Life According to Me

Has he met me, my husband??   Unfortunately for him I have a strong passive aggressive streak. And here. we. go.....Three car driveway=plenty-o-space to park two large cars.  Mark  chooses to park right in the middle.... always.   This leaves me a small space on either side. grrrrr.  I wonder..." does he think he's the ONLY one who lives heeere?!"                        *WELCOME PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE JENN* I arrive home first and park my car completely parallel to our house,  in the middle of the driveway.  He comes in and asks, "Did you park like that on purpose?"   hee hee  " Of course I did .  Y ou park in the middle, so I parked in the middle."  Fast forward to the next day. He arrives home first and parks across the bottom of the driveway, blocking it.   Again....has he not met me?!?   I proceed to drive around his truck over the grass and park right beside him in the middle of the driveway.   WINNAH WINNAH CHICKEN DINNAH .  Out of the house he c...

I'm telling this story now only because I have fessed up to the act. A few years back Mark bought a car. He bought a car without telling me he was buying a car. Just came home in it......a brand new Mercedes. I'd have made a sailor blush with the words I spewed at him. This car was his love. He cleaned it everyday and rubbed it with a soft towel. I swear I could hear him whisper it it's ear. One day after he had spent some quality time rubbing and shinning up his ride he announced he was going to the gym. I was peeved. He comes in the house to get ready....I go outside. I'm standing in the garage looking at this beautiful, adored machine. Before I can stop myself, I'm scooping up mud from the flowerbed and smearing it all over the front of his car, paying special attention to the fancy stupid hood ornament. gasp. what have i done?! no going back now. face the music. I quickly go in the house, wash my hands and wait. Mark heads out. I hear the car start, back out, a...

At the grocery store, the local coffee spot, by the Principal(who is clearly older than myself)...that one little ridiculously spelled word- ma'am . I know it's supposed to have an aura of respect, but it reeks of...well...chronological order! I can feel it coming, too. "GRANDE SKINNY VANILLA LATTE!!" shouted by some pierced barista. I look around, puzzled because I am the only one waiting.  "Guess that's me...thanks."  wait for it...wait for it ... "Have a nice day, ma'am"  And there it is. Thanks. Getting old sucks.

Today, Mark and I were having a perfectly lovely conversation about about random life stuff. Benign, really. Then all of a sudden, out of frickin' nowhere he throws in "Wow....you're almost 40?!" record scratch. He immediately saw the error of his way, and probably the loneliness of it as well. Suddenly he's a giggly foot eating apologizing FOOL! grrrrr. For the record, I'm 36. Almost 37. For the record .

On Noah's night stand is a small cup of milk I allowed him to have. Of course, there was a lecture involved. You know... be very careful, do not spill, if you do I will be very mad . I'm making his bed, I flip the covers and send the cup and it's contents all over the place. Shock spreads across Noah's face. I'm pissed. "You see, Mom.....that's why we need ShamWow." Way to save the moment, Noah. Oh....and no more TV. While in the front yard playing, Noah announces that he wants me to play baseball. "Ooooo...I don't know how to play. That's a game for you and Dad." "What??? What do mean. All you have to do is throw the ball at me and I hit it. It's not hard." Note to self; baseball is easier than I believed .

It is I, who drives this ship. History will bear witness to my sad little tradition. The tradition of allowing my family to sleep in and in and in while on holiday. I'm clearly aware of the consequences of this action, yet choose to drive our ship directly into the coziness of the 11 am harbor. 6 am tomorrow is looking bleak for me and my shipmates......arrrrrrrgh.

Announcement from the back seat... "Hey Mom...look. Fruit snack NINJA !"