Reverse Bucket List

Driving along the highway, we noticed car after car gently swerving into the other lane.  As we neared, we saw their object of avoidance.  A cyclist.  Dressed in full spandex from head to toe, complete with a colourful bicycle helmet, the cyclist was pedaling furiously along.  His bicycle had two large bags over each side of both wheels and looked to be full of supplies to allow for a long trek.

I looked at The Guy and assured him there was no way in God's green Earth that I would ever want to cycle cross country.  Especially not with supplies that would allow for sleeping outside.  The Guy agreed and that is when we came up with the Reverse Bucket List, better known as: things we will never do before we die.

1. Bicycle cross country
2. Train for a marathon
3. Run a marathon
4. Participate in a triathlon
5. Climb a mountain
6. Bungee jump
7. Ride a train in India*
8. Take a bus in India*
9. Use a toilet in India*
10. Go to India*

We're still working on this list.  Every once in awhile, I think of something and we make sure it goes on the list.  So far, we've crossed nothing off of it.  Fingers crossed we can keep it all from getting done!

*PS, we do not hate India.  In fact, we love India and it's culture.  We just NEVER want to experience it first hand.  This is also not limited to India.  We reserve the right to never travel to many, many other countries.

1. 
   

In a word: Different

While hanging pictures in the family room downstairs, The Guy and I had a difference of opinion in how to go about hanging a particularly difficult frame.

It had two hooks on the back a certain distance apart.  The trick was to make it level and in the right place.  The Guy was contemplating how to do it, but I had an idea.  As I explained it to him, the look of incredulous disbelief spread across his face.

My plan was this:

• String dental floss from the two hooks.  
• Hold the picture to the wall by the dental floss.  
• Put a pencil mark at each spot where the dental floss hangs.  
• Move the picture.
• Measure down one inch from each spot and mark again.
• Check the levelness of said marks.
• Put in nails.
• Use floss to hang the hooks on the nails.
• Remove floss.

His plan?

• Measure the hooks with the level.  
• Make marks on the level.
• Hold level to wall and mark spots with pencil.
• Put in nails.
• Hang picture.

FINE.  But mine would have worked too.

Failures: Food and Hygiene

After last night's Valentine meal of cold pizza and cereal, I thought I should try and do something more exciting tonight.  It's the one night off we have together this week.  Meaning, he's off tomorrow and I leave for Saskatoon at 7am.

Thinking I would get a head start on a nice "fancy" dinner, I put brown rice on the stove just after noon.  I figured then I could mix it with the stuff it was supposed to be mixed with later and save me ages of time.

Problem with brown rice is that it takes a longer time to cook than white rice.  The problem with this is my attention span is maxed out at 20 minutes, so I knew 55 would be a challenge.  But, I set the alarm on the stove and figured that would be enough for me.

I should know me better by now.

At 3pm, I went upstairs again after playing on the internet and downloading all the music of artist Ingrid Michaelson.  It was then I remembered the rice.

I hesitantly opened the lid and peered inside.  The rice was white.  The bottom was black.  It smelled like popcorn that was left in the microwave too long.  I threw it in the garbage (melting the bag) and soaked the pot.

When The Guy got home, he suggested left overs.

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On our last day of our two week trip in Cuba, I walked into the bathroom as The Guy was brushing his teeth. I stared at him and said, "You haven't been using that toothbrush this whole time have you?  It's mine."

He had forgotten which toothbrush he had brought with him, so we spent the entire trip unwittingly sharing the same brush.

He passed it to me and said, "It might be wet."

Oh, right... Valentine's day

Last night, I came home to fresh flowers on the counter and supper being delivered to the door.  I was jubilant.  I'd had a rough night the evening before worrying about some family issues and hadn't slept much.  I figured The Guy had tuned into my emotional distress and wanted to do something nice for me.

I gushed over the flowers and was very happy with supper.  We watched the rest of the season of a show we've been watching and chatted before bed.  All in all, a great evening.

It wasn't until this morning I realized he had likely done all those nice things for Valentine's Day and NOT because he was in tune with my every emotional need.

He still gets bonus points, but not as many as I'd thought.

John Tesh says Facebook is ruining my marriage

Anyone who knows anything about me knows I love me some John Tesh. Not only is he brilliant and knows everything, but he's super insightful regarding life.

Tonight, on my way home, I was listening again to my dear John as I am apt to do when wandering out in the world in the evening.  He was being all intelligent for my life and then he said something that made me stop.

