We had a beautiful day today! It was almost perfect. Woke up with the darling children; made a pancake breakfast; watched the gorgeous, large, puffy snowflakes float to the ground; all of the children cooperated with Husband and I as we made several trays of peanut blossom cookies.
Life was gorgeous... until nap time.
This might be the time to mention that today was also the day my husband chose to try to stop smoking. He had his last cigarette at 8:30am and started chomping away at Nicorette gum.
Perfect day ensues with my perfect children and my perfect life partner. Husband is generally the more even tempered and patient, stable parent. He goes cigarette-free and whoa there, cowboy! He turns into a daft, demented man lacking all sense of perspective.
I digress -- the perfect day is proceeding towards nap time. Suddenly, those four darling children went all Sybil - Linda Blair - Psycho on us as their parental units. We are taking heads swiveling, funky fluids flinging from orifices, multiple personalities switching out every few minutes. It was crazy. Needless to say, the Norman Rockwell picture-perfect day started to go down hill at break neck speeds.
Husband ended up needing a three hour nap while I dealt with non-napped two, three, and eight year olds. Our precious H was awesome and took a nap. (There is a God!)
As I enjoyed the day with my little lovelies, I looked forward to my pending escape at 5:30pm so I could join my sister, MJ, at the Monster Truck Jam.
Ah, yes! My dirty little secret... I LOVE the dirt, destruction, and mullet hair cuts of all my fellow red-neck, white trash monster truck lovers.
So, 5:30pm rolls around and I am whipping around the house, trying to leave and my Hubby walks up to me and says, "Honey?" [First indication that something odd is going to come out of his mouth.] "Will you go to THE STORE for me?"
"The Store" for my Hubby is code for only one of two things. 1)He is lacking Pepsi, or 2) he is lacking nicotine. Seriously?!
I have a very strict policy of never, ever, EVER purchasing those filthy cancer sticks for him. I guess Husband must have been excessively desperate to ask me to buy those awful things. Strict no-buy policy... Yet, I had pity on his retched soul and broke my rule. (Not to mention, I was a half hour late to pick up my sister for the absolute most phenomenal event of the year!) SIGH! I went to the gas station and picked up THOSE things.
Actually, truth be told... I was a weency bit afraid for Husband's sanity, as well as the children's safety, if he did not ingest large amounts of nicotine-induced smoke asap. After all, why should I be allowed to have all the fun?! I was about to ingest dirt, truck fumes, and antifreeze fumes, as I enjoyed the fabulous sound of revving engines or preferably crunching metal.
Life was gorgeous... until nap time.This might be the time to mention that today was also the day my husband chose to try to stop smoking. He had his last cigarette at 8:30am and started chomping away at Nicorette gum.
Perfect day ensues with my perfect children and my perfect life partner. Husband is generally the more even tempered and patient, stable parent. He goes cigarette-free and whoa there, cowboy! He turns into a daft, demented man lacking all sense of perspective.
I digress -- the perfect day is proceeding towards nap time. Suddenly, those four darling children went all Sybil - Linda Blair - Psycho on us as their parental units. We are taking heads swiveling, funky fluids flinging from orifices, multiple personalities switching out every few minutes. It was crazy. Needless to say, the Norman Rockwell picture-perfect day started to go down hill at break neck speeds.
Husband ended up needing a three hour nap while I dealt with non-napped two, three, and eight year olds. Our precious H was awesome and took a nap. (There is a God!)
As I enjoyed the day with my little lovelies, I looked forward to my pending escape at 5:30pm so I could join my sister, MJ, at the Monster Truck Jam.
Ah, yes! My dirty little secret... I LOVE the dirt, destruction, and mullet hair cuts of all my fellow red-neck, white trash monster truck lovers.
So, 5:30pm rolls around and I am whipping around the house, trying to leave and my Hubby walks up to me and says, "Honey?" [First indication that something odd is going to come out of his mouth.] "Will you go to THE STORE for me?"
"The Store" for my Hubby is code for only one of two things. 1)He is lacking Pepsi, or 2) he is lacking nicotine. Seriously?!
I have a very strict policy of never, ever, EVER purchasing those filthy cancer sticks for him. I guess Husband must have been excessively desperate to ask me to buy those awful things. Strict no-buy policy... Yet, I had pity on his retched soul and broke my rule. (Not to mention, I was a half hour late to pick up my sister for the absolute most phenomenal event of the year!) SIGH! I went to the gas station and picked up THOSE things.
Actually, truth be told... I was a weency bit afraid for Husband's sanity, as well as the children's safety, if he did not ingest large amounts of nicotine-induced smoke asap. After all, why should I be allowed to have all the fun?! I was about to ingest dirt, truck fumes, and antifreeze fumes, as I enjoyed the fabulous sound of revving engines or preferably crunching metal.
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