My Husband's New Nickname for Me . . .

Earlier this week while Hubby and I were eating breakfast, he said something like, "It's alright, Rear."

I asked him, "Did you just call me Rear?"

"Yeah," he said. "But I meant to say Dear."

"Oh, so now I've gone from being dear to being a rear. That's okay. I'll just call you Bum."

All this was said in good fun and after a good laugh (on my part -- one of my life's goals is to get my hubby to laugh out loud more. I've given up on getting him to laugh until he cries, but anything audible is a step in the right direction).

As I kissed him before heading out the door to substitute teach I said, "Have a good day, Bum. I'll see you when you get home."

Even a couple days later we've used the tongue-in-cheek nicknames a time of two. And it never fails to make us smile.

Who would've thought that calling your wife Rear or your husband Bum could be a marriage enriching moment?

Budgeting: Do what works for you

It's money management Monday, and today we'll be discussing everyone's favorite subject -- budgeting! Now, no sighs. No moaning. No pulling out your hair.

My message today is to know thyself.

As a visual aid I've scanned an account book that belonged to my great-great grandfather, John Andrew Kofoed. He kept the books for a blacksmith shop. I've included a sample page for Royal Crockett. I don't know who Royal was, but my grandfather's mother's family were Crocketts. Anyway, the point these visual aids are helping me make is this -- I have at least one ancestor who enjoyed keeping books. He also had great penmanship. Is it any wonder that I like to track money down to the penny? And I like to do it by hand. Sure, I make a form on the computer, but then I write down purchases and the amounts spent in the month by hand. Like great-great-grandfather, like great-great-granddaughter.

There are many ways to keep a budget. Some people like to use cash. They divide up the money for various budget categories into envelopes at the first of the month. Then they use the cash for purchases. They track their spending by watching the amount of cash that is left in the envelopes. When the cash is gone, it's time to stop spending.

Techno budgeters use Quicken or other brands of computer software to track monthly income and expenses. They can print out charts and graphs. I know women who track their budget using their bank accounts. Income is deposited into checking. They automatically transfer a set amount from checking to savings every month to cover long and short-term savings. What's left in checking is what the family has to spend for the month. When the account starts getting low, it's time to put the brakes on shopping and spending.

In some marriages, the husband does the bookkeeping. In our home, I do it. (I like to tell Hubby that he makes the money, and I spend it!) No matter who keeps track of the money, it's important that both husband and wife have a say in the family budget. Both should be aware of where the money is going. Honesty is the best policy.

How do you budget? Have you tried a method that didn't work for you? Do you know the financial state of your union?

Okay. That's it for money management today. To finish up today's post I have a couple domestic items to post. First of all, here is a recipe for a laundry treatment that removes the yellow underarm stains that deoderant often leaves on white shirts. (Think husband's Sunday dress shirts.) My friend Julie N. came across this on KSL's Studio 5. It orininated with USU Extention. Oh, and Julie says it works best for fresh stains. She also sprays it on ring-around-the-collar.

Yellow Under-arm Stain Remover

4 c. water
1 c. liquid laundry detergent
1 tsp. meat tenderizer.

Note: Julie cuts the recipe in 1/2 and puts the liquid laundry detergent and meat tenderizer in a 16 oz. spray bottle. She then adds water until the bottle is full. It's a little more concentrated than the original recipe, but she says it works. (I'll be trying it today.) Also, spray the stain remover on the offending shirt while a batch of laundry runs. Soak it good, being sure not to let the stain treatment dry. Then launder. Voila! White underarms.

I'm always looking for dinner ideas, and I thought you might be too. So I'm posting our family menu for the week. Be warned, it may just be a lie.

Two-wheeled Dating Activity . . .

Is your marriage or dating life in need of a little pick-me-up? I have just the thing for you . . . Wheel Barrow Polo.

Back in April of 2007 I wrote a post about a fun date night Hubby and I had been invited to. The highlight of the evening was the fast-paced and thrilling game of wheel barrow polo.

