Just Bring Krispie Treats to the Funeral

I have spent the last NINE days in a supine position with the silly assumption that 'I can't possibly feel any worse.' Amazingly, it is possible to feel immensely worse every time you wake up... (I have to say, Mr. Mononucleosis is a bastard. Yes, I did give him a proper name as I feel confident that he is not one to upset.) On the rare occasion I feel as if I can tackle some simple task such as a shower, I get smacked in the face with a big ole healthy dose of 'respect for the virus'.

This has, naturally, put Dorkfish in a difficult position. Not only does he have to deal with my whining, he is apparently the one who brought this hot mess home. Yes, as I predicted in my 'he's trying to kill me' post, our physician confirmed that he did indeed have the virus first and is now on the backside of it. Ironically, he wasn't NEARLY as sick as I have been with it.

Which obviously means that he is trying to kill me.

I have to admit, he has been quite patient with my 'can you get me' pleas. Well, until tonight. I decided that only a rice krispie treat would make me feel better at this moment, so I asked him to make them. He was washing the dishes and said, "Well, I'm busy cleaning the kitchen now. SIGH."
So I waited.
Patiently.

Five minutes later: "How about now? Can you make me some treats now? I'm sick you know."

Him: "Yeah, I noticed. I will get them in a minute."

Me: "Do we have rice krispies? Marshmallows?"

Him (through gritted teeth): "Yes. SIGH. We have all that. But I am a little busy right now...."

Me: "Oh, so maybe you could make them in a minute then? I mean, you're gonna have to wash the pot and all anyway..."

Him: *blink, blink* (slight twitch)

"Oh LOOK! We're out of BUTTER!!! Sorry, honey."

So I texted my neighbor, Cameron: "Can I borrow a stick of butter? Dorkfish is using our lack of it as his excuse for not making me rice krispie treats...I'm rethinking his nursing abilities."

In under thirty seconds, Cameron was at my door. Dorkfish opened the door, looked at the butter and glared at me.

Grinning from my deathbed the couch, I said, "Now where are my krispies, beesh?!"

Feeling pretty smug, I enjoyed about half the pan. Sadly, the joke was on me when Bonus ATE. THE. LAST. ONE.

Obviously, that one is in on the 'get a new mommy' plan...

UPDATE: He's trying to kill me for sure now.

Last month, I told you about Dorkfish trying to 'off me'. It started out as a joke; a bit of a 'har-har' but the gloves have come off. I believe we are in full-on WATCH. YOUR. BACK. mode now.

He has been on vacation for the past two weeks and has been happily pointing out how effortlessly he keeps the house clean, puts food on the table, entertains the kids, and is now befriending my neighborhood posse. Honestly, I should have seen that one coming when he brought a box of donuts to the bus stop last fall... I generally only bring a beer, and the funny, of course. Don't get me wrong, I certainly appreciate a man who can do all these household chores with such ease and I am grateful that he comes home and picks up my slack. But the 'little comments' pointing out how effortlessly he manages to take on these tasks makes me a little concerned...

For example, last week he looked at me from the kitchen where he was washing dishes and said, "You know. If you were to die right there in that chair and no one came to check on you for a couple of weeks, our dog would eat you."

I'm not sure exactly what he meant by that comment, but I can tell you that the smirk said it all. The dog doesn't seem to be in on his plan yet, but I am watching them both pretty closely. Well, I was until I got sick. I'm not sure how he managed this one, but I have contracted mono. I have to admit, he's good. Real Good.

Ironically, it is damb difficult to sleep with one eye open when you're constantly exhausted...

So It's NOT Everywhere I Want to Go

Conversation with My Bitch last week:

Me: "So, my bank is forcing us to switch to Master Card."

My Bitch: "And..."

Me: "I really don't want to switch; I like Visa. Not to mention, Master Card isn't accepted everywhere."

My Bitch: "Like where? Where do you go that doesn't accept it?"

Me: (Trying to think up a quick example.) "Well, you know, like the Dollar Tree. They don't accept Master Card."

My Bitch: (Not even bothering to hold back the laugh.) "Could you repeat that, please..."

A Simple 'Thank You' Will Do

At the end of every day is this time I lovingly call, "The Witching Hour". It comes after dinner and before bed and is characterized by my sons acting as if they were possessed. Generally there are ridiculous fights, an ungodly amount of screaming and it ends with me threatening to run away from home.

Last night was no different.

They boys are in the tub and I had resigned myself to just mop up what ever amount of water gets poured out of the tub rather than sit in there with them. Sipping a glass of wine and looking at everyone's embarrassing photos on facebook that they wish someone hadn't tagged them in ,pondering world events, I hear Bonus scream in a panicked tone.