Not the car, that would just be silly.  I stopped to think.  But not the car.  I kept driving.  I had pizza (GF!) and it would have gotten cold.

What John Tesh said made me think about what my life has become.  He said this: Facebook is ruining your marriage.

But... but... John!  It can't be true.  It just can't!  Why would you say something so hateful?

Don't worry.  He went on to explain.

He said that Facebook statuses are "removing all the mystery" between partners.  And then, he recommended UNFRIENDING your spouse.

Now, I admit that I update a lot.  I can't help it.  I have thoughts.  Funny thoughts.  Strange thoughts.  Gross thoughts.  And these thoughts need to be shared with others.  Like I said to a friend the other day: I cannot be the only one who is stuck with these things inside her head.  Not only do I have thoughts, but I have stories.  Ones that include my partner and how ridiculous he is.

Yet, I can see where John is coming from.  I mean, the mystery is gone.  If The Guy had been fooled into thinking girls don't fart, that was ruined with this update: You know it's bad when the smell makes even the dog leave the room.  However, he reciprocates with the lack of mystery by updating my statuses for me when I forget to log out.  (i.e.: My butt smells. -- Thanks honey. My friends thought that was a RIOT.)

Yet, I try to be conscious about not airing our dirty laundry on Facebook or Twitter for that matter.  (Except for the discussion about Dutch Ovens.  That's just begging to be shared.)  I don't ever want to be passive-aggressively fighting on FB about something that's private.  We can do that in person.

But then, when I was starting to question my dear John's intelligence, I remembered something he said earlier about being happy in life.  I remember how much I appreciate my husband and how he makes things all good.  And when I questioned him about Facebook, he agreed that (perhaps) this time John might have been off base.

At least, that's what I'm updating my status to right now.

The wonder that is love #reverb10

December 4 Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? (prompt by@JeffreyDavis108)

My sense of wonder.  This was a frustrating beginning to my day.  I woke up in a mood (you try waking up at 7am on a Saturday and be in a good mood) and the only "wonder" I could think of was more a sense of astonishment and/or incredulity.  I had to really think about what wonder meant and what it meant to me.

Here is finally what got me.  The dictionary.  Wonder: to be filled with admiration, amazement, or awe.

This year, for me, what has filled me with wonder is being married.

This is the point where all my family pretends to gag and clicks back to Facebook.

But that's what it is.  I've written about it here and here.  The wonder that is being married.  It's what has been keeping me going these last few months when things at work have been difficult to face.  I will quite regularly find myself just looking at The Guy and being so thankful for him and for our relationship.

I am keeping my wonder -- which is trying to slip through my fingers each time I turn around -- by remembering that: being in love, being with The Guy, being where I am is a wondrous place.

I'm not old!

As I sat at the counter today, going through my new knitting magazine, I oohed and aahed and squealed.  The Guy was busy making supper and just shook his head as every new page made me happier and happier.

Finally, he said "I would say you're like a kid in a candy store, but you're more like an old lady in a knitting store."

*sigh*

And then, Your Honour, I stabbed him.

I went camping and no one died

Despite my pouty face from last week, I did go camping and didn't kill anyone.  I know, I'm surprised too. 

If you know anything about me, it's that I hate camping.  I have always hated camping and you can thank my father for that.  As children, my father would pack us all into the van (with my mother gagged and tied in the back) and drag us out to "nature" for the weekend.  Despite being +40 degrees all summer, the moment we arrived at our destination, it began to ran and didn't stop.  Thus, we all sat in our tent for 3 days being bored and fighting.  At least that's how I remember it.  I am sure my father will have different memories.

To this day, I hate camping.  Why anyone would choose to go somewhere there are no toilets, to sleep on the ground, cook things poorly on a fire that won't start, and sit where the mosquitoes will eat you is beyond me.  For me, camping had damn well better have room service.  I'M A DELICATE FLOWER, PEOPLE.

So we (me, The Guy, his friend and her husband) arrived on Sunday at Duck Mountain and set up camp.  It took about an hour to try and sort through everything.  We had a camper (a 70s motor home complete with shag carpet) and had filled it to the brim.  Finally we had everything settled and got the fire going.  A bottle of Zippo later and it was a nice blaze.  We were joined by some friends and had a great evening talking and laughing.

I should have known it was going too well.

We had heard it might rain on the Monday, so when we went to bed, we pulled the chairs under the awning as a precaution.  Then it started to rain.  It rained for 17 hours without stopping.  It rained cats, dogs, polar bears, and elephants.  It rained until we thought the only way out of the park would be the boat we brought with us.  And so, for the entire day and night, we sat in the camper.  Four adults in one room.  With one place each to sit.

