Rants from the Crib

An Ob/Gyn gone mad

Archive for the tag “husband”

My Husband, The Food Terrorist

My husband has, er, a strong opinion about the correct consumption of food.  It overwhelms any sense of shame he might have (he hasn’t).  He has embarrassed me so many times in so many food venues.  And his food rules are many and complex.

He once demanded to see a manager in a McDonald’s.

On a date, in a 5 star restaurant in Atlanta, he waved over the maître d’ to inform him that the baked potatoes had been sitting under the warmer for far too long and they were unacceptably dry.  I wanted to crawl under the table and yet… I married him.

Every time we go to Ruth’s Chris, he sends his steak back to be put back on the grill and done right, and he lectures the wait staff on the nuances of steak preparation.  He informs them that he wants no pepper on the steak rub, and he doesn’t want it to come with sizzling butter on the plate.  What possible food  would NOT be improved by the presence of sizzling butter?

I am Harry. He is Sally.

He always demands his dressing on the side, because “they put too much on”.  He requests no croutons.  And when the croutons come anyway, he piles them reproachfully on the side of his plate.

We were out to eat with my parents, and my mom leaned over and whispered, “Why does he DO that?”  She was referring to his highly odd practice of ordering a salad with chicken, and carefully removing the chicken and placing it on a separate plate.  I had already asked him. “Why in the hell would you order a salad with chicken, and then take it off?”  He looked at me as if I were dimwitted.  “The hot chicken wilts the lettuce.”  Seriously?

We have yet to buy food through a drive-through.  He refuses to drive his food home, because it will be “too cold to eat”. Alternately, he also refuses to get Blizzards in the drive-through, because they will be too MELTED when we get home.  He can’t eat melted ice cream.  I’m not sure what he think happens when it gets into his stomach.

When we were first married, he was obsessed with expiration dates on food.  He read everything in the pantry, and no matter what it was, he refused to eat it if it was one day past the expiration date.  The first time I brought him home to meet my parents, he informed my mom that the can she had just opened was past its due date.  My mother, who buys food and stocks her fridge and pantry as if she were preparing for Armageddon, clipping coupons and buying in massive bulk, looked at him like he had cabbages growing out of his ears.  Actually, she looked at him like she wanted to whack him with a spatula.  I know that look.

He has always been obsessed with sodium.  His dad was probably the last human being who was ever placed on a low sodium diet.  He scrutinizes everything he picks up in the supermarket and scowls.  “I can’t believe how much SODIUM they put in this!  It’s like the silent epidemic!”  I have told him innumerable times that no one really worries about sodium any more.  But I’m only a doctor, so what do I know?

Then there’s the fat thing.  To say that he eschews fat would indeed be putting it mildly.  He peels and scrapes and carves every bit of his meat which seems to be remotely white in color.  Even a very lean pork chop – he carefully minces off scarcely visible edges of fat and piles them on his plate, testament to his lack of confidence in the buyer’s ability to purchase a decent piece of meat.  He won’t eat a bite until the surgery is adequately performed.  I’m not sure what he would do if he ever accidentally put a morsel of fat into his mouth.  It would probably immediately induce vomiting.

And, there are the popsicles.  He consumes sugar-free popsicles, packs at a time.  He likes to bring them to TV time, so that the dialogue sounds like CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH rip, shred, rip, shred (him opening more popsicles).  He used to do the crunching and the rip-shredding in bed too, until I made him stop.  He leaves the wrappers everywhere, despite having a garbage can within arm’s reach.

He’s convinced that he has mercury poisoning, so he now rejects the “sulfur-forming” foods:  cruciate vegetables, eggs, basically everything that is good for you.  And he has another Bee in His Bonnet – after consulting multiple forums on mercury toxicity (but not a doctor), he now takes a chelating regimen of literally dozens of vitamins a day, to exorcise the evil toxin from his body.  I don’t want to know how much they cost, but unfortunately I have a pretty good idea. We even have vitamin packages arriving from South Africa.  He looks like an HIV patient – he has timers set on his phone, for these miracle workers must be taken at precise times.  I don’t know what will happen if he messes up a dose, but I am sure it is dire.  We have timers going off every four hours throughout the night.

Also, he refuses anything he had to eat in childhood.  His family was fairly poor, and he had to live with his grandparents a while.  They did a lot of living off the land; they had a garden and fished and hunted.  So to this day, he will eat NOTHING that they had in abundance when he was a kid.  No okra.  No spinach.  Only iceberg lettuce.  And no freshwater fish, because they caught and ate them.  They taste “too fishy”.  I have no idea what the heck else a fish is supposed to taste like.  He only eats top-of the-food-chain ocean fish, although he now rejects them as well because they contain mercury.

