I was recently telling someone that one of the best things about MrZ and I as a couple, is that we have a few things in common that we didn’t know about at first. And while we didn’t look for those common grounds before we were living together, they have proved to be quite important and I often wonder what happens to couples who find they don’t share the same viewpoints on these issues. Does it become permanent a point of contention? Like my avoidance of left turns?

For example, we’re both punctual. Now, it is more difficult with two kids in tow and we’re re-establishing how long it takes to get ready. But - typically? We’re early. We aim for early. We aim for early because we fear those things that pop up unexpectedly and slow a person down. Like traffic. Or leaking diapers. Or a return trip home to get that one thing we forgot. We allow time for all of those instances and since they usually don’t happen? We’re usually early.

The other is that we both have a high tolerance for germs. This means we don’t think each other gross for not freaking out about possible contamination. This comes up a lot with the dogs, as they’re kinda gross too. But - the time this seems to be the most important is when sharing salsa. I have to tell you: We are a family of double dippers. Now, some of us are old enough to curb that when sharing salsa with others, but as a family? We don’t care. We just double-dip to our heart’s content. I’ve seen WARS breakout at tables over this issue…but at ours? Not so much. We don’t even think about it. (I do, however, prefer MrZ not just assume I want the been dip to mix with the salsa, I HATE THAT.)

The last one, and at times what I consider to be the most important of the three, is that we both are kinda disgusting. Or maybe I should phrase that differently? We both have a high tolerance for the Ick Factor. Case and Point: Last night AndyZ had a small bit of pee escape his diaper (Damn when I forget to point it DOWN and the pee comes out of the top of his diaper!) and get on our bed. It was bedtime and I was tired and MrZ said, “So, what are we going to do about this pee?” To which I replied, “Nothing. It’s on my side of the bed and considering most nights I end up covered in either spit-up or breast milk, I’m not going to worry about. This is the weekend I wash the sheets anyway.” Did he cringe at the idea of leaving it? No. Did he cringe at the idea of me sleeping in spit-up some nights? No. He just shrugged, “Okay,” and proceeded to go to sleep.

Then, a few minutes later? AndyZ spit-up all over MrZ and his side of the comforter. This time we blotted it up so it would at least be dry and proceeded to go to sleep. Neither one of us giving it another thought.

Maybe I’ve discovered the secret to our happy marriage. Be on time. And gross.

Last night, NikkiZ and I were hanging out in her bedroom. She asked me if I wanted to, “Blast some bad guys.” This is a phrase that MrZ uses when he says he’s going to play video games. He’ll tell her, “Daddy’s gonna blast some bad guys.” So, of course, I was intrigued with her offer. I said, “How?” She doesn’t have a TV in her room, much less video games.

First, she said (to herself), “Hmm…let me find my pretend TV.” She dug out her Blues Clues computer and set it up on the hand-me-down washer/dryer combo next to her bed. She then said, “Okay. Now I need my remote.” I was getting curious and I was pretty sure what “remote” she was looking for (she has a few old remotes we’ve discarded that she pretends with) so I helped her find it. When I found it, I gave it to her. She stood in front of her “TV” and held the “remote” out and just started pushing buttons. Like her Daddy does when plays his games. Then, she handed the remote to me and said, “Your turn, Momma.”

I was pretty damn impressed with her “pretend” setup she had going. I called MrZ in to ask if he had taught her that and he said, “No.” She just came up with it on her own. So - she and I sat in there for awhile taking turns blasting the bad guys.

It just amazes me how these kids we’re raising? These kids we care for from infancy on - they have their own little minds. Eventually, they start coming up with their own games, their own songs, their own ideas and their own beliefs. It may start with a setup immitating Daddy playing video games, but it ends with little movie producers or playwrites. Their own little creative minds expand beyond their parents’ limits. AND IT FREAKS ME THE HELL OUT.

Blasting bad guys (for real) with Daddy last August.

The past two nights of sleep in our house have been disrupted by severe storms blowing in. The storms themselves don’t phase us too much as they are common around here. Also - the thunder isn’t any louder than the explosions we hear from the Arsenal throughout the day - and those are noises we’ve learned to tune out as well. And yes - we are well aware than an ability to tune out random explosions may not be a good thing.

