Archive for the ‘husband’ Category

Soda Wars

May 18, 2009

I rarely buy soda.  We aren’t health nuts, as evidenced by my frequent baking, but the orthodontist recommended “no soda,” and when you’ve shelled out $10,840 for braces, it seems prudent to follow her directions.  My kids, of course, LOVE soda, and, when I bought some this Saturday, they actually had a “Soda War.” 

It was like “The War of the Roses.”  Over a carbonated, lemon-lime beverage.  


First Tay took the case of Sprite (which I only bought because it was a REALLY good deal) into his room, joking that it was “all mine!”  (Yes, that was accompanied by a chuckle of glee.)   

I think the kid needs to get out more.

At lunchtime Rea realized the soda was missing, so I told her to go ask Tay for one.   He gave her three.

Which made her quite self-righteous.  “Only three?  Three isn’t half of twenty-four!” 

Good to know her math skills are on par, but, really, how many sodas does one need with lunch?  Especially since, when soda is “in stock,” the rule is one soda per DAY.

I needed to study and reminded the kids of the another rule: “Do not interrupt me unless you are bleeding heavily or the house is in flames,” and headed to the solitude of my bedroom and my astronomy textbook.

Meanwhile, Reagan plotted a soda retrieval expedition and stealthy stole the cans from her brother and hid them in her room.   Taylor, discovering her devious ways, masterminded a counterattack, and, in the process, broke her door frame.

Reagan called her dad at work to complain about Taylor’s trespass and destruction; of course, she conveniently left out her role in the shenanigans.

Taylor sincerely apologized and attempted to fix the door.   All was good. 

Then Chris arrived home from work and, failing to consult me about subsequent developments,  read Taylor the riot act.

Then told me, “You shouldn’t buy soda.  We don’t need soda in the house.”

The soda wars were this close to turning into their floral namesake.


He really thought it was about the eggs.

February 25, 2009

It’s the arguments about nothing that are the most worrisome.    

If you feel loved, respected, then you assume the wrong sized eggs are the product of an accidental purchase, not due to lack of caring.   Not due to someone “never listening,” not due to your other half  making a “passive aggressive attempt to hinder your stress-reducing desire to bake.”

A heated argument about nothing is really an argument about EVERYTHING.

Everything that is wrong in your relationship. 

He doesn’t listen.

You nag.

He listens even less.

You nag even more.

You don’t feel heard or appreciated.

Neither does he.

And there isn’t an easy solution.  Especially when both parties feel wronged.  

It’s easier to hang out with friends, focus on kids, worry about the house, bake a cake, then it is to solve what seems unsolvable.

So, I exercise, go to movies.  Drive the kids to activities.  Work.   Have fun with friends, enjoy life, for the most part.

However, something is missing.   The something that makes me cry over love songs.   Despise romantic movies.   Avoid old boyfriends.  And eat another brownie, when, actually I’m full.

He got what was coming to him…

October 29, 2008

Yesterday I wrote this but didn’t get around to posting it:
I am a Democrat. Surrounded by three Republicans.

Three self-righteous Republicans. Ugh.

None of them regularly read the newspaper, or watch any news other than FOX. One told me that I am “drinking the Obama Kool-Aid.” Another said that Palin would “help kids with special needs” when she actually cut services for the families of such children during her governorship. The third says he’s a Republican and pro-McCain but can’t do anything other than parrot what his father says.

Worse than uninformed, they’re ill-informed.

The pervasive message that Obama voters are imbeciles floating on a cloud of “hope,” worshipping their idol is condescending.

It’s also bullshit. I know Obama isn’t perfect, for example, I disagree with his campaign’s stance on gay marriage. Nevertheless, looking at our available choices, he definitely beats a man who chose a running mate based upon a perceived mobilization of voters rather than the good of the country.

And if I hear “Obama is a Socialist” one more time, my head is going to fucking explode.

Luckily I waited to post it, as last night I came up with a solution to some of my frustration. The kids were in bed, the lights and clothes were off…

“First say ‘Obama is NOT a Socialist'”

very mysterious

June 2, 2008

There is a David Sedaris story that goes something like this:

“One summer my family was embroiled in a mystery. Someone was wiping his or her butt on our mahogany colored bathtowels and replacing the towels on the shelf, properly folded. At one point or other each of us was the victim and one of us was obviously the perpatrator.

My parents and older sisters were pretty easy to rule out. It was hard to imagine any of them being so immature, and, well, gross.

My grandmother also lived with us, as did my younger brother, who seemed to lack the dexterity to re-fold the towels.

My whole family played detective, trying to catch the culprit. We staked out the bathroom, watched for signs of a tender tush, and questioned one another. My mother noted that the person must be ‘one sick individual’ and my sister, the latest victim, responded ‘and he eats corn.'”

