The Fish.

If someone asked me how I operated under pressure, and I was COMPLETELY honest, I would say…TERRIBLY. In fact, these days I try to avoid drama like the plague because, although it amused me greatly as a teenager, it gives me total panic attacks these days. I avoid confrontation (unless it’s with an umpire or opposing coach on a baseball field, of course), stay clear of all crisis situations and basically try to keep as stress-free of an existence as I possibly can.

However, for SOME reason, Hubbit tends to attract chaos. For example, I would be perfectly happy and content living as a recluse in spider-less woods, miles and miles away from other people, where no one’s ridiculousness could skew my own. However, if I were to invite Hubbit to be my co-habitant in these spider-less woods that only exist in my sweetest dreams, there is no doubt…NO DOUBT…some person in need would stumble upon our creatively hidden tree house and need some type of flippin’ medical treatment, on a very regular basis.

I’ve pretty much come to expect some teenage pregnant chick to pass out, some old lady to crash into a tree or some anorexic beauty queen to have an allergic reaction to new psychiatric meds at any given time, pretty much any place we ever go. McDonald’s, an Interstate in Virginia or Arby’s…doesn’t matter where we are. It never fails, someone needs help and dun-dun-dun-aaaahhh…Hubbit comes to the rescue.

For the first few years, it freaked me out and Hubbit pretty much had two patients on his hands. The first being the person who was ACTUALLY in need of medical attention and the second being ME, the person who freaked-the-helicopter-out anytime an emergency occurred around me.

These days, my game plan goes a little something like this:

Stranger: Help, I think I am having a heart attack.
Hubbit: Dun-dun-dun-aaaahhh! I will save you!
Me: (turning immediately toward the door and saying to Hubbit) I’ll meet you in the car when this is all over, thanks.

Yep. Classic avoidance.

Something I’ve mastered over the years, no psychiatrist in their right mind can tell me isn’t helpful and/or healthy in at least SOME cases, such as this.

In any case, the whole point to my rambling is: Hubbit is a helper.

Now, on to the real dish…

About a week ago we were on our way to a family birthday gathering and as a result of an ignorant person trying to text while they were driving, two cars in front of us almost crashed horribly in front of us. At the speed we were going (Hubbit was driving so we ALL know it was faster than legally allowed), the crash would have been potentially very damaging to the cars and their drivers.

Hubbit joked: “Thank God they didn’t crash because I would not have been able to stop and help since it would have made us late for the birthday party. We're actually early for once.”

(Disclaimer: He was joking. We ALL know his “helper” mentality would not let him pass by anyone in need.)

Since we were actually running ahead of schedule, Hubbit decided he wanted to take us to this little fishing hole he’d discovered a few days before. While he knew you couldn’t eat them, he claimed he saw tons of enormous grass carp swimming in it and thought the kids might like to take a peek. After all, it was on our way to the birthday gathering.

We arrived at the little creek and when we did, were in absolute awe at the sight of thirty five GIANT grass carp, swimming in shallow water. Hubbit had noted the drop in the water level just from the day before, when he said it was basically at the top of the bank’s edge.

We all stood there, looking at the pretty 60 pound creatures floating around in the water. All of a sudden, Hubbit glanced down the creek and spotted a giant grass carp stuck in an extremely shallow area of water I’m pretty sure could best be described as a puddle. In fact, I’m 99% sure I’ve seen deeper puddles in the Wal-Mart parking lot after all of this rain we’ve had lately.

The fish had its head under the water, but most of its back was exposed above water. Hubbit grew concerned immediately. He was genuinely worried about the fate of this fish.

The only access to the big swimmer was to walk on really small rocks, into the middle of the creek. Convinced this fish would die unless he was able to transfer it back into the deeper water where the rest of the fish were fully covered, Hubbit insisted on venturing into the creek.

This is a man who just hours before told me he was thinking about taking up hunting and he now couldn’t stand the idea of this dumb fish dying. By the way, he’s never hunted in his life and I’m pretty sure he’d be more likely to kill a human being than a deer...but WHATEV.

I tried to stop him, considering we WERE on our way to a family party and HE was the one who insisted on us being timely. In addition, I was not amused by the fact he thought his giant size 15 shoes would fit easily on the tiny stones that led to the distressed swimmer.