He goes on Atkins a lot, mainly when his 32’s get too tight.  He refuses to buy up a size in the face of his increasing age.  You would think, given his food obsessions, that he would eat a healthy diet.  Oh, no.  I think he would eat Mexican food every day if he could.  He eats like a pig:  ice cream, Blizzards, tangy Sweet Tarts, popcorn, until the 32’s get tight, then he slams on the brakes and eats only lunch meat and cheese.  Cooking for my family is impossible.  If you combine the fat-eschewing with the loathing of most domestic vegetables and fish and the fear of sodium, mercury and sulfur, and the no-carbs rule – big fun at meals in OUR house!

Just a little food OCD.  I will not, however, mention the fact that I eat six cartons of yogurt a day.  There’s NOTHING weird about that!  Nope.  Good times.

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Happy Birthday To Me!

Well, I am 45 years old today.  Thanks to my recent regimen of weight loss and self improvement, I feel much younger than I have in years!  I bought myself a pair of size 6 jeans last night, and I was sooo excited!  I have been enjoying doing a lot of jewelry making and bead weaving recently as well.

I was woken up this morning by my phone blowing up – I just updated Facebook yesterday and it apparently reset my notifications so my phone alarms for every incoming facebook post to me.  Wow! I am very gratified to have so many well wishers, but that phone exploded this morning.  Then my husband texted and my mom phoned and I knocked over my Coke over trying to get to the phone.  Sigh.  My husband also forgot to wish me happy birthday this morning.  Maybe I can work that for an extra good birthday present!

This is the first time in 7 years I have not had to be on call on Memorial Day weekend.  The last 7 years, I have gone to a jewelry show called Bead and Button, which takes place in Milwaukee every year, around the first of June.  Ergo, I was always on call the week before.  This holiday weekend, I have nothing to do but lounge around and enjoy myself!  Loving it!  I do admit, I am a bit lonely as I am far away from home and without my family, but the work break is definitely welcome.  But I still get to go to my show next week!  I am terribly excited.

I am about to shower and dress up a bit and do a little shopping.  I have some shoes to return and a shirt they forgot to take the security tag out of.  How is it those things never set the alarm off when I walk out with my purchases?  It sure would have been handy for the girl to take it off while I was still in the store.  Then I’m going to look for a new belt – I sure could use one, what with my pants being all loose and everything.

Unfortunately, it looks and smells as if a thunderstorm may be brewing up.  I don’t think I want to go out shopping in one of those.  Hopefully it will be over soon and I can get to the mall – it’s small but it’s just across the street, which is handy.

So for my birthday, I am enjoying beadwork, an SVU marathon, and some possible shopping.  Pretty nice.  I’m waiting for a show I’ve already seen to take my shower, so I don’t miss anything.

So there you have it.  That’s my birthday.  I’m expecially excited to be off until Tuesday!  It sure is nice to have a big break and some well-earned downtime.  So happy birthday to me!  Middle aged me!  I’m good with that though.  My daughter is only 7, which keeps me feeling young.  A good day to you all!

Happy Birthday, Baby

Today is my husband’s birthday.  It is also National Marguerita day, which is probably not a coincidence.  Gosh, we’re getting old.  He is 48 today, which is really close to 50, which is really old.  Right?  And I’ll be 45 soon, which is also really old.  For me, anyway.

We are about half a country away from each other.  Here I sit in a hotel room in North Dakota, surrounded by jewelry makings and sugar free candy.  In honor of my husband I am watching Underworld, which I would probably not be watching otherwise.  This movie serves my purpose, though, which is that it not demand enough attention to keep me from making jewelry, or writing blog posts.  He is with my daughter in San Francisco.  They arrived there today – he has a conference to attend and he has brought our daughter with him, since I am in North Dakota.  He is speaking, so she will sit in the back of the room and read until he is done.  Then they plan to visit the town, go to the zoo, ride a streetcar, you know.  My daughter wanted to visit the “pretty jail on the island”.  I told her maybe not.  I’m hoping they will Skype soon.  Today I have yet to speak with either one of them.

Seems like my husband and I always have a computer or two between us.  Computers are his livelihood, specifically, data base administration.  He can work from home a lot, but he also travels.  We met online, through an online dating service.  He was several years out of his divorce, which occurred because he wanted children and she did not.  I was 34 and single.  We exchanged witty emails, and eventually phone conversations.  At that time he was at home because his father was dying of colon cancer and was living at home with him.  We talked on the phone until the day his dad passed away; my husband couldn’t leave the house long enough to go out on a date until then.  His devotion suggested to me that he would make an excellent husband and father.  Any man who, alone, gives up his job for 8 months to stay home until his STEPdad passes away, has got some serious caregiving dedication.

