Dirt and Water

Mother’s day typically coincides with my birthday because I was actually born on Mother’s day. See, I was a giver at birth.

I mentioned to husband how lucky he is that this year my birthday didn’t fall on Mother’s day weekend with this being LB’s first Mother’s day outside the womb and all. Husband just looked at me like he no longer understood the English language and I should have said that sentence in Yiddish. I’m sure this is only because he conveniently blocked out the memory of last year’s mother’s day / birthday weekend debacle.

I am married to a man who in all honesty is a better person than me. Even though I woke up on Mother’s day to no breakfast in bed and came downstairs to both boys engrossed in watching the X-Men movie with no breakfast cooking, and even though I got the same gift I’ve gotten the last three gift giving occasions…I DID get a leaky bathroom faucet fixed and the basement floor vacuumed.

Reasons why getting the leaky faucet fixed and basement floor vacuumed is better than breakfast in bed:

…well, maybe not better. Seriously I’d be doing two of my three favorite things in one place, sleep and eat, it would be Xanadu, only not the Olivia Newton John kind of Xanadu…

Getting the leaky faucet fixed-
I don’t even know how long the bathtub in our guest bath has leaked. I just know that I would go in there and see that LB’s baby tub was full of water and swear I’d emptied it the night before.

Once I realized it was filling up from the leak, I instantly thought of all those children in Africa who don’t have clean water to drink while I’m letting it drain by the gallon. Immersed in shame, I go directly to YouTube to figure out how you fix a leaky faucet.

Husband, who is obviously picky about what memories he blocks out, didn’t block out the memory of my last plumbing endeavor…the one where I flooded the bathroom while changing a valve WITHOUT turning off the main (who knew taking the old one off would burst water out so fast it would leave me no time or strength to put the new one on) (you’d think I could live that one down…but Father-in-law likes to keep the memory alive…at every opportunity…he is such a blessing.) husband decides to take matters into his own hands and fix the faucet himself.

So husband proceeds to get plumbing 101 from Father-in-law on the phone and disassemble the faucet.

I on the other hand am feeding LB and making funny faces at him when husband comes down stairs holding his hands like a surgeon who just spent the last twenty minutes sterilizing his hands and is ready for gloves. They are actually covered in Vaseline.

     Me: Is that Vaseline on your hands?

     Husband: Yes, will you get out my phone and hit redial?

     Me: Why do you have Vaseline all over your hands?

     Husband: It’s complicated…I couldn’t get the part to fit. I need to call my dad        
     back.

     Me: Why don’t you just go wash your hands?

     Husband: Seriously? The water is off.

     Me: Oh. Of course…I forgot. Can’t you use a rag?

     Husband: Really?

     Me: Fine.

I make a show of moving LB and readjusting so I can take his phone out of the holster and hit redial when really this might be the greatest effort I’ve made all day.

When he’s all done and the faucet is actually fixed and not leaking anymore, husband takes me upstairs to show off his handy work like a cat that just scored two mice and chipmunk. He’s proud of his freshman plumbing effort and I can sleep at night knowing we aren’t wasting water.

I wasn’t really losing sleep over the losing water bit; it was the sound of the drip keeping me up.

Getting the basement vacuumed –
I have a bike on a trainer in the basement so I can ride indoors, which is nice except the tires on the bike have dirt on them, so when I ride the dirt on the tires flecks off and hits the wall. I see this as no big deal…I just wipe the dirt off the wall and it accumulates on the floor. It’s been like this for months. Months.

Now I’m not one to be bothered with lugging the vacuum down the stairs and playing wrestle mania with the nineteen different attachments it will take to suck up the dirt from all the various crevices it has found its way into.

I let the cleaning lady do that.

Husband confirmed on Mother’s day morning that the cleaning lady does in fact only give the house the ‘appearance of clean.’ Seeing as how the floor and wall have been accumulating dirt for months…like since Christmas…one would gather that eating off our floors is ill advised.

When I walked down to see what was causing the sweet aromatic scent from our basement, I see husband (vacuum attachment in hand) who says to me, “Something is on this floor…it almost looks like bugs have eaten through the floor.”

Honestly, for a split second I thought…does he really need to know? Why tell him I’m the culprit and shatter his misconception that I’m the perfect woman. Especially on Mother’s Day. The day I’m to be adored for my super human powers.

In the end, I confessed.

Oddly, he didn’t seem surprised. I’m sure he was just masking his pain. Not to mention he had all those attachments to reassemble and a vacuum to lug up the stairs.

I don’t know how he’ll top Mother’s day weekend when we get to Birthday weekend. He’s fixed everything that needs fixing and I haven’t let dirt accumulate anywhere else. That’s if you don’t count the massive amounts of hair clogging my sink and the protein shake that spilled in my car.

OMG I need nose plugs and a gas mask to drive.

What I'm Going To Be For Halloween This Year

This is an actual conversation between husband and me while driving. In a car.

Me: Blah, blah, blah (I don’t remember this part)…I hope they feature The Edge.

Husband: (Funny look) Who is The Edge?

Me: (A look of shock and disdain…well, as shocked and disdained as a person can look with their mouth wide open) You don’t know who The Edge is? Really? How is that possible?

Husband: (Who has resumed singing country music) I don’t know. I’m sure my life is incomplete, but that doesn’t change anything. I still don’t know who The Edge is.

Me: He is only the greatest known guitarist, keyboardist and back-up vocalist for the greatest Irish band ever. EVER. He’s also a human rights activist, a philanthropist and an all around great guy. (Not to mention sexy in a rugged bad boy kind of way…not that I’ve noticed…people have told me, but I left that out.)

Husband: Um, still have no clue.

Me: Oh my God. Do I have to spell it out?

Husband: Apparently.

Me: He is the guitarist for U2. You DO know the band U2 right? Please tell me I don’t have to explain that.

Husband: Oh. I only know Bono from U2. I’m not really a fan of their music.

Me: (Stunned into silence.)

Husband: (Resumes singing country music.)

Long Pause…

Me: Let me ask you this. Do you know who The Situation is?

Husband: (Sees where this is going) Yes. But I only know who The Situation is because Nancy (little sister’s husband) was going as him for Halloween last year.

Me: (Satisfied smirk on my face, I’m all like ah HA...Seriously I should have been a courtroom lawyer, see how I lured him in? I’m like a navy seal in my clandestine nature) So, you are telling me you know who some pop culture reject on some reality b-television waste of air time crap is but you don’t know one of the greatest music icons of our time? Well that settles it. Apparently, I will have to go dressed as The Edge next Halloween just so YOU can be educated on finer musical stylings and historic icons who put rock on the map and made it an art. I will do that if it means you’ll learn a little more about true musical talent and get out of this country music hell. I would do that for you. Because I love you. (Like I’ve said, I’m a giver.)

Husband: Wow. That was a little dramatic. Perhaps there is a spot for you on Jersey Shore. (Resumes singing country music.)