For the last few months I've been helping James with his business. The business is new, he needs the help, and I'm glad to do it. Plus, he pays me. Being paid by my husband technically makes me his employee. I'm the only employee, so right now there are no plans to form a union. But, that doesn't mean I can't go on strike. So far the employer/employee relationship has been civil. I have no coworkers to conspire and gossip with, so I typically just grumble to myself, if I feel I'm being overworked. I took the liberty of grumbling out loud today, something along the lines of "feeling appreciated."
"But, I'm paying you," James said.
I explained that every employee needs an occasional morale boost. Something as simple as a gold star, an all-expenses paid vacation, or a miniature pony with my name branded on it.
"You're doing a good job," James said. I think he even slapped me on the back.
I went back to work. And then this arrived in my email:
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
We've been fighting "The Kissing Disease" at our house. Mononucleosis. Luckily, once you have it....YOU HAVE IT FOR LIFE! That's right. We could take out an entire town just by offering free make-out sessions under the bleachers.
Every person that's had Mono "took a semester off because I was so tired." An extended leave from life doesn't work very well once you're an adult, or if you're an energetic two-year-old. So we've been dragging our feet, whining, and eating Cadbury Creme Eggs.
The Grandparents have helped us survive, and they provided a lovely Easter, complete with cookies, Easter baskets and an egg hunt. We provided the snot.
Monday, March 25, 2013
My favorite movie is Stand By Me. River Phoenix will always be my boyfriend. This picture of Buckles, caught on the motion detection camera, at 7:24 a.m., reminds me of a quote from the movie. It's the scene where the boys are in sleeping bags, in the woods, taking turns keeping watch:
"2300 hours. Corporeal Teddy Duchamp stands guard. No sign of the enemy. The fort is secure."
"Shut up Teddy, and keep your eyes peeled."
Teddy begins to make a mournful bugle sound.
"Teddy, cut it out! I’m trying to sleep!"
"The dog faces rested easy in the knowledge that Corporeal Teddy Duchamp was protecting all that was dear to them."
Buckles is the Corporeal Teddy Duchamp of the farm.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Jack is going to daycare two mornings a week. I'm not used to getting a toddler ready in the morning--just getting myself out the door, clothed, is sometimes a challenge. On his first day I woke up early. I'd put his outfit out the previous night, I was attempting to be organized.
I made sure he had an extra outfit, diapers, wipes, a snack, a drink, a pacifier, and blueprints of the Niña, Pinta, and the Santa Maria, all in his bag. On my way out the door I grabbed a pint of heavy whipping cream, and stashed it in my purse. I was looking forward to putting it in my coffee when I got to work, or pouring it down my throat for lunch, either one.
I dropped Jack off without incident, and made it to work on time. I was feeling quite accomplished. Quite adult. About 10:00 a.m. the phone rang, it was the babysitter.
"I noticed that Jack has cereal in his bag, and a pint of heavy whipping cream. Is the cream for the cereal or do you put that in his bottle?"
Yes, I'm hoping Jack will win the blue ribbon this year at the county fair, we've been fattening him up on heavy whipping cream for two years.
The cream had actually spilled all over the inside of Jack's bag. Jack's babysitter was nice enough to wash his bag, and to believe my explanation about cream going in coffee and not babies . The moral of the story is: There is no use crying over spilled heavy whipping cream.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
|Valentine's Day Candlelight Dinner.|
This is how it is done in my little town.
A candlelight dinner at Pizza Hut.
And a trip to Dollar General for a new pair of pajamas.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
I know the sound of a scurrying mouse. I've listened to them run in the walls of the family farm house, and I used to watch one come out at night and steal food, while living in my one room New York apartment. It's winter time in Kansas, and we live in an old house, built in 1890. There are plenty of tiny crevices that a mouse could pancake himself into, searching for a little warmth. Luckily, we haven't had any mice (hobo squirrels is a story for another day), until last week.
"What's that noise? Do you hear it?"
"It sounds like a mouse. In the entertainment center."
James stood listening, hearing the faint scuttling of something moving around inside one of the drawers. He jumped up on the couch. We both listened.
"How did it even get in there?"
"Walked. It probably walked."
"Bobo, are you just going to sit there?" Bobo the cat sat on the couch, completely uninterested.
"Let me get some tools," James said, heading towards the laundry room.
He quickly returned with a broom, a cardboard box, a flashlight, and some Chex Mix. He leaned over and barely opened the drawer, shining the flashlight into the dark space.
"I think I see something!" I screamed. He slammed the drawer shut.
We regrouped and tried again, slowly opening the drawer. We could both hear the noise, but couldn't see anything.
"He must be behind the drawer."
At this point I was ready to just let him live there so that I could get back to my episode of Strange Addictions.
"You know the noise almost sounds mechanical. It's repetitive."
James used the broom to reach into the drawer and poke the DVD player. Then he summoned up his courage and stuck his hand into the drawer and turned the DVD player off. The noise stopped.
The natives congratulated themselves on their bravery and power of deduction. Chex Mix was consumed.