C U L8R

Husband is a man of many talents.  Running is one.  Math is another.  Burying dead cats is yet a third. 

Lying?  Not so much.  Seriously, the man has the dishonesty meter of a toddler.  Like, if we played hide and go seek, he’d completely convince himself that I wouldn’t be able to see him if he hid under a blanket in the middle of the room.  (And because I am the wonderful wife I am, I wouldn’t stop to wonder what the heck we were doing playing hide and seek in the first place but would play the whole ‘now WHERE is HUSBAND?’ routine while looking right at the blanket as he giggles quietly for a good 5 minutes.  Then I’d walk away and see how long he’d keep hiding.  Come on, a girl can’t be Glinda the Good Witch all the time.)

Husband’s lack of any deceptive ability hasn’t really come into play in recent years, because what does a math teacher really have to lie about?  Proofs?  The value of x?  Try to convince a group of gullible freshman that 2+2 doesn’t REALLY equal 4?

In short, we’ve been floating along on a lazy deception-less river.  Until.

My first clue that something might be up came when Husband got up at 6 a.m. on Sunday to go on a long run.  The long run in and of itself wasn’t weird – Husband thinks it’s fun to churn his legs endlessly for hours at a time on a regular basis.  Sneaking out of the house at 6 a.m. for said run, however, was.

Being as it was 6 a.m. on a Sunday, I rolled over and went back to sleep.  Woke up an hour later, got the kids up and moving, still no Husband.  At 8:30, I finally started wondering where he was.

Husband rolled in at about 8:45.  I asked, as I usually do, how far he ran. 

“20 miles,” he replied as he ducked his head.

Huh, I thought.  Husband hasn’t run that much since……WAIT A MINUTE!!!!

Me:  “Hey, um, Husband?”

Husband:  “Yeah, Al?”

Me:  “So what’s going on?  You going to tell me why you’re running 20 miles?”

Husband:  (ducks head) “Noooo, no reason.”

At this point, Husband morphed into The Boy, dimples and all.  My fellow parents know The Look – that moment when a little kid is trying with all of his or her might to not look at you while still lying to your face. 

Me:  “Out with it.  You’re training for something.  An iron man?  Marathon?”

Husband:  “Uhhhh, I have to take a shower.”

Me:  “Nope, sorry.  Out with it.”

Husband:  “Weelllllll, there may or may not be a marathon in Harrisburg in 2 weeks and I may or may not have signed up for it.  See ya!”

Now, the loyal readers among you may remember my 7^th layer of Hell experience when I took The Kiddos up to wait 3 hours to watch Husband fly by for 10 seconds in the Boston Marathon.  We’ll be supporting in spirit, thank you very much.

The training on the down-low isn’t even the best part.  Later, Girl #2 breaks the news of Husband’s plan for marathon day.

What’s this, you ask?  Husband wasn’t going to TELL you he was running a marathon?  What would have happened on marathon day?

Bear with me.

Apparently, the brilliant plan goes something as follows. 

Step 1:  Husband sneaks out of the house to train for the next three weeks. 

Step 2:  On marathon day, Husband sneaks out of the house extra early to drive the 90 minutes or so out to the marathon.

Step 3:  I wake up on marathon day, freak out because Husband is gone.

Step 4:  I go to my cell phone to call 911 because Husband is gone.

Step 5:  Upon opening my phone case, I am instantly comforted because my thoughtful husband has sent me a TEXT MESSAGE telling me that he has gone to RUN A MARATHON.

Step 6:  Locks changed and activated.

Nope, STILL not the best part.  Husband tells Mom of his brilliant Bond-esque plan over the weekend.  Now, my mother has known me for almost 34 years.  She knows that I don’t like the unknown or change.   Especially not surprises or changes to the general routine.  Yes I may be scattered, but I like to know what’s going on for any given day.  Change and I do not go well together.

Yet, knowing all of that, Mom thinks Husband’s plan is a fine idea.  Heartily AGREES WITH it. 

“Sure, I know she doesn’t like the unknown or surprises and all, but you’ll send a TEXT MESSAGE, right?  She’ll be FINE with it!!”

Some people connive to cheat, Husband connives to run a frieking marathon.  So I guess in the grand scheme of things, I still have it pretty damn good.