It was good that our friend was along because that's the only reason I wasn't the whiniest person in the camper.  We were all miserable and hungry and tired and dirty and bored and OMG TAKE ME HOME.  By Tuesday afternoon the rain let up.  Our campsite was flooded and there was 2 inches of rain in the bottom of the fire pit, but the boys were making us stay, so we were going to enjoy it.  (Please read "enjoy" as "complain until they either killed us or took us to a hotel")  We started a fire again after pillaging neighbouring abandoned campsites for dry wood and used another container of Zippo.  After a nice time of hanging out by the fire (thanking God that we weren't in the bloody camper at the moment) we headed to bed with the promise that if there were even the slightest sign of clouds we were going home.

No such luck.  Wednesday was clear and warm, so we knew we were stuck.  We finally got the hot water in the camper running, so showered off the grime and some of the grouch.  Sue and I spent the day by the fire reading our books while the guys went out on the boat.  We had a great day.  Thursday was much of the same and we thought we could actually get the hang of this thing.  Except that we really didn't want to.

Friday morning, Sue was up before the sun could remember which direction it was coming from.  We were packed and on the road before 9am.  As we headed out, we made sure the guys understood that, while we'd had a good time for the most part, we were NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN.

Monty: Defender, Protector

Monty, looking innocent

Our dog Monty sleeps in our bed.  I know that all of the non-dog people and most of the dog-people are rolling their eyes.  It seems dogs should be sleeping in kennels or on the floor.  Not Monty.  He slept with me from the time he was a few days old.  He slept with my Dad when he lived there.  He slept with me again when Dad fled the country.  He's a bed dog. 

Actually, he's a bed hog.  (Get it?  Tee hee.)

Monty sleeps in between The Guy and I.  He has two positions he likes to take.  One: straight horizontal.  Head against The Guy, butt aimed at me, legs splayed front and back.  Two: straight vertical.  Back against The Guy, feet pushing at me.  He takes up a lot of space.

Now I usually can keep my half of the bed.  Our own personal bed hog means that The Guy is lucky if he can keep a third.  If The Guy moves at all, Monty is moving with him.  Which means, over the course of the night, Monty nearly pushes The Guy off the bed. 

I have been sleeping on my own side, so I didn't really notice how bad it had gotten.  This week I spent more time trying to make sure Monty stayed more in the middle.  To give The Guy a break.

It worked.  The Guy had his half of the bed back.  And instead of being crowded, he instead got assaulted.  The first night, I flung a hand out in my sleep and smacked him in the nose.  The second night, I moved my arm and punched him in the face.  The third night? I brought my elbow down straight on the top of his head at six in the morning.

I realized that Monty wasn't trying to take over the bed all this time.  He was trying to protect The Guy from my flailing limbs. 

When it's love

Often, The Guy will catch me watching him.  It makes him extremely uncomfortable.  He's not sure why I'm looking at him and, most the time, I'm at a loss to explain it.  But I love to watch him. 

I love that I can look at my future.

It's the mundane times when I find him the most intriguing.  The times when we are working together to make supper or watching a television show or playing with the dog.  I look at each line on his face, the shape of his brow, the colour of his eyes, and I think "We're going to be old together someday."  We are each other's future.

It's awesome to behold.

Whatever happens: good things, bad fights, easy moments or hard times, whatever await us, this is the man who will be with me when we face it.   I will learn every part of him.  I will know him as well as myself.  He is part of me and, like a child discovering his own toes, I am facinated with him.

So, sometimes I stare.

Those damn carrots. They're the instigators.

I was cleaning up the counter after having cut up some broccoli for lunch.  I don't know how broccoli does it.  One cut and there are a thousand little pods of broccolis everywhere.

Me [grumbling]: "Stupid broccoli.  Miracle food, my ass.  If it was miracle food, it would clean up after itself."
The Guy: Yeah, and it wouldn't taste like broccoli.
Me: You love broccoli.
The Guy: [bletch]
Me: Fine.  Get yourself some carrots.
The Guy: Don't even get me started on carrots.

Even married, I'm alone on V-day

This year marks my first Valentine's Day as a married woman.  And where am I?  Not with my husband.  Typical.

We're not much for the Valentine's Day celebrations.  For us, every day is a day to express our love.

VOMIT.

