Homemaker of the Year

Let me start with this: Husband loves, just LOVES to read the newspaper from cover-to-cover in the morning, especially on Sundays, especially the Sports section. On Sundays he'll tuck away into our sun porch where he sips coffee and reads the entire local Austin paper and the Wall Street Journal. I know better than to mess with Husband's paper before he reads it. Even the dogs tiptoe reverently around Husband's paper. Nobody messes with Husband's paper.

Last Sunday I was in a frenzy trying to get our home ready to go on the market. We are going to close on a new house in a few weeks and will need to sell this one quickly which means that it must be immaculate. Feeling a burst of energy in 100+ degree weather, I grabbed the ladder and a squeegee and started vigorously washing the exterior windows. One window had a stubborn film that would not wash away no matter how many times I wiped it down with a sponge, so I got creative and went inside to grab some newspaper figuring that the newspaper ink might do the trick. The first paper I saw was the Sunday paper and I paused as I considered grabbing one of the sections but, since it was late afternoon, I figured that Husband had already read it. With this logic in place, I randomly grabbed the front page of a section and polluted it with window film and cleaning solution until it was in tatters.

Sidebar: late afternoon is *the* hottest time of day in Texas. What was I thinking washing the windows at this time? This is the time when all Texans become as soft as tea cakes and lounge around until dusk sets in and the air begins to cool off. No Texan in their right mind performs hard labor at this time of day.

That evening after a long, hard day of hauling our extraneous "stuff" to a storage unit, Husband collapsed on the couch as I began preparing dinner. I heard the newspaper rattling and didn't think much of it until Husband asked, "Honey--what happened to the front page of the Sports section?" I glanced up to see that indeed the front page was missing from the precious sports section. My mind flashed to the tattered paper in the trash can. "D-didn't you read it this morning?" I asked, buying time as my mind raced. "No," Husband replied. "The paper came late and I had to get all this work done around the house while the store were open so I didn't have time to read it." "Oh, well I um...(mumble mumble) washed the windows (mumble mumble) kind of ruined..."

Husband just gave me "that look" as he tried his best not to be mad at me. He succeeded. He's a sweet man, just don't ever tell him so.

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Later that same night as I continued to straighten the house...

"Husband, did you clean the Exersaucer?" I asked in delight. First of all, I never in my life thought I'd utter a sentence like that with such emotion, but there I was doing just that. Like probably all mothers, I have a love/hate relationship with the Exersaucer. I love how much Little Husband loves it. I love how cute and happy he is when he plays in it. I love how he hollers at and beats up and tries to eat the toys. That's where the loving stops.

I hate how big and garish it is. I hate how it takes effort to get Little Husband seated comfortably in it. I hate how that it has one million nooks and crevices that render it impossible to clean. This is significant because whenever LH is in The Big E, as I have now dubbed it, he spits up multiple times. My theory is that as he stands up and whirls around in the spinny-seat, he keeps bumping his tummy against the frame thus purging his most recent food intake. It's gross, my friends, I know, but that's motherhood.

Anyway, Husband looks up from the paper and admits, "I didn't clean the Exersaucer."

"You didn't?" I asked, confused, "That's so strange. It was practically coated in spit-up and now it looks like it's been through a car wash."

Husband thought for a minute. "You know, I did see Le Pooch Grande lurking around it earlier today..."

Dumbstruck, we looked at each other as the realization set in.

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In other news, Little Husband and I were snuggling in bed this morning--as we do most mornings--while he nursed. I guess I dozed off because all I know is that I was in the middle of a dream where I was hugging Husband tight and the next thing I know, I woke up to Little Husband pushing me off of him as if to say, “Mom—get offa me! Stop hugging me so tight!”

(Sigh!) I felt an apron string cut already...