But, my pleas fell upon deaf ears and before I knew it Hubbit was almost-falling every two seconds on the slippery rocks, making his way toward the fish. Meanwhile, Flea was laughing, Bug was begging to be allowed to help and I was praying out loud that Hubbit didn’t fall, knock himself unconscious and force me to make what would likely be the most embarrassing 911 call EVER. Although, I’m not sure if it would have been more embarrassing for me or him considering the Fire Department Grapevine passes gossip faster than any other I’ve ever witnessed. Who knew a bunch of middle aged men had better gossip spreading skills than the average 12 year old girl?!

In any case, he made it to the fish and bent down to pick up the giant creature. He picked it up with both hands easily, but as he stood up to walk three rocks down for the ultimate water transfer, the fish slipped right out of his hands. It landed on rocks (I have NO idea how it survived the fall) and before Hubbit could recover it once more, it slipped back into the puddle it was retrieved from.

At this point, I started trying to convince Hubbit things like…

1) It liked the puddle and actually WANTED to be there so it could tan it's back in the sun.
2) There’s no way a fish that big could be dumb enough to get itself stuck in a place it couldn’t survive. After all, it did somehow live long enough to pack on 60 POUNDS!
3) Even if he did catch the fish, it was far too slippery to actually hold onto long enough to make the intended transfer.

Persistent and stubborn, Hubbit refused to give up. Instead, he started silently looking around for something to aid him with the rescue. All of a sudden, Bug spotted an old rusty metal-grated-fence-type-of-thing and in his own personal MacGyver style, suggested Hubbit slap the fish up onto the grate and then carry the grate to the fuller area of water. Hubbit smiled, the plan was set into motion and Bug was VERY proud his idea was being put to use.

Twenty five minutes after we’d first arrived to the scene and after a few more failed attempts, the plan did work. The fish was “rescued” and we headed back to our parked vehicle.

As we got back in the van and buckled up, I looked Hubbit in the eye and said, “Well, it’s a good thing those cars didn’t crash because HEAVEN FORBID us be late because you had to play Superman or something.”

Whitney

“I used to be lost in the shuffle. Now I just shuffle along with the lost.” (Author Unknown)

Yep. We're "That" Family.

I love baseball.

Seriously, LOVE it. Doesn’t really matter who’s playing or if it’s major, minor or flippin’ t-ballers getting their ball-on, when Spring comes baseball is my “thang”.

So, I’m never one to complain when our kids’ baseball games aren’t called off for the possibility of rain and am all for getting the game in, if there’s anyway in the world it can be accomplished before the clouds burst open and Mother Nature shows her fury.

In fact, I think I might be more disappointed than the kids when their games get rained out!

But, last night was one of those nights the game should have been called off…BEFORE the torrential downpour began.

Here they were in the top of the 4th inning and like we’d all expected after it had gotten almost too dark to even see the ball five minutes prior, it started raining like Cahhhraaazzyyy!

Being great under pressure like he always is (giggle), Hubbit instructed Bug and I to start running for the van. Like good little soldiers, we did as we were told, only to get up the hill to the van and realize I had no keys to unlock the vehicle! So, we were forced to wait outside in the pouring rain for Hubbit and Flea, who FINALLY made their way to us with the keys, about FIVE minutes later.

As they came up the hill and noticed we were not safe and dry in the van as they’d expected, Hubbit yelled to me, “Where are your keys, you Moron?!”, just as Flea’s teammate’s grandmother rolled down her window to say goodbye.

Nice job looking like Husband of the Year, Hubbit.

Of course, since he had packed everything up and was carrying our chairs, a bat bag and most importantly…THE KEYS…I let his rudeness slide. For the moment. After all, Bug and I had run off with the only umbrella, totally abandoning him at the bottom of the hill with two arm loads of our crap.

After asking what took them so long to come to let us in the van, Hubbit started explaining:

Hubbit: Well, I was standing behind the dugout, getting DRENCHED, waiting on Flea to get his stuff together and run out. After waiting for about three minutes, I peeked around into the dugout to see what was taking him so long and caught him casually chatting with his teammates. He wasn’t even kind-of getting his stuff together. He was just STANDING THERE, twirling his batting gloves around like he had absolutely nowhere to be! Meanwhile, I was outside getting WET!

Me: So, what did you do?

Hubbit: I screamed like a banshee, “FLEA, get out here…NOW”. His teammates and coaches probably think I’m horrible.

Me: Nice.

Hubbit: Come to think of it, not only do the coaches likely think I’m horrible but it’s VERY likely the grandparents in the parking lot who heard me call you a “moron” think so too.