"Momma! My tooth fell out!" he shrieked.

Mildly concerned as we have spent enough money on his teeth already, I go to the bathroom. Bonus is holding a teeny tooth in one hand and a pool of blood in the other.

"Honey, it is a baby tooth. It fell out. That is what they are going to do for the next few years."

Analyzing the tooth in greater detail, he says, "Yeah, but it wasn't loose! Deuce knocked it out! He yanked a washcloth out of my mouth and the tooth came with it!"

A little surprised, I turn to Deuce to hear his side of the story and he responds with a smirk, "Yeah, and he didn't even thank me."

Evidence

Lately, I've been getting the sinking sensation that Dorkfish is trying to 'off' me. It's nothing big, like changing a life insurance policy or anything, but it's the subtle things that I am finally noticing. Small, incidental things such as leaving the glass shower door open, so when I get up in the middle of night to pee, I run into it. 'Misplacing' my wine bottle opener so I am forced to use a knife and screwdriver, which is no simple task when one has a tremor. Suggesting we trade in my Volvo (the safest car on the road) for something less expensive. I think the cleaning ladies may be in on it as well as they somehow accidentally put furniture cleaner on my floors...

But today's conversation with Deuce finally gives me concrete evidence and I am sharing it with ALL OF YOU for my safety.

Setting: In the car, driving Deuce to preschool. I take a sip of my coffee when he says...

"Momma. Did you know that if you get married and your wife dies, you can get married again?"

Me: *cough, choke, cough* "Um, no. I hadn't been told that. Where did YOU hear that?!"

Deuce: "Daddy told me."

So now you ALL KNOW that if I 'disappear' you have concrete evidence from a four year old...

And if he gets remarried, none of you better laugh at her jokes.

Preserving the Past: She Shot the Dog

I've always had a fond appreciation for listening tentatively to the stories of previous generations. I feel strongly that to be a good steward, we must record these stories to pass on to future generations for the purpose of learning valuable lessons from our wise ancestors.

It is because of this obligation that I am sharing this family story with you now.

But if you know my grandmother, don't you DARE tell her! Afterall, she doesn't even really understand 'the interwebs', let alone know I'm talking about her on here...

"Last night, I was sitting on the couch next to Papaw and when I got up to leave, he shuffeled his feet to the side in a funny way. Now he's done this a thousand times, but this time it just struck me as funny. When I laughed, a little wind slipped out. You know, when you get older those things just happen. Anyway, it was so loud that the dog jumped off the couch and ran off, scared to death. Papaw looked at me in complete surprise and said, "Well, Cotton, you shot my dog!" Honey, I have laughed about that harder than I've laughed in years!"

And now you understand where I get my sense of humor...

A Bright Future...

On Thursday, I told you about Bonus' little 'incident' in the cafeteria and how they apparently don't take kindly to the deafening sound that is made by crushing a milk carton in the cafeteria.

Seriously, they should live with him. That. Is. Nothing.

His teacher had already warned me that he hadn't returned the Here's-How-Screwed-Up-Your-Child-Is note, so I was completely prepared when he got off the bus.

Me: (In my most obnoxious mom tone.) "Hey Babe! How was school?!"

Bonus: (Staring at the ground.) "Um, good. It was a good day."

Me: "So, no problems we need to talk about?"

Bonus: "Um, nope. Not a thing. Nothing. Nope. Not at all."

Yeah, the kid can't lie to save his life. So we came home, I showed him his NEW! SHOES! I had purchased him since he'd had such a GREAT! WEEK! AT! SCHOOL! He did his homework so he could get ICE! CREAM! for being SO! GOOD! THIS! WEEK! Yet not once did he crack. He's either got a future in the CIA or he'll be in prison...

In fact, he even made it all the way to the car (where he spilled a milk and blamed it on Deuce even though he wasn't even IN THE CAR YET) before the game ended. By then, my patience had grown thin and I sent him to his room where I proceeded to lay it on thick.

Me: "Bonus, you know that when you LIE you get in MUCH WORSE TROUBLE than when you tell the TRUTH. Right?!"

Bonus: "Yeah."

Me: "And you LIED to me about spilling the milk. Didn't you?"

Bonus: "Yeah."

Me: "So if you have LIED about anything ELSE, I would suggest you tell me about it NOW because if I find out LATER it will be BAAAAAAAD. Is there anything you want to TELL ME NOW?"

Bonus: "Um... Nope."

Me: *sigh*

So I left him in there for a few more days, er minutes, and he finally caved.

He walked out with this:



My favorite part is the false start on the A.

That kid has a future, I tell ya...