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Many years ago I posted about some of the unintended consequences of marriage.  I wrote about all the unexpected responsibilities bestowed upon the wife as she (oftentimes) becomes the administrative assistant for hubby;  his chef, his housekeeper, and his personal shopper.  Getting married, from the male side, is a pretty dang good deal.  Because even in marriages where life is “split” evenly, it seems the wife may somehow take on more of these particular tasks as she earns a whole new job description.  It’s a slow process, like with most jobs… extra duties just creep up on you.

When you accept the ring after that romantic proposal, you read the posted job overview and negotiate your best deal with the hubby-to-be.  Then as the years go by, and your world begins to demand more and more with less and less time, you take on a few more tasks.  Then as other employees go on strike –or hubby forgets where the hamper is or burns his last grilled cheese….. you take on a few more tasks.  Before you know it your responsibilities have doubled – you add kids, pets, after-school activities, a bigger house.. and you take on even more tasks.  Then, years later, you wake up one morning and realize you’ve been getting the standard 2% cost of living increase via an extra back rub here and there, or maybe a sparkly piece of jewelry on occasion, and you begin to recognize that you are now doing the job of 3 people.  You are putting in extra hours, doing things you never said you’d do like darning socks (do people do this anymore??) and sending Christmas cards to your hubby’s crazy Aunt Barbara – who you only met once at your wedding….. and, you stop.  You step back.  You wonder… how did I get here?

 

You think back…… “Hmmmm… I don’t remember the job description mentioning anything about buying new undies for hubby or making sure he changes them every day.”  You sigh “ I don’t recall signing any agreements that said I would be the gift buyer for any and all holidays/birthdays/anniversaries of everyone we know.”  But here you are.  This is your *new* job.  You celebrate the fact that you still have a job.  Many other people you know have been downsized and are no longer “working”.  You still love your job.  You work hard and there are still quite a few perks.  And then you realize, that while your job may have changed,  you’re still your own boss (well – some days………… ) and the daily grind is still rewarding.  And, ultimately, you still love what you do… even though you’re now the designated booger wiper, boo boo kisser, cleaning fairy, buyer of TP and finder of lost things  - even though, these are all things that hubby can do for himself!! J  (and just for the record these all apply LONG before you ever have any kids!!)

 

So, it’s probably no surprise when I use the above info as a “warning” for all new brides-to-be.   This is just a glimpse into your future.  You may not think so.. you may say… “nope, not me”.   And, at the beginning, you may actually fight the good fight…. and, you may actually win on some occasions.  Or, you may be one of the lucky few who marries an award winning grilled cheese maker.  Or maybe you hit the jackpot and you have a man who just loves to do laundry (do these exist??).  But I can assure you that there will be tasks that you take on without even realizing it.  Because eventually, you will realize you need to pick your battles.  And you will discover that the definition of marriage, is learning how long you’re willing to wait to have a heavy item removed from your kitchen or recognizing how many days can pass before you give up and move the empty soda can from the counter into the trash.   Because remember, nobody ever looked at a married man who is dressed in wrinkled clothes, holey black jeans, white socks and a flannel shirt and said…. “Oh boy, he looks awful”.   Instead they say….. “How could his wife let him out of the house like that??!!”… and *poof* you have instantly become his personal shopper and wardrobe consultant… just one more of your job duties!

 

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Ladies, never forget that you cannot “unknow” something.

 

If this statement alone causes you some concern, you should perhaps stop reading now.   If it prompts some curiosity, that’s only natural –  sort of like rubber-necking a car wreck on the side of the road… You really don’t want to see mangled bodies and carnage, but you can’t necessarily look away.  Some of you may be the type avert your eyes as you pass.  Others may cover your eyes with your hands and peek through your fingers… thinking that the protection of your hand, will somehow make what you do see a bit less traumatic.

 

So, whether you are the avert your eyes type… or if you want to continue reading this while peeking through your hand.. please know that you continue to read at your own risk!

 

In this blog, I often discuss the differences between men & women.  Ok, scratch that most of the time I do this.. it is, after all, what the entire blog is about.  I share how the differences play out in my own life and how absurdly irritating (dang it.. I always type the wrong thing first) wonderful? my hubby can be.  Many times, I come across articles or comments from you all that help to support the idea that I didn’t win the lottery of annoying (crap – there I go again) loving husbands.   After about 4 years of blogging about gender differences and finding humor in every-day married life, you’d think that it would be difficult to surprise me.  BUT, this week, I was indeed surprised by something I came across.

 

I will take a snippet from an article I read.