We had a couple good (and funny) dates, and then we were dating.  A year later, we got engaged.  He chose me the most beautiful, the most perfect ring ever.  I was unhappy with my present job and we moved to Alabama to be closer to my parents in case we had kids.  We had a daughter, a wonderful daughter.  My husband proved to be every bit the excellent husband and father I thought he would be.  He found out we were pregnant online too.  We were chatting between my office and his office, and I couldn’t get him on the phone after I took the test, so I typed it in the chat line:  Oh, by the way, we’re pregnant.”  My phone rang about 30 seconds after that.  “That is NOT the kind of news we pass along on chat,” he said.  “Oh well,” I said, “We met online, after all.  I thought it was only appropriate.”

We’ll be married ten years in October.  Wow, where did the time go?  I just left my job of ten years, just in time, as the town’s Obstetrics and Gynecology service was imploding in the ugliest way possible.  Two hospitals and two services were dumped together.  Then the firings started.  Nurses and doctors are being fired from the service every day now.  I had a job if I stayed, but the circumstances were repugnant to me.  Thus, I have decided to go adventuring, working as a travel doctor.  It has always been a dream of mine.  I love to travel.

But here I sit, tonight, in a nice hotel in a small town in North Dakota, and I feel just a bit lonely.  I texted my husband a happy birthday greeting, but that is not the same.  I haven’t spoken to him yet today.  And I miss my little daughter.  We will Skype tonight, and I will see their faces, and hear their voices, and I will feel better.

So, happy birthday honey.  It’s been a crazy ride, these last ten years.  We’ve moved, and gotten married, and had a baby, and here we are getting all old together.  I sure do love and miss you!  And I sure will have a lot of new jewelry to show you, since I’ve been sitting here making it every night since I’ve been here.  Hope your Speaker’s Dinner and your ballroom dance are great tonight!  Can’t wait to see you again!

Off To The Movies

Going to the movies with my husband is always an adventure. Which is partly why I don’t go out to the movies much. This is also because I prefer to watch movies in the peace and quiet of my own home, on my own couch, minus the sticky seats, sticky floors, enormous hulking man with big hair who always sits in front of me, and ten dollar popcorn. I prefer to be able to pause and get up to pee whenever I feel like it. I like to make my own movie snacks. But lets assume, for the sake of argument, that we are going out to see a movie.

First, we must choose the movie. My husband knows his way around the IMDB website like nobody’s business. Before I married him, I had no idea that the IMDB website even existed, or what it was for. He begins skimming the reviews: “Hey, IMDB gave Murderous Zombie Apocalypse in 3D 7.4 stars!!!” Major enthusism ensues. Just not from me. We then go through the superhero movies: “Hey, Thor Part 3 in 3D is out! Isn’t that awesome?” No, that is not awesome. I was forced to sit through the first Thor movie, and the thought of there being sequels just makes me want to cry. “What about Abraham Lincoln?” Excellent, I think. The one with Daniel Day Lewis? “No, no, Abraham Lincoln the Vampire Hunter!” Of course. We finally compromise on 0-Dark-Thirty, a violent movie (of course) but nominated for an Oscar, which sounds appealing enough for me.

Next is ticket buying time. No, we’re not at the movie yet. We must buy the tickets online, from home. We must secure our seats. Then we must battle the twenty year old printer to print out our barcode to take to the theater. Then my husband decides, why waste the space to bring the WHOLE sheet? He rips the barcode out of the page and sticks it in his wallet.

My husband does not like to arrive at the movies early. He does not even like arriving at the movies ON TIME. He maintains that this is because the theater shows over thirty minutes of previews before the movie even starts. I have to agree with this, but I don’t like walking into theaters late and I kind of like watching the previews. How else would I know what movies are coming out? But despite me prodding, we always leave so that we will be about fifteen minutes late for the movie. This triggers my OCD and I get irritable.

Next, we must drive thirty minutes to get to the movie theater. There are theaters in our town, but they are dingy beyond belief. My daughter and I got stuck in one of them in a fluke downpour, and water began to cascade out of the ceiling tiles at every juncture. The employees must be used to this, because they put garbage cans under all the dozens of leaks. They ran out of garbage cans. Anyway. The theater thirty miles away has stadium seating, and a special seating section for adults over twenty one where you can order drinks, and it is all around just nicer than the ones in our town. So we hop in the car for a session of my husband’s swoopy driving. Before we leave home, he has to pee. I don’t know why he bothers because he will have to go at least three times more before the movie even starts.

