Sleeping Beauty - Mama Kat's

I am linking up with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. I'm using a post I have previously written because it fit the prompt so perfectly. 3.) What is going on in the bedroom? Describe a memorable sleeper.

 

I am a fairly low maintenance gal when compared to some of the demanding divas in this world. I can patiently wait while we save money for our home improvements. Some of my shirts and jeans are ones that were worn in college. And my shoes mainly consist of fuzzy blue slippers, flip flops, and sneakers (well, there is that one pair of over-the-knee boots...but that's a different story).

However, when it comes to my personal sleepy time and the rules and regulations that coincide, I am slightly demanding and more than a little particular. I have lost way too many hours of sleep to uncomfortably-overdue-pregnant-body, sleepless newborns, and all-nighters with sick dudes to take the necessity for sleep lightly. It is a basic need to human survival, and I have learned that my body requires its undivided attention.

Have you ever seen "Dirty Dancing" when Johnny tells Baby "This is my dance space. This is your dance space. I don't come into yours. You don't come into mine." OK that may not be the exact words but work with me. Instead of saying "dance", say "sleep". Do you get what I'm saying? I don't want anybody, ANYBODY, entering my sleep space. It is a sacred zone and not meant for visitors or intruders. I don't like to spoon, cuddle, canoodle, or whatever you want to call it. Sleep is for sleeping. I'm very specific about that...much to my hubby's chagrin.

No body parts or freezing cold appendages should cross the imaginary  (but still very real) line that exists down the middle of the bed once I have declared the commencement of sleepy-time. I do not appreciate anyone, either big or small, thinking that it's acceptable to lay their sweet (read heavy and hard to move), slumbering head upon my pillow. Sweet-nothings whispered into my ear are not required for me to drift into La-La Land. On the contrary, I prefer that no air be exhaled toward my designated sleep area at all. Stinky-breath is not conducive to a great night of sleep.

Also appreciated is the absence of air-floofing under the sheets and across the bed as you roll over or adjust your position. That cold rush of air agitates your sleeping mate's slumber by disturbing their optimal sleep-temperature. And if you have, heaven forbid, farted in my Black Friday sheets that stinky butt-air will smack your partner right in the face!

As you can plainly see, I have a couple stipulations when entering and trying to share my sleeping space. However, it is merely for the betterment of my family members and to spare them the negative results that occur when mommy receives either not enough or disturbed sleep. So my attention to detail is actually done to improve the general lifestyle of my spouse and offspring.

Five Days

Five days.

That's how many days daddy and kiddos were home over their Easter break. Skittles are scattered in the corners, grass from the baskets is strewn through every room, the dirty clothes hampers threw up everywhere, and toys, random out-of-place shoes, and sports gear are remnants of a weekend (or 5 days!) filled with tiny terrorists ransacking my house.

Five days.

What you aren't able to see from those five days are hours of giggles, moments of front yard football, smiles after baseball, and fun memories from the park. All of those moments so preciously etched in my mind. A long five day weekend filled with moments onto which I can't put a price tag.

Five days.

A family of 6 laughing, smiling, playing. Five days filled with moments that are fleeting as the oldest is sometimes too cool for mom and dad. Five days of giggles that will echo in daddy's ears for a year. Five days of playing, and running, and tackling. Playing that will soon involve just five of us...as we await daddy's return.

Five days.

Even though my house suffered mass destruction over these past five days...the weekend was a success...which makes it all that much harder to let go. We will hold onto these five days tightly...until we can be together again. 5 days. It seemed as if it would be too long. In fact, it went too fast. And before I knew it my kids were rushed out the door for the bus, and daddy raced off to work.

Five days.

We are now 5 more days closer....5 more days we won't get back....5 more days closer to our actual countdown for a long awaited return. 5 beautiful days that my boys had all to themselves...to laugh, to run, to play....to love.

Doctor's Don't Always Know Best : Mama Kat's Workshop

Storytelling....it's an art, really. One which I learned from my mother. Growing up I remember listening and laughing to the telling and retelling of family stories. My mama is a born conversationalist, a people-person, a storyteller at heart. She even retells some of my own crazy debacles that occur with having 4 little active dudes tearing apart my house and frequenting the ER.