 

“In May of (last) year, the UK retailer Marks & Spencer did a poll and found that one-third of men admit to changing (underwear) only every two-to-three days, and one in 40 wore the same pair “as long as he can”.  And “In 2011, Clorox conducted a study that showed one-in-eight guys will wear underwear two or three times before washing them. And that half of men admit to using the “smell test” to determine if their drawers are still wearable (which should get us some points for bravery, right?)”  (Full articles can be read HERE or HERE:  )

 

OH MYYYYYYYYY…….dirty laundry

 

Ladies, I myself, have blogged about hubby’s ability to wear the same pair of jeans for more days than I can count on my hands before they walk themselves to the laundry room.  But, WOW, this study brings the definition of “smell test” to a whole new low.   And, it sure is a hit below the belt that I’m not wholly sure women were prepared for! (I know I wasn’t!!)

 

So men, I know that you may not want to “air your dirty laundry” for all the world to see (or smell) but, it seems obvious that at least 1 in 5 of you don’t change your skivvies every day.  So, I figured I’d do my own survey (I know there are some men who read this blog…)  So, if you’re a man, help us do our own THD survey (since most of what I read was UK based – Is it different in the US?? By my own initial study – the answer is NO!).  This survey is totally anonymous so no one but you and maybe your wife or girlfriend (after I give her a bit of upcoming coaching) will know that your undies, if given the opportunity, would run themselves to your laundry room right this very second and beg for some laundering!

 

 

And ladies,  here’s my piece of advice for you.  The next time you do laundry…. Please count the number of boxers, briefs or (heaven forbid) banana hammock thongs that you’ve washed in that load. Then count back the days since you last did laundry.  If the numbers don’t add up…. You have the “1 in 5”… and, I’m sorry for you.    But, at least you now know, and whether you’ve been reading through your hand this entire time or not… you can now not “unknow”.  And again, I’m sincerely sorry to be the one to break this to you!

woman dirty laundry

 

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It’s been a whirlwind couple of months at the THD household.

 

We kicked off November with ear tube surgery for mini hubby.    This was necessitated by about 14 million ear infections since we started day care (ok, maybe not 14 million – he was after all, only a year old.  But, let’s just say one little munchkin shouldn’t have been on as many consecutive doses of antibiotics as our little guy was).  About 2 weeks after surgery, mini hubby was toddling along, and as new walkers tend to do… he toppled right over……… fracturing his little mini wrist.  Have you ever seen an x ray of a of a tiny little hand.  It’s like a freaky, mysterious picture with tiny floating little bones…. It’s just NUTS!

Xray Nov 2013 (2)

None of this stopped him.  He still laughed, and giggled and toddled around the house like he was a skilled tight rope walker (minus the tiny balancing line and plus a whole new dimension to balancing with his itty bitty little cast).     Hubby could learn a lot from the little guy.  He’s tough as nails and none of this phased him.  No awfulizing.  No grumbling.  No complaining.

 

Then Thanksgiving week came and mini hubby brought home the plague from day care…. And, it wiped out the entire family.   I think it was Rotavirus. And, if you’ve never experienced lovely ailment… I’ll say a little prayer that you never do.   Hubby and I spent all night with dueling bathrooms as we raced past each other to vomit and twist ourselves into a pretzel as we agonized with the worst abdominal pain ever.  A few days earlier,  mini hubby had vomited a bit, cried a bit and then toddled around the house throwing blocks and racing cars.  Man, he’s a trooper… and he recovered quite nicely as his dad and I prayed for death for a full 24 hours as we dealt with this doozy of an illness.

 

You may recall how hubby deals with sickness (if you forgot you can get a refresher HERE).  For me, it was simply wonderful.  There’s just nothing better than throwing up all night and then getting out of bed the next day to care for your toddler and your sick husband…. All the while, wondering how you could possibly vomit more when you haven’t eaten anything for hours upon hours.  This lovely day ended with a trip to the ER to treat hubby for dehydration.  Yes folks, it’s been a fun holiday season.

 

So we are definitely in need of some Christmas magic… BUT, we are getting there….. S L O W L Y……

I have revived the Hubby Diaries version of “A Very Married Christmas”… if you’ve missed it (or would just a reminder chuckle – click HERE or on the image below!)

Christas Poem 2013

 

Now if only the Christmas magic would wrap my presents AND bake my cookies AND clean my house AND finish my laundry AND.. AND… AND……

 

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!   Hope your holiday season has been less dramatic and more pleasant than ours so far……………………………….

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I knew it… I knew it… I knew it.

 

I just knew that one day there would be an article, or a study that would help hubby argue his case against me.   I mistakenly stumbled on one when hubby was suspiciously sleeping through our screaming baby at night and claimed it was because he “didn’t hear him” (if you didn’t read that one just click HERE) and I knew it was only a matter of time before he could take to Google to find some obscure report that he could wave defiantly in my face as he danced around me singing… I told you so… I told you so…

 

And so folks, today (or well, more accurately last week) was that day.

 

Please let me explain.

