Yesterday morning, I woke up and spied the full package of raspberries on the top shelf of the refrigerator. There's nothing better than a handful of raspberries in the morning. I helped myself to a handful, then vowed to eat more at lunch. If I'm going to have pregnancy cravings, I'm going to indulge whether it's raspberries or Cadbury eggs. I think it's a law. I'm pretty sure, anyway.
I spent most of the morning tearing apart our bedroom. The file cabinet was full of pay stubs from the 00's and insurance policies that no longer had relevance. I sorted and Tucker was my shredder for all of five minutes before he decided the job was too hard. I even found our boarding passes from our honeymoon and decided to hang onto them. It's fun to find that stuff every now and then.
I was starving by 11am and ventured into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. No raspberries. Checked the counters. Checked the garbage. An empty raspberry package. I looked at the kids. No evidence.
"Who ate my raspberries?!" I asked, well, more like shrieked.
"No one." said Tucker, a dead giveaway.
I don't know what was more aggravating; the fact that my raspberries were gone or that my nice little boy ate them and then lied about it.
Chet called on his way home from class to check in. I let him know of my terrible raspberry tragedy.
He saved the day and bought me a new package of raspberries. What a guy.
I had an appointment in Plymouth yesterday with some additional errands to run, so I decided to drag Chet along with me, to reward him for buying me more raspberries. Besides, I wanted Red Robin and it's lame to go by myself.
At the last minute, I decided that instead of my flat boring shoes, I would wear a pair of knee-high wedge boots. Cute but still comfy and more appropriate for a date than flat boring shoes. I'm not much for walking in heels but I can handle a wedge. Usually.
As I stepped onto the scale at the clinic, the nurse stopped me and told me I should probably take my shoes off. I hadn't really thought of that when I put them on, that they'd have to come off at some point. So I hung onto the wall and hopped around, unzipping them and making a big old scene. Chet snorted from the corner, shaking his head. But it did shave a pound and a half off of my weight, so it was worth it.
We pulled into McDonald's for a little ice cream treat and I forget how embarrassing Chet is in the drive through.
"Hi, welcome to McDonald's, how can I help you?" the kind lady asked.
"Do you still have that ah-holiday shake?" Chet asked, in some weird foreign accent.
I smacked him. It's February, for crying out loud, like they'd still have it. It's like asking if they're still serving breakfast at 10pm, which he asks too, by the way.
"Well, a-then, I'd like that there one of them Oreo McFlurry's for $3.19." he told her in his best Southern redneck voice, after she said no to the availability of the holiday shakes.
"You're so embarrassing." I told him. "That poor lady."
We ventured over to Ridgedale and as usual, Chet was five miles ahead of me. He's five miles ahead of me all the time, whether or not I'm trying to walk in heels. I've tried to train him over the years to slow down, that not everyone was blessed with long legs and that you don't have to be in such a rush all the time, but I haven't really gotten anywhere. Someday it'll come in useful when he's pushing me in my wheelchair when I'm 85 and we're passing everyone, that is, until we get pulled over the the mall cops on Segways.
Anyway, he does not understand the whole high heel thing. To sum it up, he thinks high heels, wedges and anything remotely related are ridiculous. I tell him not to wear them then, if he thinks that.
We start walking through JCPenney and he slows down to walk beside me.
"How's it going walking in the heels?" he asked, noticing I was five miles behind him.
"Just fine, thank you." I said. "If my legs were longer, I'd be keeping up with you. It's not the shoes."
"Right." he says.
He pops up on his tippy toes and puts a little swivel in his hips and keeps walking beside me. So incredibly embarrassing.
"Stop it! Can't you just be normal?" I asked him.
It's my fault for inviting him.
But he did wait patiently as I shopped, not even complaining once that I was taking too long. So I guess a little embarrassment every now and then is worth it.
I spent most of the morning tearing apart our bedroom. The file cabinet was full of pay stubs from the 00's and insurance policies that no longer had relevance. I sorted and Tucker was my shredder for all of five minutes before he decided the job was too hard. I even found our boarding passes from our honeymoon and decided to hang onto them. It's fun to find that stuff every now and then.
I was starving by 11am and ventured into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. No raspberries. Checked the counters. Checked the garbage. An empty raspberry package. I looked at the kids. No evidence.
"Who ate my raspberries?!" I asked, well, more like shrieked.
"No one." said Tucker, a dead giveaway.
I don't know what was more aggravating; the fact that my raspberries were gone or that my nice little boy ate them and then lied about it.
Chet called on his way home from class to check in. I let him know of my terrible raspberry tragedy.
He saved the day and bought me a new package of raspberries. What a guy.
I had an appointment in Plymouth yesterday with some additional errands to run, so I decided to drag Chet along with me, to reward him for buying me more raspberries. Besides, I wanted Red Robin and it's lame to go by myself.
At the last minute, I decided that instead of my flat boring shoes, I would wear a pair of knee-high wedge boots. Cute but still comfy and more appropriate for a date than flat boring shoes. I'm not much for walking in heels but I can handle a wedge. Usually.
As I stepped onto the scale at the clinic, the nurse stopped me and told me I should probably take my shoes off. I hadn't really thought of that when I put them on, that they'd have to come off at some point. So I hung onto the wall and hopped around, unzipping them and making a big old scene. Chet snorted from the corner, shaking his head. But it did shave a pound and a half off of my weight, so it was worth it.
We pulled into McDonald's for a little ice cream treat and I forget how embarrassing Chet is in the drive through.
"Hi, welcome to McDonald's, how can I help you?" the kind lady asked.
"Do you still have that ah-holiday shake?" Chet asked, in some weird foreign accent.
I smacked him. It's February, for crying out loud, like they'd still have it. It's like asking if they're still serving breakfast at 10pm, which he asks too, by the way.
"Well, a-then, I'd like that there one of them Oreo McFlurry's for $3.19." he told her in his best Southern redneck voice, after she said no to the availability of the holiday shakes.
"You're so embarrassing." I told him. "That poor lady."
We ventured over to Ridgedale and as usual, Chet was five miles ahead of me. He's five miles ahead of me all the time, whether or not I'm trying to walk in heels. I've tried to train him over the years to slow down, that not everyone was blessed with long legs and that you don't have to be in such a rush all the time, but I haven't really gotten anywhere. Someday it'll come in useful when he's pushing me in my wheelchair when I'm 85 and we're passing everyone, that is, until we get pulled over the the mall cops on Segways.
Anyway, he does not understand the whole high heel thing. To sum it up, he thinks high heels, wedges and anything remotely related are ridiculous. I tell him not to wear them then, if he thinks that.
We start walking through JCPenney and he slows down to walk beside me.
"How's it going walking in the heels?" he asked, noticing I was five miles behind him.
"Just fine, thank you." I said. "If my legs were longer, I'd be keeping up with you. It's not the shoes."
"Right." he says.
He pops up on his tippy toes and puts a little swivel in his hips and keeps walking beside me. So incredibly embarrassing.
"Stop it! Can't you just be normal?" I asked him.
It's my fault for inviting him.
But he did wait patiently as I shopped, not even complaining once that I was taking too long. So I guess a little embarrassment every now and then is worth it.
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