However, the most storied tale that my mother loves to share, her "crowning moment", the piece de resistance that would leave her blog readers in stitches if she indeed had a blog....is the coo de gra of birthing stories...my birthing story. People, I'm unique; from the word "go" I've forged my own path....or so I have been told numerous, numerous times. And if my loving, story telling mama had a blog....well, this would be her first anecdote of humor!

Springtime! It's filled with newness, freshness, flowers, sunshine...and in South Dakota, blizzards. Nary a spring has been spared. Blizzards squelch our springtime joy. Such was the case some odd years (you don't need to know the exact number!) ago in a small town on a quiet farm. Daddy Farmer was in the tractor clearing out the feed lot and paths around the farm from the recent blizzard preparing the farm for his chores in the morning. Mama Farmer was inside the quaint little farmhouse tending to the oldest child, a bossy 2 year old girl (OK....I added that part. My mom never said that!)

Mama Farmer started to feel a familiar discomfort even though Baby Farmer wasn't due for another 3 weeks. An uneasy feeling caused her to call her doctor for advice...they were 60 miles from the hospital, and the spring storm left her more than a little nervous. Dr. I've-Done-This-Before advised Mama Farmer that she was overreacting, probably stressing herself for no reason, and to have a VODKA AND ORANGE JUICE to calm her nerves! Leary but trusting the Dr, Mama Farmer prepared herself a nice relaxing drink of hard liquor...but not before she advised Daddy Farmer on the CB radio that she may or may not be in labor. Again, her worries were dismissed.

With one vodka and orange juice down the hatch, the uneasy feelings actually seemed to become a little more intense. Mama Farmer once again telephoned Dr I've-Done-This-Before with information regarding what she believed were timely and consistent contractions. Again, her concerns were dismissed, and another vodka and orange juice was prescribed to ease her tension. Not being one to argue or confront, Mama Farmer downed another drink...which successfully relaxed her....to the point that labor was moving along very nicely!

From her position on the floor, Mama Farmer used the CB radio to once again inform Daddy Farmer to get his farmer posterior into the house to take her to the hospital. Baby Farmer was most assuredly going to make an appearance...and soon! Still reluctant and without hurry, Daddy Farmer proceeded to put his tractor away, lock up the shed, and head to the farm house...where he realized that indeed his wife was correct and hurry and panic quickly set in. Bossy-2-Year-Old Farmer had to be dropped off at the neighbor's farm, and then Daddy and Mama Farmer proceeded toward the hospital....60 miles away.

At this point, Daddy Farmer is speeding while on the CB radio with the hospital trying to get an ambulance dispatched to intercept this special delivery. Neighbor Farmer is also on the phone with the hospital trying to give them directions to Speed-Racer Farmer. And Mama Farmer is declaring her need to "push"! I'm sure "hold it", "wait until we get there", and "I'm hurrying" were all declared...rather yelled....during this stressful family outing.

Now Baby Farmer is starting to become quite defiant as Mama Farmer tries to hold her in while Daddy Farmer speeds uncontrollably (while talking on the CB radio....and you thought talking and driving was a new problem!!) when.....a tire goes flat! I've stated before that I have terrible luck...this is merely more proof to my statement. No time to change a tire, Farmer Family continues. However, ambulance and police escort assume Daddy Farmer will be taking a different road and can't seem to locate the speeding, flat-tired car with birthing mother and panicked father!

Emergency stop is demanded from the backseat as Mama Farmer declares that "the baby is coming"! Daddy Farmer pulls over......in the parking lot of a liquor store. Daddy Farmer declares the emergency to Liquor store worker who telephones police and ambulance service...then runs frantically to haphazardly parked car with paper towels in tow...to help the cause, naturally! Mama Farmer is panicking...and demanding that Daddy Farmer block Liquor Store Worker's view. I can only imagine the panic and horror poor Daddy Farmer is feeling as Baby Farmer makes an appearance. Mama Farmer reaches down (this is my mom's FAVORITE part....she cries every time) and Baby Farmer wraps her tiny hand around Mama's finger.

Daddy Farmer and Liquor Store Worker wrap Baby Farmer in paper towels and shove her (actually they didn't know I was a girl yet...thanks for caring mom and dad!!) under Mama Farmer's coat. Rescue workers have STILL not found Farmer Family-in-need so they climb back in the car and continue toward the hospital. Panicked, Farmer Parents realize Baby Farmer hasn't made any noises yet. They pull baby out of warm paper-towel-and-coat blanket. Each hold a leg of precious newborn baby as they speed through the snow covered city. Daddy Farmer insists they need to hear the baby cry as Mama Farmer pats naked Baby Farmer's butt...struggling to pat very hard. Apparently, Baby Farmer gets tired being held upside down in the cold, baby's face gets really red, and she starts to scream (my mom says I didn't stop screaming for 2 years and that my temper was evident from birth....whatever).

