One of Juni's favorite things is the human anatomy. Boobies and balls, in particular. We're working on learning that 1. boobies are for babies, and 2. Juni is not a baby.
I leave the balls to Jasen, and this is what I'm left with:
1. We're eating sushi with Jasen and my sister. Juni comes back from the bathroom with my sister and announced that he has balls and his aunt does not have balls. Then he continues to point to each patron in the restaurant, stating whether or not each person has balls.
2. Juni, Jasen and an older friend of Jasen's are riding in a truck. All are in the front seat when Juni points out that: I have balls. My daddy has balls. My daddy has big balls. I have little balls.
Argh....
Disclaimer: Yes I realize sitting in the front seat of a truck is not smart. But they were at a borrow pit going about one mile an hour and about 50 yards...
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
My Redneck Husband
People tell me I could write a book about Jasen, my husband. They're right.
We dated in high school for a while. I was head-over-heels, I'm not sure what he was besides a man-slut. So I got dumped, and moved on. I went to college, then grad school. Long story short, I was dating a wonderful man, and was for the most part content to move out his way after graduation.
That was, of course, until Jasen got my number from my parents and called me out of the blue one day. My parents were married for 29 years and divorced. My poor dad was at home alone on Valentine's Day, and I made the trip up to visit him. I made a side-trip to visit Jasen. That was pretty much it.
I broke off my relationship, turned down a great job, and moved home after graduation. We were engaged within six months and married within a year.
It's a great love story, and we have a great love. But we're polar opposites. As I remember stories that are worth telling, I'll post them. Here are a few:
Dreams of Chicken Fingers
When my husband proposed I initially wanted planning the wedding to be a joint venture. That thought didn't last more than 10 days. I had dreams of elegance and taste. He did not.
We joined a married couple for dinner at a local restaurant one night and began talking about ideas for the reception. In my eyes I envisioned candlelit tables, chocolate-covered strawberries, shrimp, steak, the regular fare for a wedding.
Jasen turned to me and said "I want chicken fingers." Chicken fingers? At my wedding? The big event ceased to be for both of us in that instant.
I just couldn't bring myself to have chicken fingers at my wedding. I couldn't get the thought of Jasen with honey-mustard sauce dripping from his tux out of my head.
Look what I caught, Babe
Our kitchen floor is constantly covered with mud, grass seed and straw from Jasen's boots. I've come to realize that a clean house just isn't in the cards for us. Dirt is inevitable in the country and his line of work.
For the first six months of our marriage I bitched and moaned every afternoon about him wearing his boots in the house. When nagging failed to do the trick, I went on strike. I didn't sweep, mop or vacuum for seven days.
I'm sure Jasen noticed, but he never said a word. I gave up and decided to end the strike but keep up the bitching. It's three years later and he still wears his boots in the house.
The mud reaches its peak during February and any other day that it rains. Jasen doesn't work much in the rain, so he's usually messing around at the barn or with equipment.
One rainy day in June, when our son was almost four months old, I heard the door squeak open. I walked downstairs, hoping to stop him from waking the baby. There stands my husband, dripping wet with the bottom six inches of his jeans caked in mud.
He was balancing in the doorway, trying to keep his boots off of the white kitchen tile, holding the oldest, most rusted coffee can I have ever seen.
"Babe, come here and look what I caught," he said to me.
Okay, so I'm thinking there is no way in Hell I'm going to put my face anywhere near that can. You couldn't pay me enough at this point. For all I know there's a snake, frog or some other type of slimey creature waiting to hiss at me.
He smiles mischievously and promises me there's nothing disgusting in his can. I tell him take it outside and I'll look. So here I am, peering into this coffee can, looking straight into the eyes of an extremely pissed off crawfish.
Apparently this crawfish was playing in a puddle, minding his business when Jasen decided to scoop him up, into the can. We eat crawfish all the time - it's one of our favorite special meals. Jasen wanted to show me what one of the little buggars looked like alive.