Me: (giggle) Just think of it this way. Maybe one day we'll win an Oscar for our roles as members of “that” family?

Whitney

If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.(George Bernard Shaw)

Life Lesson #421: Never Take A Pee Break While Cooking

I have always believed in soul mates and still to this day feel like God brought Hubbit and I together in the most intentional-to-Him but random-to-us way. I could not ask for a better husband. Seriously, he’s as good as they get. After all, being married to me can challenge even the greatest man, as I tend to Samba on his last nerve at least a few times a week.

Of course, don’t get me wrong. Before I have another Single-White-Female movie scene on my hands, I want to be clear. Our life is not perfect. You may THINK I’m joking about the SWF thing, but last August I learned two important lessons in life:

1) I'm not the only chica who thinks Hubbit is a great catch.
2) There are people out there floating around this world who are crazier than me. Imagine that.

Anyhow, before anyone starts gagging, you should know that we do fight…”sometimes”. And, for those of you who know me well, if it’s only “sometimes”, then he truly is my perfect match! ;)

In any case, over the years I’ve managed to figure out many reasons God brought me Hubbit. But, the one that stands out consistently is the fact I have a really bad habit of accidentally-almost setting things on fire.

Me: Accidental Firebug
Hubbit: Valiant Fireman

Taaa...daaa.

In our first five years together, our near-catastrophes involving fire were basically limited to exploding jar candles I’d forgotten I’d lit hours and hours before or metal-in-the-microwave-fires (Who would think the old Little Caesar’s breadstick paper was actually metal?! I would have sworn it was just cheap silver paper…giggle). As life progressed and I started graduating from the idea that a $5 discount pizza couldn’t really be considered a home cooked meal, things got a little trickier.

How?

I started cooking!

Thankfully, Hubbit is forever on guard with a towel to fan the smoke detector, a lid to squash a stove fire or a fire extinguisher when things go haywire. Due to his diligence, we’ve never had a terrible tragedy, even though for some unknown and unintentional reason, I am bound and determined to set SOMETHING on fire.

In fact, he never even gets angry at me for nearly killing us all and destroying our property. Even when he was forced to repaint the ceiling due to flames reaching up to it after a candle mishap, he never made one disgruntled comment.

Until…

I almost set the hotel in NYC on fire…the SECOND time. Apparently, being woken up to a smoke filled hotel suite, by a far-louder-than-it-should-have-been-in-my-pyromaniac-opinion smoke detector, wasn’t his idea of a relaxing vacation.

The first morning, in true fireman style, he SILENTLY jumped out of a bed at record speed, opened the windows and started fanning the smoke detector until it stopped chirping.

But, apparently going through the EXACT same thing the NEXT morning was enough to aggravate him and not only did he repeat the previous day’s actions like he was living in some insane Groundhog’s Day movie plot, but he also had a few choice words for me.

Who knew? :)

In any case, I learned a few very important lessons…

1)Even though the bathroom might be less than three feet away from the stove, it’s not a good idea to leave sausage cooking on high heat, unattended, while you take a quick “pee break”.

AND

2) If you wake your fireman Hubbit up two mornings in a row to a smoke alarm, while he’s on vacation away from the firehouse, the smoke detector won’t be the only annoying sound you’ll be forced to listen to.


Whitney


How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being. ~Oscar Wilde

I'm Back Witches!! :)

WARNING: In the following VERY LONG blog, there will be typos/grammar issues/things that don't matter to me at this late hour.

It’s been about a million years since I’ve actually sat down and took the time to write “for fun”. So, the few of you who actually follow my blog might have been waiting, anticipating and expecting something fantastically funny or ridiculous.

Sadly...I’m likely to disappoint.

While my life is normally full of hysterical nonsense, the past week or two has been so hectic we’ve all been pretty much walking a straight line, just trying to get by.

What have we been up to?

Well, the most exciting adventure was our Spring Break trip to New York City. We’d been planning it for several months and were super excited to see something other than the beach. Until…we realize we were going someone other than the beach!

That realization occurred when we were about six hours along on our driving route when all of a sudden the temperature drops 20 degrees and we start to see three foot piles of SNOW on the sides of the road. This is the moment when Hubbit and I began to look at each other, silently asking one another:

Why in God’s name are we NOT headed toward sunshine, island music and the gentle sounds of waves crashing outside our hotel window?!

In any case, NYC was full of lessons…

What did I learn while traveling to NYC?