When we get to the theater, we have to beg the guy at the desk to give us our tickets, because we should have had the whole page we printed out, and not just the curled up little shred that my husband chose to bring with him. Then he has to pee again. I wait in the lobby. When he gets out, we proceed to turn in our tickets and hunt down our theater. The lights are always out by the time we get there. We find our seats, and oust the squatters who are sitting in them. My husband starts to grumble about all the previews. He pokes me to make sure I’ve muted my phone. He’s the only one who calls me anyway.

Then we watch the previews and he gets all excited about World War Z, a movie ostensibly about a zombie apocalypse, which seems to be all the rage these days, which includes Brad Pitt in shaggy hair, who is some kind of inexplicable ex-Special Forces guy, who apparently has a set of skills more important than anyone else’s in killing zombies. We see another preview, this one called After Earth, which features Will Smith and his son, about their spaceship crash landing on a Level 1 quarantined planet, which turns out to be Earth. He gets excited about this too. Then it’s time to pee again – off he goes, Mr. Walnut Bladder.

The movie starts, with auditory recordings from September 11 emergency calls. The screen is blacked out. The story is told from the perspective of a CIA agent named Maya, who was instrumental in finding and capturing Osama Bin Laden. It really is an amazing movie. The movie is long, but it goes through the fascinating process of finding a ghost like Bin Laden. There are some torture scenes that are pretty intense. At the end, the invasion of the Seal team into the compound is shown, with the end results that we have all heard by now. We left the movie in an intense mood, very impressed, and discuss it all the way home. Of course, peeing was necessary before we left the theater. But that was expected. The movie was a hit. The evening was a success.

Like A Bat Out Of Hell

I guess my husband isn’t the worst driver in the world. I mean, he doesn’t have accidents (except for the one where he backed into a pole in a dark grocery store parking lot). He just has a certain personality type, type A with a dollop of OCD, and it all comes to the forefront when he drives.

He is IMPATIENT. If he gets behind someone who is going just a mile or two under the speed limit, or even a mile or two over, he will swoop around them, radiating impatience. He isn’t too cautious about which way those little dotted lines are going on the road either. If the person is going MORE than a few miles under the speed limit, he swoops around them with a derogatory blare of the horn. The horn going off never fails to startle me, and it irritates me to death. Hasn’t he ever heard of people getting shot because of road rage?

When my family comes to visit, he drives us all in the van. I wind up sitting in the very back, because my dad has to sit all the way up front because my husband’s swoopy driving makes him nauseated. It makes him so nauseated that he has to take Benadryl or Antivert to keep from getting sick. If he finds out we’re going out somewhere, my dad will medicate himself about thirty minutes before we leave. Sitting in the back is an experience, because when the husband takes sharp turns up front, you get cracked like a whip in back. I get pretty dizzy back there.

I gave up driving with him in the car a long time ago. He barks orders from the passenger seat, “No, turn there! TURN THERE! Turn there NOW!” or tells me how to navigate traffic, whom to pass, and yes, he reaches over and helps himself to the horn, so I look like I’M the one with road rage. Great. He’ll probably get me shot.

He is so anal retentive, he won’t wait through a red light. When he wants to go straight and is approaching a light that is red, he actually gets in the right turn lane, turns right on red, makes a left into some parking lot, and right back out onto the road he was on. It doesn’t even matter that the light has probably changed in the meantime. He just refuses to stop moving. He doesn’t undestand why I refuse to do this when I am driving. Which is why I let him drive. I just don’t want to hear it.

On long trips, he is always exceeding the speed limit. He complains bitterly about speed traps but blazes right through them. He’s gotten several speeding tickets since we’ve been married, and is always so irked when he gets caught. He actually drove forty-five minutes to court with photographs to try to protest one of the tickets. They didn’t buy it. He got traffic school instead. He has gotten tickets with our daughter in the car with him, and she always gleefully reports the details, what the cop said, what Daddy said, etc.

I have begged and begged him about the horn honking thing, partly because it sets my teeth on edge and partly because now that we have a daughter, I am more worried than ever about road rage and somebody pulling us over and trying to hurt us. He has improved a little bit, but I have to remind him every time he passes, “No horn. No horn.” And woe betide the unfortunate soul who takes a little long getting out of the gate when the light changes. He fumes, blares the horn, and zooms around them if he can.

And his treatment of vehicles is abysmal. It’s not that he doesn’t do oil changes and maintenance stuff, because he does. But he treats any car he is in like a rolling dumpster. Any drink or food wrapper that he is finished with gets tossed right over the back seat. When you open the door of his Explorer, cans come clanking and rolling onto the ground. It is mortifying. And he NEVER washes anything. His white vehicle is dark gray. Back in the days before we had our daughter, I had a Porsche, if he ever drove it (which he hated, because the hard “feel” of the road made his hemorrhoids hurt), he would unhesitatingly hurl coke cans into the back of my Carrera. I wanted to hurt him. Badly. I kept that car IMMACULATE.

