Amy's Mama Drama

In Honor of Valentine's Day

Have I mentioned that I almost ate my marriage proposal? It's true.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, of course, and that's what made me think of it. That and the fact that I'm hungry.

See, The Man proposed on Valentine's Day. It was slightly unconventional though, in that I was 8 months pregnant. It's a long story (and don't judge), but we'd been together forever and just never got around to getting married. Once we bought the house it felt like our relationship was sealed, so there was no urge to spend a bunch of money on a ceremony. We figured we'd get to it eventually. Then we found ourselves pregnant and I refused to get married without a waistline, so there we were.

But I had wanted a ring. It bothered me a bit to be pregnant without a ring. Moralistic code from my mother, twisted with my own consumerism, I think. So, on Valentine's Day, he decided to pop the question so we could go ring shopping.

It was quite unexpected. So much so, I had no idea what he was doing. I came home from work and sat next to him while we chatted about the day. He was clutching a big handful of SweetTart hearts. As we talked he started handing them to me, one at a time. I glanced at the first to see if they were really SweetTarts or that other, old fashioned kind, which I don't like as much. Discovering it was the yummy kind I popped it in my mouth. And kept popping every time he handed me one.

I guess he was so focused on getting the order right, he didn't notice I was just blindly eating them. Until he looked up and yelled, "Don't EAT that! My God, what are you doing?!" He caught me with my mouth wide open and hand poised in the air. I froze in confusion.

"They're candy and I'm eating them. What the hell?" I spat in response.

"You're supposed to be reading them," he wailed. "Let me see that one." He grabbed my hand and pried the candy out.

"I'm hungry, for Pete's Sake. It's 7:30 and I'm pregnant!" and indignant.

He looked at the candy and sighed, "You can have it now. But READ them first before you eat them. Geesh."

So I snatched back the heart and grudingly, still having no clue, looked down at it. Etched (with a paper clip I found out later) was the word, "will". The next one said, "you" and then "marry" and then "me" as you'd expect.

I, of course, said yes. The details after that are fuzzy, but I think I responded appropriately. Although I proceeded to eat the candy, which someone told me later was terrible. I guess I should have saved it. Hell, I was pregnant. I ate everything when I was pregnant.

So here it is, many years and two kids later. We're still not married, but we'll get around to it some day. We feel married. And I have a beautiful ring, and every time I look at it I think of him, patiently etching words onto the little SweetTarts.

Happy Valentine's, everyone.

Now, it's time for lunch...I'm hungry.

I'm Gonna Clock Him with the Pot

There are some rules in life that The Man and I agreed to when we got together. Not many, but they've worked for us:

• The children won't outnumber the parents
• No pets that poop more than we do
• One cooks, the other cleans up

Now, these have served us well thus far. But I've been experiencing some trouble with that last one. I'm actually the one who cooks. It's a well-known fact in our house that The Daddy doesn't cook. He can make toast and Top Ramen. He's pretty good with spaghetti and he can barbecue, but if he's the only one preparing those meals, be forewarned that that's all you're getting - there are no side dishes when The Man cooks. So needless to say, I do 99% of the food prep. Which should mean, given our rules, that he does 99% of kitchen clean up.

And yet, that's not really happening. At least, not when we have pasta.

He won't clean the pasta pot. Drives me friggn' crazy. It doesn't fit in the dishwasher, and God forbid he hand wash it, so there it sits, on the counter, waiting for me every time I make pasta. It's one of those big stock pots with the strainer insert. Very handy. Except for the washing part.

I tried going on strike once, and didn't touch it. It stayed on the counter for two weeks, both of us moving it aside when it got in the way. I vowed I'd hold firm this time, but it didn't work. It drove me crazy and I washed it.

What is the deal? What is so hard, I want to know, about cleaning the pasta pot? Is it he doesn't want to get his hands wet? The man who likes to work on his own car and has special soap so that he can get the grease off won't get his hands wet for a POT? How does that happen?

I asked him once why he doesn't wash it and he said he didn't know how. It gets "filmy" he said, and the sponge doesn't get the starchy-ring off of it. So I suggested he use an SOS pad, like I do. He frowned so ferociously I gave up.

