My wife, Heather, and I are celebrating our 12th anniversary today. Best part? Ok, best part besides how my in-laws are babysitting our four kids and I have a rare weekend off work?
Last night, Heather told me, “Don’t worry about getting me an anniversary gift?” I jokingly celebrated that on Facebook and Twitter, and the overwhelming response was: “IT’S A TRAP!!!”
I’ve been married since Oct. 18, 2001, so, yes, I’m smart enough to realize what this really means.
Heather bought an anniversary gift for me to give to her.
(Don’t tell, but I’ve got a little somethin’ somethin’ for her too. No, not THAT! She already has a vacuum cleaner. Ha! It’s not me lighting candles, playing romantic music and reading to her from this blog in a Barry White voice, either.)
Anyway, because it’s our anniversary, I’m leaving Heather, the beautiful woman who’s somehow stayed with me for a dozen lame anniversary gifts, out of this particular blog entry about our family. Hmmm, maybe that can be considered part of her gift — at least the portion that she didn’t buy for herself.
That said, here are 10 weird things that recently happened at my house:
Yes, that’s a Bob the Builder construction hat — FILLED TO THE BRIM WITH WATER! — just sitting in the middle of the downstairs family room carpet like it’s part of the decor. Amazingly, the carpet was not wet. I put this in the weird category, but guess how unsurprised I was when making this discovery with no kids in sight? By the way, Scoop, Muck and Dizzy won’t claim responsibility, so it had to have been Wendy. Or, most likely, 4-year-old Aidan. I’ll let you know when the laboratory sends back the fingerprint results. (Update: 6-year-old Sydney just admitted that it was her. This has thrown me for a loop — not just because Aidan is usually to blame. Rather, I’m not quite sure how to react to a child actually admitting to doing something.)
Guests were about to come over when I went in the front yard to see that Sydney and Aidan were working on the landscaping. Or making mud pies. Or just being kids having fun in the mud. Or killing stuff mom just planted. For some odd reason, the words “YOU’RE THE WORST DAD IN THE UNIVERSE!” came out of Aidan’s mouth when cold water came out of the garden hose and cleaned the mud off of everything, including him.
This photo wasn’t actually taken at our house. How can you tell? 8-year-old Ethan is voluntarily doing something that resembles chores. Another dead giveaway that that’s not our yard? There is not a weed-free space anywhere near that size on our property, driveway included. (The photo is from a field trip at This Is The Place Monument.)
The crime was committed in the office with long, white rice grains by … DAD!?! I’d love to blame Colonel Mustard, Professor Plum or one of the five residents in this household who aren’t me, but this bizarre setting is my fault.
Long story short: Our icemaker/water thingymajigger on our fridge doesn’t work, so I was filling a water jug on our counter when a bit of H2O seeped into my iPhone case. I didn’t realize this until the flashlight on the back of the phone wouldn’t go off even after I pulled a U.S. Government on my Apple device and completely shut it down.
My iPhone spent the next 24 hours in a dry rice bath, including some time in the heated oven. Don’t judge me. I read to do that on the Internet. Pretty sure I was still on the Internet in a different room when my wife smelled something weird and took the iPhone in the rice-filled plastic container out of the oven before it all completely melted and morphed into one iBlob.
Long after everything cooled off and my iPhone started functioning properly again — not counting Siri or the flashlight that still dimly illuminates on occasion — I accidentally did what I’d previously yelled at my kids for nearly doing. Of course, after committing the crime in the office by knocking the long, white rice grains on the floor and in my running shoes, the only reaction was to take a photo with the iPhone that functions again.
Baby Jack looks like he’s contained, but he’s not. His arms are free. His head is mobile. The unnamed driver of the chew-chew train does not have very good aim when trying to feed creamy ham, apples, pineapple and rice (not iPhone rice) to a moving target that plays defense with swiping hands. By the way, I’m pretty sure baby food tastes better than when I was a kid. I might know that because more ended up in my mouth than Baby Jack’s.
At our house, we don’t try to build a better mousetrap. (My wife would like any suggestions while we’re speaking of that.) But we do try to build a better fly trap. Sydney did, at least. This string of ribbon — wrapped around the recliner and tied to the office door — and the attached pieces of packaging tape did not catch any houseflies or fruit flies. But the creative contraption did manage to trip most members of the household at some point.
That’s a bed, a made bed. That’s also a floor, a clean floor. I’ll blog more about this later — strangely, it’s a pretty big deal — but just know that I made the bed and cleaned the floor on my side of the bed. Yes, it stunned my wife.
Our trampoline made an awesome fort for Aidan when it snowed in September (SNOW IN SEPTEMBER!) here in Utah. This was the final act of service our struggling tramp (R.I.P.) carried out before going to The Big Scrap Metal Heap In The Sky.
This falls into the awesome side of the weird category. The other day, Professor Sydney decided to play school with our family. This lesson: Giving facts and opinions about pears. Facts: Green and Yellow, Joosy. Opinions: Desckosting and yummy! I only wish it was as cute when I misspelled words. And, no, I’m not the one who thinks pears are desckosting.
• Sydney’s drawing of a girl (or me in high school) wearing coconuts and a grass skirt.
• Ethan and Sydney standing next to each other without fighting, yelling or crying.
• And the moment when Ethan, carrying a staple remover for torturing purposes, asked, “Want me to cut her nose holes?” Fortunately, he was talking about cutting nose holes for the girl with newly pierced nostrils in the drawing, not for his sister.
Now, don’t mind me as I go light candles, put on some romantic music and read this post to my wife in my Barry White voice.