1) You’ve not experienced crazy driving until you’ve stepped foot in Sharir Omad’s Yellow Cab. I THOUGHT I’d experienced riding with a crazy driver. The Lexington firefighters so blessed to ride with Hubbit THOUGHT they’d experienced riding with a crazy driver. My mother, who seriously threatened to get out in the middle of nowhere on the highway 700 miles from home one year while on vacation with us when Hubbit was driving, THOUGHT she’d ridden with a crazy driver. But, while Hubbit can scare even the calmest man into holding the “Oh Crap” handle on the car interior roof, he’s NOTHING compared to NYC cab drivers.

The cab drivers in NYC are ridiculous. They are on the fastest stop-go-race of
their lives and whoever jumps in their cab gets to go along for the wacky ride!

The process:

* Jump in the cab.
* Cab driver asks you to buckle up for “safety” (Heh!) and then proceeds to go from 0-to-80 in the blink of an eye.
* Cab driver comes upon a yellow light and SLAMS ON BRAKES.
* You go flying forward, only to be jerked back due to the “wise” cab driver’s request for you to wear your seat belt.
* The light turns green and process continues, over and over again, until you reach your destination.

On the first ride you start to think about suing the cabbie for whip lash…until you realize it would be a waste of precious energy, as they tell you they only plan to be in the US for three weeks and are just trying to earn a little cash while here.

Question: How come it takes the average 16 year old 8-12 months these days to get their license but someone staying in the US for only three weeks not only has a license but also a job where they’re responsible for driving others around, as well? Things that make you go hmmm….

2) Times Square is a big fat joke. Those of you who “love” Times Square can “kiss it” because it literally made me want to stab myself. In the eye. Willingly. Not only is the noise and crowded pathways insanely annoying, but why? WHY?! Would a geographic area which hosts over 26 MILLION tourists each year have a McDonald’s featuring a ONE STALL bathroom? Ridiculous. Standing in line for 20 minutes to go to the restroom at McDonald’s after paying $32 for three cheeseburgers, two fries, two sodas and a water? I guess the concept of the Value Meal is lost on New Yorkers.

Interestingly enough, our bus tour guide kept pointing out the exact location a suitcase full of dynamite was found six months ago, placed there by someone who tried to blow up Times Square, but was unsuccessful. Everyone on the bus looked at it with shock and surprise, except me.

While my fellow bus riding tourists were saying...

“Oh. Em. Gee. I don’t understand how could anyone could want to blow up Times Square?!”

I was mouthing to Hubbit…

“Apparently he’d been here a time or two…”

* It’s a JOKE people. Don’t freak out.

3) Never agree to take the stairs when you don’t know how many flights you’ll have to take to reach your destination.

It’s interesting how traveling can bring out certain qualities in people. Bug has always been terrified of heights and particularly of massive staircases where you can glance over the rail and see all the way down to the bottom level. Thus, he’s usually just fine and dandy with taking the elevator. However, in NYC elevators are about the size of an airplane bathroom, which was quite a shock to Bug. In fact, it was such a shock he threw a total fit and convinced Hubbit to walk 24 FLIGHTS OF STAIRS to our hotel suite on the first day we got there.

Now, I hate elevators too. In fact, I once convinced Hubbit to walk 12 flights of stairs with me at the Patterson Office Tower at UK instead of taking their Zero-to-60-in-2.1-seconds-elevators. However, that was when I was much younger and I’ll be darned if I was going to try to hike up 24 flights of stairs. Especially on vacation! Needless to say, they got to about floor 5 and they grabbed an elevator the rest of the way up. I’m a chick who’s afraid of lots of things. I mean LOTS. However, I’m a firm believer when the will to accomplish something becomes stronger than the fear itself, the fear disappears completely and you’ll do anything to get what you want. In this case, the will to NOT have a heart attack from walking up one million stairs became stronger than the fear of riding the elevator and Bug became willing to do anything to stop climbing those stairs.

You’d think we’d learned a lesson from this. But, NOPE.

The next evening we decided to head back to Times Square for a second time to hit up the wax museum (which was honestly a blast). To get to the starting point of the museum’s self-guided tour, we were told we had to take an elevator. Confident Bug had learned his lesson about climbing stairs, we got in line. But, as soon as the elevator’s doors opened and we started to climb inside, Bug started freaking out. He was in a total panic, crying and absolutely unwilling to step even one foot into what he saw as a chamber of uncertainty.

