Dirty Little Secret

Very early on in our relationship, Hot Guy rearranged my refrigerator. As all it contained was breakfast food, condiments and diet Pepsi, I didn’t really think much about it. If he wanted to bring food over and cook it for me, who was I to complain about the organization of my refrigerator? Besides, it was so cute how much interest he took in it.

Now, of course, I make breakfast and lunch for the kids and myself every day. A lot of times I have to make dinner (or, you know, an attempt at dinner) too. The refrigerator is usually full. So – and it was just a coincidence that Hot Guy was out of town – I rearranged the fridge and freezer the way I like it. I like to have things organized because my short-term memory is shot from lack of sleep. Sorting things by category allows me to find things quickly, which makes me happy. And cuts down on the whining. The kids appreciate quick service.

Anyway, now Hot Guy is back. And what did I discover on the breakfast shelf of the freezer this morning? Chicken nuggets. I mean, sure, the kids probably WOULD eat them for breakfast. But they don’t. The chicken nuggets had been on the meat shelf. With the other meat. Like should be put with like. In rows. With the oldest ones in the front. Because that’s what makes sense, right? RIGHT?

Already his expensive Parmesan has moved from the cheese shelf to right in front of the yogurt.

I think his system can be summed up as, “Wherever I can put it quickly”. He says it has to do with being a cook. Either way, it means that stuff gets forgotten as it winds up in the back. And you always have to move stuff out of the way to get what you want. And it just looks messier. Not that he seems to care. He has absolutely no respect for my system.

So, which one of us is the problem here? Do you have an organized fridge? Or do you think I’m weird?

When Garmin Girl did not lead us directly to the interstate, I didn’t say anything. After all, we already know that I have issues with the GPS, plus driving around all of these speeding old people makes Hot Guy annoyed enough without my helpful suggestions.

I also kept my tongue when Garmin Girl had us bypass the interstate completely. Just because the ad for the outlets had stated its interstate exit did not mean that the interstate was the best way for us to get there. Still, I began to worry. Garmin Girl is not known for sensible alternatives to the highway, after all.

We drove farther and farther into the Gulf Coast’s interior, which seemed to me a logical place for an outlet mall. Land would be cheaper and no one would be distracted by a good view. It sort of looked like Kansas with palm trees. Except soon there were less shopping centers. My mother was the first to voice her concern about our location. By that time, though, we were nearly there.

Or so Garmin Girl said.

Garmin Girl felt that the outlet mall was on the dirt road to the right. Not even the paved version of the road on the left, not for Garmin Girl. That’s when I thought about Dad programming the GPS for us. And how, of course, you have to program the town before you can program the street name. I asked Hot Guy if Garmin Girl would search for a street name in the nearby towns too.

Apparently Garmin Girl is not able to that, she searches one town only. Get the wrong town and you wind up at the end of a dirt road surrounded by swampland. Which mom and I were totally open to exploring, but Hot Guy and the kids not so much. So, while I did find the correct route to the correct place on Garmin Girl, we mostly followed MY directions to get to the outlets.

Because unlike Garmin Girl, I can synthesize information. And use logic.

Thankfully, Hot Guy finds these skills sexy.

I got my haircut yesterday. Thanks to my great fear of pregnancy/post-partum hormones and hair decisions arising from them(at least I learned from the dye job that made me look like a goth after I had Ironflower), I have not had a haircut since July. Except for the bangs I cut myself in September (hormones + stress = I’m convinced I can fix my own hair problems). Anyway, my hair had gotten quite long. Hot Guy LOVES long hair – and doesn’t notice things like split ends or style when the hair is long – so I felt slightly bad chopping it off. But only slightly.

Besides, I didn’t chop it ALL off. Just about four inches (my hair grows really fast). So now it’s shoulder length and layered to encourage the wave and all that. I actually kind of like it now. But I was a little worried about what Hot Guy would think, since he’s such a big fan of long hair.

When I got home, he said it looked good. But as we talked (and I confessed to buying product too) I realized that he looked slightly . . .guilty. Shifty. Not happy. I started questioning him. Finally he admitted, “You’ll be mad if I tell you what I really think.”

I was kinda surprised. After all, it wasn’t like it was truly short. But since I was sure it was cute I knew I could handle his opinion, no matter how bad it was. I told him to tell me the truth.

“I can’t tell the difference, ” he said fearfully. He then went on to explain that since I wear it back so much and since it always “looks nice” when I wear it down. . . well, it just didn’t look any different to him.

“But I cut off FOUR INCHES!” I exclaimed. He nodded and looked at me as though expecting a blow. I wasn’t mad, though – I was just relieved that he didn’t want me to grow it out again. Okay, and a little shocked at his lack of observational powers.

The shock and relief may have turned to a little bit of frustration when he went on to explain that he doesn’t really notice whether I’m wearing make-up or not. “WHAT?” I said, possibly quite loudly. I’m very pale. My skin is uneven. I have straight eyelashes. I look A LOT better when I put on make-up. The difference is palpable. The comments from other people on how rested or not rested I look correlate WAY more to how much make-up I have on than to how much actually sleep I have gotten.

Hot Guy, possibly feeling more confident because I wasn’t acting mad, went on to explain that I always looked fine – and the same – to him. Though he did make sure to point out that I did look especially nice when we got dressed up.

I’m not sure what to do with this information. Although it’s caused me to realize – as I put on concealer and blush this morning – that I definitely don’t do these things for my husband’s benefit. (Since he doesn’t EVEN NOTICE) It’s so empowering to know that I style my hair and do my make-up for me. . .isn’t it?

My love/hate relationship with Halloween started when I became a teacher. Because while there’s a certain joy in watching the kids have fun, organizing the party and the parents and the changes in routine and dealing with the sugar rushes. . .well, it’s a lot of work. Of course, for most of the years I taught I was able to recover from the day by going out and getting drunk or by curling up with a book.

Stupidly, I somehow thought that Halloween as a parent would be easier. Or, at least less stressful. It was, until last year. And this year? We had school celebrations on two different days, one indecisive about costumes, one still having a hard time wearing his, sugar highs, trick or treat demands. . .oy. (I’m sure being freaking full term pregnant also had something to do with this year’s stress)

By the time I got them to bed last night – yes, I, Hot Guy and his just briefly in town brother had escaped to the city an hour before – I thought I was going to become a parent who spanks. I would give them a direction and it was like I was speaking to them in Chinese. Or like I was actually mute. Or that they were deaf. Or. . .er, you probably understand what I’m saying. Anyway, I have seen my children hyper and over-tired before, but never that far gone. I seriously thought I was going to have to tie them down to get their pajamas on.

It’s a good thing that they’re so cute.

I think this was the first time Lovebug really got Halloween. We actually got him to wear his costume this year – even if it required many, many reminders of the “no costume, no celebration” variety. (Something that the trio of middle schoolers who showed up at my door at 9:30 last night need to hear as well, I think) And he went along with his class quite well. But when his class sang for all the adoring parents? Lovebug seemed to think his job was to observe. Ironflower did the same thing the next day when her class sang. It’s so weird. My kids are not shy. They love to sing and get attention. But while their respective classes were performing, they just stood there. We couldn’t even get them to smile.

Oh well, at least they had fun otherwise. And I’m sure my back and feet will recover soon. Probably after Tuesday (when my c-section is scheduled, thankyougod). I told everyone that my costume was that I was pregnant with triplets. Hot Guy wore his pirate hat, Ironflower was Cinderella and Lovebug was Thomas the Tank Engine.

What were you and yours for Halloween?