His impatience when approaching restaurants is legendary. He doesn’t even want to wait to see if he has to wait. As we approach the front of the restaurant, he slows down just enough for me to leap out and go find out how long the wait is. I have to text him what the wait is and he’ll decide whether to come in or not. I am always hurled out of the car so fast I forget and leave my glasses on, or forget my purse in the car. And Heaven help me if I should try to walk around the FRONT of the car to get into the restaurant. He’ll just about run me over in his impatience to get out and find a parking spot.

I don’t know what else I can do. I just avoid riding with him whenever possible, and try not to think about it the rest of the time. I realize the crazy driving is just an extension of the competitive, controlling, type A personality. But I just worry that one of these days it’ll get us killed.

Duct Tape

My husband loves duct tape. And not just in the plain old “I love duct tape because it is so handy” sense. He loves it as in, “I would have sex with this duct tape if the cardboard tube weren’t so scratchy around the edges.” His belief in the power of duct tape is unflagging. I have seen so much duct tape used over the years, since we have been married, that I scarce believe that there is another way that duct tape can be put to use. And, yes, I know about the Apollo space mission.

My husband and I live in one of those snotty neighborhoods that has a Homeowner’s Association that dictates that you cannot keep cars in your driveway instead of in your garage, and you can only put up white lights at Christmas. How I managed to move into one of those neighborhoods, I don’t know. I blame it on the house. The house was love at first sight. Both my husband and I loved this house over all the other houses that we looked at, in all the different neighborhoods. This house is COOL. I’ve never seen another with a floor plan like it. It has three stories, with a spiral staircase in the middle of the house that goes to all the floors. I wish it had an elevator. There are all kinds of little nooks and crannies, and tray ceilings, and transom windows, and just neat stuff.

The problem is, this house is a MONEY PIT. Immediately after we moved in, we discovered that somehow the previous owners had concealed a major roof leak from the inspector. I suspect they paid him off, after we discovered the buckets hidden in the attic. Then we discovered that the back porch (second floor widow’s walk) was sliding off the back of the house. If he could have reattached it with duct tape, I think he would have. That was thirty thousand dollars to fix and it was fixed while I was home nursing our daughter, so I was constantly hiding my boobies from the contractors milling around on the back of the house.

Mired in frustration, my husband did the only thing he could do when the house started falling apart – he broke out the duct tape. When we discovered that the dimensions of our wood-burning fireplace were incorrect, and the chimney didn’t draw but send smoke boiling throughout our house, he rigged up a hood out of aluminum foil and yup, you guessed it, duct tape. I admit, the chimney started to draw, but it looked like SHIT. I am one of these “form above all” kind of aesthetic types, and my husband is of the “who cares if it looks like shit if it works” school. I was utterly depressed by the fact that the duct tape was melting onto the mantle and leaving indelible brown adhesive stains. My husband was completely unperturbed.

When the drains off the eaves on the side of the house fell off, and failed to drain properly even before they fell off, my husband broke out the duct tape. He went to Home Despot (a deliberate typo) and bought these gawd-awful black dryer duct-looking pleated tubes, duct taped them to the side of the house, and trailed them across the side of the yard so they would drain away from the house. Again, the damn things worked, but our whole house looked like shit. You could see the duct tape and the black accordion tube-thingies from the road – they were HUGE. Our house looked like a giant bouncy castle with the air inflation tubes coming out the sides. And not in a good way.

When he decided to duct tape over the drain in the mud room, I lost it. I exploded. “You are turning this house into a giant trailer! I do not want to see any more duct tape on anything! ANYTHING! Do you hear me??” I may have mentioned divorce. My husband must have been truly alarmed by the vehemence with which I made this statement, because he has not used it to put together anything visible since. I think I broke his heart.

The sad thing is, I actually feel guilty now. I took his duct tape away from him. I think we went through a period where we actually had none in the house, although I think perhaps he hid it in the garage with the porn. Afterwards, I bought him a little sign that had some cute phrase about duct tape on it, and he looked at it sadly. I bought him a book on Duct-Tape-Agami, which shows you how to make anything from a wallet to a cooking apron out of duct tape. He put it away. I think I even bought him some camouflaged duct tape as a sort of peace gesture.

We are just now again able to speak again of duct tape. While he was cleaning out his office today, he found the duct tape sign and the Duct-Tape-Agami book and we were actually able to smile about them. I am glad he is regaining his sense of humor about his duct tape, because I actually miss his creativity with it. However, I do NOT miss the look of his cleverly rigged repairs. I’m delighted that I’ve finally convinced him of the use of the contractor in doing repairs, so that the work is actually done right. The problem is, I’m pretty sure the contractors use duct tape too.

