Toilet Walking and Shower Sleeping: Fly on the Wall

  

Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, and I invite you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, at our writing desks, and in our worlds. Come on in, buzz around, see what we've been up to. Bet you laugh! 

Me (talking to myself, standing in the kitchen, looking in the fridge trying to figure out what to make for dinner tomorrow): Tomorrow is Friday.

Hubs (walking by): Tomorrow is Saturday.

Me: These days are so confused.

Hubs: I don't think that's the days, I think that's you . . .

Yeah, he's not wrong . . .

After dinner, Hubs and I were going to watch the Sox in the den. Hubs goes up to change his clothes, and I put the game on.

Me: Oh, you're a dirty, dirty boy.

Hubs (just walking into the room): Am I interrupting something?
Me: No, just talking a little dirt.

Hubs: I don't know whether to ask . . . or leave . . .

So, what actually happened is that a player had just slid into second base. And he was filthy. From head to toe, even jumping around pulling on his belt trying to release the dirt from down his pants, which really bothers the mom (and family clothes washer) in me.

We had picked out a new car and Hubs was going to pick it up. I was in the middle of baking when the car was ready, so he was going himself. He had really enjoyed his BMW SUV, but it was more trouble than it was worth at this point, so it was time to let it go.

When he walked out the garage door, I decided to rush out the front door and just watch the car leave for the last time. I waited and I waited, but he didn't come out. I peeked into the garage, and the car was there, so I hadn't missed him. 

Finally he started the car and pulled out of the garage. He had his phone to his ear so I figured that must be what took so long, he'd gotten a call. But when he pulled out of the garage and saw me, he had a strange look on his face. He opened his window, pointed to his phone and said he had been calling me.

So, yes, he was in the garage calling me . . . while I was in the driveway waiting for him.

Watching baseball again (yeah, we do that quite a lot). This particular pitcher didn't make use of most of the strike zone, almost all of his pitches were low.

Hubs and I were frustrated as one of the Sox batters swung at the first ball thrown, low, it was a strike. Second pitch he swung at was so low it was more like he was golfing than playing baseball.

Hubs: That was ridiculous, why swing at a pitch so low?
Me: Both of this pitcher's balls are low.

Of course, we both broke out laughing.

Hubs: Want to try that one again?

Me: Nope.

I was in the kitchen trying out my new recipe idea, a Strawberry S'Mores Galette, and Hubs went out front to do some weeding and trimming.

When I put the galette in the oven, I went out to talk to him. He wasn't in the front yard, but the rake and some clippings were there. He wasn't in the side yard, but the wheelbarrow was there. No sign of him on the other side of the house. Thinking he'd gone out back into the woods to drop off some limbs, I checked, but he wasn't there either. 

I looked all around the house again, but no luck. It was like poof, he'd just disappeared in the middle of working. Baffled, I went into the house. There by the garage door was his cell, so I couldn't call him.

I started to get worried, then I realized that, what the hell, if he's hiding, he'll eventually get hungry. And if aliens kidnapped him, they can feed him, and I've got the galette to myself.

So, win/win, right?

Strawberry S'Mores Galette

I'm not saying my writing is perfect, far from it. I've even relaxed a little personally, like starting sentences with "but," or "and." I don't like the term "Grammer Nazi," and although I find some of those mistakes tough to read without correcting in my head, Nazi isn't a term to be used lightly.

Even though I don't follow many of the sentence structure rules I grew up with, I pride myself on knowing when to use there, their, and they're, and cannot stand when an apostrophe is used when the word is plural, not possessive. {{sigh}}.

But the use of commas can be important too. Not just to me, but to the context of what you're saying. Sometimes, though, it's funny.

I was reading an ad for a beachfront home for rent, perfect for an extended family or multiple families to share. It was described as having 5 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, an outside shower sleeps 10, bedding included.

So . . . an outside shower that sleeps 10? That sounds awful . . . friendly.

Or is it 5 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, an outside shower (insert comma here), sleeps 10, bedding included. 'Cause there's a pretty big difference between those two sentences. Just sayin'.

 

Anyone else ever have a walking toilet?