Ron and Nancy, the creative geniuses behind the new kind of polo game, also run a corn maze. We had so much fun playing wheel barrow polo, they figured that other couples would enjoy it as well, so they bought 12 two-wheeled wheel barrows and got set to offer it as an event down at their corn maze.

I wanted to get a bunch of friends and spouses together and play our hearts out down by the corn maze, so I called Nancy this morning about prices and times. She told me that wheel-barrow polo is off. Their insurance company said it wouldn't cover it. I am seriously bummed!

But, if you've ever wanted a two-wheeled wheel barrow, now is your chance. Nancy said they invested in heavy-duty ones with metal handles that will hold up to 550 pounds. (You and your spouse could both ride in it. But who would push you around?) I'm not sure if it's exactly like the one picture above, but you get the idea. They are for sale for $50. If you're interested e-mail Nancy: jensenrt@yahoo.com

But hurry. Now that the word is out about how fun wheel-barrow polo is (and the two-wheeled barrows offer the greatest competitive advantages) Nancy's inventory won't last long.

Advice for boys who play the piano in seminary class

I was just finishing up brushing my teeth when my husband told me something about himself that caused me to spew the water I was rinsing my mouth with all over the counter. He had been giving Bug advice on playing the piano in seminary class and shared his glory days of seminary piano playing.

“When they needed someone to play the piano, I’d raise my hand and say, ‘I’ll play. But I’m not really good at that song. I can only play the right hand.’ Then a girl would come sit with me on the piano bench to play the left hand.”

Hubby seemed pleased at being able to pass on a little fatherly advice to our son.

It Could Happen to You

Many things in life are a pain in the butt. Including toothpicks.

Sunday after church let out, Hubby finally arrived in the foyer and we headed to the car. I opened my door and sat down. And then screamed, “Aaaaah!”

My initial cry was followed by a series of wimpers, “Ow, ow, ow!” as I tried to remove whatever it was that was poking into my behind. (It felt like a darning needle.)

It was, in actuality, a toothpick. A round, pokey-ended toothpick. And as I sat down it went through my denim skirt, slip, and undergarments and into my derriere. (This is my first time typing that word, and I want you to know that I got it right!)

My hubby’s initial worried, “What’s wrong?” was soon followed by robust laughter. Lou, the only other occupant of the car, joined in too. And although still in pain, I saw the humor and chuckled a bit myself.

Upon arriving home Hubby and Lou were quick to share my mishap with Beans and Bug. Everyone thought it hilarious. But it was a nasty little poke and still stung. Just before retreating to my room and shutting the door I said, “I bet it drew blood.”

Sure enough, it did! I asked Hubby to come put a bandage on my behind. (That’s a first.) He thought that a little Neosporin would be a good idea too.

And that’s when I lost it. Hubby had to tell me to quit shaking (from laughter) so that he could put the bandage on. (It was difficult, but I finally held my breath and did it. It was Safety Man and Accident Girl at their finest.)

I soon got over the hilarity of the situation and was surprised at how long the pain lasted. I was still a little bit sore the next morning, but I’m happy to report that I’m doing fine now.

The incident did remind us of the time Bug had a diaper rash at age two. He was a firm believer in the kiss-it-better cure and went to his dad and said, “Daddy, my bottom hurts. Kiss my bottom.”

P.S. We have no idea how the toothpick got there. Our door were locked during services, and no one had any other leads.

Short Hair Thoughts . . .

I'm a short hair kind of girl. But I had "longer" hair when I nabbed my husband. And he likes long hair on women. Sometimes I wonder if he feels like I played bait and switch on him.

Of course I'm not worried enough about it to grow it out. In fact, I've learned a little nugget of information that might give some long-haired women pause.

One of the things rapists look for when choosing their victims is long hair. Especially pony tails or braids. The reason? It's something easy to grab onto that they can use to pull their victims into their vehicle. (This is in cases where the victim doesn't know the attacker.)

