Rants from the Crib

An Ob/Gyn gone mad

Archive for the tag “married life”

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!



Gifts were exchanged at work this year for Christmas and I both gave and received candles.  I just love candles.  My husband loves burning them to the ground.  He saw the giftwrapping on the stairs and said, “What did you get?”  I showed him the big tasty candle I had just gotten from Anthropologie – three wicks and a delicious smell.  I woke up this morning to find it half burned down in the kitchen.  “Smells like a French whore,” he said, happily.  So our whole house smells like an expensive whore house, the expensive because I know how much that candle cost, and the whore house because my husband is never happier than when he is burning up my candles and being inappropriate.  I didn’t exactly get to enjoy the ambience of my candle, since it was half gone in the kitchen when I woke up, but I should have known better than to show it to him in the first place.  Later he will do this excavating thing that he does with candles when he thinks they need rejuvenating and he will dig it and claw it and make it all ugly.  There will be no stopping him.  My husband needs to be kept away from candles.  Especially at Christmas.


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!

Cleaning Day

Very delightful results.  My husband read my blog this weekend, and I mean, the entire thing.  I was wondering if he was ever going to care enough to read it.  We had quite a discussion afterwards, in fact, he woke me up after he read it to discuss.  He was quite put out with what he deemed poor communication on my part; apparently I had communicated my feelings on some issues better on my blog than I had to him.  I think he is forgiving me though.  At any rate, one of my blog posts revolved around how frustrated I feel with all the plastic junk that my husband and daughter have accumulated throughout the house, and my inability to get rid of it.

We woke up this morning, and Kevin announced that we were CLEANING HOUSE and THROWING THINGS AWAY!  I guess he read that post and took it to heart that the awful mess made me twitchy.  We started by explaining to my daughter that we would be giving away a lot of toys that she doesn’t play with, throwing away a lot of plastic and paper crap and giving away a lot of clothes that don’t fit her anymore.  She cried a bit at first, but quickly got into the spirit of cleaning and throwing things away.  I was surprised.  We filled garbage bag after garbage bag and box after box. 

I then tackled my closet and ripped through skirts, dresses, jackets, sweaters, long and short sleeve shirts, and I mean ripped through.  We had five garbage bags full of clothes from just my closet, and my husband got a couple bags out of his.  We even had a whole box of coat hangers to give away.  We had two bags of little kid’s clothes and boxes of toys for the Goodwill.  I cleaned old items out of the pantry and out of the fridge.  It was a very satisfying purge of the whole house.  We got rid of the rat cage of the now deceased rat too, and then we vaccuumed everywhere, now that there were patches of carpet visible.  My husband tackled his office, which is no mean task, but he will certainly be the better for it when he gets it cleaned out.

All in all, it was a purging sort of day.  I felt emotionally purged because my husband read my blog and learned many things (that maybe I should have told him).  Then we emptied the house and that was a physical purge that was equally satisfying.  I hope we can keep up this pace and continue to clean things up until the whole house is in a state where it needs to be.  Then maybe emotionally we will be refreshed and spiritually cleansed, as getting rid of earthly belongings is definitely a purifying act.  I feel that things are getting on the right track.

Be Good

I am involved in a serious struggle to be good.  I am a physician and work long, hard hours and you would think this should not be an issue, but it is.  I am responsible about work; I don’t miss work or call in sick when I’m not.  I am compulsive about keeping track of results and the patients they are attached to.  I am having trouble being good at home.  Since I work a good 60 hours a week at least, I am of the opinion that my time off had ought to be TIME OFF.  I have a husband at home though, and a seven year-old daughter, and at least one of these two think I am a major slacker.  My husband thinks I am a major slacker.  My lackadaisical attitude about gardening (survival of the fittest), laundry (when completely necessary) and housekeeping (when company is coming) is just not cutting it.  Even though we have a housekeeper who comes every two weeks, the house is in a constant state of disaster.  I recognize this, and I think the blame rests a good deal on my daughter.  Her mess is EVERYWHERE.  Her rotten, cheap plastic toys are EVERYWHERE.  Her coloring pages and pages of scribbles are EVERYWHERE.  They are in the kitchen.  They are in the dining room.  They are in the sitting room.  They are in my husband’s office.  They are in the upstairs sitting room.  They are in our room.  They are in her room.  They are in her bathroom.  They are in the attic.  She can acquire them and mess them all over the house so much faster than I could ever hope to keep up.  Our house looks like a bright plastic landfill.  Every once in a while I get SICK of the mess and I fill a garbage bag with crap she never plays with and papers we are just not going to keep.  I do this when she is gone, because she pulls such a whiny drama fest when we attempt to get rid of anything while she is watching that it is just a waste of time.  “But GRANDMAMA gave that to me, ” she will wail.  Never mind that the cherished item in question is a yarn stitch-by-number for ages 2 – 4 and she has never touched it once, despite our attempts to encourage her.  Never mind that the piece of paper has one triangle drawn in the corner – it is a precious work of art and we MUST NOT THROW IT AWAY.  Hence the stealth raids on her things.  Getting rid of her clothes is also impossible.  She clings desperately to clothes that used to be her favorite and tries to put them on, to persuade me that they still fit.  They can squeeze so tight at her waist that she can’t bend, and can gap so much in the middle that you can see her whole belly, and still she will convince herself that they fit just fine.  She clings desperately to them as you try to put them in the Goodwill pile.  It is just hopeless.  My husband tells me I am hopeless.  “YOU are the mother in this scenario, although you refuse to believe that.  You let her run things.”  This of course makes me feel competent, and great.  He never tries to get rid of anything, so how would he know?  The other main mess is his.  He has an office downstairs, right in the middle of some of the main traffic flow in the house.  I opposed his taking this room as an office because I knew it would immediately become a hideous, unsightly tangle of computer wires, motherboards, old terminals and expired technology, and it would be RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE HOUSE.  Of course, I was completely right, and the room is a hideous, unsightly tangle of computer wires, motherboards, old terminals and expired technology.  There are some plastic toys mixed in.  Some of them are his.  I am sick of the mess, but I can’t clean his office.  He has PILES in there that are in an order that may only make sense to him.  I will note that the only room in the house that is exclusively mine, the walk in closet, is carefully organized and I know where everything is.  There are no plastic toys in there either.  So my husband feels that I don’t do enough around the house.  The problem is, he never tells me what he thinks it is I should be DOING.  We are working on changing that however.  Apparently I don’t water the plants.  I didn’t clean my Goodwill clothes out of the mudroom, because I was hoping to take them to the consignment store.  After DH firmly requested that I do something with the room, I cleaned them out.  That seemed to be a good thing.  I grant you, there are many, many things I could do around the house.  Our bathroom needs organized and cleaned.  The sun room needs putting back together after we had work done on the fireplace.  The kitchen needs to be stripped of kid toys and kid art.  The guest room needs cleaning out.  Most of what needs to be done though is KID STUFF.  And I just can’t keep up with the tide of junk.  The child brings home junk every day, from school, from day care, from camp.  My husband brings her trashy plastic junk back from every trip.  Then she staunchly refuses to get rid of any of it because Daddy gave it to her.  We’re talking t-shirts with tech names on them, cups that light up, large smelly tote bags, rubber ducks, plastic tech mascots, stuffed tech mascots, wiggly rubber creatures that light up when they hit the floor and so on and so on.  All of these are trashing my house and making me highly miserable.  At the moment I am feeling the distinct urge to grab up another garbage bag and make another pass at the mess.  But I am sure the consequenses will not be good.

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