It wasn't until much later that I realized he probably didn't know what an SOS pad was. I betcha he thought I was being a wise-ass and suggesting he wash the pot with maxi pad. Men.

So, here's a quiz for the reading public: How do I creatively get him to clean the pasta pot before I hit him over the head with it? Anyone got any ideas? 

Dear Amy's Mama Drama...

The last two weeks won't really be funny for awhile longer, so I'm going to dip into the email bag and answer some questions. That might not be funny either, but it's not making me want to bite anyone's head off, so it's worth a try....

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Dear Amy's Mama Drama,
I like your writing, but I suspect you're one of those permanently happy people, always perky. I don't think I could be so cheerful all the time and always look at the bright side. But I'm glad someone can.
- Mama in Cinci

Dear Mama in Cinci -
No really, ask The Man, I have never been "perky". And right now, I want to go out and pour salt on snails and laugh maniacally - not a common portrait of the perennially chipper. The truth is the real joke here is that I'm in charge of two girls and a 50% "partner" in a "relationship" that actually owns real estate. I find that laughing is easier on my mascara than crying, therefore I write to focus on the funny. I'm no more cheerful than the next chick with a fat mortgage, hereditary hippobottomous and children who yell "fart" every two minutes.

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Dear Amy of Amy's Mama Drama,
So, when are ya gonna talk about sex? 'Cause I could use some humor in the sex department. And my husband could use some sex in the sex department, if you know what I mean. Am I the only one? Is that why you seem so happy all the time, because you've figured out how to have sex and get a good night's sleep too? Really, share the secret.
-Sexless in Sacramento

Dear Sexless -
Ah yes, life after childbirth. And I'm not talking about those first 6 weeks - my oldest is nearly six years and still I crave sleep more than anything else. And why the heck does everyone think I'm so happy? But back to sex - I have two words for you: romance novels. Really. It's legal porn for women. You can find it in any run-of-the-mill retail bookstore, and wooooHOOO sister, some of it can get hot, hot, HOT. Perfect after a long day of juggling the hectic Mama Life when sex ranks right up there with a bikini wax.Plus it's totally socially acceptable AND the floor is not sticky in front of the shelves. It comes in many flavors - raw sex with a hint of a plot, raunchy with plot, romantic, raunchy and romantic, sweet and dreamy (hint: no naughty words or actual body parts named), historical, and fantasy (which means anything from gnomes to vampires to straight men who sew). Many are humorous too, which works for me. So, that's my secret weapon to get in the mood. Because you do need to get in the mood from time to time - not only because it is a great stress reliever for us, but also because men are soooooooooooo bitchy when they don't get any!

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Dear Amy's Mama Drama,
Do you really think your experience as a parent can be called "modern motherhood" as in your title?
-curious mom of two

Dear CMofT -
When your first big conundrum as a pending parent is "when do you tell your staunchly conservative, depression-era father about your illegitimate pregnancy? Before or after your sister's lesbian wedding?"  I think you firmly ground yourself in relatively modern times. That and dealing with slobber on the cell phones makes me feel pretty 21st century.

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Dear Amy:
Do you have any tips on getting your girls to take a bath? Mine put up such a fuss.
-Eva with stinky kids

Dear Eva -
You know, I had that exact same problem. And I never did solve it. So I turned to The Man, in a decidedly unperky moment, and said something like, "If you want them to live, you will take over bath time."  And he did. And his formula would never work for me - he does a faux-serious drill sergeant. "BATH TIME, GO GO GO! BAAAAAAAAAATH TIME! GO GO GO! Inthebathroom, moveitmoveitmoveit..." you get the idea. There is a lot of baritone shouting and clapping and they giggle and laugh the whole time. I, frankly, don't get it at all. But who cares? It totally works.

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Questions? Answers? Don't be shy. LOVE to hear it all. Comment or send email. Whatever floats your boat.

 

Geek Tip #5: Negotiate Braless

Note to Readers:  If you've read many of my posts, you'll know that the love of my life, aka The Man or The Daddy, is a Geek. And while once you go Geek you never go back, there are some idiosyncrasies that can work for ya, or against ya. Here's what I've learned so far...

