Feeds:
Posts
Comments

I’m Getting A Sensation

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.

Become a fan of The Hubby Diaries on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/thehubbydiaries

or

Follow on Twitter: http://twitter.com/thehubbydiaries

Well,  we started day care.

 

For those of you who have lived through this traumatic experience, this statement alone probably either brings back horrible memories or perhaps it brings back nothing – because you’ve blocked out just how bad it was…  on you, your baby and your sanity.

 

We started 3 weeks ago.  And, in 3 weeks, we’ve had a baby with 3 separate illnesses all accompanied by a significant fever.. some of which have lasted 5 days.  Which means that after 3 weeks of day care, we’ve only been IN day care for probably a total of 8 days or so.  Seems like some sort of scam since we pay for 5 days a week… and we continually need to keep him home.  We’ve made approximately 5 visits to the Dr and 1 trip to the emergency room.  If you are wondering… yes, it’s been an incredibly FUN 3 weeks.

 

After the 3rd visit to the doctor, he said to me.  “Oh, you started day care….. you’ll probably spend more time here at our office than you do at work and then you’ll start to wonder why you ever went back to work!”.  Gee, thanks for the reassurance doc!   So I asked, “Well, how long will it be this bad?”  To which he replied, “Oh, he’ll probably be sick for at least a year or so.  BUT, (his attempt at making me feel better as he sees look of utter anguish on my face) once he starts school, you will never need to come here!!!”

 

Wonderful.   A year of a sick toddler.. and an even longer year of a hubby who has to deal with a sick toddler.   It’s gonna be a doozy of a year.

 

Let me tell you a few things that happen when you have a sick baby.

 

#1.  You have a very cranky baby

#2.  You have a very cranky hubby

#3.  You do not get very much sleep

#4.  You have an even crankier hubby

#5.  There’s a lot of fussiness

#6.  You wonder who is fussier, the baby or the hubby

#7.  There’s a lot of crying

#8.  (The baby cries a lot too…..)

#9.  There’s a lot of boogers, and medicine and uncontainable poop

#10. There’s not enough cuddling, or rocking, or singing that can make the baby OR the hubby any less miserable

 

Then, as if all of the above is not bad enough, the Swedes had to go an invent quite possibly the most disgusting device ever known to man.  If you have infants, you may have heard of this device.  We were steadfastly against using it.  It’s just plain gross.  We were hold-outs for many, many months.  We wiped boogers all day long, and bought every imaginable bulb syringe to suck out as much snot as possible and we insisted we’d never, ever subject ourselves to such a revolting, loathsome activity. And then, mini hubby was on his 2nd week of illness and the boogers were taking over.  You could tell he couldn’t breath and he was starting to refuse bottles…..so, we caved and bought (read this in the most ominous voice possible)  The Nose Frida.    If you have no idea what I’m talking about, let me give you a quick lesson.

 

NOSEFRIDA

It’s a wonderfully designed tube that attaches to an elongated nozzle that is placed into the infant’s nose.  The end of the tube is then placed in your mouth…. YES, I did say mouth.  And you use your own breath to literally SUCK boogers out of the baby’s nose….. say it with me….. Eeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

 

It’s perhaps the grossest, most effective, instrument ever created.

 

But here-in lies the problem.  I apparently don’t have the lung capacity to properly dislodge the boogers.  So, in must step hubby, to use his manly lung muscles to remove the maximum amount of boogies…. Trust me.  He LOVES this job.  No lie.  I mean, what person wouldn’t want to suck someone else’s boogers directly into their own mouth?  Ok, so maybe I’m being slightly overdramatic.  There is a filter at the end of the hose so the boogers don’t actually go into your mouth.  And, maybe I was lying slightly, when I said he loves this job.  Cause he FREAKIN’ hates it.  And, ever since day one of booger sucking he’s complained that he’s sucked all the baby’s germs right into his own system and now he feels sick himself.

 

Which is just FANTASTIC… because what more could I want that a sick baby AND a sick hubby —- FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR??????????

