Hubby and I have been together for about 17 years now. You would figure that in that amount of time he would pick up on my not so subtle hints. For instance, when I'm taking a 20lb turkey out of the oven on Thanksgiving, that would not be the best time to come up behind me and find me irresistible. It just pisses me off. Now, if I wasn't head first in the oven with scalding hot food about to fall on the floor and ruin dinner for fifteen people, well, then it might be cute. That's just an example. He also goes out of his way to watch me load and unload the dryer. The dishwasher doesn't really do it for him. I could never figure him out.
I thought that it was my hind end that turned him on, since he seemed to approach me when I'm bent at the waist. However, he wouldn't approach me when I'm trying, in vain, to garden, or when I'm tending the animals. He also avoids me and the dishwasher. I assume that his innate sense of order and his anal tendencies force him to take over the loading of the dishwasher, as I could never be as good at it as he is. He's right too. He can pack it in so neatly and so full, yet still everything gets cleaned. Me, not so much.
So what makes him tick? I must say, I was perplexed. It obviously was not my provocative rear end, lol. If it were, then every time I would bend at the waist, he would come a runnin'. That is so not the case. He only bothers me when I'm cooking or doing laundry, and especially when insanity overtakes me and I actually get down and hand scrub the floor. You know, when I just want to get done with the chores and get on with my day, he's there slowing me down and interrupting the flow.
Well, I finally got it! You see, Hubby was home for about a week and half. During that time, he actually decided to get things crossed of the list labeled "eventually". I have come to hate that word. So, as he was on a ladder in his toolbelt (which he hardly ever wears), doing manly things that I will never do. I had an epiphany. His toolbelt is like my apron. It is a symbol of the traditional man-woman roles. Now, he helps in the kitchen, and I can hang my own blinds. But I was taken aback at how the sight of him all gross and sweaty on a ladder, with his tools, doing something that I had asked him to do effected me. The feminist in me was horrified as the wife in me got all kinds of excited. I was very bothered with the whole thing. I didn't make the connection until later that night, when the work was all done. I had decided to make him a treat and bake him his favorite cookies. As usual, he popped in when I was taking them out of the oven.
This time, however, instead of being annoyed, I just let it be. Yes, he was allowed to be affectionate while I had very hot things in my hands. I did not shew him away. I did not scold him for being bothersome. Then, we retired to the living room and enjoyed our warm cookies and milk. I suppose, even in this day and age, there are some man things that a woman is innately attracted to and some woman things that a man is innately attracted to (besides body parts of course). Survival of the species? Perhaps. I guess we all have a little caveman in us.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Back to the Grind
Ahhhh, hubby's vacation is over. I can go back to getting stuff done around here, or at least trying to anyway. We did get the van fixed and waste a heckuva lot of money that we don't have. Now it's back to normal. Well, except for the fact that it is a holiday and now I'm here with all the boys and they are still riled up from the weekend. I'm not complaining though, it is nice.
I wonder why when hubby is home, everything else is put on hold? Everything that doesn't pertain to him that is. It is like the man is clueless how things work. He expects the housework to get done, yet I'm supposed to be available to tell him what a great job he's doing whenever he needs a pat on the back. Of course, this requires me leaving my current chore to go to where he is and pretend to care enough to not look sarcastic while smiling and stroking his ego. Why do I do it you ask. It's easy. If I don't, then he wouldn't do much of anything around here because he wouldn't feel appreciated. Yet, do I ask for his approval with every meal I make, or every time I clean the toilet. Could you imagine if a woman's world relied upon a man's approval and appreciation for every minuscule task? Nothing would ever get done. Entire households would crumble. But because of my cliched loathing of creepy crawlys and my acute laziness for handyman fix it jobs, I must continue to play the game.
This time, however, I did not stay up to the wee hours of the morning in order to complete my daily tasks. Nope. I just didn't bother making up the work. When asked if I washed whites, I said, "nope I spent the day testing all the outlets with you". When I was asked when dinner would be done, I would simply respond with " I'll start cooking when I'm done helping you". Yes, we ordered a lot of take out this week. When I brought up our budget, he said that I should try to cook more. I laughed at him and told him that when I had more free time to cook, I'd be happy to. Then I asked him if he still needed me to admire how he organized him collection of hardware in the shed. He answered with showing me how he made room for a weight bench and spoke for a good hour on his plans to make us healthy. We had take out...again.