 

If you’ve been reading for any length of time, you may know that cookies have somehow played an oddly, ever-present, role in our relationship.

 

You could start with the fact that when we began dating I referred to hubby as my “cookie”… and some of you may even remember one of my first blog posts that seemed to stir up a quite an internet debate from a few naysayers, about what a shitty person I am.  When we debated the cookie vs cracker monikers that I bestowed upon my boyfriends.  (You can read this one HERE).

 

Then, there was the story of how cupid “shot an arrow through hubby’s stomach” as I baked him fresh chocolate chip cookies shortly after we met.

 

A while back hubby celebrated the day that DiGiorno added cookies to their pizza boxes….. as he happily declared “They’ve combined 2 of the best things in the world!”

 

You may recall a blog post where hubby, with utter abandonment, consumed every-single cookie in our cupboard as our snack battle escalated.

 

And then, there was the time where he demonstrated his true love for me by leaving one solitary cookie in the box, just so it would be there for me to eat (or for me to throw away the box – even today, months and months later, I’m still not sure which).

 

And lastly, not all that long ago… I shared a story about the 900 lb box of Oreo cookies hubby just had-to-have at Costco.  Only to realize that the Costco version of Oreo’s are not, in fact, the double stuffed Oreos… and that regular Oreo’s do not, shockingly, have……. enough Stuff.

 

So this pretty much brings me to last week.  Where somebody, somewhere, who obviously wants to torture me, or perhaps test the fiber of my marriage…… put out a study showing that Oreos are actually just as addictive as ……………ready for this (in case you live in a cave and missed it last week) ……………..COCAINE!  (to read the full article click HERE or on the picture below)

 Oreo Article

Yes folks, the fantastic research analysts, just gave hubby the support info he needs to never, ever, save me another cookie for the rest of my life.  Since he has a study to prove that he can’t possibly help himself…. He… Must. Eat. Every. Cookie. In. The Box.   And, he will forever have evidence to throw at me to illustrate how it just couldn’t possibly be his fault that I get none.

 

Thank you research scientists.  Thank you makers of Oreos.   Thank you ever-so-much for giving hubby permission to say… “Sorry honey, the drugs made me do it”

 

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If you’ve ever had a sensation, any sensation, then this story might just irritate you as much as it did me.  Because, contrary to many beliefs (most of which come from hubby), not all sensations are good sensations and what may be a good sensation to one person may not necessarily be a good sensation to another.  And no, regardless of where your mind just went… this is not at all about S E X.

 

So, please let me explain.

 

Sometimes I like to make impulse purchases.  You know, the kind when you’re shopping and randomly come upon something  that you didn’t think you needed, but now that it’s staring you straight in the face, beckoning you, you decide now is the time to buy.

 

I’ve wound up with random household décor items this way.   I’ve found a new home for a pair of sunglasses that seemed to jump out at me as I was on my way to buy cleaning supplies.  Just last week, I came home with new bath towels.  Not because I needed bath towels but because they were there.  I was there.  They were on sale.  I was there.  I imagined them in my bathroom and then *poof* they were magically in my hands.

 

Sometimes hubby benefits from this wonderful trait.  He’s come upon a new bathing suit, some shorts and even box of cookies all because of my fine-tuned, impulse buying abilities.

 

And sometimes, he benefits in a very unintended way.

 

I was grocery shopping recently.  You know, a task that I cannot send hubby to do because sending him to the grocery store actually creates more work for me (In case you didn’t read about the last time he tried to grocery shop please go HERE.  Go ahead, I’ll wait.)  As I was checking out, staring at that at the rack filled with impulse items, I had a weak moment and I bought myself a treat.  One of the best kinds of treats.  Better than towels.  Better than a candle holder.  It was one of those items where you tell yourself, I’ve had a hard day, I’ve earned this.  A treat of the edible, chocolate variety.  I bought myself a Kit Kat and a York Peppermint Pattie.

 

I tossed these treats into my purse as I loaded my cart with bags of groceries.  Then I got in the car, likely side tracked by God only knows what (since my brain doesn’t work anymore since I had the baby) and I forgot I had rewarded myself with these delectable bits of heaven.

 

The next day I’m getting ready for work and I spot the treats peaking at me from my purse.  So, I take them out and gingerly place them on the counter… right in the spot where my purse always sits.. to await my return.  Now, if I’d been hubby I would likely have stuffed these babies into my mouth right then & there.  Never mind that it was 7:00am or that I had just brushed my teeth.  He would have stood there wiping his mouth as bits of chocolate dropped onto the floor & counter only to be discovered (and cleaned) by a not so happy wife later.  But I digress.  I am not hubby and I wanted to leave them so I could savor them at the appropriate moment in the future.

