Aug 282009
 

When Craig gets home from work in the evening, he usually finds the kids and me waiting for him at the end of the driveway. I wave and smile, the kids jump up and down… it’s all very Normal Rockwell. Craig thinks it’s sweet. The neighbors think it’s sweet. It is kind of sweet.

But here’s what nobody knows:

We meet Craig at the end of the driveway because I cannot wait another three minutes to pass off the children.

I’ve watched through the front window when he arrives home and seen how he dawdles in the car before getting out, inches to the mailbox, stops to pet every passing puppy, and then creeps up to the front door with little teeny baby steps. Let’s just say it’s a bit slower process than he employs when he runs out the door to leave for work in the morning.

So, welcome home, honey! Hugs. Kisses. Here are your three beautiful children. No, no, don’t worry about the mail, I’ll get it. Just hurry on inside.

I’M ON TO YOU, MISTER.

Aug 272009
 

Here’s a strange one.

I have this recurring dream in which my sister and I have been kidnapped by bad men. We are put in two different white cells, separated by a thin wall.

One of the kidnappers enters my cell and says that in thirty seconds I will hear an alarm. Then he points to a single red button on the wall across the room. He says “After the alarm sounds, the first sister who pushes her button will be killed. The other will be released. You may not move until the alarm sounds.”

He explains that my sister has just been given the exact same information.

Then the man leaves. A minute later, the alarm sounds…and I shoot up and run faster than I ever have, leaping towards the button, slamming against it, then sinking to the floor, panting… and waiting to die.

Isn’t that WEIRD?

But here’s what I think is even weirder:

I ALWAYS GET TO THE BUTTON FIRST. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

And I can’t help but consider that my sister’s legs are SIX INCHES longer than mine, and so are her arms.

So I think it might be time to ask…

WHAT IN THE SAM HILL ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE, SISTER??? A CROSSWORD?

Jeesh.

Aug 232009
 

My sweet husband helps with the dishes each night. Actually, he helps with starting the dishes, but he has trouble finishing, which, as Seinfeld suggested …is really the most important part of doing the dishes…the finishing.

Every evening, I notice that I am alone at the sink and that Craig and the kids have sneaked out back to the trampoline. Last night I followed them and called out sweetly, “Honey? Did you notice that there are still piles of dishes in the sink?” And like always, he said:

They’re just soaking, babe. It’s part of doing the dishes. It makes it easier to get them clean.

As you can see, sometimes Craig uses my lack of knowledge about basic household duties to get out of things. This isn’t right, people. But it’s pretty clever.

I have resolved to steal his move.

When my husband arrives home tonight, he will find me reading a book on the couch, having abandoned the children in the bathtub.

When he panics, and asks me for an explanation, I will say the following…calmly and sweetly.

They’re just soaking, babe. It’s part of bath time. It makes it easier to get them clean.