The Hobbit And Ruth’s Chris

My husband and I went out on a date tonight.  I was very excited.  We hired a sitter for the whole day and went and saw The Hobbit and then went to Ruth’s Chris for dinner.  Kevin got me a massive Ruth’s Chris gift card for Christmas, since we are on Atkin’s diet and are currently eating MEAT and CHEESE and more MEAT.  I am so sick of meat.  But I love me some Ruth’s Chris.

The Hobbit was awesome.  It was a bit loooonng, over two and a half hours.  But we saw the 3D, 48 frame/minute version which was KILLER.  The dwarves had a great look.  And the dwarf king (prince?) was actually pretty hot.  There were like thirty minutes of previews before the movie even started.  Now, I love watching the previews, but my husband does not.  He says they give too much of the story line away.  But – still – how do you know what you want to go see if you don’t watch the previews?  And preview watching is actually my version of watching the movie, most of the time.  I don’t go to too many movies in the theater.  I prefer to wait and see them at home where there aren’t people climbing all over your lap and texting and spilling their drinks on your feet.  But my husband loves to see them in the theater, on the big screen.  So he goes to a lot of movies by himself.  Plus he likes a bunch of really violent ones that I don’t like to watch.  They upset me.  I saw this great quote on Facebook (I know, groan) that said “Two hours of violence in a movie won’t affect you, right?.  But a thirty second spot in the Superbowl is worth 3.8 million dollars because it will make you run out and buy a product.”  I know the violence in movies affects me.  It either upsets me or makes me feel very aggressive, depending on my mood.

So The Hobbit rocked.  Then we went on to Ruth’s Chris.  They stuck us at what looked like this cozy little curved booth that turned out to be right by the door to the kitchen.  So it wasn’t so cozy.  Our server was this skinny little girl who kept saying, “Absolutely!”  My husband said if she said “Absolutely!” one more time, he was gonna come up out of his chair.  So we were boring patrons, because we didn’t order drinks.  I don’t drink anymore, because I shouldn’t, and most of the time, my husband doesn’t drink either.  Every once in a while a marguerita will call his name, and I’ll wind up driving home.  Doesn’t happen too often though.  I must say, I surely do miss beer.  So we refused bread too, because we’re on the Atkins diet together.  They forgot and brought it to us anyway.  They seemed most upset that we were refusing their bread.  Rejected, almost.  Kevin got a stuffed chicken breast, which I couldn’t believe, because why would you get a chicken breast when you’re in a place that has an amazing filet.  Right?  I got the filet and lobster combo.  I know how to spend a gift card.  We both got tasty wedge salads, which are covered in blue cheese crumbles and blue cheese dressing.  Perfect for Mr. Atkins.  I snarfed my surf and turf, and Kevin saved half his (double) chicken breast for later.  It was stuffed with cheese and garlic and was pretty tasty too.

It was raining when we got out of the movie and went on to dinner, so I was checking the forecast for tomorrow.  I really don’t want it to rain tomorrow, because Kevin promised me we can all go to the wildlife refuge, so I can take some pictures with my camera, and he and our daughter can look at the birds.  I am very excited about that outing, as I have been learning some new things about my camera.  Kevin made me promise to study up if he would buy me a new macro lens for the camera and he did!  So I’ve been learning about how to manually set my DSLR.  I will try out some fancy f-stops and apertures and stuff when we go out tomorrow.  Can’t wait!

Kevin finally got his first decent night’s sleep in years last night.  He is a hard core insomniac and usually wakes several times during the night, then gives up and gets up around four or five.  He does this despite Ambien, melatonin, and some of my Klonopin.  I had these Extended Release Xanax pills my shrink gave me for anxiety.  I took one and it turned me into a molten puddle of goo.  I could barely keep my tongue in my mouth.  Those things made me utterly stupid, and not in a good way.  I refused to take any more, but I saved them.  I finally talked Kevin into taking one last night, to see if they would help him sleep.  He slept the whole night!  He slept until nine in the morning!  He says he can’t ever in his whole life hardly remember doing that.  He was amazed.  He was still out of it when he woke up.  I’m thrilled we’ve finally found him something that will help him sleep.  He was desperate.   He hadn’t slept more than a few hours per night for weeks.  He plans to take another tonight and see if he can get another night’s great sleep.  So we’ll get on Netflix and watch an episode of In Plain Sight, and then hopefully he’ll crash.  And tomorrow we’re going to the wildlife refuge.  So I’m looking forward to tomorrow!

My Wonderful Husband

Well, here I sit on Saturday night, and I have not written a blog post today.  I have been writing a post a day for months.  I haven’t missed a day.  I am on call this weekend and I have already delivered three babies.  I just came back home from doing a circumcision and a c-section.  It is after seven o’clock.  I have no blog post.

