose...."Baby, that's so not hot"
Ya know what women love? Let me tell you what we love. We love when our husband says something to acknowledge our perceived beauty, sexiness, brains, ability to play scrabble, cooking prowess etc. That's what really melts our butter. You see, we normally plow through life at top speed, with barely a moment to comb our hair and put on lipstick so when our beloved hubby notices something special about us, it just makes us all warm and fuzzy inside.
And if the comment happens to indicate that we are hot, sexy, smokin, beautiful or reasonable facsimile? Forget it, you just made our day. The problem is, 99 minutes out of every hundred, we are the furthest thing from hot, sexy or smokin. Instead, we are "Mom making chocolate milk", or "wife balancing the checkbook", or "silly blogging wife who loves to read her own blather." And believe me friends, there ain't nothing hot about that.
So, because life gets in the way of our "inner hotness" those comments from our hubbies are often few and far between. And all too often, just as we are on the cusp of sexy, we quickly downshift back to reality and blow the whole moment.
Take this morning for example. My fabulous husband is dressed and ready to head out to work. I am sitting on the bed putting on a pair of pantyhose while he is pacing back and forth looking for his wallet, keys, phone, to do list, or any combination of the three. As I lean over to put on the pantyhose, he gets a cleavage shot and makes a comment like, "that's a nice cleavage shot babe, thanka that was hot." (that's all it takes, it really wasn't even a compliment, but we take what we can get). So I am feeling all aglow in my hotness and then I stand up and do, what can only be described as the "sumo move" to pull up my pantyhose. (every woman reading this knows exactly the move I am talking about) And my husband then says....."okay baby, don't ever do that in front of me again, because that was so not hot!" And so it was gone. For one moment I was channeling my inner J-Lo and the next thing you know, I am channeling Akebono. Definitely not hot!
Lesson learned ladies, lesson learned.
And if the comment happens to indicate that we are hot, sexy, smokin, beautiful or reasonable facsimile? Forget it, you just made our day. The problem is, 99 minutes out of every hundred, we are the furthest thing from hot, sexy or smokin. Instead, we are "Mom making chocolate milk", or "wife balancing the checkbook", or "silly blogging wife who loves to read her own blather." And believe me friends, there ain't nothing hot about that.
So, because life gets in the way of our "inner hotness" those comments from our hubbies are often few and far between. And all too often, just as we are on the cusp of sexy, we quickly downshift back to reality and blow the whole moment.
Take this morning for example. My fabulous husband is dressed and ready to head out to work. I am sitting on the bed putting on a pair of pantyhose while he is pacing back and forth looking for his wallet, keys, phone, to do list, or any combination of the three. As I lean over to put on the pantyhose, he gets a cleavage shot and makes a comment like, "that's a nice cleavage shot babe, thanka that was hot." (that's all it takes, it really wasn't even a compliment, but we take what we can get). So I am feeling all aglow in my hotness and then I stand up and do, what can only be described as the "sumo move" to pull up my pantyhose. (every woman reading this knows exactly the move I am talking about) And my husband then says....."okay baby, don't ever do that in front of me again, because that was so not hot!" And so it was gone. For one moment I was channeling my inner J-Lo and the next thing you know, I am channeling Akebono. Definitely not hot!
Lesson learned ladies, lesson learned.
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