I got the chance to go see my sister over this week and, when I discussed the chance with The Guy, I asked him if he would mind me not being around for the most romantic of days.  He stood up and cheered at the thought of a whole week alone.  So, I guess we're okay.  I'm here, having a wonderful time, and he is home basking in the laziness it is to not have to clean up after me.

I decided, as my gift to him, I would write a list of things I love about him.  You can read it, or you can carry on. I won't be offended either way.

1. The lines on his face are from smiling.
2. I catch him having silly discussions with the dog.
3. He tickles me "out of love".
4. He's very tall.
5. He's the perfect hug height.
6. I can wear heels and still be shorter than he is. (Did I mention he's tall?)
7. He barbeques almost anything.  Even in winter. Although, not this winter.
8. He doesn't make me shovel.
9. He creates his own heat and doesn't complain too loudly when I steal it.
10. I can make him laugh
11. He will make me laugh when I'm trying to be grouchy
12. Even when he is mad, he doesn't get MAD. 
13. He lets me sleep in and stay up late.
14. I can be silly around him and not be self-conscious.
15. 
    

That is what you get for being mean to a puppy

[Scene: The Guy, the dog Monty and MayB sitting on the couch.  Monty is happily chewing on his toy rope.  The Guy leans over nonchalantly and steals the rope from Monty.  Trouble is brewing.]

The Guy: Ha! I have your rope.  What are you going to do about it?  Huh?
Monty: ... [stands up, eyes rope, and jumps squarely onto The Guy's junk.]
The Guy: Gak! [folds in half and moans]
Monty: ... [takes rope from The Guy's limp fingers, turns around, and sits back down.]
Me (MayB): I think he won that round.

[End Scene.]

****************************************************
[Scene: MayB is in bed having just woken up from sleeping the day away after a night shift.  Monty is perched next to her, with his head on The Guy's pillow.  The Guy walks in and sees that MayB is awake.]

The Guy [to MayB]: Sleepy.
The Guy [to Monty]: Stinky.
MayB: And you?  What are you?
The Guy: Sexy.
MayB: ...
The Guy: Well, just be grateful I didn't call you "Stinky".

[Flash forward to The Guy sleeping on the couch.]

Time Shifters

The Guy and I live in different time zones.

In the same house.

Our shifts are as different as night and day.  Literally.  Before we got married, I was normally up until 2am and slept til noon.  He was up at 3am and worked til one.  Our schedules are still opposite -- I work three weeks of evening or night shifts and he works all early mornings -- but we've worked out a schedule.  When we're working, it works for us.

We just don't see each other.  We don't get to share things that most couples consider normal.  Like bed time.

The first week we were married, I tried to go to bed at the same time as The Guy.  We had been encouraged by numerous couples to do so -- the mentioned how important it was for them.  They explained how much it would mean to us too.  And they were right -- bed time ritual is some of the best bonding time.  We talked about our day all snuggled together.  We played with the dog and made plans for the next day.  I loved it.

However, there was a few major problems with this plan.  I couldn't go to sleep right away. I tossed and turned, or I read.  I kept The Guy awake.  The Guy who gets little enough sleep as it is.  So, I let him go to bed when he was tired, and I started to go in later.  It is working for us.  I get some night alone time (which I love) and he gets some sleep (which he loves).  It works for us.

Our difference is only really noticeable when we're both on holidays.  This week, on our romantic getaway, The Guy was snoozing by 6:30pm while I watched reruns of NCIS.

It was a special time.

Nightmare on Robin Place

Since moving into the new house, I have had an increasing number of weird and bizarre dreams.  I am sure it has more to do with the moving, the wedding, the chaos, and the stress than it does the actual place, but the dreams have been there.

The first week, I dreamed of a see-through little girl standing by my bed waving at me.  I jumped out of bed, ran into the kitchen and pressed my body up against the wall so she could not find me.  The Guy was standing in the kitchen watching with utter confusion as I peeked back into the room and -- upon seeing the girl again -- flung myself back up against the wall.

Welcome to marriage, Sweetie!

Just before Christmas, I had another dream.  In this dream, I was helping to bring back to life people who had died in the Holocaust.  While this is a noble and wonderful thing, in my dream I was doing it so I could assist in torturing them all over again.  Merry Christmas!

But it is this last week I feel sorry for The Guy having to share a bed with me.  We finally had two days off (in a row!!) together and The Guy was looking forward to getting to sleep in past 3am.  I ruined that, however, when I had a nightmare at 3:15 that caused me to sit straight up in bed and scream "NO NO NO!!  DON"T!!"  He told me it was just a dream and I went back to sleep.  All was well, but The Guy was awake for the remainder of the day.