So, what do us fools do? Oh, we say…we’ll just take the stairs.

Willing to satisfy our every request as she was trained to do, the customer service employee asked us to follow her. We entered into a staircase and began climbing. And climbing. And climbing. About four flights into the climb of complete silence, we start slowing down, disabled by the huffing, puffing and panting our bodies are showcasing.

At floor 6, I thought I was going to absolutely die and asked…

“How many flights are we actually climbing?”

The sweet rotund guide answered…

“Nine.”

GEEZ.

We made it to the ninth floor, collapsed in a family pile under an oddly beautiful wax figure display of Ru Paul dressed as a mermaid-he-she-not-sure-but-fascinating-none-the-less and vowed to never…EVER…agree to take the stairs again without knowing exactly how far we’d be traveling. Because, I’d bet if the girl had just told us how far we’d had to climb when we were at the elevator, Bug’s will to accomplish that elevator would have been bigger than his fear…OR…quite possibly I would have thrown him over my shoulder, carried him into the steel box of luxury and listened to him whine for the short 7 seconds until we comfortably arrived on Floor 9.

I could go on and on with little silly stories about NYC but it’s 1am and I still have about ten things on my To-Do list for today…well…now yesterday…I’m clearly not going to get done.

The funny thing is, while the city brought out the absolute WORST in my personality and I pretty much complained from the moment we arrived until we were out of New Jersey on our way home, there were definitely moments of beauty within the city and our trip.

There’s absolutely nothing that can compare to seeing Lady Liberty, strolling through the amazingly beautiful Central Park or seeing how happy our kids were to have amazing seats at Yankee Stadium.

But, no matter what bargaining I have to do or promises I have to make...next year we’re going to THE BEACH. :)

Whitney

“Travel is only glamorous in retrospect.” (Paul Theroux)

Happy Birthday Bug!

Today was Bug’s 8th birthday!

There’s the part of me who is thrilled he’s getting more capable and independent every year, being one of “those” parents who did a little dance of celebration when the kids learned to buckle themselves into their car seats without my help, learned to take showers without assistance and learned to find their own snacks in our overstuffed pantry on their own. Then, there’s the part of me who never wants him to quit asking me to sing him Otis Redding lullabies, make him homemade waffles or rub his sweet little back when he’s not feeling well. While I don’t miss the days of temper tantrums and diapers, I’m feeling overwhelmed with conversations he initiates about grown-up things, like why the fuzz on his legs (and “other” areas) doesn’t wash off in the bath!

All in all, most days it’s almost impossible for me to comprehend the fact my baby is not really a baby anymore and I wonder if I’ll forever feel that way.

Sigh.

In any case, today was a great day!

It all started with Bug nudging me at 6:30am, asking when he could open his presents. He was talking in such a hushed-whisper-sing-song-voice, it sounded borderline freakish after I'd only had 6 hours of sleep. Those of you who’ve ever lived with me fully understand unless I get 9 hours or more, I’m almost unbearable to deal with, so it took all I could muster up not to turn vicious really quickly. But, it was his BIRTHday! So, I kept my grump to myself.

As I desperately tried to pry my eyes open, I silently wished we’d let him open them when he’d asked at 12:01 last night, after he stayed up until midnight so he could “be awake when his birthday started”. It’s not like I sleep in often, but the morning before he'd gotten me up at 7:30 to jump on the trampoline with him. Of course, I complied since it was his early birthday present and because it really IS very fun. EVEN in your nightgown. EVEN when you accidentally pee a little during the first jump because you're still half-asleep and zombie walked outside, forgetting to hit the potty after waking up.

Needless to say, after two early morning wake-ups, I was feeling a little as if I were trapped in an odd suburban mother version of the Groundhog Day movie, starring a strange little whispering kid who wakes me up every morning in a freaky sing-song-hushed-voice at the break of dawn, asking me to “play”. Ugh.

For a few moments I tried to “play dead”, like I was too asleep to even hear his pleas. But, then he whisper-asked me if our giant-60-pound-blind-in-one-eye-Wiener dog, Zoe was still alive. He’d prayed the night before that God wouldn’t let her die on his birthday, after convincing himself she was on her last leg in life. The truth is, she’s basically a million years old and Bug is notorious for sensing death, ghosts and other things I’m not 100% sure I believe in but am too much of a chicken to ignore. So, when he asked whether she was breathing, I immediately jumped out of bed, ran to her side...and...found her completely healthy, wagging her tail and likely laughing at me for being such an idiot.