Eventually, speeding, flat-tired, Farmer Car was discovered and Mama Farmer and Baby Farmer were given an ambulance chauffeured ride to the hospital. Daddy Farmer, however, was quite traumatized and ventured back to the Liquor Store...where he and Liquor Store worker started drinking hard liquor off the shelf!

Long story short....it was quite an exciting night...and next couple days since Mama and Daddy Farmer had to fight the state to get Baby Farmer's birthday correct on the birth certificate. Baby was born before midnight at the liquor store but didn't arrive to the hospital until after midnight. So...not only was I defiant, strong-willed, hot-tempered, high maintenance...but I was also SUPER expensive. Mama and Papa Farmer had to pay for ambulance ride, ER room and ER Doctor, Delivery Room and Delivery Doctor, ICU to monitor Baby Farmer who was born under intense circumstances and outside sterilized, warm hospital, and hospital/recovery stay...oh, and correction of birth certificate. WHEW!!

Needless to say....I like to leave people with a memorable experience!! And THIS would be the story my mama shared with vigor and zest if she had a blog!

I wrote this post as part of Mama Kat's writer's workshop. I chose prompt:
2)  "If my mom were a blogger"

Copy and Paste Code

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Middle School is Tough

My oldest just got braces....and $5000 went racing out of our bank account! See how quickly that happened?! Anycrookedteeth, as parents it's just something you have to do....and pay for...and hold over their heads forever. But my poor kiddo is in misery. First off, he's not my toughest little man. And secondly, braces hurt...and make you talk funny but that's a totally different topic.

Being the amazing mama that I am, I told kiddo #1 that I would bring him a nice cold chocolate shake to school for lunch. He can't chew anything. I watched him choke down scrambled eggs for breakfast because it hurt too badly to attempt to chew. Pity took over...and of course my devoted love to my offspring...but mainly pity. My overly generous suggestion brightened his entire sad, I'm-in-the-worst-pain-of-my-life demeanor and lifted me to level of "Favorite Parent" (muwhahaha.....oh.....sorry!!)

With newly purchased McDonald's shake topped with whip cream in hand, I swaggered -confident I was going to get "mom of the year" for my gesture- into the middle school. I was certain I would be chided and showered with "What a good mom" and "Poor little guy" by the secretaries. However, to my dismay, the secretary (whom I'd never seen before) was in a state of shock and awe. By her expression and wringing of her hands you would have thought I had marched through those doors with peanuts in hand, threatening to throw them at unsuspecting children if my demands weren't met! She looked at me as if "how could you have the audacity to walk into this school with that?".

I was more than a bit confused...this wasn't a bomb...it was ice cream. Pretty harmless. And it wasn't as if I marched into a preschool full of uncivilized toddlers and handed out only one cupcake. This was middle school....full of 12, 13, and 14 year olds. OK. So they could be classified as large toddlers...they still throw tantrums to get their way, they like to color outside the lines, so to speak, and they are defiant to authority. But a brawl over a milkshake might be pushing it a little far.

With my shocked face in place, I asked for my son...whom she wouldn't request to come to the office. Nope. She told me to wait at the corner until his class passed for lunch; she was sure I would see him. Not sure if I was sent to timeout or not, I stood there uncomfortable and fidgety...this IS middle school after all...until my kiddo saw me. She watched us the entire time as I gave my son his soup, shake and pain medicine to which he was very grateful and excited. I stood, defiantly almost, as he boasted to his friends about how "cool his mom was" while he joined them in their walk to the lunch room.

Not wanting to call any more attention to my obvious defiant and socially unacceptable behavior, I scurried out the front doors of the school to my car...and then cursed her all of the way home! Basically, I threw a tantrum after being scolded...but I don't think bringing a milk shake into a school is going to corrupt the system......but I've been wrong before.