I informed my husband that I have no blog post.  My husband said, “You always write about what a bad husband I am.  Why don’t you write a blog post about what an awesome husband I am?”

I said, “I write great things about you too.  You just don’t notice them.  But that’s a great idea.  Today I’m going to write a post about how awesome you are.”  So here is how awesome my husband is:

When I first met my husband, I was having a lot of problems.  He was one of the few people in my life who actually noticed that I was in trouble and he tried to help me out.  In fact, when my personal problems threatened to eat me alive, he put his foot down and asked me to choose between my bad habits and him.  He loved me.  I picked him.

He noticed that I was miserable in my current job.  So much so that when I broke a molar from grinding my teeth in my sleep, I was elated because I could spend the day in the dentist’s chair having a crown made and not have to go to work.  He felt this indicated a problem.  He helped me find a new job, one closer to my parents because we were planning on getting married and having a family.

He defended me against my mother when she decided that she couldn’t stand him.  He actually stood up to her and told her how much she was hurting me, trying to sabotage the relationship while we were planning a wedding.  She actually listened to him.  He’s a problem solver.

We got married and I settled into my new job.  He had made a sacrifice by leaving Atlanta, where he had been very happy and had lots of work.  He is an independent contractor, so he has lots of work everywhere.  And Atlanta was very convenient for him.  He gave that up.

A year later, we decided to get pregnant.  He had a surgery to make sure he was good and fertile.  I was already pregnant when he had the surgery.  We just didn’t know it.  He put up with my crazy hormonal pregnant crap for ten months.  Actually I was pretty good.  I just had this weird habit of bursting into tears on Sunday nights when he was about to leave for Atlanta the next day.  I was convinced his plane was going to crash and he would never see his baby.

He was right there in the c-section room with me when we had our baby.  And after that awful experience, he held my wrists for forty-five minutes to stop the shaking in my body that hurt my new incision so much.  And when our baby had horrible colic, he walked the floor with her for hours.  He jiggled her to sleep in his lap almost every night.  He carried her around in a little sling while he worked.  He took over when I was so dazed with postpartum depression and colic and sleep deprivation that I could hardly see straight.  He took care of her at home while I went back to work.

He tried working from home with a baby and a babysitter for six months.  He finally realized he wasn’t getting any work done, and we had to put her in daycare.  But he tried for half a year.  We went through four or five daycares before we found one where she could stay; where we felt comfortable with her staying.

Over the years, he has done the lion’s share of the work.  My only contribution has been to work long hours as an Ob/Gyn.  But to be honest, I just don’t get that much done when I am home.  He hired us a housekeeper, who keeps the place picked up.  He waters the houseplants and sprays the orchids.  He runs the vacuum, because dust bothers him.  He does laundry and arranges to get the lawn mowed and does all the yard work, keeping the roses trimmed back and the beds edged and the lilies cut and everything watered.  When the house is falling down around our ears, he does the research for the contractors and supervises them and makes sure the work gets done.  He works his butt off at his job, sometimes working from home and sometimes travelling.  He has done much more than his fair share of the work for years and he rarely complains about it.  He keeps on me to do the little things that he has me do around the house, and is more than patient when I don’t get them done.

He does more than his fair share of parenting.  He reads to our daughter almost every night, helps with her bath or her shower, gets her up and gets her dressed and takes her to the bus most days so I can sleep in.  He plays with her and practices softball and plays chess and tickles her and reads graphic novels to her and goes to all her plays and school lunches, because I can’t go.  He’s an awesome father and my daughter is a daddy’s girl who loves him so very much.

He spoils me.  He tucks me in at night.  He cooks for us.  He turns on the fire for me.  He brings me blankets when I’m cold.  He has allowed much more spending on my part than he would like to see.  He is understanding when I am tired coming home from work.

Most recently, he is allowing me to work part time.  My job has been wearing me down so much over the past ten or fifteen years, and it’s making me old and depressed and he notices that.  He has just sold his airplane that he loves because it will be too expensive to keep once I am only working part time.  He has helped me get a job as a locum tenens (travel doctor) and I will work two weeks and be off two weeks.  That way I can be more of a wife and mother.  Hopefully I will do more around the house, cleaning and organizing.  This way he will be able to travel for work in the weeks that I am home.  I pray it will work out for the best for both of us.  He deserves a happier, more giving, more present wife.  I hope I will be able to do that for him.  I WILL do that for him.

