The Husband
As much as I love the husband, I sometimes wonder if I am really living IN a sticom and not a life that I thought was... well... real. Mostly thanks to the husband, a rolly polly sort of man with a distinct resemblence to Jerry Garcia (before Jerry died and not the Jerry a mouldering in the grave) and a secret desire to BE Santa Claus. He's smart, he really is, especially with numbers and abstract thought but drop the man in the real world and there is a crisis around the corner. Take this morning.
I roll out of bed, drag myself toward the bathroom and suddenly he's there, telling me something but my ears aren't awake yet and I have him repeat it. Not the thing to do as the Husband cannot just continue from a stopping point but has to go wayyyy back to the beginning of the thought and start all over again. Even worse is when he has to tell me the whole history of a person till he finally gets up to the point where he ment to be and usually it is something as mundane as the person called.
Anyhow, this morning, I finally get the idea of what he's talking about. But first I had to hear that one son's room is leaking (It has been raining forever) and something about towels and a wet vac and the dog barked and the washing machine is broken.
Uh huh wait, go back, what? So I hear the whole story again till we finally get to the washing machine is broken and then he is silent, watching me expectantly and, I swear, holding his breath waiting for me to DO SOMETHING. So I head for the basement laundry room with the Husband so close behind me I can feel his breath on my neck, so I can see what's going on.
Now I don't know about anyone else but I CANNOT concentrate when someone is staring at the back of my head and waiting for me to make the world safe for mankind once more. So I fidgit with this and unplug that plunging myself into basment darkness at the same time. I'm twisting the knobs and unplugging the cords all the while the husband is keeping up a running litany about how the washing machine is broken, how he will have to go to a laundromat, and bring wet clothes home to dry because the dryer still works and we will have to consider calling someone in to fix the washing machine or go out an buy a new one.
Now I WAS STILL NOT AWAKE and since I took a benadryl along with my usual nightly meds I was even foggier than usual. By this time the husband is pacing behind me, repeating the whole water in the basement story and te go to the laundromat etc, till I give up and come upstairs. I bide my time, just waiting for him to leave for the office and once he's gone and the house is quiet, I go back downstairs and discover the washing machine was UNPLUGGED!!!
We have a drain at the bottom of the outside steps that sometimes gets clogged especially if there is a storm and when there is a storm, oldest son, prepares to do battle with a minor flood by getting the pump ready to go. So he unplugged the washer so that he could plug in the pump. Something I hope I would have found earlier if my mind wasn't stuffed full of the Casey leak, laundry broke stuff. So I plugged IN the washer and washed the towels that were a crucial part of the whole event and that, had they not been washed and dried the world would have ended.
Yes, the husband panics. He's a man that stands in the middle of the front yard, holding an umbrella and watching for tornados. He's the one who the minute he misplaces his wallet is running for the phone yelling that we have to cancel his cards and he's the one that woke older son shouting that he can't find his keys and that he has to take younger son to work in 45 minutes and only once the older son is awake and searching his room, does the husband think to look on the hook where the keys belong. Who would have thought? Where they belong.
But to give the man credit when there really IS a crises, he knows what to do. For instance, while near the end of my labor with oldest son, I suddenly went into a seizure. The husband flung himself over my body to keep me from bouncing off the bed and jammed his finer in my mouth to keep me from swallowing my tounge. Though I suppose his halo is tarnished just a bit, when he admitted he knew what to do because he had seen me deal with a cat that went into seizures. Note never pick up a cat that's seizing and hold it against your body to keep it safe unless you LIKE your chest shredded.
So there he is, husband o'mine. I think I will make a plaque for the house that reads "PLUG IT IN". After all, that seems to fix just about anything.
I roll out of bed, drag myself toward the bathroom and suddenly he's there, telling me something but my ears aren't awake yet and I have him repeat it. Not the thing to do as the Husband cannot just continue from a stopping point but has to go wayyyy back to the beginning of the thought and start all over again. Even worse is when he has to tell me the whole history of a person till he finally gets up to the point where he ment to be and usually it is something as mundane as the person called.
Anyhow, this morning, I finally get the idea of what he's talking about. But first I had to hear that one son's room is leaking (It has been raining forever) and something about towels and a wet vac and the dog barked and the washing machine is broken.
Uh huh wait, go back, what? So I hear the whole story again till we finally get to the washing machine is broken and then he is silent, watching me expectantly and, I swear, holding his breath waiting for me to DO SOMETHING. So I head for the basement laundry room with the Husband so close behind me I can feel his breath on my neck, so I can see what's going on.
Now I don't know about anyone else but I CANNOT concentrate when someone is staring at the back of my head and waiting for me to make the world safe for mankind once more. So I fidgit with this and unplug that plunging myself into basment darkness at the same time. I'm twisting the knobs and unplugging the cords all the while the husband is keeping up a running litany about how the washing machine is broken, how he will have to go to a laundromat, and bring wet clothes home to dry because the dryer still works and we will have to consider calling someone in to fix the washing machine or go out an buy a new one.
Now I WAS STILL NOT AWAKE and since I took a benadryl along with my usual nightly meds I was even foggier than usual. By this time the husband is pacing behind me, repeating the whole water in the basement story and te go to the laundromat etc, till I give up and come upstairs. I bide my time, just waiting for him to leave for the office and once he's gone and the house is quiet, I go back downstairs and discover the washing machine was UNPLUGGED!!!
We have a drain at the bottom of the outside steps that sometimes gets clogged especially if there is a storm and when there is a storm, oldest son, prepares to do battle with a minor flood by getting the pump ready to go. So he unplugged the washer so that he could plug in the pump. Something I hope I would have found earlier if my mind wasn't stuffed full of the Casey leak, laundry broke stuff. So I plugged IN the washer and washed the towels that were a crucial part of the whole event and that, had they not been washed and dried the world would have ended.
Yes, the husband panics. He's a man that stands in the middle of the front yard, holding an umbrella and watching for tornados. He's the one who the minute he misplaces his wallet is running for the phone yelling that we have to cancel his cards and he's the one that woke older son shouting that he can't find his keys and that he has to take younger son to work in 45 minutes and only once the older son is awake and searching his room, does the husband think to look on the hook where the keys belong. Who would have thought? Where they belong.
But to give the man credit when there really IS a crises, he knows what to do. For instance, while near the end of my labor with oldest son, I suddenly went into a seizure. The husband flung himself over my body to keep me from bouncing off the bed and jammed his finer in my mouth to keep me from swallowing my tounge. Though I suppose his halo is tarnished just a bit, when he admitted he knew what to do because he had seen me deal with a cat that went into seizures. Note never pick up a cat that's seizing and hold it against your body to keep it safe unless you LIKE your chest shredded.
So there he is, husband o'mine. I think I will make a plaque for the house that reads "PLUG IT IN". After all, that seems to fix just about anything.
posted by ---me--- at Thursday, May 07, 2009
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home