(anyone have a gun so I can shoot myself in the head??)

It’s SNOT fair!!

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.

 

Become a fan of The Hubby Diaries on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/thehubbydiaries

or

Follow on Twitter: http://twitter.com/thehubbydiaries

 

The Test Of Time…..

Ok.. so like every post I write lately, I will start with an apology for dropping off the face of the earth.   I’ve been traveling for work 2 weeks out of the last 3.  We’ve had to deal with a sick baby with a fever for days (and shockingly, I mean the real baby, not the hubby).  And, I also somehow need to fit in all the stuff that life throws at me.. all this, while maintaining the ever-so-late bedtime of about 9:00pm since our wonderful little bundle of joy is still filling our lives with “joyous” sleepless nights.  It’s hard to squeeze in blogging time in between a work day that ends at 7pm, the baby’s dinner, my dinner, bath time and the baby’s bedtime all before I collapse from exhaustion at 9:00.

 

Anyhoooooo…..

 

You may recall from past posts that sometimes, only sometimes, I do what some might refer to as nag.

 

I prefer to call it reminding…… over and over and over and over and over………….

 

You may also recall that hubby has a severe case of Selective Vision.  In that, he has the unique ability to not actually see what’s directly in front of him… in plain sight, day, after day, after day.

 

So, it might come as no surprise to you when I tell you that the below picture is a bag that’s sitting beside the dresser in our bedroom.   Now, at first glance you say “Eh, no biggie….. it’s obviously holding important items” or you may think “What’s the big deal… it’s a pretty tiny bag that’s barely noticeable”.  But, let me share a few facts about this bag:

christmas gifts

  • It’s literally right next to the door to the bedroom so you see it (or at least I see it) Every. Single. Time.  I go into the room.
  • It’s also right outside the door to the bathroom…. So, if you were sitting on the toilet with the door open (not that we ever do this………) you would be staring straight at it
  • It’s been sitting in this spot for approximately 2 ½ months
  • Prior to sitting in it’s current spot, it was sitting in our living room for approximately 1 month  (and then I got SICK of looking at it all day long and moved it to it’s current – AND APPARENTLY FINAL – resting place in the bedroom)

 

Perhaps the most perplexing fact about this bag is it’s contents………….

 

Wanna guess what’s in it?

 

Wait for it….. it’s a good one……………..

 

The bag is filled with an assortment of hubby’s Christmas presents.   YES, you read that correctly……. It’s holding friggin Christmas presents.  And, just in case, you need clarification on this.  TODAY is April 17th.  Christmas WAS December 25th.

 

These are apparently items of little-to-no urgency… hubby is obviously saving them for a rainy day (literally….. a rainy day…. one of the items is a poncho for him to wear at Giants games during inclement weather).  Another item is actually remnants of the actual gift… you see, the bag is still holding a shoe box from a new pair of kicks he received.  He’s worn the new sneakers but, heck, why ever get rid of the box when you can leave it in a bag, in the bedroom…… F-O-R-E-V-E-R????????????????

 

These are likely gifts that require thinking about where they should live permanently…… and, if it’s not completely obvious about where an item should be put away…. Hubby’s solution is to NEVER put it away.   LUCKY ME!

 

being a nag

So, I ask you this……. I have not nagged about this bag once…. Nope, not one single time.  I quietly moved it upstairs.  I silently walk past it every day.  I bite my lip as I move it around the room so the cleaning ladies can vacuum.  BUT, I have not nagged one time.   So… after almost 4 months, if I were to remind him about this bag…. (since it’s obviously a permanent fixture in our room and he no longer sees it) would it in fact be nagging?????????????????

 

The Chicken On The Bus

Some of you may recall that I like to make up silly songs…. HERE is a link to a very old post, if you don’t remember or are a new reader.