After I learned this tidbit of information I quizzed my husband. "Studies show that rapists almost never select victims with short hair. Why do you think that is?"

"Is it because they look like guys?" he responded.

Wrong answer! (He has mentioned that my hair sometimes reminds him of guy 'dos. Frankly, he's not really up on style. My hair is NOT a guy cut.)

The one consolation from the exchange? Hey, at least I know my hubby doesn't think like a rapist. (I knew that all along.)

Sappiest Writing Takes Place After Midnight

It’s a proven fact that the sappiest writing takes place after midnight. And my watch says 12:22 A.M. Plus I just finished watching a romantic movie (The Holiday). Plus my hormones are all out of whack (have been for years) so here it comes . . .

Here are just a few things that make my hubby the greatest man on earth . . . (And don’t worry Dear, I’ll try really hard not to say too many things that will embarrass you.)

When we were dating Safety Man wore contacts. The first time I saw him in glasses was after we were engaged and on a family trip up in Yellowstone. His lenses were HUGE! When his glasses slid down his nose, he could push them back up again by winking and using his cheek muscles. (So much for not sharing embarrassing information.) I wondered who, exactly, I had agreed to marry. Since then I’ve yet to meet anyone who can push their glasses up without using their hands. If you’re single and meet someone who can perform this feat, marry them. It’ll be worth it.

Safety Man can wiggle his ears. Nothing else moves, just his ears. It makes me laugh.

Growing up I wanted to find someone who was a hard worker like my dad. (What girl doesn’t idolize her father?) I especially admired my dad for his callused and hard-working hands. I was a little surprised to find that Safety Man (who grew up as Farm Boy) didn’t have calluses on his hands? The reason . . . He always wears gloves. Which makes perfect sense now that I’ve known him for 15 years. He’s cautious and careful. And it’s made all the difference.

He uses Cherry Ice lip balm. Makes for nice, soft lips.

We once took a literary honeymoon. All day. In bed. Reading books.

He’s righteous.

Honest.

True.

Chaste. (Once you consummate a marriage, are you still considered chaste?)

Benevolent.

He gets a little moody when the Jazz lose. (Translation – he’s even more quiet than usual.)

He wrestles and tickles the kids.

In the days before ceramic cook tops on stoves, he cleaned the drip pans. More than once. Without being asked.

He’ll always be a farmer at heart.

He once referred to me as a “low maintenance model,” and he meant it as a compliment.

We both breathe loudly when we sleep. (It’s not snoring. Despite what his sister might say after this summer’s family trip to the cabin.)

Even when I’m mad at him, I have never once lost my respect for him.

He tried my mother’s gravy at my dad’s urging.

He still wears the sweats that I bought him for Christmas in 1998. And although Linda once took a pair of scissors to the crotch of the old sweats her hubby used to wear, I have yet to follow her lead. They’re just not worn enough yet. Only a little hole in the knee. Maybe one of these days I’ll surprise him.

He’s very understanding when I have a hormone headache and take two Excedrins at 8 o’clock at night and don’t come to bed until after 1 A.M. (I promise, it won’t be much after one.)

In addition to being near-perfect, he also has enough odd-ball habits to keep him balanced: picking his toenails, not being able to find things he’s looking for, driving the speed limit, being prone to lecture.

He loves me.

Note: To my regular blog readers. (Hi, Nan!) You may not leave a comment unless you share at least one quirky reason that you love your spouse, or betrothed, or whatever.

The Nuts and Bolts of Nagging

Okay, so I was going to write a long, detailed piece about nagging. But who wants to read something long and detailed about nagging? No one.

Instead, I’ll give it to you straight. I’m making peace with nagging. I’ve taken a poll, and all wives nag. All mothers nag. Some more successfully than others. But no one wants to be a nag. I often catch myself doing something that’s really the duty of another member of our household simply because I’m tired of asking them to do it. But the thing is, if I continue repeating that action pattern, pretty soon EVERYTHING is mine to do.