The funny thing is, I’m pretty sure Zoe is going to live at least a few more years but we all have this disturbing obsession with chronically checking to see if she’s among the living. I thought we were strange to behave in this way, but the last time Bug’s friend stayed all night with us, even he questioned over and over again if she was alive. I think he too was waiting for her to kick over dead at any moment. She does have a habit of laying REALLY, REALLY still, with her eyes open, looking about half-dead. Of course, you’d think after ten years we wouldn’t fall for her “dead act” any longer. But, Nope. We fall for it. Every. Single. Time.

Anyhow...

Even though I did jump out of bed earlier than should be legal on a weekend morning, I did manage to distract Bug from present-opening and entertain him with more pajama trampoline jumping and homemade chocolate chip waffles for a few hours until Hubbit woke up. Why? Because I am an AWESOME wife who lets her husband sleep in as often as possible. THAT’S why! ;)

(Side note: I should probably confess, it is a only a tiny act of gratitude for a man who puts up with my endless batch of crazy and BELIEVE ME…I am capable of some intense ridiculousness.)

After presents were opened, Bug wanted to play his new Diary of a Wimpy Kid board game. (If you haven’t seen the movie or read the books…do it. NOW.) At certain points in the game, players are required to write down their answers to questions on scrap paper and then guess what other players have written.

The first question was for me and Bug. Hubbit had to guess what we’d written.

It read: What annoys you the most?

I wrote: Dirt.
Bug wrote: Abooba (Inside family joke, not important to this story.)

Hubbit guessed incorrectly.

Quite a few questions later, it was time for me and Bug to answer another question on scrap paper. Since I wanted to conserve paper, Bug and I simply used the other side of the same paper we’d previously written on for the first question. However, Bug ended up with mine (with the word “Dirt” on one side) and I ended up with his (with the word “Abooba” on one side).

The question read: What is your favorite type of candy bar?

Now, here’s where things got tricky. While Bug did indeed turn 8 today and is a very mature and lovely boy, he still gets a little bratty when he doesn’t win a game the first time we play it. In fact, if we don’t let him win the first time we play, he likely won’t ever play again. Since this was a brand new game and it WAS his birthday, Hubbit and I were willing to do whatever it took to let him take home the victory.

That being said, we were at the point in the game where if I guessed Bug’s response to the question correctly, we would both get to move ahead three spaces…which would put Bug at the Finish Line and give him the big W-I-N. Hubbit and I were both aware and without speaking knew what had to happen.

To pull it off successfully, Hubbit had to peek at Bug’s answer to the question and mouth the words to me, allowing me to correctly guess what he wrote and allowing him to win!

I looked at Hubbit, gave him the “nod” and repeated the question:

What is your favorite type of candy bar?

He peeked at Bug’s paper slyly and mouthed something to me that was simply untranslatable. I was unsure of what he’d mouthed, but I was certain it was in no way the name of a candy bar. So, I quickly gave him the silent facial expression of “HUH?!” and focused clearly on his mouth movements the second time, putting forth my absolute best effort to understand what this man was trying to communicate to me.

After a few seconds of utter confusion, I suddenly realized Bug had used my previous scrap paper, Hubbit had looked at the wrong side of it and as a result, Hubbit was CONFIDENTLY mouthing the word “Dirt” instead of Bug's answer of his favorite candy bar.

Oh. Em. Gee.

Sadly, I could not recover from this TOTAL FAILURE of tag-team game scamming and was not able to guess correctly because well...for some ca-ray-zee reason...I knew and understood there is no candy bar on the face of the EARTH named “Dirt”. Apparently, I am the only ad-ult in this house that possesses that small piece of knowledge.

Ironically, Bug answered his next question correctly and won the game honestly.

Meanwhile, I learned…

1) There are many times as a parent you feel you must protect your children from disappointment. However, whether you succeed or not, things will turn out just fine.

And, most importantly…

2) Hubbit is a TERRIBLE board-game-cheater. Geez.

Whitney

“No matter how calmly you try to referee, parenting will eventually produce bizarre behavior, and I'm not talking about the kids.” (Bill Cosby)

Death By Chocolate...

Yesterday was my birthday!! Woo hoo!! I turned 29!! (Just not yesterday…more like two years ago.)