The humor of this encounter wasn't so much that Jasen brought me a crawfish, which he subsequently put back in the puddle, but that I saw the next 10 years flash before my eyes. Once Jasen Jr. begins walking, there's no telling what he will have in that coffee can on a rainy day, smiling mischievously and saying "mom, come look what dad and I caught."
My Steak and Potato Man, Hold the Potato
Steak is Jasen's favorite meal. I've known this since we were 15. Now this is not to say that Jasen doesn't like other types of food. The boy will eat anything. He could eat nails and his stomach would take it in stride.
And he'll try just about anything. He ate chitlins at my granddaddy's party once. Granted, he tasted those chitlins for three days from indigestion and swears he'll never eat one again, but he tried them. He love turnips. I don't like the taste of turnips or the smell of his gas after he eats them, but he grows them every year nonetheless.
He also loves sushi. My family introduced him to sushi when we were teenagers, We took him to a Japanese steakhouse, and he ordered the largest meal on the menu. He then proceeded to scarf down the remnants of my entire family's meal. We eat sushi several times a month now.
But regardless of his love for anything almost edible, his first love remains steak.
Like all new fathers, Jasen wants his son to love the same things. Jasen Jr. wasn't more than two weeks old when my husband turned to me one night and asked straightfaced, "honey, when can Junior have steak?" I laughed, but this obviously was not a funny to Jasen. He was completely serious about the subject of feeding our infant son steak.
I explained that Jasen Jr. would drink milk for the first few months and nothing else, and then he'd start cereal. I told him that he could begin eating more solids between six and nine months, but that even then, the meat was more like mush than anything else.
Jasen was crushed. I actually caught him dabbing steak sauce on our son's lips one night when he was three months old. Starting him off right, he explained when I freaked out.
Stay tuned for:
The Whole World is his Toilet
The Worst Pick-up Line: Did I Crap my Pants?
You Smell Like Chicken Poop
We dated in high school for a while. I was head-over-heels, I'm not sure what he was besides a man-slut. So I got dumped, and moved on. I went to college, then grad school. Long story short, I was dating a wonderful man, and was for the most part content to move out his way after graduation.
That was, of course, until Jasen got my number from my parents and called me out of the blue one day. My parents were married for 29 years and divorced. My poor dad was at home alone on Valentine's Day, and I made the trip up to visit him. I made a side-trip to visit Jasen. That was pretty much it.
I broke off my relationship, turned down a great job, and moved home after graduation. We were engaged within six months and married within a year.
It's a great love story, and we have a great love. But we're polar opposites. As I remember stories that are worth telling, I'll post them. Here are a few:
Dreams of Chicken Fingers
When my husband proposed I initially wanted planning the wedding to be a joint venture. That thought didn't last more than 10 days. I had dreams of elegance and taste. He did not.
We joined a married couple for dinner at a local restaurant one night and began talking about ideas for the reception. In my eyes I envisioned candlelit tables, chocolate-covered strawberries, shrimp, steak, the regular fare for a wedding.
Jasen turned to me and said "I want chicken fingers." Chicken fingers? At my wedding? The big event ceased to be for both of us in that instant.
I just couldn't bring myself to have chicken fingers at my wedding. I couldn't get the thought of Jasen with honey-mustard sauce dripping from his tux out of my head.
Look what I caught, Babe
Our kitchen floor is constantly covered with mud, grass seed and straw from Jasen's boots. I've come to realize that a clean house just isn't in the cards for us. Dirt is inevitable in the country and his line of work.
For the first six months of our marriage I bitched and moaned every afternoon about him wearing his boots in the house. When nagging failed to do the trick, I went on strike. I didn't sweep, mop or vacuum for seven days.
I'm sure Jasen noticed, but he never said a word. I gave up and decided to end the strike but keep up the bitching. It's three years later and he still wears his boots in the house.
The mud reaches its peak during February and any other day that it rains. Jasen doesn't work much in the rain, so he's usually messing around at the barn or with equipment.