He is back at work. For now, I'm happy, but he will be out of town for a week and I know his lack of restraint this week will leave me strapped while he's gone. Ugh, the things a woman must do. Okay, I'll admit it. I miss him already. It was nice to get snuggles all the time. It was really nice to be able to take long showers and go potty in peace for as long as I liked. Oh, a five minute break is quite the aphrodisiac.
I wonder why when hubby is home, everything else is put on hold? Everything that doesn't pertain to him that is. It is like the man is clueless how things work. He expects the housework to get done, yet I'm supposed to be available to tell him what a great job he's doing whenever he needs a pat on the back. Of course, this requires me leaving my current chore to go to where he is and pretend to care enough to not look sarcastic while smiling and stroking his ego. Why do I do it you ask. It's easy. If I don't, then he wouldn't do much of anything around here because he wouldn't feel appreciated. Yet, do I ask for his approval with every meal I make, or every time I clean the toilet. Could you imagine if a woman's world relied upon a man's approval and appreciation for every minuscule task? Nothing would ever get done. Entire households would crumble. But because of my cliched loathing of creepy crawlys and my acute laziness for handyman fix it jobs, I must continue to play the game.
This time, however, I did not stay up to the wee hours of the morning in order to complete my daily tasks. Nope. I just didn't bother making up the work. When asked if I washed whites, I said, "nope I spent the day testing all the outlets with you". When I was asked when dinner would be done, I would simply respond with " I'll start cooking when I'm done helping you". Yes, we ordered a lot of take out this week. When I brought up our budget, he said that I should try to cook more. I laughed at him and told him that when I had more free time to cook, I'd be happy to. Then I asked him if he still needed me to admire how he organized him collection of hardware in the shed. He answered with showing me how he made room for a weight bench and spoke for a good hour on his plans to make us healthy. We had take out...again.
He is back at work. For now, I'm happy, but he will be out of town for a week and I know his lack of restraint this week will leave me strapped while he's gone. Ugh, the things a woman must do. Okay, I'll admit it. I miss him already. It was nice to get snuggles all the time. It was really nice to be able to take long showers and go potty in peace for as long as I liked. Oh, a five minute break is quite the aphrodisiac.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Chicken or the Egg?
Today Hubby is home. Apparently, he decided to take this week off to work around the house, kind of like a vacation, but not really. It was an unexpected surprise. I love having him home during the day. Unfortunately, I never get anything done when he is home. I tend to help him do what he needs to do and take care of the kids.
However, there was a moment so rare that I was lost in it. I was alone, with no worries of children. There was no open ear listening for crying, no open eye watching for unforeseen dangers. I walked my child to the bus stop and kissed him good-bye. On the way back to the house, I stopped to see if there were any eggs yet this morning. There were not. Later, after helping Hubby in the shed for a brief moment, I decided to check again.
The wind had picked up a bit by then and the crisp air felt good in my hair. I stood watching the hens. There were now three eggs. I had a feeling that one of the smaller ones was ready to lay. She was nesting in the corner by herself. My transgendered chicken was dusting him/herself. I call it transgendered because she was a hen. In fact, she was a very popular hen. She was the one that was fought over and mounted repeatedly. Yet, four days ago, she began to crow. Now, I suppose she is a he. He doesn't have the claw that the others have. I'm sure that it has some fancy name, but they are like daggers that sometimes rip right through a hens side. He is lacking those. When on of the other roosters tried to mount his favorite girl, she/he turned and attacked. She flew at him feet first and won. He is establishing himself among the men and doing quite well. This is probably because he is twice the size of the others, yet he is still very much a gentleman. Between my new found rooster and my largest hen, they keep the rest of the girls safe. If a rooster digs in enough for a hen to squawk, well that roo gets pecked and plucked pretty good.
When this new rooster was dusting, he was very close to those three eggs and burying them easily with all the dirt flying. My largest hen ran to sit on the eggs when she saw what was happening. She sat on them, none of which were hers, until the dusting stopped. She got flapped on and kicked and rolled on, but still she defended the young and did not once complain. She never moved. After the dusting, two more hens accompanied her. On squished her against the fence and the other sat on her, still she did not move. Finally when they all flapped each other crazy, they all scattered and what did I see? Three more eggs.
I found it weirdly intoxicating, watching the chickens for so long. It was only about ten minutes, but I never have ten minutes to do nothing but watch chickens. They all have their personalities and they all have their place. My two larges are hens. They are the most gentle of any chickens. These are the ones that protect the girls from the boys and the unborn from accidental loss. The tiniest one is the most beautiful and she is my escape artist. She digs out and the next smallest squeezes out after her. The second one runs until the kids no longer chase, then she waits at the pen door. It's funny, I never chase her and she doesn't run for me. The smallest rooster apparently has the biggest set. He is bold and defends his flock with all he's got. he's only about the size of a football, but boy does he have a Napoleon complex. That's alright though, the other roosters let him know just how low on the totem pole he is.