Fight or Flight

As my kids get older, more seems to be required of them.....and of me truthfully. I thought having some of my kids attending school would give me a teeny tiny breather. But I was wrong. With school comes volunteering, fundraising, activities, and the art of nickel and diming my pocket book to death! Not only does school require more and more time, the extracurricular activities are getting more and more intense. And only 2 of my 4 offspring are in school and involved in activities. I have an out-of-control color-coded calendar of events, appointments, and reminders that has me spinning circles.

My oldest is now in middle school, and the social calendar that came with this stage of life has me running my very own taxi service sans any compensation. Normally I have dreaded the idea of my own child behind the wheel of a car...but I think the luxury of him driving himself to and from, and from and to, and back and forth...is luring me in!

With the approaching warmer weather (by the way it is still snowing here!) along came soccer, baseball (both boys are in a different league...ie: different schedules), track and field, class field trips, and (apparently this is when I schedule them) doctor appointments! Not to mention, classes are wrapping up...or trying to which is equates to more at-home work. And hubby is preparing for his year-long departure to save the world! On top of all of that my spring "To Do" list is busting at the seams.

I'm spinning circles people...chasing my tail....running around like a chicken with her head cut off! Whatever you want to call it...that's what I'm doing. And in this process, my once well-maintained and pampered exterior has taken a backseat! My body has declared a boycott! Gravity has taken hold...and is winning...all within the last month!! Hair - frizzy and dull and roots are more than noticeable. Skin - lacking luster and freshness. Body- I've had 4 kids and am somewhere past the age of 29....I need maintenance, people!!! In this battle to maintain some semblance of my sanity, sexiness, and my children's blossoming social calendar...my body has declared war!

I need to put myself back at the top of some kind of priority list; carve out some desperately needed "me" time; take a bath; shave my legs; re-introduce myself to my treadmill; jump back into my love affair with the blogosphere!!! My sanity (and my summer wardrobe) is counting on it!

Sweet Valley High

I'm embarking on a new voyage; an expedition of uncharted territory. One that will involve trials and tribulations. A journey that will test my strengths and wit and most assuredly leave me with more than just a few bumps and bruises. This pilgrimage that I must travel and through which I must endure is arduous, exhausting and requires mental toughness. Many have attempted and failed...many have attempted and conquered. Stories of this adventure are mostly told through furrowed brow, nearly broken spirits, and many tears. But it is also an experience from which legends are made. My personal journey has only just begun...and I fear the worst lies ahead. And I'm scared out of my mind.

This venture over which I must triumph.......is the teen years! I know. Even the  mention of it causes many to cringe...either out of fear or trauma. My oldest has only just breached the tip of the teenage-iceberg, but I fear that he will not be spared from it's sickness. Yes...the eye-roll has been known to surface on occasion after I have declared my authority. And that audacious, smarter-than-you tone of voice rears its ugly head more often than not! What's most confusing is the onset of multiple personalities that seems to accompany this right of passage. Nary a mother has been left beaten, scarred, and rambling incoherently after they've suffered an encounter with this overpowering, impractical species!

I once thought I was the chosen one and would be spared this cursed excursion. Thinking I could out smart hormones, peer groups, and the urge to defy your maker that seems to trademark this age group, I have been left cowering in the corner both frightened and confused. Alas, having been proven wrong I am now left licking my wounds with my tail tucked between my legs as fate laughs at my once cocky demeanor.

No, no one is exempt even though many, like myself, have proclaimed their superiority over this inevitable phase. I can only cling to the hope that in order to build me up.....they must first break me down!!

Liar, Liar. Pants On Fire

I've perfected the art; the art of lying...of pretending...of saying the right things at the right time with a convincing smile to make others believe. They believe that "I'm ok"; they believe that "I've got it under control"; they believe that "We are all fine". I sell my story very, very well...and almost everyone buys into what I'm selling. It's such an easier "truth"...for them and for me. Nobody really wants to hear my woes, my trepidations, my scary emotions that I hide behind a comforting smile, strong shoulders and a clenched jaw.

But the truth is...I'm barely functioning, barely getting by, barely holding it all together. I cry at the drop of a hat...during the playing of the National Anthem, at church, at an out-of-the-blue hug from a friend, at baseball parent meetings. It's ridiculous, really. But, nonetheless, it is what it is...and I can't seem to change that.  I feel as if I'm carrying around a quiet heavy burden that I just can't seem to shake...and every day it gets heavier.