 

If you’ve decided not to go back and read that post here’s the gist – I think everyone should have a life filled with song.  I like to sing old commercial jingles.  I like to sing cheesy 70s songs.  I occasionally make up words to traditional music that appropriately matches whatever inane task I am doing.  Hubby has a stick up his a………. ok… maybe that was too harsh……. Hubby is a stick in the mud.   Ok, that’s not actually true at all………….. But hubby does have a distinct response to my behavior that resembles something like eye rolls and sideways glances…………  Yeah, that’s about right.   Hubby doesn’t have “silly” in him.  He has fun.  He has entertaining.  He has amusing.  Delight.  Funny. Witty.  Engaging.  Comical….. you get the picture.  BUT, he doesn’t really do silly.  I think underneath that tough(ish) exterior he enjoys silly (he did marry me after all) but he doesn’t DO silly.

 

So anyway… add a baby to your life and all of a sudden “silly” becomes acceptable.  Maybe even expected.  UNTIL, I apparently take it too far……….

 

Everyone knows the “Wheels on the Bus” song.   And, the beauty of this song it that it’s just so dang easy to change the words.  I have put everything imaginable on the bus.    There have been grandma’s saying “hush”, babies saying “waaaaaah”, mommies saying “I love you” …..all the traditional bus items: doors, windows, wipers, gas, coins and so on….

 

But then one day, I all of a sudden have animals on the bus………… And then, while hubby was listening, I added a chicken……. “bock, bock, bock”.  And he said, from across the room….

 

“Stop That Bus!”

 

“Did you just say there was a chicken on the bus?”

“Uhm, yeah” I replied

And he said, “ What are you teaching him??…. There are not chickens on buses.”

“Well, there is a chicken on MY bus” I said, with all the rigor of a mom being challenged

To which he of course, responds…. “Where is your bus….in India?”

“Maybe.  Or maybe, it’s just down the road, and it’s a bus that happens to have chickens”

 

Humph… he replies..

 

And off I go, continuing to sing…

 

“The lion on the bus says ROAR, ROAR, RO…..”

“Hold on…. There’s a lion on the bus??” he interjects

“Yep, this bus has chickens AND lions.  And you know what, they get along famously…………..”

“There are no lions on the bus.” He declares (a smirk growing on his face……….)

“How do you know what’s on my bus?  If you want to change what’s on the bus, you sing the song………..”

 

Humph… he replies again.

 

And then I continue on my merry way filling the bus with “silliness”…..

 

Now I feel the need to incorporate Daddy into my song, who obviously has no imagination and no ability to sing silly songs (which is ironic given the tall tale he told our neighbors kids about Joe the Cricket Herderbut I digress….)

 

“The Daddy on the bus says…. Get. Me. Off!”

“Hang on” hubby says “Did you listen to what you just said??”

“Yes, the Daddy doesn’t want to be on the FUN bus with all the animals” I reply

And hubby says again…. “No.  Did you actually listen to what you said?”

“Oh, uhm…. Welllllll, that’s not what I meant………..get your mind out of the gutter…………”

“You just put a pedophile on the bus……..”

“Oh good lord.” I say to hubby…. and I look back to the baby (who is happily enjoying my rendition of the song) and say “The people on the bus, they kick Dad off… kick Dad off… kick Dad off…………..”

 

What’s your favorite version of this song???

 

Become a fan of The Hubby Diaries on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/thehubbydiaries

or

Follow on Twitter: http://twitter.com/thehubbydiaries

Did you ever wonder how one area of your home slowly gets taken over by so much stuff that it eventually assumes the responsibility for the new stuff more than the old stuff?

 

And then one day, you realize that you don’t know what has happened to your house.  And you wonder how your sewing room became the exercise room, or your exercise room became the laundry/ironing room.  Or perhaps you had a great den where you used to snuggle up and watch movies and now it’s become the kid’s playroom and is constantly littered with toys.  I’m sure many of you can relate.  And, you probably think that this post is about to outline all the ways our house has been overcome by baby crap (which it has) or that my family room no longer resembles an adult space (which it doesn’t) or that my office has become the staging area for baby baths… and the permanent home of a bath tub (why wouldn’t you keep a bath tub in your office??).  Anyhow, this post is about none of those things.  And, it’s NOT about how the baby has impacted our space.  It’s all about how hubby likes to “re-locate” items to places where they don’t belong and leave them there so long that they adopt the new-found space as their permanent (inappropriate) home.