These chickens get over their spats in a split second. They protect the children, whose ever they may be, with their lives. They protect each other from danger. They argue, they fight, they snuggle and they teach each other. They are a family. Though none are actually related, they are a family.
My chickens gave me much more than eggs today. Today, I had a moment of peace, partly because Hubby was home to watch the kids, but mostly because I was enthralled by their intimacy and the intricacies of their relationships. It was like watching a soap opera. It was mesmerizing, truly. And I feel like a complete freak for even saying that out loud. Yet, it is true.
My favorite part is that I got to see three different hens lay an egg. Each one completely different from the last. I even got a pink egg. Who knew that could happen. I will consider this lovely pink egg and early Valentine's gift. Maybe I could sneak away for a few minutes every day Hubby is home. Maybe I shouldn't or I might be tempted to hatch some of these eggs. Lord knows they are fertilized.
However, there was a moment so rare that I was lost in it. I was alone, with no worries of children. There was no open ear listening for crying, no open eye watching for unforeseen dangers. I walked my child to the bus stop and kissed him good-bye. On the way back to the house, I stopped to see if there were any eggs yet this morning. There were not. Later, after helping Hubby in the shed for a brief moment, I decided to check again.
The wind had picked up a bit by then and the crisp air felt good in my hair. I stood watching the hens. There were now three eggs. I had a feeling that one of the smaller ones was ready to lay. She was nesting in the corner by herself. My transgendered chicken was dusting him/herself. I call it transgendered because she was a hen. In fact, she was a very popular hen. She was the one that was fought over and mounted repeatedly. Yet, four days ago, she began to crow. Now, I suppose she is a he. He doesn't have the claw that the others have. I'm sure that it has some fancy name, but they are like daggers that sometimes rip right through a hens side. He is lacking those. When on of the other roosters tried to mount his favorite girl, she/he turned and attacked. She flew at him feet first and won. He is establishing himself among the men and doing quite well. This is probably because he is twice the size of the others, yet he is still very much a gentleman. Between my new found rooster and my largest hen, they keep the rest of the girls safe. If a rooster digs in enough for a hen to squawk, well that roo gets pecked and plucked pretty good.
When this new rooster was dusting, he was very close to those three eggs and burying them easily with all the dirt flying. My largest hen ran to sit on the eggs when she saw what was happening. She sat on them, none of which were hers, until the dusting stopped. She got flapped on and kicked and rolled on, but still she defended the young and did not once complain. She never moved. After the dusting, two more hens accompanied her. On squished her against the fence and the other sat on her, still she did not move. Finally when they all flapped each other crazy, they all scattered and what did I see? Three more eggs.
I found it weirdly intoxicating, watching the chickens for so long. It was only about ten minutes, but I never have ten minutes to do nothing but watch chickens. They all have their personalities and they all have their place. My two larges are hens. They are the most gentle of any chickens. These are the ones that protect the girls from the boys and the unborn from accidental loss. The tiniest one is the most beautiful and she is my escape artist. She digs out and the next smallest squeezes out after her. The second one runs until the kids no longer chase, then she waits at the pen door. It's funny, I never chase her and she doesn't run for me. The smallest rooster apparently has the biggest set. He is bold and defends his flock with all he's got. he's only about the size of a football, but boy does he have a Napoleon complex. That's alright though, the other roosters let him know just how low on the totem pole he is.
These chickens get over their spats in a split second. They protect the children, whose ever they may be, with their lives. They protect each other from danger. They argue, they fight, they snuggle and they teach each other. They are a family. Though none are actually related, they are a family.
My chickens gave me much more than eggs today. Today, I had a moment of peace, partly because Hubby was home to watch the kids, but mostly because I was enthralled by their intimacy and the intricacies of their relationships. It was like watching a soap opera. It was mesmerizing, truly. And I feel like a complete freak for even saying that out loud. Yet, it is true.
My favorite part is that I got to see three different hens lay an egg. Each one completely different from the last. I even got a pink egg. Who knew that could happen. I will consider this lovely pink egg and early Valentine's gift. Maybe I could sneak away for a few minutes every day Hubby is home. Maybe I shouldn't or I might be tempted to hatch some of these eggs. Lord knows they are fertilized.
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