Tag Archives: Husband

It’s Not Worth It.

I own one of those soft coolers – the ones that carry a few cans of coke, or keep your food cold. I don’t really like to take my lunch in it. Yesterday, as I was reaching for a plastic bag to pack my food in, I thought how nice it would be to have a good old-fashioned lunchbox. My pal Stacey in Lexington has a Twilight lunchbox, (yeah, I know, Twilight) so I figured why couldn’t I have a lunchbox? And then remembered – we do own one.

The lunchbox has never been used. It sits behind the glass doors of a bookcase, showcased on the fourth of five shelves along with a bunch of other memorabilia from The Simpsons. My husband has a slight love of The Simpsons. I have often joked about using said container, but as he always gives me a ‘Don’t you dare’ speech I never have.

Until yesterday morning.

It’s a nifty lunchbox, with a thermos and a metal bar that holds it in place inside. I headed into the spare room, opened the glass doors, retrieved the tin box and proceeded into the kitchen where I packed my lunch in it.

For a few years, I got my husband Simpsons stuff for birthdays or Christmas. I could not go wrong with anything Duff or Homer-ish in nature. The more I started thinking about all the items he has, some of which came from Australia, the more I started to rethink my plan. I could feel the disproving eyes of my husband. If there is such a thing as being a natural-born klutz, I am living proof. Sitting and staring at the thing, I thought how it might be worth some money one day. And how if I used it, it might not be.

My food went back into plastic bag and the lunchbox is safely ensconced behind doors.

 

 

 

Advertisements

13

;

;

Thirteen. A lucky number for some, unlucky for others. An odd number to celebrate. Today that is what I am doing. Rather, my husband and I are celebrating the number thirteen. Today marks thirteen years we have been together. Now, I know what many people think, and have often told me: When you get married, only that counts. You can’t celebrate how long you dated.

I’m gonna go ahead and call bullshit & shenanigans. (Shenanigans??? Yeah, yeah, that’s how wars get started.)

It can be hard to find someone to spend the rest of one’s life with. For some people, it takes years, or maybe even a few tries. 🙂 If you are one of the lucky ones, then why not celebrate? Why not celebrate anything you darn well please? Who cares if a couple chooses to single out one day a year or seventeen? I’ve seen people get almost upset about us choosing to honor a day that matters only to my husband and I. Excuse us for injecting a little ooey-gooeyness into our relationship.

I know, everyday, that I am a lucky person. I have a great family, friends, a job, a home, usually enough money to pay the bills, and a husband who loves me. I have a relationship that has outlasted marriages of couple’s weddings we attended. It’s hard work and worth it. We choose to celebrate being together since we were nineteen, for living together for the past twelve years, and in a few months, five years of marriage.

So thank you Tim. Thank you for bringing me out of my shell and helping me be the person I am now. Thank you for making me laugh every day, and for always pushing the shopping cart at the grocery. Thank you for still caring enough to be bothered about the way I squeeze the toothpaste, and how I put the dishes in the sink instead of the dishwasher. Thank you for fighting fair in the rare times we have fights. Thank you for telling me you love me, each day, for the last 4,700-ish days. Most of all, thanks for knowing where I put my house keys, and for yesterday, when you called my cell phone because of the one millionth time I couldn’t find it.


It’s All About Tim

Tim: I like your blog. You should write about me more.

Me: I’ve mentioned you lots in the quote corner.

Tim: Psh. There are tons of funny stories about me.

Me: Are there? Are there tons?

Tim: Yes.

 

Okay, so there are tons of funny stories about my husband, but, like his jokes, the most memorable ones are best not mentioned in mixed/polite company. Sorry sweetie. 🙂  (And, yeah, I do laugh at them, even the awfully inappropriate ones. What can I say? He’s a funny man.)


%d bloggers like this: