Did She Take the Deal?

I had two Arbitrations in two days. It was crazy, and let me just say that I am not as young as I used to be. I know this because a mere 5 years ago while in Law School, I could routinely pull an all nighter several nights in a row during finals and be fine...nay, I was at my BEST after an all nighter. I ate pressure for breakfast. The night was my mistress, and all I needed was a two hour afternoon nap. That's how I rolled back then.

Now, after working until 11pm two nights in a row and rising at 5:30 two mornings in a row...I feel, ummmm....well....what is the diametric opposite of invigorated? I felt like I wanted to throw-up and my head was pounding. Advil had become my mistress, and I needed to crash into a coma like sleep for approximately 24 hours. Because, my friends, apparently THAT is how I roll now.

So on the third day, I left work victorious and tired. I got home around 6 and was in the arms of my husband by 6:01. By 6:03, my husband was asking me how to use the TiVo to record the Flyer's playoff game.

Needless to say, I set up the TiVo for him and retired around 8:00 to the bedroom where I was all set to enjoy Deal or No Deal and then watch Pickler get booted from American Idol. I told him to come visit me and promised to intercom him with the play by play analysis of Deal/No Deal and the bootee of American Idol.

By 8:20 I was asleep. Not only did I not get to see who was voted off Idol, I have no idea if that greedy lady took the deal or not. Interestingly, the next morning while we were driving into work, I asked my husband if he came up to check on me at all, if he noticed what time I had fallen asleep...and he replied:

"I knew when I didn't hear a peep out of you after 8:30, that you were asleep. You didn't intercom me, didn't come down to see me, didn't yell to me...Never called out who was voted off American Idol. The silence gave you away."

I asked "Ohhh, baby, I'm sorry. I was just so tired. Did you miss me?"

And while looking into the distance wistfully with a huge grin on his face, as if remembering a happier time, my husband said "What? Ohhh...yeah, I missed you. I did, it was horrible."

And I have to say...I don't think I believe him.

Sick and Tired

Oh God the Sickness. A pox is on my house. My husband brought home "the cold that will not die" on Good Friday. In my ignorance I kissed him and hugged him and made fun of him for being sick. It was back before the onset...in the days I felt invincible. Relying on my track record for being immune to whatever disease had befallen my weak and susceptible husband, I feared not.

And then Monday my throat hurt a little. Weird...my husband had not had a sore throat. Probably just dehydration right? Ignorance is bliss...Tuesday I managed to crawl home and collapse on the couch with a 101 fever, which in a deluge of sweat soaked sheets broke that night. Wednesday I awoke, alive and well. Only to be struck down Wednesday afternoon with a river of mucous streaming from my lungs and nose. It was not pretty. The cough that made me sound like I had smoked 10 packs of Pall Mall's a day for 30 years was attractive though...

Thursday just got worse, but I couldn't take the day off. Friday is a blurr and my survival is nothing short of a miracle. I still don't remember how I got home from work. Saturday I was still sick and Sunday I layed around because my husband was doing laundry and well...just to be sure I thought I would still remain couch bound.

My husband was sick right along with me, just not as severe. Not as many maladies. he just had a run o' the mill sinus infection. And so on Friday when he said he was still sick, despite having no outward signs of being so...I looked at him through runny eyes, chapped running nose and with a hoarse voice and sore throat and attempted to explain to him lovingly that while I was sorry that he was under the weather, I have stared into the face of death itself and fought fever, chills, nausea and daggers in my throat since Tuesday. I have been to hell and it was not welcoming. But all that came out was a weak "you did this to me"...

In an Effort to Make Me Feel Better, My Husband Lies to Me

Depicted above is a photo essay of my attempt to bake a two layer cake, which upon completion of the baking and attempting to remove said layers from their respective baking pans, I found that only half of each layer came out. Not wanting to admit defeat, I tried to piece together the two half layers to form a single layer cake. In theory this is seemingly an incredibly ingenious idea. In reality: Not So Much.

Upon seeing my inner turmoil and the sense of failure wash over me, my husband attempted to ease the burden of wifery..."It's delicious!...Just frost it and no one will know."

Despite the transparency, I was easily consoled. Although, minutes later, when I declared it 'unsalvageable', the look of relief on his face was equally transparent. But I love him for trying.

A Dirty Little Secret

From the beginning I have had a great deal of stress about being someone's wife. There is no book, no manual as to how marraige works, each one having it's own nuances, parameters, and journey. What is being a good wife anyway? Is it cooking dinner every night? Is it keeping the house spotless? Is it just a matter of supporting your partner? I would say...