Need to negotiate with your Geek? Take off your bra. Really - try it. Need him to watch the kids while you go out with the girls next Friday night? Pick a quiet time when it's just the two of you, wear a t-shirt of something equally clingy, and take off that boulder-holder ahead of time. Works like a charm.

Icky-Event Variation: You need him to go to your family reunion, high-school reunion, or a work or charity event that he'd rather chew his own arm off than attend? Don't want him to be a sour-puss the whole time? Wear a dress or skirt and leave the undies in the drawer. When you get in the car, let the skirt ride up - waaaay up. He's not the type to notice in the car, you say? No problem. When you're getting dressed, ask him if your panties show - and make sure they do. When he says, "uh..." or "Yep" just rip those old panties off, saying something like, "Okay, guess I'll have to ditch these," or something similar, and proceed to the next step in your routine. Go sans pantyhose if you can, but if not, panty-less should be enough.  But do be careful if you dance at said event - no twirling.

Oh Yeah, I'm Happy Now

The Man has irritated me this morning. I'm tired and grumpy and he's just smiley and sunny and really bugging me. He went to bed at a decent hour, and I stayed up reading. So now he's all rested and proud of himself and I am not.

He kisses me goodbye, acting all cocky, and says, "make it a great day," which he knows I hate, and he never says, but he's enjoying poking at my foul mood.

However, I am not without my own sharp sticks...I kiss him back and quietly sing a few words in his ear, "if you're happy and you know it clap your hands..."

His face falls and then he glares at me. "That's going to be stuck in my head all day! You did that on purpose."

I grin. NOW I'm going to have a great day.

Pantry Dinners

It's 5pm on Friday night. I call my Man.

"I'm sorry honey - I got caught up in work and forgot all about dinner. You and the girls are getting whatever I can scrounge out of the pantry and freezer. Probably involving hot dogs, carrots and...," I open the pantry and survey the contents, "and canned peaches."

"That's fine," he replies, while I despair at the the orangeness of the pending meal.

"But I haven't been very good about dinner in the last few weeks. Just thrown-together stuff," I'm whining now - about my own cooking. It's been that bad.

"Oh please," he says. "If it was up to me to cook every night, it would be a lot worse. So you're doing great."

We both know this is flawed logic, but I smile because he means it. He'll eat the ridiculously orange meal and be happy he didn't have to cook.

And that's one of the reasons I really love the guy.

Geek Tip #12: Laundry

Note to Readers:  If you've read many of my posts, you'll know that the love of my life, aka The Man or The Daddy, is a Geek. And while once you go Geek, you never go back, there are some idiosyncrasies that can work for ya, or against ya. Here's what I've learned so far...

Need Laundry Man to make an appearance? Here's an idea that makes the most of a Geek's efficient nature:

Get one to two loads ready for the washer on Friday night. Set them by the washer. Make sure you presort and clean out pockets, etc. Even the best Laundry Man can skimp on the details, especially with this technique.

Then, when he's not around or not looking, empty his underwear drawer. Make sure you get it all and anything on the floor or in a nearby laundry basket. Put it all in the washing machine and wash. Make sure you do this as late at night as possible, or early Saturday morning before he gets up. But do not DRY it. In fact, forget all about it.

Here's how it works:

After his morning shower, when he's getting dressed, he'll discover that he's out of clean underwear. Now this might cause a moment of confusion, because he'll swear that there was still some left the day before, but necessity will drive him to the next step.

When he sees that there aren't any in the laundry basket, he'll head for the washer. Discovering it wet, he'll immediately load the dryer. As he's doing it, he'll see the other loads that need to go in. And because a Geek is nothing if not efficient once he sets his mind to it, he'll wash another load waiting. And when he comes back to get it out of the dryer, there is a high probability he'll switch the loads, thereby completing one load and possibly starting load #2.

TaDA! Instant Laundry Man!

Disclaimer: there is one possible drawback if you have, uh, shall we say, a "nature boy" Geek? And that is, instead of looking for his shorts, he might decide to go without. I, uh, don't have any tips for that. Sorry.