The next night, I jumped out of bed at just after 3am, crept to the door, flung it open and crept into the kitchen.  I was acting like a spy, trying to be covert so the intruder didn't see me.  I was sure I had heard the front door open and we were going to be murdered in our sleep.  Again, The Guy woke me up and told me it was a dream.  He did tell me later that day that the side gate had swung open in the wind, so that was what woke me up.

I was bound and determined I would not destroy his last night of sleeping in.  I went to bed at a decent time and took my sleeping meds.  Then, shortly after 3am, Monty started crying and barking in his sleep.  He was having a nightmare.

I think The Guy is going to make us sleep in another room soon.

Giant nightgowns and baby corn

This Christmas, my MiL got me a night gown.  Now, you wouldn't think this would be an optimum gift to get your DiL on her first Christmas as a married woman.  Nightwear from a MiL?  Inappropriate!!!  But this night gown is AWESOME.

First, it has black and white stripes.  Tiny stripes, like Where's Waldo? books.  With red piping and little red buttons.  Second, it is full length.  From neck to mid-calf, this bad boy covers EVERYTHING.  Third, it is huge.  Like... my Dad could wear it*.  And finally, it came with matching red fuzzy socks.

There was nothing about this I didn't like.  It looked so comfy I wanted to crawl into it right there.  Mind you, I had about 3 hours sleep at this point having gotten off the night shift that morning, so comfort and sleep were the only things I was looking for.  But I knew this night gown was getting put on the moment I walked in the door to the house.

I looked at Wade, wiggled my eyebrows suggestively and said, "It's gonna be all romance in our house tonight!"


*Okay, that was a bad picture in my head.

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I have been making marinated salads for the last two or three weeks.  It's so easy -- you put cut up veggies in a bowl, cover them in dressing, leave them for days and replenish as the salad lowers.  There are always veggies available, I will always snack on them and it is super easy.

I put in things like: cherry tomatoes, celery, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, whole mushrooms (from a can) and baby corn (also from a can).  I liked the baby corn for awhile, but got sick of them by the second round, so found innovative ways to get rid of them.

I fed them to Monty.

The Guy rarely feeds Monty anything people food.  The Guy is disciplined.  And has no soul.  I mean.... Hi Honey!!  He often looks at me disapprovingly when I feed the dog something from the table.  But, I mean... what am I supposed to do?  Eat the crusts? YUCK.

I came home the other day to find a stain on the carpet in the living room.  It was obvious the dog had been sick, so I got the cleaners and went to town scrubbing the floor.  I thought I got it, so I didn't think of it again until the next morning.

The stain was as though I hadn't cleaned it.  So, I got the cleaning products out again and scrubbed a second time.

That evening I mentioned it to The Guy.  He acknowledged that Monty had been sick and he too had tried to clean it up but it wasn't going anywhere.  "Do you know what he was sick?" The Guy asked looking at me pointedly.  No, what?  "A baby corn.  Whole.  Un-chewed."

Oops.  No more feeding the dog.

Christmas came early: Part 1 -- The tree

My husband hates Christmas.  He has worked in retail for 14 years, so he has come by it honestly.  I understand it, really I do.  If Christmas starts in August, it's hard to give a flying rat's rear end about it in December.  But last year when he told me he couldn't have a real tree in the house because of allergies, I was pretty much devastated.

I've had a year to get used to the idea.  I prepared myself for a fake tree.  I thought I wanted a smaller one -- like 5 feet tall -- but couldn't find one I liked.  Finally, we agreed on one that was 7ft tall and had white lights.  I went into a bit of a panic when it sold out just before we bought it, but The Guy prevailed and bought one moments after some other Grinch returned it to the store!

I promised I would not put up decorations until into December.  We've have the outside decorated for awhile consisting of a door wreath, one string of lights, and the BIGGEST WREATH YOU HAVE EVER SEEN that is now attached to our porch.  But I promised the inside would not be decked out until closer to the holidays.

We put up the tree today.  Since The Guy puts together 3 - 5 of them a year, he was in charge and I follow orders.  We like it when our roles are defined.  Also, he got to give orders for a change!  Layer by layer we opened the tree.  I was impressed with what I saw.  It's not the ugly fake trees I pictured from the 80s.  It's  gorgeous!

Now I am sitting here in the living room typing by the light of the tree and being very grateful The Guy put aside his hate-on for Christmas to make me happy.