Mood Killer

There's nothing like the sound of your son's voice over the baby monitor to ruin a perfectly lovely, kids napping at the same time, adults only Sunday afternoon.

"Mommy!"

"Daddy!"

"Thomas DVD!"

Those words are just. Not. Hot.

"Get up!"

Hot. But NOT when you hear it over the baby monitor.

You've Never Heard of This Stuff, You've Never Heard of This Stuff

Last night Tate and I had a misunderstanding. Not a dish-throwing kind of misunderstanding, or anything like that, I just misunderstood something he was advising me to do.

See, I have this toenail malady that has resulted in the upper half of my toenail almost falling off. (Sorry, folks, no pictures, please.) Tate suggested that I put some "semen salve" on it to make it better.

Rolling my eyes and annoyed at Tate's obviously lame attempt to get himself some action, I shot back at him, "you want me to put some sort of penis liquid...on my toe? Because this penis juice has such healing properties, right?" Seriously, how ridiculous a way to try and lure me into bed.

Tate, rolling his eyes and now annoyed with me informed that he had not said "semen salve" but rather he'd told me I needed "Sayman's Salve."

I was skeptical. I'd never heard of this supposed "Sayman's Salve." So Tate consulted with Google and found a mere 1,730 results for "Sayman's Salve."



Huh? I did not know of this salve advertised to be...

"a skin protectant for the temporary protection of minor cuts and burns, chapped and chafed skin. It includes petrolatum and zinc oxide as active ingredients."

Nowhere in the list does it say anything about magically healing my toenail, but still better than my original impression of this salve as being some sort of wonky sex attempt.

Since Tate loves being right (even more than me), he told me I should "post this on my blog" where you all will surely have heard of it.

You all completely let me down on the Ovaltine disagreement, but I'm confident I'll win this one. You've never heard of this stuff, right? Please tell me I'm right. I fear if I lose, I'll have to uh, pay up (if you know what I mean.)

you've never heard of the stuff, you've never heard of the stuff, you've never heard of the stuff, you've never heard of the stuff, you've never heard of the stuff, you've never heard of the stuff, you've never heard of the stuff, you've never heard of the stuff, you've never heard of the stuff, you've never heard of the stuff, you've never heard of the stuff.....

Spite and $10 Glasses of Wine

You did not misread the title, I also did not misspell. It isn't supposed to say SpRite and $10 glasses of wine or Spit and $10 glasses of wine. Just so we're clear.

Let's begin with spite, as in, cutting off my nose to spite my face. This is one aspect of my personality that makes me ever so fun to live with. Piss me off and I'll just one up you and make myself miserable trying to punish you! God, I'm fun! And borderline asshole. Aaaaaaanyway, Tate and I had a date planned last night since my in laws are in town and we actually had babysitters. In all actuality, I had a vision of a date in my head, complete with Tate having made reservations at a swanky, non-chain restaurant, me looking tall and slender in a gorgeous new outfit, and drinking wine and laughing over conversation that did not include the words tantrum, whining, or diaper blow-outs. The problem here arose when Tate arrived home and had forgotten about our planned date (and I'm never going to look tall at 5'2", I don't have any new clothes, and I'm completely unable to have adult conversation.)

Before grabbing your pitchforks and torches to go on a Tate manhunt, he is not really the bad guy in this story. Yes he forgot, yes he can be an oaf at times, yes he hurt my feelings, blah, blah, blah, but he felt really, really bad when he did finally remember. Upon remembering, he suggested that we go out after the kids went to bed. Here's where my spiteful self almost lost the proverbial nose.

I refused. I pouted. I said, "oh, but you hurt my feeeeeeelings." "You should have remembered." "If you had really wanted to go, you wouldn't have forgotten." "I will not go out to dinner with you." See? I told you I was borderline asshole.

But Tate was relentless because he knows of my spiteful, self destructive ways. He knew I wanted to go, he knew I wanted him to grovel. He's a good guy, forgetful at times, but good nonetheless. I relented and agreed to go out with him. Crisis averted.

Luckily I realized that just because he forgot, did not mean that we shouldn't take full advantage of our free (and rare) babysitting services. We went to dinner and semi-enjoyed outrageously priced seafood, slow service, and 3 glasses of wine (1 for Tate, 2 for me.)

When the bill arrived, we were shocked to see that the wine was $10 a glass. A GLASS. A GLASS! Ohmyfackinggodyougottabekiddingme! Keeping with my (previously) spiteful ways, I should refuse to drink any wine for the next month as punishment for consuming such expensive cheap wine. No wine for me! One month! But really, who is that helping? Isn't that just cutting off my nose to spite my face? I think I've learned my lesson.

Wine is back on my menu! Crisis averted.

(Prison) Sentences

Here's a sampling of some sentences I uttered this weekend...

I don't watch TV to learn.
(This was in reference to the marathon of How It's Made on The Science Channel and Tate questioning my disgust after hour 10.)


Welcome to my life.
(This was in reference to a comment Tate made about never getting anything done due to having to tend to the kids.)


Oh no you dint.
(This was in reference to a hint that whipping out the magic boobs might get the baby to finally go to sleep.)


A trip to the grocery store alone doesn't technically count as a break thankyouverymuch.
(This doesn't need any explanation.)


Is it Tuesday yet?
(This also doesn't need any explanation.)