One rainy day in June, when our son was almost four months old, I heard the door squeak open. I walked downstairs, hoping to stop him from waking the baby. There stands my husband, dripping wet with the bottom six inches of his jeans caked in mud.
He was balancing in the doorway, trying to keep his boots off of the white kitchen tile, holding the oldest, most rusted coffee can I have ever seen.
"Babe, come here and look what I caught," he said to me.
Okay, so I'm thinking there is no way in Hell I'm going to put my face anywhere near that can. You couldn't pay me enough at this point. For all I know there's a snake, frog or some other type of slimey creature waiting to hiss at me.
He smiles mischievously and promises me there's nothing disgusting in his can. I tell him take it outside and I'll look. So here I am, peering into this coffee can, looking straight into the eyes of an extremely pissed off crawfish.
Apparently this crawfish was playing in a puddle, minding his business when Jasen decided to scoop him up, into the can. We eat crawfish all the time - it's one of our favorite special meals. Jasen wanted to show me what one of the little buggars looked like alive.
The humor of this encounter wasn't so much that Jasen brought me a crawfish, which he subsequently put back in the puddle, but that I saw the next 10 years flash before my eyes. Once Jasen Jr. begins walking, there's no telling what he will have in that coffee can on a rainy day, smiling mischievously and saying "mom, come look what dad and I caught."
My Steak and Potato Man, Hold the Potato
Steak is Jasen's favorite meal. I've known this since we were 15. Now this is not to say that Jasen doesn't like other types of food. The boy will eat anything. He could eat nails and his stomach would take it in stride.
And he'll try just about anything. He ate chitlins at my granddaddy's party once. Granted, he tasted those chitlins for three days from indigestion and swears he'll never eat one again, but he tried them. He love turnips. I don't like the taste of turnips or the smell of his gas after he eats them, but he grows them every year nonetheless.
He also loves sushi. My family introduced him to sushi when we were teenagers, We took him to a Japanese steakhouse, and he ordered the largest meal on the menu. He then proceeded to scarf down the remnants of my entire family's meal. We eat sushi several times a month now.
But regardless of his love for anything almost edible, his first love remains steak.
Like all new fathers, Jasen wants his son to love the same things. Jasen Jr. wasn't more than two weeks old when my husband turned to me one night and asked straightfaced, "honey, when can Junior have steak?" I laughed, but this obviously was not a funny to Jasen. He was completely serious about the subject of feeding our infant son steak.
I explained that Jasen Jr. would drink milk for the first few months and nothing else, and then he'd start cereal. I told him that he could begin eating more solids between six and nine months, but that even then, the meat was more like mush than anything else.
Jasen was crushed. I actually caught him dabbing steak sauce on our son's lips one night when he was three months old. Starting him off right, he explained when I freaked out.
Stay tuned for:
The Whole World is his Toilet
The Worst Pick-up Line: Did I Crap my Pants?
You Smell Like Chicken Poop
Running down the Driveway, Chicken in Hand and Toddler in Tow
I thought it would be a good to take my favorite chicken, Gladys, on a little field trip. Juni could learn about what chickens eat, and I could enjoy the weather. We decided the best place for this trip would be the back yard, where I could pick up the bricks that border the flower beds and Juni could find bugs. Juni and I walked down the driveway to the chicken pen, a carried her back up to the house.
Problem was that it was windy outside, and the inflatable bouncer was still out from the Easter egg hunt. The bouncer was high-tailing it down the driveway, headed toward the road. So I started to run, chicken in hand, and Juni in tow. Gladys was flapping her wings, screeching in my ear, while I hauled the bouncer back up to the house and stuffed it into the garage.
That was my exercise for today.
Problem was that it was windy outside, and the inflatable bouncer was still out from the Easter egg hunt. The bouncer was high-tailing it down the driveway, headed toward the road. So I started to run, chicken in hand, and Juni in tow. Gladys was flapping her wings, screeching in my ear, while I hauled the bouncer back up to the house and stuffed it into the garage.
That was my exercise for today.
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