Many of you know, I am allergic to life. I honestly eat only about 10-15 different types of food…TOTAL. They are milk, chicken, eggs, beef, pork, peaches, celery, lettuce, bell peppers, organic cheese and the occasional sweet potato.

That’s it.

It may sound pretty drastic, but it keeps me from going into anaphylactic shock and keeps me free from the hives-stomach pains-dizziness and other nonsense food allergies can bring on, so I never deter from my eating plan…EVER. Day in and day out, I proudly display the willpower of a superhero when it comes to my dietary restrictions. Except for on my birthday.

Every year for my birthday my parents make me this amazing flourless chocolate cake using organic chocolate I would seriously think about selling my soul for.

It is HEAVENLY.

Sure, I’m allergic to chocolate but I only indulge in it once a year. Since I’m not incredibly allergic, usually I only have a few side effects…IF and ONLY IF…I stick to the rules.

Whitney’s Rules Of Eating Chocolate

1) Only eat it once a year.
2) Limit consumption to one small amount when you do partake ONCE a year.
3) Never, under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, eat it twice in one day.

(Side note: Those with food allergies usually know if you’re prone to food allergies, you should never eat the same food twice in one day. Otherwise, your body can react to foods it normally wouldn’t react to. So, on a normal day I have to limit myself to eating eggs once, eating chicken once…you get the point. I once ignored this rule and had soup beans both for lunch and dinner one day. What happened? Oh…I had one of the worst food reactions I’ve EVER had, was scared out of my mind, was borderline going into genuine shock, and now I can’t ever eat beans again. Needless to say, I learned my lesson…sort of.)

Anyhow, last night I satisfied my once-a-year-chocolate-cravings with the special birthday cake my mother brought over. It was everything.

EVERYTHING.

I was a good girl. I had a small piece and then didn’t return for more. I followed the rules.

But, when I woke up this morning, things had changed. Overnight, my superhero willpower somehow vanished and the first thing I did when I woke up was rush to the kitchen to eat more chocolate cake…with MY FINGERS. Really?! Who does that? This girl does, apparently. By the time I came to my senses, I looked down and realized I'd eaten HALF of the cake!

Oh. My. Land.

I immediately felt guilty and told Hubbit what I’d done, in which he responded with a roaring laugh. I’m glad he thinks my serious chocolate-cake-binging-problem is SO FLIPPIN’ FUNNY.

To be fair, Hubbit usually doesn’t get involved when it comes to my chocolate addiction. I mean seriously, he’s a very smart man who realizes one should never come in between a woman and her chocolate. But, the truth is I’m not sure he is just wise to women after being married to one of the most challenging women on the face of this earth (I wear the badge proudly) OR he is secretly hoping I’ll have a horrendous reaction and he’ll FINALLY get to administer the EPI-Pen to me. He was THRILLED when I was prescribed one, making joke after joke about how AWESOME it would be to stab me in the leg with it. He’s sadistic like that. I blame it on his job. (I’m joking firemen…JOKING.)

The last time I went on a chocolate binge, it lasted a week. It was three years ago and I’d gorged myself all week, day and night on organic chocolate chips, eating bag after bag like a total freak. While I didn’t end up having an anaphylactic reaction requiring Hubbit to administer my EPI-Pen, it did land me in the cardiologist’s office with an IRREGULAR heartbeat that wouldn’t subside for a week even after I quit ingesting my tasty enemy.

Seriously, my body hates most food and especially loathes caffeine. A normal person could drink five cups of coffee one day and maybe end up with something as minor as being unable to sleep that evening. But, if I did the same, chances are I’d be in the flippin’ hospital with a heart that just couldn’t get itself together.

After showering off my shame and dressing in mostly black to hide the "food baby" I was sporting in the lower tummy area, I attempted to throw out the rest of the cake. However, Bug and Flea both pleaded with me to save it a little while longer, so they too could have a piece after lunch. I agreed, reluctantly, and decided we should leave the house for a bit to get my mind (and my grubby fingers) far away from my own personal chocolate-laced-CrackRock. So, we spent the morning shopping at the local flea market and sporting goods store.

Sadly, the distraction of the flea market and sporting goods store failed. Completely. As soon as I got home from our shopping trip, the cake starting calling (more like SHOUTING) my name. Bug saw my strength failing me as I walked slowly toward the cake and even tried to talk me down, asking me if chocolate cake was really worth:

1) getting fat
2) dying

I told him, it most certainly WAS. However, after shoving another two heaping forkfuls into my mouth, I realized something drastic had to be done.
The cake HAD TO GO and with that realization, I threw it into garbage can.

One would think throwing the cake away, into the disgusting garbage, would be enough to deter a germ-a-phobe from thinking about eating it.

But, Noooooooo.

My urges were just too strong. Only five minutes after tossing it out, I honestly thought about digging it OUT OF THE GARBAGE and eating it. Seriously, I was acting like a total crack addict jonesin’ to get that last bit of rock. It was ridiculous!

So, I did what any hanging-onto-the-recovery-wagon-with-the-tips-of-her-nails-only-addict had to do.

I went over to the garbage, looked down upon the ever-so-delicious-and-potentially-life-threatening treat and…

Sprayed it with Windex.

Problem solved.

Whitney

“I would give up chocolate, but I’m not quitter.” (Author Unknown)

Oh, Bennie.

Location: Garden Ridge’s incredibly long and irritating check-out lane where we started off being 10th in a line with only one cashier open and where people were getting very frustrated. Well, mostly just Hubbit.

The valiant 20-something-vertically-challenged-likely-Puerto-Rican-cashier, Bennie, dances onto the scene, hoping to save the sanity of the sole cashier chick who is scanning far too slowly to satisfy anyone. Well, mostly just Hubbit.

Bennie the Cashier: I can take the next person down here.
Hubbit: THANK God. (huffs and puffs as he pulls our cart up to Bennie’s counter
Bennie the Cashier: Oh, wait. I’ll be just a minute.

Bennie leaves the counter to straighten up some nearby merchandise that apparently just couldn’t wait to be rearranged. The entire time, Hubbit is looking from the slow cashier’s lane to Bennie, realizing if he’d not been “the next customer” Bennie had called for, he would have already been finished paying and out the door. However, due to his amazing maturity and class (happy meds…cough, cough) he waits as patiently as he’s capable of waiting patiently, which is not really all that patiently, to be quite honest.

About three-customers-through-the-slow-chick’s-land-later, Bennie finishes arranging the merchandise and dashes back to the register, with a smile.

Bennie the Cashier: Ok, I’m back!
Hubbit: awesome. (spoken with enthusiasm deserving only a lowercase "a")
Bennie the Cashier: Oh, wait! I have to change the register receipt paper. Hold on. (starts pushing things around under the register, to get the needed paper)
Hubbit: Are you flippin’ kidding me?! (looks at me, looks at the other slow cashier chick’s line flowing smoothly, looks at Bennie, still trying to stay patient)
Bennie the Cashier: All done! Here we go!
Hubbit: Great. (sighs...exhausted from the incredible effort it takes a man of his level of impatience to stay calm in a ridiculous situation such as this)

Hubbit is emotionally defeated from staying calm and collected during Bennie's shenanigans, wondering silently if he's the subject of the new and improved Candid Camera show I'm always talking about trying to make a homemade version of. (Side note: Surely, I'm not the ONLY person in the world who makes mental lists of situations which would make EPIC new episodes for its reprise on television, right?!)

The items are rang up and paid for, Hubbit has one foot turned toward the door to leave and Bennie the Cashier is handing Hubbit’s debit card back to him…

Bennie the Cashier: What are you? ‘Bout 305?
Hubbit: (realizes Bennie has just made an attempt to guess his weight and remains visibly unfazed after the entirely unusual exchange has led him to think ANYTHING can happen at Garden Ridge at this point) Um, something like that.

Good Lord, Bennie.

Leaving the store…

Me: (laughing hysterically) Who does that?!
Hubbit: I think he was a little "unique", honey.
Me: But, I mean…he was pretty darn accurate. How do people learn to do that?!
Hubbit: I don’t know. Maybe he is training to be one of those carnival guys who guess your weight. I can see him with a mic in his hand saying, Come on down!
Me: Yeah, I don’t get it. You pay those guys $5 to make you feel fat or old. And, they’re NEVER wrong. Nope. Because if they are, they have to surrender one of those horrible-hard-and-never-IT’S SO FLUFFY-stuffed-animals AND Heaven knows if they give away too many of those, they’re on their way out the Carnie door…
Hubbit: …and apparently working at Garden Ridge.

Right-on.

The big bonus of the experience was that Bug was shopping with us and went around for the rest of the day trying to guess MY weight, saying:

What are you, Mom? ‘Bout 130?

Nice.

Whitney

"Carnies built this country, the carnival part of it anyway." (Homer Simpson)