Country Livin’!

Husband mows the lawn. We have over an acre lot and it is his job (and only job) to mow the lawn. He will swear to the earths end that he loves it but can never quite find the time to do it. I refuse. I am allergic to grass. It breaks me out in unbelievable hives. Even pulling the weeds in the walking path breaks me out to the point that if I don’t get a shower immediately I will be in a state for the rest of the night!

Tonight I talked him into mowing at least one part of the yard. He picked the back. Apparently before he even finished the neighbor was giving him hints on how to mow properly. I find this too funny! Husband grew up in Florida where there is no grass. And to make matters worse he grew up in a semi-trailer park where he didn’t have to take care of any form of grass! The most he or his mother had to worry about was the plastic flowers near the entry door.

I’m not quite sure how he took the advice of mowing our grass. He acts like it was nothing but I’m thinking it was more a blow to his ego. How can a real man not know how to mow grass properly? How can a real man not know the setting he needed the second pass around the yard? (Second pass? Oh NO!)

Honestly I have no idea. I am just thrilled that it wasn’t me!

The thing that truly strikes me as funny is there isn’t a house around (we all have minimum of an acre) who doesn’t use a ride-on mower. It is so testosterone driven it’s insane! Forget the revved up trucks, forget the muscle cars…it’s all about the lawn mower in NW Indiana!

Go To Bed Already!

My husband, who is normally the most caring, considerate, giving guy you will meet, has a quirk that drives me crazy!

He thinks that falling asleep on the couch once the Robmoster is safely tucked in bed is a relaxing and sweet thing. He will sit there and snore louder than a jackhammer and think he is being helpful.

After 4 attempts to wake him and have him go on to bed tonight he has the following discussion with me.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t go to bed.”
“I want to be with you!”
“Sleeping and snoring is being with me?”
“Well, at least I’m here, right?”
“No, you are not.”
“But I like being near you!”
“You have no idea I am even in the room when you are sleeping!”
“But it’s comfy!”
“It’s frustrating when I feel like you should sleep in bed so you can get up for work.”
“Have I ever been late?”
“No, because I’ve always gotten you to bed!”
“So just leave me on the couch!”
“That doesn’t work. I get angry and finally come out to wake you up again.”
“But I get up, right?”
“Only after I’ve threatened you!!!”
“So, sleeping on the couch may be the only time I want to be with you!”
“You did NOT just say that!”
“I’m going to bed now.”

Let the mourning begin

Today was a sad day at our house. We lost two good friends today. The first being a result of a “football accident”. The second a victim of a short sheeted bed. It is all so depressing.

It started early this morning. The Robmonster was playing football in the living room. As fate would have it Grandma was right about playing ball in the house. How was I to know my son is growing up to be a place kicker for the Steelers? Innocently enough, he punted the ball right into the mantle. Right into the new flower vase which was acting as a perch for my recently repaired blown glass snowman ornament. Pieces of my sweet little white crystal man were everywhere. I cringed when I saw he was decapitated. And if that weren’t enough his tiny stick arms were broken off at the shoulders and the little birdhouse he was carrying was shattered.

I didn’t cry. I held strong so that I could comfort my son who knew he was in trouble.

“It’s ok, it was an accident”
“A football accident?”
“Yes, a football accident.”
“Daddy will be mad?”
“No, Daddy won’t be mad.”
“He won’t be proud of me anymore?”
“Oh yes! He is proud of you for so many things!”

How can you not love my sensitive little Robmonster?


Incident number two didn’t happen until Monster’s bedtime. As it happens we were missing one of his favorite things. It is a little glass red fish magnet. We got it at Dollywood on our first ever family vacation this summer. We searched this house up and down through half the night and most of today. I finally found it under the TV stand right about dinner time. He carefully stuck the fish back on his bed rail and went in several times to make sure it was there. (We spent several hours trying to explain why the magnet wouldn’t hook to the netting of his rail).

Then came bedtime. Normally the best time of the day. Once teeth are brushed and the potty is utilized we get down to the fun part of reading, hugs and kisses, and tossing him into bed. Yes, we have a count down and a toss onto his pillow. (It’s really quite fun except he is gaining too much weight and it’s going to end up being more of a slip than a toss.)

It happened then. I had washed his sheets today hoping I would find the little fish magnet hiding in his bed, obviously before I’d checked under the TV. Once washed, I managed to get the fitted sheet and left the rest for Dad. I dislike making beds. Seriously loathe it. I would rather do 14 loads of whites!

Anyway…..

I noticed the blanket was a little short and decided to take the easy way and just pull up on the covers. Somehow the poor little fish magnet became dislodged from its throne on top of the bed rail. I didn’t even notice. Husband heard it…the ominous crunch of breaking glass. The poor little fish had fallen and gotten wedged between the wood of the bed frame and the railing. CRACK! The tail was toast. The poor little red fishy broke almost in half.

The saddest part (and the whole point of this long sorted tale) is how heartbroken the Robmonster was. He was absolutely devastated when we told him he wouldn’t be able to play with fishy any more. Daddy might be able to glue his tail back on but he’d have to stay on top of the fridge.

“Fishy going bye-bye?”
“Well, sort of. Daddy will try to fix him but you won’t get to play with him.”
“Why not?”
“Once glass breaks it is too fragile.”
“I can’t play with it?”
“Nope, afraid not.”
“Fishy in the trash can if Daddy can’t fix it?” (big tears starting)
“Well, if Daddy can’t fix him then yes.”
“He will play with the snowman?”
“Yes, if he goes in the trashcan he can play with the snowman.”
(Lots of wailing now!)
“So he won’t be lonely?”

At this point I had to leave the room because I was starting to cry too. Who would have guessed my star kicker would be so sympathetic? So concerned for the well being of others even if they are made of glass? I glimpsed into my son’s future tonight and saw something that I like. As hard as it is to watch your child grasp that some things die I felt glad that he could understand!