Stay Away From Computers

I should stay away from computers.  A computer in my hands will just shut down, hiccup, gasp for breath, bring up error messages that I don’t understand.  We use computers at work; we have an online Electronic Health Record for our patients that keeps their charts out somewhere in the Internet ether.  Out in the Cloud, whatever the crap that is.  The laptops and the desktops crash several times a day, losing valuable data that it has taken us valuable time to enter.  A physician’s office is about nothing if not time.

I tried a very stupid experiment tonight.  My WordPress has not been running well and I have to keep using something called Compatibility View.  I am sick of seeing that and WordPress keeps offering me smooth promises of an easy fix:  I have to update my internet browser.

I, me, update my internet browser.  How could I be so presumptuous?  They offer a link to click and there they are, all the browsers with their update info.  They each promise one easy click.  I’m sick of not being able to see my galleries on my own blog posts, so today I clicked.  The hard drive whirred and the screen flickered, and then I had to reboot.  After I rebooted, Everything.  Was.  Different.

I had to go hat in hand downstairs to find my husband.  This is not the first time this has happened.  I watch him with his easy computer skills, clicking on this and flashing back to that and deleting this and adding that and I think, “I can do that.”  I need to stop thinking that.  My computer was completely FUBAR.  I expected him to lecture me; he usually does, but this time, he just said, “Don’t worry.  Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.”

Well, I sat and watched him fix it for like an hour.  While he did it, he did some fine tuning, he added some new updates, he added some new safety features.  And I was once again awed with the ease with which he does these things, and the ease with which I do not.  He restored the smoldering wreckage and I seem to have a functioning computer.  I thank him, for more reasons than one.  This gave me a topic for today’s blog post.  I was about to fail at my postaday, and miss my first daily post since about July.  Now I can talk about my complete and utter incompetence with computers.

I am completely incompetent with computers.  I should stick to blog posts and Facebook.  Maybe not even Facebook.  There are scary things you can click there too.  I will stick with email.  And WordPress.  I will say this:  WordPress is running a whole lot more smoothly now.  I should stay away from computers.

Popsicles

My husband is a self-avowed popsicle freak.  Popsicles are a standing item on our grocery list – every time we go to the store, we must pick up a box.  His brand of choice are the Sugar Free Popsicle Tropicals, and he consumes them nearly by the box.  I have been at my wits end with his popsicling in the past.  He used to eat them in bed at night while he read books.  I would be trying to sleep next to him.  I would hear “rip, CRINKLE, CRINKLE, crunch CRUNCH crunch,” repeat.  He would open a popsicle and loudly eat it.  I have never heard anyone chew so loudly.  He would bring about ten of the things upstairs with him so he could consume them ad nauseum.  He would eat them one after another until they were all gone.

He finally stopped eating the popsicles in bed, not because I complained, but because they made him have to get up at night and pee too much.  Now he just eats them while we watch our TV shows.  In an attempt to assuage my popsicle aversion (and don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against popsicles themselves, just their very audible consumption) he would try to be considerate by opening all the popsicles before the show started.  So during the opening credits, I would hear, “rip, RIP, RIP, rip, thud.”  Repeat until they are all opened.  Then during the show, “CRUNCH, crunch, crunch, CRUNCH, crunch, crunch.”  There is no mute button for this kind of violent popsicle eating.  I have really been tempted to beat him to death with one.  Then he leaves all the wrappers in the garbage cans all over the house to attract vermin (although I don’t really know how into sugar free popsicles vermin really would be).

Then don’t get me started on the popcorn.  My husband considers popcorn to be a food group (ketchup is a food group too).  He must have some at all the movies (“crunch, CRUNCH, CRUNCH, crunch”) and at numerous TV shows at our house.  He makes popcorn with the elan of a conisseur.  He has a special popcorn popper (I confess, I bought it for him) called a Whirly-Pop, which features a crank with a spinning wire in the lid that tosses the popcorn off the bottom of the pan so it doesn’t burn.  He has the amount of oil and popcorn down to an art and he has one preferred brand – Orville Redenbacher’s original in the JAR.  That’s it.  Nothing else will do.  Then he tosses it with a little salt, tosses it in my old metal mixing bowl, and calls it a night.  Up the stairs to the TV with the popcorn.  “Crunch, CRUNCH, crunch, crunch, CRUNCH.”  It is actually quieter than the popsicles.  I know, right?

At any rate, I guess there are worse things my hubby can do.  If these are the worst things he can come up with, I’m a pretty lucky gal.  After all, he doesn’t drink to excess, he doesn’t gamble (without winning), he doesn’t chase women (well, at least he doesn’t CATCH them) and he doesn’t do drugs or beat me, so I guess a little popsicle action is not much to complain about.  All in all, he’s a pretty darn good hubby.  Just look out for the CRUNCH, crunch, crunch, CRUNCH at the end of every evening!

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