My heart feels injured...as if I have to protect it. I dread leaving the house for fear that someone will want to talk to me. I avoid eye contact because tears constantly threaten to escape. And I keep all of my big questions, fears, and looming conversations hidden. I don't want to burden my husband, family, or friends...no one can honestly help me with this path anyway. This burden is mine to bear.

Every day is one day closer. Some days I struggle to breathe; most nights I struggle to sleep; daily my thoughts are out of my control. I don't know how I'm going to say goodbye to my husband...I don't know how I'm going to help my kids say goodbye. I have no idea how I'm going to juggle everything. I've been so focused and concerned about the health and stability of my kids in this process...that I've neglected my own thoughts and emotions. And now they are relentless in their determination to be heard. I'm sure that a month or two after "the goodbye" we will find our own new normal. But how do I cope in the interim? How do I convince my head and heart that "it is ok"?

So I smile; I say "We are all fine", "We don't need any help", "I've got it under control", and "I'm ok". If I say it out loud enough my heart will surely be convinced...and my head will most assuredly follow. I'll tell my husband, "I'll be fine", " Don't worry about me", "Everything is ok" with a convincing determined voice. I will smile and laugh when things go wrong.

But in the quiet of the night, when all the kids are safe in bed, and I sit in the loneliness of our empty house........I struggle to be a convincing liar.

Government Is As Government Does

Unless you're living under a rock (which I hear it's really nice there), you've already been in-tune to the dilemmas that befall our congressmen and women. Balancing a budget, however big or small, is never an easy task. But such is the job of those elected officials who promised buckets of gold at the end of our arduous rainbows. Such is life for the powers that be. However the powers-that-be took a dump on my front steps today...and then told me all of the benefits, justifications, and reasons as to why that was the perfect place for it to land.

Many people will not agree with me...and that's ok. But by reasons of actually having a spouse who has sand in his boots, upheld his oath, and protected our freedom, I feel that my voice, the voice of hundreds of frustrated spouses tonight, needs to be heard.

My family was informed at 5:00 pm, MST, that my husband would no longer have a job as of midnight. With that job went the only income our house enjoys and health care for 6 people. But more importantly than that....went my faith in our government, our people, and the values and principles our country was once founded upon. Is my family so dispensable...is MY soldier so unworthy of their respect and loyalty. We were easily cast aside...to make a point...casualties of war, if you will.

I realize we are not alone...many, many families befell the same disappointment, stress, anxiety and fear as did mine. Our military doesn't deserve more regard or concern than any other federal employee. But they do, however, deserve more recognition and concern. Many talk a big talk...but who has honestly walked up beside the military family and offered a helping hand. All of the military personnel took a voluntary oath...one that bound them to defend this country, one that requires them to put others' safety before theirs, one that takes them away from their loved ones for weeks, months, and years. Does that not justify more than a handshake and a hoorah speech.

Each soldier has a name. They are more than an amount on a budget sheet. If these soldiers weren't willing to do what they do...would you be willing to pick up their weapon and take their place? Most of us, including myself, would not. I don't have the answers...but I do know that our soldiers are not leverage for either side.

At about 5:15, my husband texted me and asked me not to let the kids get hurt or sick in the next month...and then I loaded them up and jetted off to baseball practice for one and a soccer game for the other. My mind was scattered, my emotions were raw, and my heart raced. My opinion and thoughts are but a drop in the bucket tonight. I can only hope...and pray......................and drown my anxiety with friends over pizza and wine!

To Each Their Own

What is it that gives each of us tranquility, ease, peace of mind? What puts you back on track, balances the craziness, supplies the yin to your yang? Is there a secret indulgence that you dare not reveal for fear of it being taken away? What is it that gets you through those really tough days and boosts your mood? A hot candle-lit bath? A glass of red wine? A good read that isn't printed on cardboard? A moment alone with your spouse? A long over-due day at the spa?

Mine is none of those...although they all sound sinfully delicious and rejuvenating! No. I find solace in another...another moment full of wishes and desires, wants and needs. The smell....the rush of blood...the thrill and excitement! All of which speak to me, call out to me, ease a burn for satisfaction that I never knew existed! Yes...it is sweet ecstasy.

The thrill of searching, finding and acquiring....ah, an age-old tale of lust, really. My solace? My therapy, if you will....is basic in its nature, but full of joy and fulfillment to my soul. By any other name it doesn't sound as sweet, as rewarding...but to my soul it is indeed uplifting. To what do I lust? To what am I called?