So here’s the deal. Nagging is a good thing. But the key to successful nagging is all in the presentation – how you go about it. Timing is important. If you ask your child to do a job while they’re in the middle of an engrossing activity, they’re not going to want to do it. (This is a good reason to limit TV watching, video games, and other such distractions.) Keep your voice low when making your request. High-pitched requests are going to sound whiney and will be less effective. If your child (or husband) gives you flack, ask them when it would be a better time to do the job. Then set a timer. When it goes off, remind them of their commitment and be firm. Be cheerful. If you can make your request into a game, go for it!

A little organization goes a long way. A job chart is nothing more than nagging in writing. It communicates what’s expected without you having to say it. You’ll also have less verbal nagging to do if you make jobs a part of your family’s daily routine. At my friend Linda’s house, having their bed made is a prerequisite for getting breakfast. In our home the kids don’t get to play with friends or watch TV until their chores are done. There are times when they get sloppy in their duties or need reminding, but for the most part my kids complete all sorts of tasks every day without any reminders from me. (Having well-trained children is even better than having a well-trained dog.)

Think outside the box, or the chest of drawers, as the case may be. For a while I had a hard time getting Loula Belle to change her underwear every day. Each laundry day I’d tell her, “You only had three pairs of panties in the wash this week. That’s gross.” She didn’t seem to care. Eventually I left a note taped to her dresser that said, “Help! We’re suffocating in here! We’re your underwear, and we like to get out of this cramped drawer. Please wear a different one of us each day. We’d be so much happier. How about it? Help us get out and about!” It made Lou laugh and got my point across in a totally new way.

Gimmicks are good. Young kids like stickers. Older kids often go for cold, hard cash. Only you know what motivates your husband. If it works, do it.

I don’t have any studies to back me up, but I believe that mothers who are successful at nagging are happier than mothers who don’t nag at all. The non-naggers are the ones doing everything themselves, and that makes for lots of resentment.

Don’t become the grumpy cleaning lady. Embrace nagging. If you need to call it something else, borrow a term from my own mother. She calls it “spaced repetition.” I call it good communication.

Moments of Bliss

Don’t look now, but this is a "real" blog entry. By "real" I mean one that is fresh, not a re-run from the parenting columns I wrote seven to ten years ago. (Can it really have been up to 10 years ago that I wrote them? Wow.)

Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about bliss lately. Sometimes when I’m writing a card for a newly wed couple I like to say something like, "Best wishes on the road to wedded bliss." But what I’m really thinking is, Hold on! Keep one eye closed, and the other half shut. And other encouraging and realistic thoughts.

But just lately, I’ve found myself acknowledging that I really have found bliss. The paperback Webster’s dictionary that we use when playing boggle defines bliss as a noun meaning great happiness or spiritual joy. That sounds about right. But what it doesn’t say, and what it’s taken me so long to figure out is that bliss is not a destination. Got that? Bliss is not a destination.

You don’t wake up one morning to discover that your home is perfectly decorated, your children are near-perfect, your husband has overcome all his little quirks that have been niggling at you for the past 14 years. No, bliss isn’t any of that. Instead, bliss is found in perfect moments.

What, you ask, is a perfect moment? I’d like to share a few I’ve experienced lately.

Bliss is being in the kitchen and hearing Beans and her friend out in the backyard through the open window. They’re giggling in the pink princess tent that Beans has set up out there, and apparently something is so funny that Beans snorts while she laughs. Listening to happy children, that is bliss.

