A Good Man Wife is Hard to Find

During my 7 minute commute to work, when I'm not ridiculously late and still trying to justify stopping at Starbucks, I tune in to the Eric and Kathy Show on the Mix. This morning they had a segment called, "How'd You Do?" Women called in and explained what they got their significant other for Christmas; a panel of men then decided if the gift was a thumbs up or thumbs down. One woman bought her gambling Guido several shares of MGM Grand, another purchased and framed Sports Illustration Swimsuit covers, etc. Needless to say, most of these women received thumbs up.

I realize that this game was simply an outlet for women to brag about their creativity and/or financial prowess; however, being the OCD perfectionist that I am, I started to evaluate my performance as a wife. And since the stereotypical "good wife" originated in the 1950's, I Googled "How to Be a Good Wife" and found an article from 1956. Let's see how well I measure up...

"Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal, on time. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal are part of the warm welcome needed."
If by "ready" they mean still in the freezer and/or cabinet and/or grocery store, then I'm doing pretty well. The Man is lucky if I can get my act together enough to throw some meat in a crock pot and call it dinner.

"Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so that you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people. Be a little gay and a little more interesting. His boring day may need a lift."
First of all, the Man gets home before me and he certainly doesn't touch up his makeup before I arrive. 'His boring day may need a lift.' The Man plays chess in the bathroom -- I doubt there is anything I can do to make his day any more interesting.

"Listen to him. You may have a dozen things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first."
I've perfected the art of pretending to listen while he rants and raves about political theory or postmodern philosophy. It's a great time to get my grocery list in order.

"Make the evening his. Never complain if he does not take you out to dinner or to other places of entertainment. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure, his need to be home and relax."
We very rarely go out to dinner or other places of entertainment. And if by "need to be home and relax" they mean "let him practice his new MMA moves on you" then I'm wife-of-the-year.

Enough of that train wreck. So maybe I don't bake homemade pies or send cute Christmas cards or wear pleated skirts with pearls or greet him with a kiss, the newspaper, and a Scotch. But I make chocolate chip pancakes, watch Bloodsport, and go to Buffalo Wild Wings for every single date night. I may not be able to afford extravagant Christmas gifts like a new phone, an Xbox, or a Glock 32 Magnum, but I help him practice is rear-naked choke, listen to the Allman Brothers, and challenge him in a game of Madden. Good Housekeeping will never ask me for an interview, but I'm ok with that. I know that I'm a kick-a#% wife.

C is for Creeper

I'm not quite at the "stalker" level of say Jennifer Garner or Kevin Bacon, but I am fairly certain I have my very own creeper. One of the many perks of working at a university is unlimited free access to the fitness center on campus. A few months ago, an older gentleman approached me in the gym and introduced himself as a fellow staff member. We started chatting about fitness goals and workout programs, and he told me that his daughter is a certified personal trainer. He continued to explain how he wants to gain muscle and get back into shape. (Fun fact: the man is two inches shorter than me and probably weights 100 pounds soaking wet.) I gave him a few pointers, a smile, and continued with my workout.

Since then, he has been at the gym the same time I have: every.single.day. He comes in, puts his stuff away in a cubby, and then proceeds to stare at me for the duration of his my workout. Sure he'll go to different machines and do a couple of sets, but every time I glance over at him he is literally staring at me. He doesn't blink, he doesn't try to be subtle, and he will purposely switch machines/benches to get a better view. I tried working out a little later in the evening to throw him off, but sure enough after a day or two he caught on. I brought the Man with me one night and (to the Man's delight) left no doubt that I was married. The creeper continues to stare. Last night I actually cut my workout short and left early because I felt so uncomfortable. I've done my best to avoid eye contact and ignore him....

But I'm not that passive.



To be continued....

Happy Holidays from the Hellers!

It's a little known fact that I have an unhealthy obsession with all things Christmas. The carols, the Mistletoe Yankee candles, the cookies, the snow, my neighbor's obnoxiously bright blue 'MERRY CHRISTMAS' sign continually shining into my window, the presents, the general warmth and merriment. I love almost everything related to the holiday season. Almost everything.