Why...the thrill of a purchase! Not just any purchase....a purchase that requires "the hunt"! Killer red heels on clearance are a must...even if they are a size too small. Who needs feeling in their toes, anyway?! Designer bags half-price whisper sweet-nothings in my ear. And out-of-season clearance apparel is a temptation I struggle to resist. The thrill of purchasing "must-have" sale items calms any tension and gives heed to full-body tingles and excitement! It is my therapy of choice. Sadness can be offset by sexy new under garments. Loneliness gives way to go-with-anything new shoes. Frustration calls for a great pair of check-my-butt-out jeans. And confusion is healed with soft-as-silk new jammies. Yes, shopping cures what ails you.

Alas, "money doesn't grow on trees" is all too cliche in my adult world filled with braces, growing boys, and daily expenses that are far from glamorous. So I sit and wait...stalking my prey, waiting for the best sale, and hoping that someday my 90's apparel will come back in style!

How I Got My Funny Back

It's no secret, I've been in a funk lately. When reality landed on my front door, I was taken by surprise...and am now trying to lay the path for my new "normal". Days have been stressful, and even though I can't seem to shut off my mind, I've seemed to find some kind of refuge in the joy and laughter of my family. They say laughter is the best medicine...you be the judge!

* "You gotta cech it!"  said the 2yo blondie to mommy after he threw a rock in the house. That beautiful light blue rock was originally meant for some kind of decor as it so ironically had the word "Faith" engraved across the topside. "Faith" whizzed past my face and smashed into my new windows. "Petty. Petty Rock." (aka. pretty, pretty rock) Nothing like a little faith flashing before your eyes!!

* We were biking around our neighborhood on a quiet mid morning on a rare day that the sun was shining. The 4yo was a little ways ahead of myself and the take-his-time 2yo. A crow had just perched himself in the road when my 4yo targeted him and charged! Giggling, he turned back toward me with his big blue eyes and stated very proudly, "I scared the hell out of that bird!" Ya, sure did buddy!

* The 7 and 12 year olds were being silly. The 12 yo pulled his pants up really high over his stomach as the 7yo started to chant, "you're a ho-ho-ho-ho-ho!"

12yo, "I'm not a ho-ho-ho! You're a ho-ho-ho!"

Hubby and I chuckle because a) neither truly know the slang usage of the word and b) the 7yo is wearing a "Get Lucky" t-shirt that he acquired at a rummage sale! Bad parenting or just bad timing??!

* Hubby and I were recalling our first date, which was the movie Titanic, and sharing it with the kids over breakfast. At the mention of Titanic our 7yo looks up amazed and with complete sincerity asked, "You were on the Titanic!?!" 

I look at him astounded and sarcastically chide, "Yeah. I look pretty good for over 100 years old."

"I know! You're hair's not even that gray!" comments the apple of my eye....as his dad chokes on his cereal in little-boy fits of laughter!

* the 2yo had just gotten out of the tub and was laying on the couch naked waiting for someone to put clothes on him. He reclined back across the pillows..in his naked glory....and lovingly serenaded himself, "penis...penis...penis...penis" and on and on it went in his sweet little voice.

* the 2yo, 4yo and myself were playing in the bedroom and I was being silly. The 4yo laughed and said, "that's funny mom!"

"I'm a pretty funny person, buddy."

"You're not a person. You're a girl." Um. OK. Thanks for the clarification kiddo!

* my 4yo now insists that we call him by several names...and if we don't, he corrects us, "Mom. My name is TJ pterandadon speedy star". I'll let you guess which one is ACTUALLY his birth name!

* the 4yo (obviously he is our comic relief lately!!) looked up at me at a very random moment and stated with all of the certainty and knowledge that a 4yo can have, "Mom. God made me man." ooooooooo......kkkkkkkkkk

And last but not least...I have to pay a little comic homage to my ever-steady, never-changing hubby:

* he came home from 2 weeks of training very tired. We were discussing the upcoming deployment. I looked at him with my sad blue eyes and said, "babe, I only have a month with you until you're gone! You should give me a foot rub every night because I won't get to have one for another year!"

Hubby looked at me and said, "ok. But then I get a blow job every night too." Forget it. I'll rub my own frickin' feet!