 

So…. Imagine my surprise later, when I return to the spot where I stowed away my treats, only to….  W  A  I  T…… where are my treats??  I see the Kit Kat BUT, the Peppermint Pattie is gone.  Is it under these papers.. NO?!  Has it fallen to the floor…… NOPE!?  Uhm, did the fairies take it????  WTH.  I want my Peppermint Patty NOW and it’s gone.

 

I yell across the house… “Hey hon,  I had a Peppermint Patty here on the counter… did you see it?”

And from a distance I hear…. “Uhm, yeah, I saw it”

 

And that’s when the sensation starts….. a sensation that something is not right.  A sensation that something is amiss.  A sensation that I somehow, some way, got screwed out of enjoying MY Peppermint Patty.

 

 

And then, I’d like to say sheepishly, but it was probably more like - sheepishly proud of himself, hubby comes over.  And you know what he says?????????

Swiss Alps15

 

“I saw the Peppermint Patty.  I saw it on the counter.  I saw it unwrap.  I saw it enter my mouth.  And, then I had the sensation of the skiing in the Swiss Alps with a cool fresh breeze blowing in my face.  And, you know what….” He says…….  “ It was AWESOME”.

 

 

And then, he got to enjoy the sensation of me punching him square in the jaw.

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Wow…. You know how sometimes you blink and you’ve lost like a month of your life?  Well, that’s me right now.  I’m short staffed at work which is slowly and painfully killing me and then add to that a cute little munchkin to take care of (ok, 2 munchkins if you count hubby – who arguably is less cute, although cute in his own right….) and I have no idea where my time goes.

 

What I do know is that the tasks that used to not get done at my house because of hubby’s inability to commit (or at least align) with my timelines now take even L O N G E R…. if you can possibly imagine that.   And longer means that Christmas bags filled with gifts are still sitting in my bedroom (read HERE), laundry baskets filled with clean clothes NEVER get emptied.  A picture that I put on the side of our bathroom to get hung (oh say, about 6 months ago) still knowingly winks at me – from the floor  – every time I take a shower.    I remember a day when blogging somehow inadvertently led to action… or at least considered action by hubby.  But maybe because we’re both so busy.. and tired…. and busy…. and MORE tired and I can’t find time to blog, it’s not easy to subtlety put things on hubby’s radar.

 

But alas, all this really means is that the fairies have needed to kick into overdrive.

 

And by fairies….. (contrary to hubby’s perspective)…. I mean ME!

 

Take this example.

 

It’s allergy season at our house… which sucks!  If you don’t have seasonal allergies consider yourself incredibly lucky because it’s almost impossible to communicate how much it truly blows.  The sniffling, sneezing, nose blowing, medicine swallowing, windows open/closed debates that happen on a daily basis at our house are ridiculous.  We have loaded up on tissues and Allegra D and nasal spray and umpteen other remedies so we can try to make it through this season with minimal discomfort.

 

So, I’m in the kitchen the other day and I go to the counter to get a tissue….. but…………. The tissue box is no longer there.  Shocking, I know.

 

So, I go to the bathroom to blow my nose… thinking to myself…. “Self, don’t replace the tissues.  Hubby used the last one.  He will undoubtedly need more.  He will replace the box that he emptied.”  And then the part of me that lives in reality said …. “Self, you’re delusional.  Replace the tissues.  You will absolutely need another tissue long before that box gets replaced.”   And then the hopeful side of me responded…. “No.  He’s going to prove you wrong.  He WILL replace the tissues”

 

And then, like 4 days passed.   No tissues.

 

And every dang time I walked to the counter…. forgetting that there are no tissues there, I curse under my breath as I reach into thin air grasping for a non-existent tissue box.

 

And then, one day hubby was standing in the kitchen as I walked to the counter for a tissue (apparently I’m not good at un-training myself).  But this time, rather than silently have a conversation in my head I decided to talk to our son.   “Mini-hubby” I said, “When you get older, please, oh please, make sure you learn how to do things like this for the people around you.  Daddy doesn’t care that mommy has snot running down her face……”    And hubby, who is obviously listening, perks up and says…. “Oh, there’s no tissues?”.   “No honey, there’s no tissues…. Because you emptied them days ago and didn’t get a new box”.

 

With a straight face hubby responds….. “But tissues replace themselves, I don’t understand why there not there?”  “Uhm, no hubby, tissues actually don’t replace themselves”.  I sigh a long sigh….. “Fairies??”  he asks, seemingly perplexed.  “Nope, the fairies don’t do it either”.  “Hmmmmm…..” he thinks for a moment (you can see the wheels turning in his head).   Then he comes to a brilliant conclusion.   “I will get new tissues”  he declares.  And then, without skipping a beat he asks me….. “where do we keep the tissues???”

 

(We’ve lived in this house for 8 years.  The extra tissues have had the same storage spot for 8 years.  Hubby has no idea where that storage spot is)

And that your honor, is why I had to kill him.

 

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