One of the few traditions I simply cannot tolerate is the annual "Look How Successful and Beautiful We Are, Don't You Wish You Could Be Us? P.S. Merry Christmas" newsletter. I simply don't understand the purpose behind it. Ok, so maybe something really important and live-altering happened in your life recently, like a marriage or the birth of your first child. But don't the people you send the letter to already know that? I'd bet that half the people on your mailing list were at the wedding or in the hospital waiting room. Or perhaps you want to take a chance to brag about your new job/promotion/successful career. If you really wanted to prove just how successful you've become, a check made out in my name would do the trick. Just a suggestion.

My mother asked me the other day if the Man and I were planning on sending out Christmas cards. Considering I haven't sent out my wedding thank-you's from over 9 months ago, I'm thinking not-so-much. I've considered writing a sarcastic newsletter of our own, detailing the oh-so-important happenings in the Heller household like rearranging the front room furniture and learning how to remove chocolate pudding stains from Berber. But then again, I wouldn't want people to be jealous of our posh Hollywood lifestyle.

So please, let this blog be a plea for mercy. I love Christmas and I love to know that the people in my life are alive, but please don't plague my mailbox with ridiculous newsletters. Cards will be appreciated. Cards with candy will be cherished. Cards accompanied by a fruitcake will be thrown away. Consider yourselves warned.

Oh, I almost forgot....Merry Christmas!

I Married a Nerd

You would never guess by looking at the Man that he is, in fact, rather nerdy. He's a backwoods jock who loves guns, trucks, muscle, and basically any activity involving physical harm. Sure he enjoys playing Ages of Empires on the computer every now and then, but who doesn't? However, this morning I realized just how epically nerdy my husband really is.

His new job has him working 12 hour shifts (6pm-6am), so he's just getting home from work when I'm waking up. After our groggy greetings, he stumbles into the bathroom (typical). Luckily, our duplex has two full bathrooms, back-to-back. I'm in the master bathroom blow drying my hair when I hear a tapping noise coming from the other bathroom. I ignore it, but then it keeps happening every few minutes: tap-tap-tap. I do my makeup: tap-tap-tap. I brush my teeth: tap-tap-tap. I get dressed: tap-tap-tap. I can't figure out what the heck he's doing in there, but I've learned my lesson to never open the door for the sake of my health. Tap-tap-tap. It gets progressively louder: TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!! Right when I was about to yell at him to quit banging on the walls, I discover what the noise is....

Tap-tap-tap. "CHECKMATE!"

The Man was playing chess. By himself. While sitting on the toilet.

*sigh* I can't make this stuff up. He has offically earned his Nerd Card.

Thanks a Lot

I know, I know, I know, I really stink at updating my blog sometimes. It's like dieting or interior decorating -- my creativity comes and goes in spurts. (Not that dieting necessarily facilitates creativity, but if I can justify chocolate chip pancakes as a healthy meal, I'd say that's pretty darn innovative.) Sometimes I have so many ideas rolling around in my head, I am creating blog posts in my sleep. Other times, I just sit and stare at the wall. And since I update my blog during work hours, on a few occasions I have had to forgo writing to, you know, keep my job.

All of that is to say, I'm back and I'm fat. The Man and I took full advantage of our long Thanksgiving weekend by eating not one, not two, not three, but FOUR Thanksgiving meals in three days. That has to be a record of some sort. We spent Thursday afternoon at our friends' house in town where we loaded up on southern essentials, drove to my parents' house for a pot roast dinner, had an impromptu Thanksgiving meal on Friday (still at my parents) with all the trimmings, and then went to my sister's on Saturday for the annual Tomjackweizeler Thanksgiving Extravaganza! If you've never heard of it, you're missing out. 16 people in a two-bedroom apartment, crammed with enough food to feed Yemen. Needless to say, come my baptism Sunday morning (more on that in another post), I sank like a freakin' rock. Hallelujah, amen.

On a more serious note, this weekend I finally took time to reflect on the blessings in my life and the way the Lord has provided. A year ago the Man and I were two college grads struggling to make ends meet and trying to pay for a wedding-- God has since blessed our financial stewardship (and our marriage) tenfold. A few years ago I was a blundering idiot who thought I had life figured out on my own -- until the Lord knocked me upside my head and ransomed my heart. A few weeks ago I questioned God's will and His presence -- but I found peace in knowing that He who cares for the sparrows, watches over me. Our lives are far from perfect (i.e. crashing into the Man's parked motorcycle with my car), but we can rest assured that God will continue to provide if we continue to seek Him.