Ol' Blue Eyes

I have mentioned several times how Husband is an absolute saint for putting up with my special brand of crazy for going on 12 years.  When I start a sentence mid-thought, Husband is on it and usually gives a completely relevant answer.  (Me:  So, what did they do before?  Husband:  I don’t know, I think people just wrote everything out and mailed letters.  Me:  Oh.)  When I lapse into Smurf-Ali talk, Husband picks up the ball and runs.  (Me:  Did you remember to put the thing on the thing?  Husband:  Yup, took garbage out last night.  Me:  Nice!) 

However, I didn’t come alone.  Husband also earns bonus points for blending in seamlessly with my fam.  One particular event made me realize just how much he had become one of us.

At the time, Girl #2 was about three months old.  I had just taken the bar exam and was waiting to start at my first firm, while Husband was a full-time stay-at-home dad (again, a saint – and don’t think the mommies at storytime didn’t try to work it.  Pffft - I’d claw their eyes out before they knew what hit them.)  We were in the middle of what we had termed Christening Tour ’03.  We had a month and took Girl #2 on the road to visit pretty much everyone.

One leg of CT ’03 had us stopping at my parents’ house before heading out to Long Island.  My fam was already up in Long Island and had a pet sitter coming by daily to check up on Frank, our cat.

Frank was the best cat.  He was a cream Himalayan with blue eyes, hence the name.  I got Frank when I was in high school and he stayed with my parents when I moved on.

Instead of the general “oh, you again?” dismissal you get with cats, Frank would come running when you came home and immediately start twining around your legs.  The guy thought he was a dog.  He would come when you called him and even let my little sister walk him on a leash.  He’d cuddle with you when he knew you weren’t feeling well.  Frankie ruined me for all other cats.

Naturally, when we got to my parents’ house, I ran around trying to find Frankie.  I looked upstairs, I looked downstairs – no Frank.  I figured he was hiding under my parents’ bed or something because he didn’t recognize the baby smell and turned my attention to taking care of Girl #2. 

Once we got settled, we called my parents to let them know we had gotten in OK.  I talked with Mom about the drive and Girl #2, then a little about how their visit with the Long Island branch of the fam was going. 

I finally got around to saying that I couldn’t find Frank.  Mom evasively asked to talk with Husband.  No problem, my goldfish brain said as I handed the phone over and went back to play with the baby.

Husband listened for a while, said “OK” a couple of times, then came into the family room.

Husband:  Ali, I need you to go upstairs for a while with Girl #2.

Me:  Why?

Husband:  I just need you to do this, I have to do something.

Me:  (connecting dots)  Husband, where’s Frank?

Husband:  Al, just go.

Me: (more dots connecting)  Frank’s dead, isn’t he???

Husband:  (sighs)  Al, please.

Me:  (dots flying as I realized my cat was not only dead, but still in the house) Ohmigod.  Frank’s in the freezer, isn’t he???!??!?!?!

Husband:  (blink)

Me:  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Yes, Frankie was no more.  Apparently the middle-school-aged girl my parents had hired to come check up on him had the rare pleasure of finding him dead as a doornail.  Every pet sitter’s dream.  No cause of death, no sickness, nothing.  He just decided he had had enough.  Thankfully, the girl’s dad was with her and called Mom to find out what they should do. 

And that’s how Frankie came to be wrapped up in a garbage bag in my parents’ garage freezer.

When Husband got on the phone, the conversation went sort of like this:

Mom:  Husband, I need you to do me a favor.  A big one.

Husband:  OK.

Mom:  (deep breath)  Frank’s dead and he’s in the freezer.

Husband:  OK.

Mom:  I need you to get Alison out of the room and bury Frank in the woods.

Husband: ……………………..OK.

Mom:  Thanks, Husband, I owe you.

Owe him, indeed.  When you marry a girl, I don’t exactly think it’s with visions of burying her dead (frozen) cat in the woods someday.  Even if you are a saint on Husband’s level. 

Wilkommen!

Ah, the birth of a new blog.  This has been knocking around in my head for a while, just waiting for a bit of inspiration to come forth.  No big come to Jesus moment, but it feels like the right time.

So, here we go...blog post number 1.  Welcome!  Take a look around, test the couches, check out the curtains and upholstery.  Good?  Good.  Let's get to the fun stuff - me.

I am your (sometimes) gracious hostess, Alison.  My purpose?  To shine a light on my everyday crazy that comes with being a daughter, mom, wife and (new) teacher.  All prepared lovingly with a healthy dose of snark - because, really, snark and laughter keeps a general sense of sanity in my family and household.  So strap in, kids - we're off!