marriage – Tough Bananas

Tricks, for sure.

Our house is going to get egged this Halloween, of that I am certain.

No, we remembered to take down our Christmas lights (eventually). And no, we haven’t forgotten to bring in our garbage bins. To the best of my knowledge no one in our household has started any feud recently.

But for sure we are going to get egged.

It goes back to November 1 of last year. That’s the day my husband went candy shopping for this year. He was pretty pleased with himself and the deals he found. And we have patiently stored his haul for 364 days. He hid it in a shopping bag at the back of our storage closet, which is overkill – no one was scheming to sneak some of that candy.

When I was a kid, stumbling upon the house that gave out full-size chocolate bars was like winning the lottery. The only thing better was the neighbour who handed out cans of pop, but that’s another story for another day. I dreamed of the day that I would be the grown-up making Halloween dreams come true and be the house that everyone flocked to because FULL SIZE BARS, GUYS. Some dreams do not come to fruition.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for buying post-Halloween candy on the cheap, but let’s be very clear, in no way is it to save for a full year. Nope – that candy is what gets me to Christmas break, plain and simple.

AND THIS IS WHY WE ARE GOING TO GET EGGED AND WE DESERVE IT.

There is a reason this candy was deeply-discounted. It is the worst. It’s not good the first time around, let alone after a year of sitting in our basement. Actually, I believe all the molasses kisses were made back in 1943 and the company has just been trying to unload them on people like my husband, my mom, and one person on the staff where I work. They are the only people I have ever met who choose molasses kisses over other candy options. Also I suspect they might be robots. Or aliens.

Dubble Bubble gum tastes stale when it’s fresh out of the wrapper. Did you know it can get even staler? It can. It did. I think I’ll keep a few handfuls to launch a counter-attack to the inevitable band of youth who will be pelting our house with eggs.

Rockets. They are just a sadder version of Sweet Tarts. Rockets taste like if Sweet Tarts were bullied: powdery defeat.

My well-intentioned and budget-conscious husband insists that these candies are “fine” and that “free candy is free candy”. To humour him, I offered samples of them to our boys and their friends. Surprisingly, the Dubble Bubble rallied briefly and was chewable. But ultimately it gave up it’s flavour within moments (not a surprise BECAUSE IT’S DUBBLE BUBBLE).

The molasses kisses were met with mixed reviews. The neighbour kid said it tasted find, but ended up spitting it out (see?). And one of my sons described them as “not that bad. Like a better version of a raisin.”

I rest my case.

Please send me your cleaning tips for removing eggs from bricks.

Behold, portable angst in a seasonal wrapper.

No, Really, What’s That Smell?

I live in a house with four sons. It is loud and fun and chaotic. At any time you might find a pair of socks on the counter, paper airplanes in the light fixtures, or Lego pieces on the steps. Mostly I embrace these reminders of the high level of testosterone in our home. I don’t really know any different from my life with five males and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

EXCEPT.

Except the smell. We have tried to teach them manners and overall I think we have done okay. Then we have a run of “toilet humor days” and I feel like I’m failing. The gas is overwhelming and no amount of gentle and not-so-gentle reminders shuts down the flatulence.

This weekend was one of those weekends. We were in line for a live Nativity show and I thought a lamb was loudly bleating only to discover it was a massive belch from one of my offspring. While I was impressed with his sheer volume and pitch, I doubt Mary and Joseph were in awe (or the other patrons).

I was cozied up on the couch trying to recharge when I heard odd noises from the walls. Two brothers were farting to each other through the furnace grates. This time I pretended not to notice and kept on reading.

So when I went upstairs Sunday evening to put laundry away and there was an odour so thick you could see it, I had had enough. “THIS ENTIRE HOUSE STINKS AND I AM NOT IMPRESSED WITH ANY OF YOU” I shouted as I headed to the master bathroom. It was there I discovered the real source of the smell. Our sink drain was being cleared and there was a container of standing water under the pipe. I took decisive action and flushed the contents down the toilet. Done and done. The smell would dissipate. Yup, look at me being proactive and taking charge. Solving all the problems.

So clean. So empty of stinky standing water.

Yes, gentle reader, I was pretty proud of myself. Pretty proud, indeed. That is until I released the handle and watched the murky water swirling far, far away with all the miscellaneous sink contents with it. That’s when I panicked.

You see, a few days ago my sweet husband dropped my earring down the sink. I own one pair of not-costume earrings. They aren’t fancy, but they don’t turn my skin green after a few uses.

Not to point fingers, but I often place my earrings in the soap dish. And by often I mean every night. It wouldn’t be a surprise that my earrings are in the soap dish then, right? But on this day one of the not-cheap earrings was stuck on the bar of soap and dropped down the drain. Again, not blaming anyone but that soap did not pick itself up, JUST SAYING.

So for the next few days the sink was closed to prevent further travels of my beloved jewellery into the sewage system until proper attention could be paid to the drain. It was fine. I got used to brushing my teeth over the tub and changing all my other normal routines in order to preserve half of a gift from my mother. My beloved mother. It’s cool. I’m a very patient person. Plus I mostly forgot until I went to brush my teeth.

Plumbing day arrived and that’s where the stories collide.

My precious, one-of-a-kind earrings gifted to me by my mother. I remember that day so well. She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “these are for you, my most favourite child. Your life with all those males will be one of occasional hardship. May these earrings remind you of happy times and help you not to lose your temper.” I’m paraphrasing, but you get the idea.

Now those treasured earrings are gone – with one well-intentioned flush. Swishing and sloshing their way to the big water treatment plant in the sky.

At least the sink drains properly now.

RIP semi-precious earrings. We had a good run.

The moral of this story? Don’t use bar soap.

Update: After digging around in the pipe catcher thingey, my earring was discovered! It’s a stinky miracle!

How Much Do You Think I Paid? Wrong.

“Come here. You will not believe the deal I just got. You can even tweet it if you want.”

This was music to my ears. I was intrigued.

My husband loves a good deal. I don’t mean enjoys saving money, I mean he loves a good deal. Go-to-the-farmers-market-right-before-closing kind of deals. He’s the “sure I’ll take a case of really ripe bananas simply because it’s only $2” kind of guy.

My dad once bought so many frozen french fries that our family filled every freezer space available and finally resorted to handing them out to guests as they left. All because, “they were only $.17 a bag. SEVENTEEN CENTS.” This similarity between my dad and husband is not lost on me, but that’s another post for another day.

Aaaaanyways…back to the current amazing deal.

“I saw the price and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I told myself there was no way it was correct. TWO CENTS PER 100 GRAMS*? They were giving it away!”

Gentle reader, at this point I was really hoping it was doughnuts. It was not, but he did not disappoint.

“I emptied the bin,” he proudly told me. I felt like that didn’t need to be stated. Of course he did.

“I have a confession,” he solemnly told me, “For the first time in my life I tried something in the bulk section before I bought it.” Understandable, we wouldn’t want to see that $.34 go to waste.

My money-saving spouse cuddled in beside me on the couch and carefully smoothed out the bill. “I kept the receipt. I might frame it.”

The man I married was giddy. He was riding that money-saving high. But then I noticed he been quiet for a few moments. I looked up and saw him gazing at the bundles of confectionary on our kitchen counter. “This ranks right up with that case of broccoli I got for free that time.” Yes, or as I like to call it “the time our whole house smelled like farts.”

Eventually, our 8YO sauntered into the living area and asked why Daddy had bought so much candy. “Because it was on sale. It cost $0.34.” To which our son replied, “Well, can’t pass that up.” He is now the favourite child.

Later I thought he was putting away dishes, but I found him weighing one of the bags in his hand and whispering, “so beautiful.” I think he was more excited about this deal than the births of our four sons.

He then announced to me, “This bag could get us all the way to Florida.” Note: we are not going to Florida any time soon.

I thought we had moved past discussing these chocolate buttons, but an hour into the evening he told me that “the best part was I saw our friend, Dana there, and I got to these before she did.” Competition and money-saving. This deal wrapped all his love languages into a tidy little package.

If you’re in our area, please stop by. We have what your sweet tooth needs, plus the coffee is always on. But be warned: from now on, anyone who wants to enter the house must first answer the question, “How much do you think these cost?” Be a dear, would you? And estimate high.

__________________________

*100 grams = ~3.5 ounces

He Made Reservations

When you’re a parent of young children and someone is ~~coerced~~ graciously offers to take your offspring for a two-night sleepover, the whole world opens up.

The possibilities seem endless – where to start? Hang the curtains that were bought a year ago? Weed the garden? Fix the fence post? Clean out some closets? Switch rooms around? Do some coding? Churn some butter? Start raising bees?

Wait, that sounds like work.

Better book some social time in there, too. Apparently, my bearded husband was thinking the same thing. We were hatching our plans for our FreedomFest when he gazed at me lovingly and said, “Tuesday I am taking you out for lunch.”

“Oh! Yes! Will I need to get dressed up?”

He smiled, nodded, and replied, “I’ll let you know what you should wear.”

This clearly meant that yes, we were eating somewhere fancy. Plus, he had made a reservation. You don’t need a reservation for Pita Pit.

Tuesday rolled around and as I headed out for breakfast with a friend (must cram in as much social time as possible when a babysitter is not necessary) BH said, “Don’t be back too late, we can’t miss our reservation. Do you want to know where we’re going?”

Obviously.

“We’re going canoeing and I’ll pack us a picnic.”

Canoeing.

I could wear a dress and my nice shoes, but not the most practical.

It was a good thing I was going out because I needed time to adjust my expectations and my attitude. By the time I arrived home I was, if not excited, at least mentally prepared for our adventure.

And so we were off to canoe the Grand River.

There were four other canoe enthusiasts along for the ride. Five if you count the dog one couple brought. Very thankful I was not in their canoe.

Soon we were dropped off at the start and ready to go.

Seems innocuous when your partner isn't rocking it. — Seems innocuous when your partner isn’t rocking it.

You know what’s fun? When your fellow canoe-er pretends to tip the vessel. Twice. Hilarious.

The pros don't wear the life jacket. — Pros don’t wear life jackets.

I am not a pro.

Highlights from this trip included the guy who wore a leather coat underneath his life jacket. To canoe. In August. We noted that he did very little paddling. Also, there was some lovely scenery.

Along the way I found an ideal spot to hide and scare people, should we make this trip again with friends.

Despite my poor attitude going into this journey, we had a great time. The sandwiches were delicious and the company, acceptable.

Still smiling. Wait, this was taken before we left.

If you had two days to yourself, what would you do? Can some peaches? Go to the beach? Clean the grout in your bathroom?

So, I married David Suzuki

I did not know this at the time, but I married David Suzuki.

You might be thinking, “now, wait a second. David Suzuki the 77 year old environmental activist and host of ‘The Nature of Things’? The guy with the PhD in zoology? Retired Professor of genetics?”

Ok, not him exactly, but a younger version.

Wait, before you dismiss my assertion, hear me out. There are a couple of key similarities that must be noted: They are both bearded Canadians who speak Japanese, have appeared on the CBC, and work to stop climate change.

Alright, Bearded Husband doesn’t speak Japanese. Ok, ok, he hasn’t appeared on the CBC, either. And although he doesn’t work to stop climate change, he does really care about the environment. For real. Kind of to the point of being irritating.

Agh! Yes, I admit it, sometimes being married to David Suzuki is hard. Now, some of his Suzuki-ist tendencies are acceptable and even worth doing. Recycling, composting, choosing energy saving products. I can’t say I was thrilled to get geo-thermal installed with a newborn baby in the house, but in the long run it has been well worth it. Solar panels installed on the roof 2 years later with a different newborn in the house, also bad timing, but worth it. And I was the one who suggested we go with cloth diapers.

My friends, here’s the reality of life with a David Suzuki-ist. He doesn’t like the fridge door to be left open EVER. Watch your limbs. He also doesn’t appreciate having extra lights left on so eat a lot of carrots and walk carefully after sunset. And don’t even think about running the dishwasher when it’s not off-peak time (ok, that’s more of a budget thing and an entirely different post).

But the worst part…

is…

…the…

…WAITING.

In an effort to be environmentally friendly, many purchases and decisions need to be thoroughly researched. We’re talking weeks worth of time. To buy eco-friendly paint. To replace the water softener with a salt-free alternative. To replace the chlorine filter for the pool. This is very difficult for an impulse-buyer such as myself. As a shopper, I am inclined to think, “Hey! That looks convenient – the skull and crossbones symbol is really just a friendly suggestion.”

But as much as I might joke and complain about my marriage to young David Suzuki, I appreciate how much he cares about his family and the planet, and the example he sets for our boys (and even for me). It’s worth the wait.