In the Wood household we are having our own mysterious summer, which, until today, did not involve poop.

Last Friday night at 1:20 am Taylor came into our bedroom and said “Dad, I need your help. N. (well known bully that lives near us) is outside and keeps knocking on the windows.” Chris got up, went outside and no one was around. He came back to bed. And we listened. Definite noise, more of a soft thud, but it sounded like it was INSIDE the house, not outside.

Chris got up and searched again. Outside and inside. No one.

More waiting, more listening, still an unexplainable noise.

Chris and I both get up. I shut every door in the house (all the closets, etc, because the noise was similar to a door gently thumping into a door frame.)

The noise stopped.

Then yesterday the kids were asleep and Chris let the dog out. He had been sleeping in Reagan’s room.

When Reagan got up and let him back in there was a paper clip on his ear. Not dangling, earring style, but on his ear to the paper clip’s hilt.

The dog was not thrilled about this.

How in the hell did a paper clip get on his ear? Chris was working around the house, both inside and out, so anyone coming into our yard would have to be awfully bold.

Taylor was asleep. Reagan had been sleeping, too, plus I can’t imagine either doing such a thing.

Not being a dog lover, I’m the most obvious suspect. But, really, it wasn’t me!

(And, yes, we were able to remove the paper clip and it hadn’t caused injury.)

Now today, my husband just emailed me this:

“I’m sitting in this conference and feel that my wallet is sort of poking my ass in an uncomfortable way. As I shift my weight in the chair I realize that it is not my wallet and wonder what it is. I reach my hand into my back pocket and pull the object out to discover that it is a hard, dried dog turd. How did a hard, dried dog turd get into my back pocket?”


I’m trying to figure this out. A series of random, coincidental weirdness? A poltergeist? Or is there a prankster in our midst?

Mike Oxlong

May 19, 2008

Saturday night we (Taylor, Chris, Tay’s friend Wesley) were hanging out playing board games.

The topic of usernames came up. Chris said “My username on my fantasy league is Mike-Oh, I better not say.”

Taylor and Wesley started lauging hysterically.

Okay, what’s so funny about Mike? Mike What?

Chris finally admited that his username is “Mike Oxlong”

(If you don’t get it, say it three times fast.)

Am I married to a fourteen year old boy or what?

Turning to Wesley, “How did you know?”

His reply:
“Well, that used to be Taylor’s username on AIM.” (AOL Instant Messanger.)

Shit, I wonder what Ben Dover and Harry Schlong’s parents’ thought when their sons were online talking to “Mike Oxlong?”

Venus and Mars

March 10, 2008

Friday when I arrived home from work my husband was in the kitchen, wiping off the stove. I started talking about my day, but then he halted me, saying, “I can’t believe you didn’t notice that I had cleaned the counters and the stove top. You should have noticed and thanked me!”

At which point I said “Um, have you ever thanked me for cleaning the stove and counters, because, you know, I do them everyday?”

He admitted, well, no, he had never thanked me for those chores, but then said,

“But that’s the difference between me and you; I NEED you to thank me!”


March 6, 2008

Last night my husband said:

“I was thinking about goals and I have come up with one. I would like to go to Monte Carlo to see the Formula One race in two or three years. I’d like to stay at a really nice hotel and go to the casino and be able to blow $500 without worrying about it.”

My response:

“Oh, I’d like to pay for the kids to go to college, so I hope you can turn that $500 into $500,000.”

It didn’t strike me until I was recounting this to my co-workers that, nowhere in the Monte Carlo fantasy goal was I mentioned.

Hmmm… a bad sign or mere oversight?

Version 3.0?

March 6, 2008

Last night, after having a talk with Taylor, Chris said “We should have another baby.”

I started laughing, thinking, “What about our son’s recent shitty behaviour makes having another one seem like a good idea?”

He had a reasonable explanation. “Well, I think we’ve screwed these two up too much, maybe we just need to start over.”

It’s all a matter of comparison….

March 3, 2008

Have I ever mentioned that I’m hard to live with? For example, this morning:

Chris: “You look pretty today.”

Me: “Hmmm… so are you saying I didn’t look pretty yesterday?”

Chris: “No, just that you look pretty today.”

Me: “Well, that implies that yesterday I looked like crap.”

Chris: “Why can’t you just say ‘Thanks?'”

(BTW, yesterday I spent the day in halloween pajama bottoms, a ratty t-shirt AND I didn’t comb my hair, or put on any make-up.)

(But, in case you are wondering, I did brush my teeth!)

Despite the “giant dip” (that was a shout-out to NHBC)

February 29, 2008

My husband just emailed me:

“tonight, at some point, I want your body.”

My response:

“And you think I’m sexy?

Come on baby let it show?”

God, I’m funny….