...But Can Your Computer Cook Dinner?

As you may recall from my meltdown about eating at the table, I never played video games or watched TV as a child. As an adult I have discovered TV and love it, but I absolutely get tired of sitting in front of it and more often than not when "my show" is over, the TV goes off and I go about my business - whatever that may be.

Clark is the opposite.

My dear husband could play video games until his eyes rotted out of his head, and then wold insist on installing special braille keyboards, joysticks, controllers and the like, so that he could continue demolishing the online world of aliens and communists. He has logged so many hours playing video games that I think he may actually have some stock options associated with Xbox, Best Buy and possibly EA Games. When his duty station was changing he left his $2,000 gaming computer behind "because it crashed" and bought a new $1,000 one overseas which he told me was a real bargain and might need some upgrades (which is did not, has not and will not). The former works perfectly and is now residing at my parents house; the latter sits on my ottoman when not in use.

Out of Sight - Out of my Mind

Many thanks to my sister for reminding me to share one of the most classic Hans stories of all time.

Hans is a computer guy. He is also a hoarder, messer, leave things all over the place-er.

When we lived in our first apartment, we would go many rounds about the cords, hard drives and memory sticks that covered every surface of our house. The kitchen table, the counter, the coffee table, the sofa- literally everything.

One day, I handed Hans some computer thing that had been sitting on the kitchen table for over a week. I didn't know what it was all I knew was that I had seen it enough and it needed to go someplace else. I handed it to him and said,

"Please go put this away, right now."

The Million Dollar Idea

I am neurotic. Not "pull my hair out over misplaced socks" neurotic, but certainly "put the toilet paper on the right way and change it if it's wrong" neurotic.

It all started when I first started living alone in college. (If you ask my mother - please don't - she'll tell you this began long before college and is a serious problem but to that I say "pshaaa!") That year, living in solitude, I came to appreciate the beauty of complete control over organization, form and [lack of] clutter. The years of throwing out unnecessary stuff began around age 19 and have continued ever since... roughly 6 times a year I will purge closets, drawers, cabinets, shelves; the only thing I find more satisfying is a visit to my chiropractor followed by a nice cool glass of pinot grigio.

Psha, Who Needs AC?

As you may recall from The Rabid Wife Reforms post, Clark and I got into a little spat over leaving lights on. Well this recently came up again in reference to our electric bills. Hold on, let's back up a little...

We are on a budget. A tight one. Things that we mutually agreed on (to save some cash) include: turning lights off, unplugging un-used cell phone chargers, turning AC temperature up to 76/78 when we weren't home so it wouldn't be blasting and would only kick in in dire situations/heat waves... you get the idea. Last week our AC died and we were flippin' miserable. The pets were waning and we were just sticky and gross. It was the first day of this disaster that Clark told me I was a rabid beast and stormed out, all because I asked him to turn the light off.

Everything IN the Kitchen Sink.....or the Bathroom Sink

Hans is absolutely adamant that he does not make a mess at our house. He thinks I am the messy one, and while I am not a clean freak (although lately I have started to become one thanks to a cocktail of vitamins and going to sleep at 8 pm) I am not the messer, simply because I clean up after myself these days. Whenever I complain about how he leaves stuff everyplace and never throws anything away (but rather leaves it on the counter next to the trash can) the ONLY things Hans has to throw back at me, is that I hang my purse on doorknobs. It has been the ONLY thing he has consistently had to complain about my messiness for the past 7 years, whereas I have a list nearly as long as Santa's naughty and good lists combined.

The Table: A Lesson in Patience

Growing up, my brothers and I sat at the dinner table every night with my parents. This was not a choice it was a rule that was only broken on the very rare occasion that we had friends sleeping over or lots of family over for a holiday (and in the case of holiday parties we were still expected to sit at a table, just in another room...)

Now, as a twenty-something wife and "someday mother," I have come to appreciate the kitchen table and understand why this place was so important to my parents. In this world of non stop electronic humming - from phones, computers, TVs and video games - the table is the last place in the house where a family of two (or ten) can sit, talk, relax and do all of this while actually looking at each other (I didn't make this up, check out this post on the Integrated Mother). This rudimentary piece of furniture has the potential to rebuild the grounds for communication, love and family. It is a tool that no family should be without and all families should gather at at least once a day, if only for a cup of coffee.

So why on earth would I consider turning the table into my own personal bonfire?

The Rabid Wife Reforms

Over the course of our relationship, Clark has seen me at every point of the spectrum. Relaxed, neurotic, sad, happy, insane, clinically depressed, mildly psychotic... He takes all of these emotions/mental states in stride and has learned to deal with me much as my mother has learned to deal with me (ignore, ignore, pacify, ignore, ignore). Well, over the past few days we had a series of events that led up to Clark leaving the apartment and me telling him to "never ever come back!" So you don't worry about it, let's just cut to the chase and tell you: it has a happy ending.

Dress My Family Up in Corduroy

In honor of today being my husband's first day at a new job, I am going to share a memory of a time he made me laugh so hard I nearly peed my pants.

To tell the story properly, I must first share that when I was 26 my father passed away unexpectedly on Valentines Day- just a few short days before Hans had planned to ask him for permission to marry me. Hans loved my father nearly as much as I did. At his wake we knelt together to say our final goodbyes and Hans held his hand and asked him then for permission to marry me.

Reduce, Reuse, Re-Drive Me Crazy

I grew up poor. Not living in our station wagon poor (that is a serious matter, have you seen that commercial? double ugh)- but having hydrox instead of oreos, and never seeing a Q-tip until i got to college because they were an extravagance that didn't make it into the shopping cart.

Thus I grew up treating paper towels like gold. Towels that you use once and throw away? What a strange concept- then you need to buy more? Why not just use real towels and wash them when you are done? Like the pilgrims and the pioneers?

This is why my darling husband, Hans, and I have inherently different feelings about the proper use of a paper towel. I did not know about this or his intensely annoying paper towel habits until after we moved in together, and by that point it was too late, because i REALLY HATE MOVING- so i wasn't going to do it again.

Welcome, Please Wipe Your Feet... Wherever.

Here we go, ready to launch the next greatest outlet for frustrated wives in dire need of advice. So, how will I introduce myself? Let's see... I'm Nancy, first-time wife, dog-mom, not a real mother (yet), sleep deprived, gainfully employed and full time husband caretaker, house maintainer, bill payer, dog-poop-picker-upper, grocery shopper, laundry do-er and chef.

Things I really enjoy include: wine under $15 a bottle, a home cooked meal, undisrupted sleep, a clean home, a full tank of gas, crime TV (a la Criminal Minds, NOT Judge Judy) and highly caffeinated beverages.

Things I really do NOT enjoy include: knick knacks, clutter, dust, sticky surfaces, pet hair on everything and mismatched socks. And herein lies the reason we are here today...