The One With the Spring Snack

On the phone with Husby:

Husby: We just had a spring snack on the desk.

H.I.T.: What’s that?

Husby: Chipwiches.

H.I.T.: Why would you do that?

Husby: It’s ice cream. Everyone on the desk got one.

H.I.T.: Why on earth would you tell your food-craving addicted, pregnant wife about a delicious ice cream treat that she can’t have unless you are planning on bringing a box home for dessert?

Husby: But they’d melt on the train...

H.I.T.: That’s just cruel and unusual punishment.

Cupcakes

You know when you wake up and the heat isn’t working, so you’re freezing?

You get a phone call from the appliance company telling you they forgot to charge you $60 for an installation fee?

You just finish putting your clean coffee machine back together only to spill milk all over the counter, so you have to clean it again?

You walk outside to put the garbage cans away only to notice that the garbage truck finally managed to loosen the gravel at the front of your driveway, and now it’s sitting nicely all over your lawn?

All before 9 a.m.?

I think it’s a cupcakes for breakfast kind of day.

Anxiously Awaiting Spring

No matter how much snow you bring our way, Mother Nature, you can't stop me from celebrating spring a bit early with daisies. Only 17 days of winter left...

5 AM Wake-Up Call

The weather man has been calling for snow for the past two days and we’ve gotten nothing but rain.

Wet, cold, miserable rain.

So when I woke up at 5 this morning to go to the bathroom, I noticed something was different. It was quiet.

There were no more raindrops hitting our roof...

I ran to the window, peeked through the blinds and saw a blanket of white covering our street.

It was heavenly.

Carefully in the middle of the night, the rain had transformed into snow. And not a gray, slushy snow, but a beautiful powder that reached every branch, every leaf, every possible corner outside. Dreams of building snowmen, throwing snowballs and eating snowflakes danced in my head while I took in the scene.

[H.I.T. settling back into bed]

Husby, turns to me: Pretty, right?

H.I.T., sighing: Yeah.

Husby, thoughtfully: It’s amazing how after all these years, we still get excited waking up to snow.

H.I.T., confused: We?

Husby, smiling: I took a peek about a half hour earlier.

H.I.T., gives Husby a kiss: I knew I married the right man.

The One With the Shock

Husby giving me a kiss hello:

H.I.T.: Ouch, you shocked me!

Husby: That's just what I do.

My Mom, laughing: Oh brother.

H.I.T.: And you thought I made this stuff up...

Size Matters

Growing up, we threw everything in the dishwasher - if it was ‘dishwasher safe’ it was in there. So when I moved in with Husby, I was shocked at the number of items deemed ‘hand-wash only:’

- Aluminum bowls
- Pots and pans
- Cutting knives
- All large utensils - spatulas, slotted spoons, etc.
- Measuring cups - heck, anything baking related

After years of being lazy convenience, my habits quickly changed.

Once married, we decided to save our registry items for whenever we moved into our new home, and this fall, for the first time in two and a half years, we finally used them. Opening all those boxes again was like Christmas morning but better because all of the presents were for me us. There was only one problem.

Our dishwasher was too small.

Or, our place settings too large.

Either way, one wouldn’t fit into the other. We could only run a cycle with 4 dinner plates*. That’s alot of unnecessary loads and wasted water. So we began saving up for a new dishwasher.

And this weekend, we finally bought it.

It arrives on Friday and I couldn’t be more excited. We can actually load a full table setting and the top rack is adjustable so even our largest platter will fit!

With the move, my ‘new’ dishwasher habits haven’t changed much - the only dishes that go in are still place settings and glassware - but it sure will be nice to get back to weekly loads instead of daily ones. Wouldn’t you agree?


*Note: Technically speaking, we could fit more than 4 plates in at a time, but it would not have been the recommended load. The plates would have shifted during the wash cycle, the agitator would have constantly hit them, and in a matter of months we’d be dealing with cracked plates. Since our set is discontinued, it didn’t seem wise to take such a chance - dinnerware is expensive!

I'm Back...

And madder than ever.

I tried to take the high road. For the past few months, I've deleted the comments and ignored the e-mails, but I can't do it anymore. I can’t let Mr. McCreep* get away with what’s been said.

And why should I have to give up something I love because of the foul things this person (or people) wrote? I shouldn’t and I’m not going to.

So I’m staying public.

And with that said...

Dear Mr. McCreep,

I don’t really care that you think my blog is “self-indulgent” or that you feel I’m throwing “my big belly around” in your face by having posts that are “suddenly preggo-centric.”

It’s my blog, after all.

But, how dare you insinuate that I might lose Baby H.I.T. in a miscarriage:

“FOR NOW...... HIT, you are pregnant, but you don't have the best track record..... so be careful about your braggadocios ways”

Your audacity astounds me. Your comments continually reference my miscarriage, my husband, our baby, and in your latest and greatest, you even went so far as to reference that you experienced the pain of such a loss before wishing it on me again.

But have you really?

Of the hundreds of women I have met and spoken to who have also gone through the emotional anguish of a miscarriage, I am confident in saying that NONE of them would ever wish it on someone else - whether the person is 4 weeks along or 30, friends and enemies alike.

So who do you think you are?

This “fame ho” and my “annoyingly named ‘Husby’” might drive you insane, but don’t you ever, and I mean EVER, talk about my baby again.

Have a fabulous weekend.

*Note: Mr. McCreep is the name I came up with to identify the various comments I have received in the last 6 months. While my intuition (and common sense) tell me this is one person, I may - oceans are parting here - be wrong, so this name does NOT reference a specific person.