 

You may recall THIS POST where I first started talking about this phenomenon and how it impacts every-day life and the relocation of items around my kitchen .. over .. and over… and over… and over…  That post is worth a read if for no other reason than to commiserate, if you find yourself constantly wishing that items would be Put Away at your home.

 

Well, be careful what you wish for… because sometimes, Put Away, doesn’t necessarily solve the problem.

 

I present to you Exhibit A:

Closet Upstairs

This is one of our closets.  In all honesty, it would probably be defined a “catch all” closet.  Hubby keeps some suits in here.  I keep extra purses, some hats, some of our travel items and other misc stuff.   It’s a closet filled with things we don’t really use regularly……………………including, apparently, a good deal of our “regular-use” tools.

 

Hmmmmm, you may be thinking……  Screwdrivers and drills in your suit closet……. Interesting use of space.

Ahhhhhhh, you may say…… easy access tools upstairs for quick repairs……. Smart storage.

Oooohhh, you may utter…. That’s a mighty nice vest hubby has…… He’s quite stylish.

Yikes, you may be judging…. They REALLY need some professional closest storage help…. That’s quite a disaster.

 

And to pretty much all of these…. I would say you are correct…………… well, sort of.

 

Until you think deeper about it.  And realize.. we have a full basement at our house.  We have a 2 car garage at the house.  Read this as:  MANY other, BETTER, permanent home locations for all the tools.  But alas, they are living happily in my upstairs closet.  I suppose there’s a part of me that’s happy they are not sitting in the hallway (which is likely where they started) … They were probably relocated to the closet when I forced hubby to pre-clean for the cleaning ladies, or maybe when we were having house guests, or quite possibly after I tripped over them with the baby so many times that I BEGGED him to move them out of a regular walking path.  To be totally honest, I don’t actually remember how they wound up in this closet…. Because it’s been THAT LONG that they’ve been living there.

 

Out of sight, out of mind for hubby…. So I’m pretty sure these items could stay in this closet until the baby leaves for college or until hubby needs his drill for something.  At which time, he will undoubtedly scour the house for tools that he cannot locate only to declare that he’s “looked everywhere” and they must be “gone” and he now needs to go buy everything new.   And, then of course, as we wives always do… I will ask him to re-confirm that he has indeed looked “everywhere” and then I will promptly go to this closet, pull them all out and remind him that the reason he cannot find anything, EVER, is because he never puts things back in their proper place…………   and the cycle will continues, as it always does………….

 

Become a fan of The Hubby Diaries on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/thehubbydiaries

or

Follow on Twitter: http://twitter.com/thehubbydiaries

“Happy Feet!”

I hate washing dishes…..

 

Not nearly as much as I hate washing floors, but I do harbor a pretty strong distaste for this particular chore.    And we do have a dishwasher, so it’s not like there are a ton of dishes that need hand washing but, in my opinion, even 1 pan or  1 Tupperware container is too much.    Thankfully most items make their way to the dishwasher (thank god we have one of these or I might be using disposable pot & pans)  But regardless this is a task that I despise…………….

 

Now, if they’d only make an automatic floor mopping device, we’d be in good shape…. But, I digress…………….

 

Anyhow, this particular chore aversion has always been lessened by the fact that hubby doesn’t mind doing this chore.  Now don’t misunderstand, he doesn’t like it, but he does like playing with water (like any child) and he does like to eat – and he DOESN’T like to cook – so, the natural progression was for him to take on the bulk of hand washing dishes, when necessary.  And, they lived happily ever after.

 

UNTIL

 

The baby arrived.