Hubs was at work when I noticed, when walking into the bathroom, that the water was continuously trickling into the toilet. It wasn't running and flushing constantly, just kind of trickling. So I texted Hubs:

Me: I think there's something wrong with the toilet by the laundry room.

Hubs: Is it running? Can you turn off the water source until I get home?
Me: I don't think I need to do that.

Hubs: Well, I don't want it running all day.

Me: I wouldn't say it's running per se, more like just going for a brisk walk.

There was a kind of a long pause, then finally he answered.

Hubs: OK. I guess I'll take a look at the walking toilet when I get home.

Me: Sounds like a plan.

A semi retired husband requires some adjustment. But it's also brought about hindsight perspective. 

For years, I'd do the grocery shopping with babies and toddlers and it was not easy. One of the biggest challenges was the fact that they wanted . . . pretty much . . . everything. And, you know that once you got half of that stuff home they wouldn't touch it. Somehow, what's tempting in the store isn't necessarily so at home.

Shopping trips required both negotiating skills, and a whole lot of patience.

Then for years I could mosey down the aisles in solitary bliss.

Fast forward to now. Off to Aldi the other day and Hubs thought he'd come along. Yes, he drove to the store, got the cart, even followed along behind me so I could just throw what I wanted into the cart. Hmm, I can live with this.

And then, suddenly, he (and my cart) are wandering off on their own. And I'm dusting off those negotiating skills and patience, 'cause it seems (some) husbands want . . .  pretty much . . .  everything too. Ugh.

So we made a new family rule. OK, I made it, but as negotiations go, I thought it would work out.

I told Hubs that for every 5 items he wanted, he could pick one.  

Hubs shows up with 5 items in the cart:

Me: OK, so pick one.

Hubs: I already did.

Me: No, you took all five.

Hubs: No, I put back the other 20.

My rule may need a little tweeking . . .

I'm sure you know that Aldi has a shopping cart system different from most stores. The carts are lined up and locked. You put a quarter in the slot of the first cart, it releases the lock, and you take the cart.

When you leave, you bring the cart back, lock it back in, and you get your quarter back. Not a difficult concept.

So, when we get to Aldi, I give Hubs a quarter and he meets me inside with the cart. When we leave, I wait in the car as he returns the cart. I wait, and I wait, and I wait. What the hell?

Finally, he comes back to the car, obviously exasperated, and starts to leave.

Me: What's the matter?
Hubs: I owe you a quarter.

Me: Huh?

Hubs: I couldn't figure out how to get the quarter back.

Me: What do you mean?

Hubs: I pushed the cart back into the line, but no quarter came out. They should have directions or something.

Me: Were you recently electrocuted?

Yeah, I'm still using that line. And still thoroughly enjoying it.

Lately, I've been ending these posts on a more serious note, and I'm doing that today as well.

I grew up outside of Boston, but I live in the Midwest. I'm not happy here for a whole list of reasons, but the political and resulting social climate is top on the list.

Listen, I was disheartened, but had been here long enough not to be surprised at the trump yard signs in my own neighborhood. When trump lost his second election I was, but probably should not have been surprised to see "impeach Biden," yard signs in my neighborhood BEFORE Biden was even inaugurated.

And, of course, since that time things have gotten so much worse. It's not safe to admit to being gay, Jewish, of Hispanic descent.

As I'm sure you know, June is pride month. And I was so impressed to see, in a neighborhood of ignorance, bigotry, and lack of inclusion, something new pop up.

A small garden of hope in this morally barren state.

 

Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border

Strawberry S'Mores Galette

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

1 refrigerated pie crust (half of a package)

10 mini marshmallws

25 mini fruit flavored marshmallows

1/3 cup chocolate chips

4 strawberries, hulled and sliced

OPT: 1 tsp sugar

Directions:
*Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Roll out the pie crust on a piece of parchment paper to about a 12 inch circle. Move, on the parchment paper, to a baking sheet.

*Sprinkle the marshmallows over the crust to about 1 1/2 inches from the edges. Top with the chocolate chips, then the sliced strawberries. OPT: sprinkle with 1 tsp sugar.

*Bake for 25 minutes, allow to sit for 5 minutes. Slice and serve warm.