I know it’s going to sound hokey, but I’ve had moments of bliss while walking the dog. I’m not sure how much of it is because I’m walking Annie, and how much of it is being out in the wonders of creation. I think it has to be a bit of both. This morning, for instance, I was walking home from a quick visit at my mom and dad’s with the dog. As we got to the bottom of their street and were crossing the road, a shiny blue Mustang passed us. Although I have a fondness for fast cars, I found myself thinking, "If I had to choose between Annie and a new Mustang, I’d choose Annie." And remember, I love muscle cars. But apparently I love my dog more. I finished out the rest of my walk in bliss – realizing that I possess one of life’s great pleasures – a beloved dog.

Now back to the wonders of creation. Walking, even short walks around the block, give me a lift if only because of the beauty that’s right outside my door. Today it was a pair of Orioles streaking past. Although they’re done blooming now, the smell of Russian Olive trees in June always lifts my spirits. Ditto colorful sunsets. And drops of dew hanging from overgrown grass.

This past Friday our family attended a dinner at my husband’s work. All the tables in the shade were taken, so we sat in the sun. I noticed that my kids didn’t take much of the main dishes (Mexican fare), and that made me happy. It was gratifying to know that it’s not just my Mexican cooking that they don’t like. Oh, and dessert was individual-sized containers of Aggie ice cream. Eating Aggie ice cream is bliss. Watching your kids eat it is bliss. Sharing bites with your family, that’s bliss too.

As the capstone of the evening, my husband’s employer gave out passes for either mini-golf, bowling, swimming or a movie. We chose the movie and all went to Fantastic 4 – Rise of the Silver Surfer. And, you guessed it, bliss again. Not that the movie was ultra-great, but watching it together as a family was great. Sharing a common experience with kids and parents, one that we all enjoyed, that’s bliss. Kids not complaining that they’re bored – that’s bliss.

I guess you could say that bliss has caught me by surprise. I expected something with a little more fanfare. Maybe something more along the lines of winning the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. You know, Big Stuff. But that’s not bliss. And if it were, how many people would ever get to experience bliss? Only a few.

Fortunately bliss is an equal opportunity experience. Everyone can have it. We just have to recognize it as the small, sweet, perfect little moments that we live.

Wheel Barrow Polo and Marriage Enrichment

Need some ideas on how to add a little fun to your marriage? Take a page out of Ron and Nancy’s book and gather your friends for an evening of familiar games given a crazy twist.

Ron and Nancy are our neighbors to the back. A week ago my husband and I received an invitation from them to a date night for couples. All we knew was that we needed to bring a wheel barrow and two large garbage bags. I wondered if we were getting roped into some sort of yard clean up activity. What else could we use garbage bags and a wheel barrow for?

On Friday evening, we found out. Ten couples attended and were divided into two teams. It turns out that the garbage bags were for us to wear . . . while our blind-folded spouse fed us spaghetti, salad, garlic toast and our beverage. Keep in mind that it was a race. The men fed the women first, and although we needed to use a fork, some men simply used it to push the food from the plate into their wive’s mouths. Hubby and I took a more genteel approach but managed to finish in good time. We did great until it came time for him to help me drink my cup of water. I think more went down my shirt than down my throat.

After the women had successfully fed the men their dinner, we went outdoors to use the wheel barrows. . . not for work, but for an exciting game of wheel barrow polo.

Each woman selected a whacking stick (a plastic stick with a large foam hitting area covered with a sock) and then climbed into a wheel barrow. Her husband’s job was to cart her to where the foam ball was so she could hit it into her team’s goal.

I wish that I were more technologically gifted so that I could down-load the video from our match and post it on my blog. But, alas, I’m not. You’ll just have to use your imagination. Imagine ten men pushing ten wheel barrows with a woman wielding a stick at the helm of each. Some women, like me, were seated on their rears with their legs hanging over the front of the wheel barrow. Others knelt down. I liked to swing my stick from side to side during breaks in play while trying to make light saber sound effects. Susan, on the other hand, enjoyed holding her stick straight out as if she were a knight on a charging steed.

Joe and Lisa seemed to be the fastest couple. Someone would whack the ball up-field, and off Joe would go, pushing Lisa into excellent batting position. A couple time the wheel barrows collided. Jennifer has a bruise on her upper arm from where it smacked into an opponent’s wheel barrow while she was trying to whack the ball. Turning sharply was another problem. John tipped Cristyl over. Ditto Matt and DeeAnn. The only couple immune from tipping problems was Brian and Jennifer. They were equipped with the only 2-wheeled barrow on the field.

After 20 minutes of play, most of the men started slowing down a bit. And with good reason. Running up and down the field while toting your wife in a wheel barrow is hard work! Katherine was the first woman to switch positions with her husband. (Quinn had gotten her attention by lying spread-eagle on the grass and moaning.) Soon most of the other women followed her example and began toting their husbands around the field. This, of course, slowed the game down even more, and after only five minutes or so, most of the men had resumed the carrying responsibilities.

After over 30 minutes of playing time, the game ended in a tie. (Bruce may have been a bit disappointed as he tried anything and everything to win.)

Next we played three-legged California kick ball. Not only did we have to coordinate our running, but each couple had to use the legs that were bound together to kick the ball. Kevin and Susan played as if they’d been practicing being a three-legged couple for months. Joe and Lisa, on the other hand, provided the comic relief for the evening. After kicking the ball together, he went one way and she went the other. The most spectacular move of the night went to Ron and Raquel. While they were cruising in to score, they somehow got out of sync and fell head over
tea kettle. Jennifer said it looked like a rolling ball of arms and legs. Fortunately, only their pride was hurt, and they were able to get up and complete their run before the other team could hit them with the ball.

I can’t remember the final score for the night, but that’s okay. The main thing is that we all had fun. We laughed and laughed, took a few tumbles, maybe even got a few bruises, but everyone enjoyed an evening with their sweetheart that they won’t soon forget!

Pharmacy Patron of the Month

I just got back from the pharmacy. I was there yesterday as well, and during yesterday’s visit I referred to myself as their patron of the month. Well, as I walked in today, they remembered and asked, “How is our patron of the month?”

I just laughed. The folks there know me by name – without looking at the computer, written prescription or my check. In fact, on Monday when I went in to pick up the re-fills I’d called in earlier, the attendant had recognized my car and had them ready for me. I go there so much they even know my car. How embarrassing.

Those of you who read this blog already know I’m nuts, but you’re not the only ones. The pharmacy employees are on to me too. For years they’ve filled my prescriptions and been privy to almost as much information as my primary care physician. I think they may know more about me than my bishop does.

Anyway, today I felt especially chatty. I was talking with the pharmacist and bemoaning the fact that my husband never gets sick and hates to take pills even for a headache. I’ve finally gotten to the point that I’ve told him, “if you haven’t taken something for your headache, you can’t complain about it.” I went on to vent about my current pharmaceutical dependency just not seeming fair.

The pharmacist said, “Well, you sure seem perky today. Are you sure you really need these pills?” (They were anti-depressants.) I assured him that unfortunately my depression is chemically based, otherwise I’d happily give up the pills. He also got the shortened version of my “if you need medication, take it” talk. I briefly explained my pet peeve of people with depression trying to do anything about it except taking medication. “You know why I take medication?” I asked him. “For my family. I’m a whole lot easier to live with when I’m on medication.” Just for
kicks I finished up with, “And besides, if I have to take medication, everyone should have to.”

The pharmacist laughed, took a phone call and another employee finished helping me with my purchase. As I was walking out I thanked them. As an afterthought I added, “And my family thanks you.”

Really, when you think about it, being able to take the medicines I do is a blessing. If I’d have lived 100 years ago with my current health challenges, not only would I likely develop diabetes, but I’d be spending my best years as a thin-haired, ornery, uptight, overweight, nagging housewife. I may not have even been able to have children. Poor Hubby. And poor me.

As it is, my family only has to put up the with nagging and occasional monthly emotional outbursts. Do they realize how lucky they are?