A CHIP off the Ol' Block

My husband has a problem. A serious problem. Actually, it's more of a condition, then a problem. He's a chronic thrower-outer. And yes, that is the official medical term. You see, he throws everything out. And I mean everything.

Any type of food that has had it's temperature altered for more than thirty seconds, is game for the garbage pail, at any given moment. That last, juicy piece of Easter ham that you had been craving all day--gone. Oh, didn't you see? A smidge of mashed potato cross contaminated it while you were transferring it into the tupperware Sunday night. Yeah, it had to be thrown out.

And that Reese's peanut butter cup that you had hidden in the fridge, for that late night chocolate fix--Sorry...freezer burn, had to get rid of it.

This has been the story for many a food item at my home in the past seven years. And for the most part, I've gotten used to it. Typically, if I want any food that I don't eat in the first 24 hours after I bring it home from the grocery store, I try to make it well-known. And I have somewhat established the rule of, if there is nothing growing on it in the fridge, then it is still edible, and it is off limits to the garbage man. I've also adjusted pretty well to the fact that the term "leftovers" is null and void at our home. The Good Lord knows leftovers don't stand a chance next to my husband.

So, as a good wife, I've put up with many disappearing food disappointments, and I've accepted the numerous stories of my husband's bouts of "food poisoning"... If I had a nickel for every food poisoning episode...

As adjusted as I am, in this state of pregnancy that I am in, certain things are just unacceptable. Like the disposal of a perfectly brand new bag of sour cream n' onion Baked Lays--completely unacceptable. I had bought them about three days ago, and then like most things I bring into my car, they were stranded to my front seat since. (It was either carry up the chips, or my sleeping two year old.)

This evening, as I felt a crunchy craving coming on, I asked my husband what he did with my brand new bag of Baked Lays. I should've suspected their fate, as I watched my husband's face droop, and his words begin to stutter. He couldn't even look me in the eye. I knew it.

"You threw them out???"

"I didn't throw them out."

"I cannot believe you threw them out!"

"I'm telling you I did not throw them out. While I was cleaning out the garage with the kids, we opened them up and started eating them."

"And then you threw them out?"

"NO! I did not! We started to eat them...and then...(he totally was trying to make it up as he went along,) our son was eating them all, so I put them on top of the car."

"Wait, let me guess, the old man up the street walked by and asked if he could borrow some potato chips?"

"NO, I'm telling the truth."

"Okay, so what...technically you didn't throw them out...the kids probably dropped them on the floor, and all these bugs started to come, so you had to vaccuum them up real quick...right?"

"No, I didn't."

"Okay, so if that didn't happen, and you didn't throw them out, then could you please go down to the garage and get my Baked Lays?"

"Okay, I will."

My loving husband proceeds to walk down the basement stairs. I heard him get halfway down and then head back up.

"OH, I remember what happened...the kids were starting to eat them all...and so I let them eat some, and then put them on top of the car...and then when we drove to the park, I forgot I had put them on top of the car, and I drove off."

"So, you are honestly telling me that my chips are spread out through our entire neighborhood?"

"Yeah, they're probably down the big hill, ya know, the one with all the bumps?"

"Unbelievable."

I had no more words. I could not and still cannot, grasp the untimely demise of my chips. Undeserved I say, undeserved.

And so the reign of my husband, the garbage man, continues on, and one more innocent food item gets thrown into the trash bin...or in this case, pavement.

Hormones...what hormones??

How bad is it when your five year old nephew tells your sister that you were "grouchy" yesterday?

So, just how many days will they let me stay in the hospital?

...one of the many fleeting thoughts I had this afternoon, as I attempted to keep composure during my two year old's 30 minute tantrum. Thoughts that shortly followed that, "how invasive is a tubal ligation?" and "I wonder if I have enough cheddar for dinner."

So, it's been awhile. I'm sure all six of my avid readers(family members), greatly missed my sarcastic rants. My apologies for my lack of commitment, but lately my days consist a great deal of driving back and forth to kindergarten, peeing every seven minutes, and catching at least 45 minutes of the ever popular American Idol, right before my husband and I doze off to sleep at approximately 8:56 p.m. Sadly, that is a pretty accurate description of my days. Throw in some daunting sciatic pain, an expanding backside and you have me, a just turned 27 year old, mother of three, who is 25.4 weeks, towards being a mother of four. And yes, the .4 matters. A lot.

Back to my original question...As of today, I have decided that this time I give birth, I am going to stay at the hospital as long as I possibly can. To some, the hospital may seem sterile, and smelly. A place where comfortable sleep is nearly impossible, and the food is worse than tv dinners. But to me, at least this time, the hospital will be my little paradise. I'm pretty sure our vacationing will cease to exist the second my fourth baby takes her first breath outside of my womb. So, I am going to treat my short stay, as a little treat, a little break, a little breath of fresh air. I mean sure, the food is pretty bad, but...I don't have to cook it, and that there, is worth its weight in gold. And ideally my vacation wouldn't include hours of painful labor, but hey, they've got epidurals. And typically I would prefer more "spa like" accommodations, rather then the "break down" beds they currently offer, but hey, at least I know I'll be sleeping alone there. All in all, not such a bad deal, I mean going from three kids at home, to one kid in the hospital? Sounds like a vacation to me...
Beggars can't be choosers, you know.