But - there’s Sweetie. Our neurotic basket-case lab-mix of a dog. She does not like loud noises. If the Arsenal gets too loud - she freaks out. But thunder? All she wants is to hang outside our bedroom door and cry until someone comes and cuddles with her. Now - because I’m evil - I can tune her out as well. But MrZ - who has a softer heart for his dogs than most people have for their own children - grabs a pillow off our bed and goes out to the living room to sleep with her. She’ll still cry and whine when the thunder strikes, but it’s not quite as bad because she at least knows that one of those brave humans is near her to protect her.

MrZ came back to bed a few hours later I believe (not really sure because, like I said, I opted to ignore the damn dog) and I’m wishing there were some way to just shut it all out so that he could have some peaceful sleep for a few more hours. But - more storms are coming and I’ve got to go grocery shopping so I’m sure Sweetie will be back at the door, begging him to get out of bed to snuggle with her. Poor guy.

Of course - I don’t feel too bad for him. I don’t recall a whole lot of sympathy for me when I was nursing a baby throughout the night. Now that I think about it - I feel no sympathy for him. Two nights? That’s nothing! He should toughen up.

You just witnessed short-lived miracle. I felt sorry for my husband for all of 15 minutes before finding a way to turn it around as a reminder of my tragic existence as an over-worked and under-appreciated wife and mother. It may not be much - but for me? It’s quite impressive.

I’m too lazy to follow this meme to it’s origins, so I’m just going to thank Slackermama since I saw it on her site first. I thought this would be a good one for me since (a) My husband and I celebrated the 8-year anniversary of our birth as a couple on Saturday and (b) I won’t be able to post until late tomorrow because I’m heading 80 miles West to retrieve some of LilZ’s old baby things that I put in storage about 10 years ago.

The Meme of Us

How long have you been together? Um. I feel like I’ve answered this already. We celebrated our first night as an official “couple” on February 16th, 2000. However, I had been drooling over my husband’s body mind for several months prior. It took a mutual friend telling me that MrZ thought I was “hot” before I was brave enough to commence flirting.

How long did you date? 2 weeks before he said, “One day, I hope you’ll be my wife.” 3 years before I actually became his wife.

How old is he? He just turned 30 in December. I’m the oldest.

Who eats more? When I’m not pregnant, he does. Currently however, I probably have him doubled.

Who said ‘i love you’ first? He did, but I felt it too and responded back with the same. I was sketchy to make the first big steps about “love” since I was a single Mom and a little unsure if my feelings would be reciprocated.

Who is taller? He is.

Who is smarter? Him. Definitely. He has this amazing ability to retain information without really trying. We took tons of classes together in college and it always thrilled me when I beat him with the better grade. It just came easier to him.

Who does the laundry? Me. Me. Me. I can’t even get the man to put his clothes up after their clean. He used to do all of his own laundry until I thought it would be sweet to do it for him when we were dating. BIG MISTAKE.

Who does the dishes? We probably split it evenly during the course of a week, but he tends to do the dishes after dinner if I cook.

Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? He sleeps on the right side if you mean his right while he’s on his back. I sleep on the left. It puts me closer to the bathroom.

Who pays the bills? Me. He doesn’t like to write checks.

Who mows the lawn? I have done this before, but it is more his chore since the majority of time we’ve been in this house I’ve been pregnant and instructed to refrain from such things.

Who cooks dinner? Me.

Who is more stubborn? We are equally as stubborn but just in different ways. He is too stubborn to admit he’s wrong and must always attribute blame on someone else to prove he is not wrong. He also does not like to compromise. However, I’m stubborn in every other way in the world. So - it’s pretty equal.

Who kissed who first? I lunged towards him for the first big kiss. It was after we split a 6-pack of Dos Equis and were finished studying for a test we had the next day over the book Fried Green Tomatoes (In a Geography of the South class we took). I mean - Mexican beer and Southern culture novels - doesn’t that put you in the mood?

Who asked who out? Eh. We didn’t really start dating in the normal way. I’m guessing that I was the one who invited him to join some friends for beer and bean dip after work one night. So I guess that’s me.