 

As you may know, babies are messy.  There’s more laundry than I ever imagined could come from the addition of one tiny human.   And consequently, there’s a heck of a lot more dirty items in general.  One item in particular is bottles.   It’s amazing how quickly they multiply in our sink, and if you blink too quickly, you may have 6 bottles at the end of the day…. And there they sit; all beckoning, and taunting, and giggling amongst themselves at all they work they have in store for you.

This is only 2 bottles!

This is only 2 bottles!

You see, like any clueless new parents, we wound up with bottles that have like 426 different tiny pieces that all must be assembled, in puzzle like fashion, to come together to prevent excess gas intake, or maybe it’s to improve baby IQ, or perhaps solve global warming.  Ok, I’m not really sure why there are so many dang pieces.  But what I AM sure of, is that cleaning these mother f’ers is a royal pain in my posterior region (and just for the record, these are Dr. Brown’s bottles -and they DO work, even though I’d pay millions of dollars for a full-time bottle washer).     Each tiny, individual, piece must be disassembled, washed, brushed, poked, scrubbed and violated in a way that only long tubular bottle pieces can, to ensure they are clean for our little one.   And, my friends, these puppies can’t go in the dishwasher.  I mean, sure, they can in fact go in the dishwasher but…. once you take them out of the dishwasher, you have to put them back into the sink to clean them.   Cause, with all the contraptions they sell to help make bottles dishwasher-cleanable… the only thing that really works is a bit of elbow grease, some pruny hands and about 4 hours in front of the sink.  Not to mention the day when I tried to wash them in the dishwasher and the bottles all came out with a nice orange-y, reddish hue.  Thank you Mr. Marinara sauce.

 

So, this brings me to the “meat” of my blog post.  What you just read was really just the back story.  And, you were wondering up to this point….. why the heck is she talking so much about baby bottles????  So, stay with me people.

 

As I mentioned earlier, hubby is our in-house dishwasher.  That is of course until the baby arrived – since bottle washing is so daunting – I’ve had to suck it up and wash bottles……… which, in case you were wondering, I still despise!  And, in case you missed it, I will remind you again… washing bottles SUCKS and takes f-o-r-e-v-e-r.   So hubby, in his infinite wisdom, says to me.  “Do ya think you could buy us a kitchen mat to stand on while we wash dishes for 6 hours a day?”  And being the loving wife I am, I respond “Why yes hubby, I certainly can”.  And then off I went to help give us comfy place to stand in front of the sink.    And, if I do say so myself, I found a rockin’ kitchen mat – if you can, in fact, use that sort of terminology to describe a kitchen mat.

"The best thing to ever set foot on!"

“The best thing to ever set foot on!”

This mat is cushy, cozy, comfy and maybe even kick-ass (I was going for another “c” word there – but I ran out of adjectives).  You see, the mat is made of memory foam, and when you stand on it, your feet just melt into it and are nicely cushioned to provide some otherwise not-so-present-comforts, for your tiny toes, while you stand in front of the sink and work your way through your 300th bottle part.  So, this mat sat in place for a day or so before hubby assumed the position to tackle the day’s chore.  And, when he stepped on to the mat, his toes began singing, his lower back started smiling and his mouth started saying….. “holy crap, this is the best thing I’ve ever stood on!!”  And then, in true hubby fashion, he needed to expound on his statement with some of the following:

 

“My feet have never been so happy”

“Why don’t they make shoes out of this material?”

“Every floor, everywhere, should be made of this stuff!”

“This is seriously the best thing I’ve ever felt on my feet!!”

“I’m never moving out of this spot”

 

And finally…. “ We need these mats ALL OVER the house”

 

What he doesn’t realize is that I’d NEVER put that material all over the house…….

I have him right where I want him.  In front of the sink, poised to wash bottles, and never wanting to move.   I’m not nearly as dumb as I look…………………and perhaps, with a little luck,  some incredibly comfy feet, and an equally happy hubby……….. I’ll never have to wash a bottle, ever again!  :-)

 

Become a fan of The Hubby Diaries on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/thehubbydiaries

or

Follow on Twitter: http://twitter.com/thehubbydiaries

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 173 other followers

%d bloggers like this: