A Monday Story for You

I would like to dedicate this post to my friend, Lani.

For without her and my delightful conversation with her yesterday, I would have never remembered this horrific, yet painfully true,  tale to tell you.

Everyone say, "Hi, Lani!"

Lani is pregnant with her 5th child.

Let's all give Lani a round of applause.

Okie -dokie, here we go:

When I was pregnant with my fourth child, who is presently known as Little Dude, I began having irregular heartbeats.

Interruption:  In a earlier post, I blamed my pregnancy-related heart issues on Handsome Dude.

I fear I made a mistake.

It happens.

Handsome Dude:  please forgive me.

In order for the doctor to decide what was going on with my heart, I had to wear a 24 hour heart monitor.

Now, this was a treat.

First, I got to join a really unfriendly nurse in a very bright exam room where she proceeded to rip open my shirt and place electrodes all over my chest.

Awkward.

Next, I got to carry around this box-thingie.

Whenever my heart was doing it's freaky thing, I would have to push the button.

I looked . . . ridiculous.

Let me set up the scene for you:

*I am pregnant for the 4th time in 5 years

*I am really, really, really large

*I have varicose veins

*I am cranky

*I am uncomfortable

*I am large

In short, I do not feel glamorous.

My husband comes homes.

Let me all remind you of him:

*He is the love of my life

*He is the one who is supposed to make me feel beautiful

*He is the one who is supposed to make everything okay

*He is the one who supports me no matter what

Now, what do you suppose my husband, the man I have been married to at this point for almost 8 years, is going to say when he sees his wife wearing a heart monitor?

Is he concerned?

Is he worried?

Is he encouraging?

No.

And without further ado, I present to you:

His Statement.

The Lumberjack:  Dude! (yes, he calls me dude.  charming, huh?)  Did they have to shave your chest?

****************

I gurantee you that none of you have had a more embarassing moment with your husband than I had with my husband on that very tragic day.

I have been pregnant for 40 months of my life.

I am not planning on being pregnant for any more.

How many months have you been pregnant?

PS- I do not have chest hair.

Why I need my Lumberjack.

The Lumberjack has been working out-of-town. 

I have decided that he can never leave me.

I am helpless without him.

But, it is just too cold here.

And as I type this, I am wearing a t-shirt, two sweaters, socks, and my shoes.

I really hope Santa brings me some slippers for Christmas.

But for now, shoes will do.

I have been continuously loading the fire.

My hands are cracking from the dry heat.

I am too cold to clean up.

Look at this mess.

*sigh*

This is why I hate wood heat.

I did sweep up that mess after I snapped that picture and my broom almost caught fire.

Safe!

There is ash and dirt and bark all over my floors.

My piano even has ash on it.

I have been loading the fire like crazy.

But still it is freezing.

My kitchen sink pipes are frozen.

Dang.

The Lumberjack talked me through exactly what I needed to do to fix this situation over the phone.

I love him.

Unfortunately, my laundry room pipes are still flowing, so I have no excuse to get out of laundry today.

So, I am sitting at home.

Me and the lumberjacklings are bundled up.

Our hair looks like this:

And we sit.

And we wait.

We wait for our Lumberjack to come home and make it all better.

He will come home from working outside all day, and he will not complain.

I will complain that it was too cold to do laundry.

But he won't complain that he had to work outside from dawn until dusk wiring houses.

He will take over the fire loading.

Clearly, I am not doing a good job at "keeping the home fires burning."

Name that country artist.

If I was doing a good job, perhaps our pipes would not have frozen.

But, I tried . . . honestly I did.

I even woke up at 4 am to load the beast.

Oh, Lumberjack.

I miss you.

I need you.

Why must you love wood heat so?

Please come home and make it all better.

I am a wuss.

*Tragic Update*

5 minutes after I posted this, my Lumberjack called and said he has to stay another night.

tear*sob*shiver*tear*shiver

My poor, cold Lumberjack.

Don't worry.

He's wearing his long underwear.

I checked.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************

So, everyone in my family has a blog code name, except me.

Husband-Lumberjack

Child 1- Sweet Pea

Child 2- Daisy Mae

Child 3- Handsome Dude

Child 4- Little Dude

Me-nameless.

Lame.

I welcome any suggestions.

 

What a guy!

Last night, when my Lumberjack came home, he just started doing the dishes!

 

Dads.

Only a dad would let their little boy jump on their backs and just hang on tight.

Handsome Dude does this every day.

And the Lumberjack just walks around . . . like it's no big deal.

Whereas I would be choking, gagging, out of breath, and worried that Handsome Dude was messing up my hair.

Guess what else the Lumberjack did last night?

Brought me home some flowers.

Why?  I asked.

Because.  he said.

And with that, I choose to believe that the flowers:

A)  Represent his undying love for me

B)  Are as beautiful as I am

C)  Show his appreciation for my awesomeness

D) Say that he is thankful for having the best wife ever.

That is what I choose to believe.

If you have a husband who is not very chatty, it is completely acceptable to take the liberty of filling in the blanks.

Completely acceptable.