Who proposed? Him. 2 weeks after we started dating he said he hoped I’d be his wife one day. I thought he was insane. I was a single Mom and he was a young stud - why did he want me to be his wife? Then - 3 years later he proposed officially with a ring and a note asking me to mark the answer “YES” or “NO” to the proposal. Awesome.

Who is more sensitive? Me. I get my feelings hurt very easily. I also read into every action the man takes and turn it into some sort of insult. I’m awesome like that.

Who has more friends? Do you all count? If my blog-friends count - then definitely me. But - if we’re counting real-world friend? Definitely him. I don’t get out much. I probably one have one or two non-relative females that I talk to more than once a week. I have a handful more I talk to once a month. MrZ has a bunch of friends from work and even keeps in touch with people from high school. He’s more comfortable socially than I am. Probably because he’s hot. The hot guys always have it easy. I’m just the geeky girl in the corner who started smoking so that she didn’t have to talk to anyone at parties.

The first group shot taken of us (I think) almost a year after we started dating.

Our family has always been in the habit of making up words or phrases to Goof-i-fy our lives. My husband does it the most often, as he was the one who started adding “-pants” on the end of any adjective to indicate an EXTREME AMOUNT of that descriptor. Like, “That song is crappy-pants.” Or, “You are acting crazy-pants.” It is something we all did for awhile, but it has since faded as various other bizarre phrases take it’s place.

When MrZ started using flickr he started using the word, “Jambo!” as some sort of exclamation or curse word. It didn’t occur to me to ask where that came from until after it had been used for several weeks. When I finally asked he said, “It’s Swahili for ‘Hello.’ Flickr told me. I like the way it sounds.” If you use flickr, you know what he’s talking about. If you don’t - whenever you log into flickr - it says “Hello!” to you in a different language and then indicates what language it is using. MrZ saw, “Jambo” one day - and it stuck.

Of course - as NikkiZ has started developing her language exponentially in the last few months - she started saying, “Jambo!” as well. Usually just repeating it when MrZ yelled it at a video game or proclaimed it enthusiastically when eating ice cream. Unfortunately - that is not the only exclamation she has picked up a long the way.

Now - let me clarify - I am no saint when it comes to cursing. I probably use the word “ass” or “crap” 100 times a day. But - I don’t do a lot of yelling profanities. MrZ keeps his daily language clean, but loses it when driving or watching sports or playing games. Because he is usually yelling his infractions, they are the ones she tends to notice and repeat. For awhile - ignoring her worked. MrZ would yell, “Dammit!” and she would follow suit. We would ignore her and she’d continue whatever else she was doing and never repeat it again. Of course, about a month ago she started experimenting with this. Because she’s evil and recognized we were ignoring her for a reason.

One day - she and I were in the dining room and MrZ was playing video games in the living room. He yelled, “Dammit!” at the television and she immediately looked at me and did the same thing. I ignored her and she did it again. And again. AND AGAIN. Eventually she stopped but I knew I would have to come up with a new technique. The next time he did it (probably five minutes later - the games he’s been playing lately seem to bring out the sailor in him) I said to him, “Daddy - don’t say that. Say, jambo!” So he did. And so did she.

That worked for awhile with most inappropriate exclamations. Of course, she would sometimes correct him, “Daddy! Don’t say that, say Jambo!” but we preferred that over the alternative. Then - one day he called someone on TV a “douchebag.” NikkiZ immediately repeated it. I tried to ignore her because that was a word I thought it best she forget. But no - she said it 10 times. All while looking at me while I was trying my best to act like I didn’t hear her. Finally I broke down and said, “Nikki. That is not a nice word. We don’t say that word. We said, ‘jambo’ - remember?” So - what did she do? She started saying, “We don’t say douchebag. We say jambo.” Over and over and over again. Much better - right?

She is quickly grasping the concept of words we don’t say. Unfortunately, she sometimes assumes anytime someone yells that they are saying a bad word. Last night MrZ yelled at the dogs to, “Hush!” Nikki says, “Daddy - we don’t say that. We say, ‘jambo!’” So - I had to explain to her that “Hush!” and “Be Quiet!” are okay things to say. To which she said, “OH. But we don’t say douchebag.”

No honey. We don’t.

Thank god she’s not in daycare anymore.

I added this picture to this entry several weeks later after seeing this banner at the Knoxville Zoo.