Okay, I'm stalling... I have a cleaning person. There I said it. I know, I know...we don't even have kids and I can't even pick up after my husband and I. I know. I know.

She only comes every 3 weeks and I prefer to think of her as the "heavy lifting cleaning lady". I mean I still do all the day to day cleaning and picking up and laundry and such. Except, I don't really, my husband does the laundry and most of the picking up.

Note to self: Become better wife. (Does this qualify as an Oprah "aha" moment?)

Alright, alright. That isn't the point of the post. Or actually it kind of is. I am totally guilty about having this cleaning person. I know I should be doing it...and certainly I could find time on the weekends. My husband thinks it's ridiculous and that we should do it ourselves. Having her makes me feel like I'm failing at cleaning and therefore, failing slightly at being a wife. Surely I should be cleaning my own bathroom. Who do I think I am? Britney Spears? The Queen of England? I bet Martha Stewart finds time to clean her own bathroom with homemade cleaning products.

I don't think I'm the Queen of England, I just think I work really hard all week and some weekends. I know it sounds self indulgent, but those weekends? THEY ARE MINE! I live for those two days, dream about them all week, long for them, count down minutes. So really it would ruin the whole "pining away for the weekend" thing I have going if I knew that all the weekend meant was scrubbing the shower or the stove.

I try to explain to my husband in rational terms. This lady costs $90. She is very reasonable and does it in about 3 hours time. It would take us all day, and just from an economical standpoint: My time is much more valuable than the $90 I am paying, ergo, what the hell are we fighting for? He insists we can do it ourselves...

Honestly, for a kid who wastes money like it was going to be discontinued tomorrow...I would expect more. "Sigh."

So every 3 weeks I remind my husband on the eve of cleaning lady day that tomorrow is, in fact, cleaning lady day. He then sighs loudly (seriously, this whole sighing thing never happened when we were dating, what is with sighing, it's become his new schtick). We do the whole mini recap of the cleaning lady argument and it is all for naught, because she is coming. We have not come to an agreement so much as he has compromised and I get something he doesn't think we need. This is endlessly annoying...the fact that he can't see my side...but whatevs, The Cleaning Lady Comes Tomorrow!

And then he comes home from work and seriously inspects every detail. He will point out every windowsill that still has dust on it, or every stray hair still in the bathroom. This kid who buys $50 leather flip flops that he refuses to wear and refuses to return, is CHEAP with the cleaning lady that he doesn't think we need! Normally, I just ignore him, and let him walk around mumbling to no one in particular...he gets it out of his system and I don't have to deal with it for another 3 weeks.

But yesterday...They forgot to do the kitchen floor and powder room. Oh. My. God. So I call. And the woman could not have been more apologetic. Someone would come over the next day and clean the floor and powder room. So so so sorry.

Is it wrong that every cleaning day, I root for the cleaning lady to win in the fake battle my husband has with her, but is really with me? Is it wrong to be so emotionally invested that I feel like I lost when he finds something like the kitchen floor and claims the "I told you so" victory? Or to secretly smile to myself when all he can find wrong is a stray hair in the bathroom that probably fell out of my head 5 minutes ago?

Ahhhhh....Marraige

It is 11:15. I have to be at the bridal shop to meet my sister-in-law for a 'dress decision' regarding her wedding at 12:30. My husband needs to be dropped off at his friend's so he can go to the baseball game at 12:00.

We both are in our pajamas, and have not had breakfast. I make us eggs and english muffins. He makes the coffee.

It is now 11:30, we have to leave the house in 15 minutes. OUT THE DOOR, in 15 minutes.

husband: Are you going to shower?

Me: I am going to rinse.

husband: Me too.

Me: Are you washing your hair?

husband: Yes.

Me: That isn't a rinse, it's a shower.

husband: Not in my book.

Me: There are strict definitions of rinse vs. shower. It isn't up to 'your book'.

I can't be sure, but I think he might have sworn at me in his head. We then start going up the stairs to our bedroom.

Me: I'm going onto the internet while you shower.

husband: We don't have time, you need to get ready.

Me: I'm doing it while you shower...

husband: I'm just rinsing, I'm not taking a shower.

Me: Are you washing your hair?

husband: Yes.

Me: That's not a rinse, that's a shower.

husband: (loud sigh open to interpretation)

Me: Ditto.

Gotta go. Just heard the water turn off...