A Soupçon of Decongestant

My employer is extremely generous with my schedule.  Not so generous that I am paid for time I do not actually work, but that’s a tall order in the part-time world.  I worked the past two days but yesterday the guys were in the office a lot more and noticed plague-like sounds coming from my desk.

I had already been given the option that I could work or not work on Friday as I saw fit.  Since I plan to go in at least an hour or so to keep on top of the mail and not cry over this payday, I figured I could go ahead and mention the idea of my not coming in Wednesday (today).

They were quite fine with not having someone hacking up lung all over the copier.  Nicer still, I was given the go ahead to bill a few hours if I wanted to work from home on some design stuff.

I brought home printouts and forwarded a few things but in the light of today…not so much.  Cold medicine turns me a bit fuzzy and unimaginative.  I’ve spent the day mostly watching old YouTube videos.

That’s not true.  This morning after I decided three cups of tea did NOT equal a cup of coffee and brewed my fix, I had a spurt of productivity where I wrote a bit about Thanksgiving meals (not done yet…see: cold medicine vs. coffee), roasted some butternut squash to go in a salad tomorrow (SPOILER:  my Thanksgiving includes butternut squash.  And kale.) (I just took out and put back in that period SIX TIMES.  THERE IS A COMMA HERE BUT ONCE THERE IS ONE PERIOD IN A PARENTHETICAL I THINK IT LOOKS WEIRD WITHOUT.  PERIOD.), and then I sorted the six million pounds of laundry that have piled up.

We got off our laundry schedule because my Mom was nice enough to do some laundry for us but it was right after we’d done a bunch a laundry so we sort of tried to ride the wave of her niceness and fabric softener a little too long.

But I still wouldn’t let Tom do laundry today.  Partly because I know there are some work clothes I hung up that technically should be washed but I’m too fuzzy to figure out that particular closet conundrum.

Partly because Tom said he wanted to do some black Friday shopping (??) and I said OK then afterwards you could do laundry at the laundromat by my work while I catch up on the mail and he said OK.

And this type of conversation and miscommunication is extremely typical of us.  We have a conversation about how a particular day or timeline or procession of tasks might be achieved.  I walk away from it thinking that it is set in stone.  He walks away from it remembering that tasks need to get done.  And quite often he will offer to do said tasks in a manner other than discussed that are 1) accomplished sooner than planned and 2) require less input/commitment from myself.  And yet I refuse his suggestions because I have now worked out a thousand other tasks in my mind around the original discussion and cannot fathom how the world will work different.

Even if his new way is actually more convenient and would mean I had clean Penguin Pants.

(And if Tom read my blog, he could gloat at how in my medicine haze I just admitted sometimes I am an idiot and stubborn and quite possibly not the easiest of lifetime companions.  But he doesn’t.  So at least I still have that.)

Still Sick So Another Quick Conversation To Call A Post

Me:  Do you want enchiladas for dinner?

Tom:  Sure.

Me:  That’s a lot of work.  How about not?

Tom:  I don’t really care what we eat as long as we eat.

Me:  Challenge accepted!

(It’s going to be enchiladas with all the leftover veggies we didn’t get to last week including spaghetti squash, onion, 1/2 a carton of mushrooms, and some grape tomatoes.  Prepare for awesomeness!  Or, at the very least, food.  Let’s hope we can call it food by the time I’m done.)

DYI

Me: isn’t it very obvious right now (gesturing to Tom’s state of hair- both facial and head) that I married my father?

Mom: …Yes…but they had very different personalities.

Me: I know. When Tom gets drunk he doesn’t sing in French.

Mom: I was thinking more about Tom’s ability with home improvement.

Me: That’s true. Dad focused very much on the ‘Yourself’ aspect of DYI. Regardless of how many corners he cut ‘Doing It’.

Sorry Dad, but it’s true. You rocked the full beard better, if that’s worth anything.

Yes or No

We’re pretty busy around these here parts. Tom’s working like mad to get the crawl space enclosed and I’m helping when I’m not work-working, cooking, canning, or prepping for guests.

(We had an awesome time last weekend with some friends we know from my Mom. Without them, we would have not canoed at all this year. And Cathy is coming this Wednesday!! I can’t wait!)

My point is, I have little time or energy to write. This weekend was spent digging trenches and feeling like an old woman who dug trenches.

But still. I feel I simply must give you something. And so…

Me: Is it time for bed yet?
Tom: It’s twenty to seven.
Me: Why can’t you ever just answer a question?! “am I digging deep enough?” ” is it bedtime?” These are Yes or No questions! Why can’t you say yes or no???

Me: Are you happy you married me?
Tom: It’s warm in here with the fire.
Me: Good answer. I also would have accepted, “it’s twenty to seven”.

Let Them Eat Squash

Him: These cookies are tasty!
Me: Good. They’re made with whole wheat flour.
Him: I’m so surprised.
Me: At least there’s no squash in them.
Him. Thank goodness.
Me: Maybe squash is really good in cookies. You don’t know.
Him: I bet I’m going to find out.
Me: Probably.

Born and Raised

Tom: Meow?

Me: No, Pixie doesn’t say meow. She says, ‘merrrow?’. With an r. I don’t know why.

Tom: She must get it from your side of the family.

Me: Oh really?

Tom: If it was from my side she’d say, ‘meow y’all’.

Where My Boys At?

Me:  Tom!

Tom:  Yes!

Me:  When did we invite college frat boys over?

Tom:  Um, never?

Me:  Come look at this toilet.

Tom:  Ok…Damn.

Me:  Yeah.

Tom:  Baby, you’re a slob.

Me:  When I stand up to pee and miss?

Tom:  Yup.  Or else you’ve been having frat boys over.

Me:  I wish.

Married To The Master

I was rooting around in our animal paraphernalia and found an old, smelly harness of Lady’s.  Like mature, reasonable adults Tom and I agreed it could be thrown out.  So like a mature, reasonable wife, I put it under his pillows on the bed.

Some point later in the day, I double checked and it was under MY pillows.  So I buried it deeper in his.

This sort of prank is not my forte.  I was pretty proud of myself for carrying it so far.  So proud in fact, that when we went to sleep that night I had to chortle and ask him to look for the harness.

Tom: It’s not here.

Me: Yes it is!

Tom:  Nope.

Me: (warily lifting my own pillows)  It’s not here.  It’s GOT to be with you.

Tom:  It’s not dear.

Me:  (digging around under his head and back) It was here!  It was RIGHT HERE.

Tom:  OK.

That went on for a few more minutes, alternating my search between my side and his side of the bed.  In the morning I found it wedged on the edge of his side.  We had the following text conversation:

Me:  FYI you slept on stinky dog harness.  Found it this AM.  Hope that cheers you up.

Tom:  I knew about it.  I hid it to see how long u would search.  :)

Me:  Ew.

Tom:  Worth it.  Totally worth it.