For The Love of A Good Power Mower

There are few things my husband values more than his wife, his life and his children. His golf clubs, his chain saw and his precious lawn tractor. He tends to guard and protect these three things with more ferocity than I've ever seen him guard me.

He's so in love with these three possessions that at one point of time or another, our marriage almost came to a shattered end over them.





Oh my preciousssss, my preciousssss!

Of course, that also may have had something to do with the time I hurled his favorite club into the woods after a particularly bad golf moment of my own. When Boo finally found it (after first chewing my arse out and huffing off in a man-tantrum) the shaft was bent from coming to a sudden stop against a tree trunk.

He saw that bent shaft and the world stopped. I do believe he even stopped breathing momentarily. When he finally got his wind back, he took to yelling at me full throttle about my disrespect for his things.

I, in turn, got my panties in a twist and grabbed his driver and snapped it over my knee.

That was the last time we ever golfed together. Heh.

Most of the time, my darling Boo is easy going about well, everything. It takes a lot to ruffle his feathers. Which is why he's such a good husband for me. My fur stands straight up if someone looks cross-eyed at me. He calms me down and helps me see reason instead of red. And I, of course, help light a fire under his easy going ass when need be.

It's marital bliss most of the time. (Not counting the current tug of war over his constant need for for me to have my ankles behind my ears.)

The bliss ended last night. Fric was on the push mower, singing to her heart's content as she trimmed grass around the trees and flower beds and her brother sat on the riding tractor, happily pretending to be a Formula One race car driver while cutting the lawn.

I, of course, ignored them watched them like a good mother hen as I read my latest summer trash novel.

Suddenly, Frac shut off the lawn tractor and called out to me that he thought something was wrong with the tractor. He heard a bang and wondered if something happened to the mower.

"Don't be silly," I casually called out, while flipping my page. "If it was broken, it would stop. You probably just hit a rock or ran over a twig."

Frac looked unconvinced and suggested putting off mowing until his father got home from work and checked out the tractor, you know, just in case.

"Nice try, dude, but that lawn is going to get mowed whether you use the lawn tractor or start chewing it off with your teeth. You choose." My concern for the lawn tractor was over-shadowed by the shaggy height of our lawn and how I noticed a surprising increase in the number of wild life using my front lawn as their feeding grounds.

Frac shook his head in that man-are-you-a-stupid-woman type of way and sighed and started the lawn tractor. When it started easily (although I will admit to hearing a clunk) I felt vindicated in my decision and waved him onward.

The grass wasn't going to mow itself, people.

A half an hour later, the lawn almost, but not quite finished, the tractor was making funny sounds. Frac was visibly fretting now, checking oil and gas levels and scratching his little blonde head.

"Don't worry about it, Frac, just park it in the shop and go wash for supper," I told him. "It's probably just the battery. It always quits. You can finish after supper," sayeth the wise, mechanically inclined super Mom I am.

Supper came and went and Frac went to finish the lawn. "Mom, I can't get the tractor to start."

"Did you put the battery charger on it?" Because, you know, the battery charger solves all problems.

"It's not the battery. It has lots of juice. It just won't start."

"Don't worry about it then. Dad can look at it when he gets home," I note as I look at my wrist watch. Boo was supposed to be home hours ago. I was trying to contain my annoyance over actually cooking supper for him only to have him not home to observe my keen wifey skills.

Eventually, Boo wandered in. After listening to Frac describe the lawn tractor's current saga, Boo got a worried look on his face and went to go see what ailed his precious mower. I poured myself a cold drink (read: mojito) and turned on my lap top; completely unconcerned about his mechanical problems.

That may have been a mistake. Turns out, it may have been one of many I made that day.

Boo came thundering in, steam pouring out of his ears, and all but shouting at me, "Did you tell him to KEEP mowing the lawn after he heard a boom?"

"Yep," I answered, not even bothering to look up from my lap top.

"WHY would you do that?"

"Because it didn't seem serious to me and the lawn looked horrible."





I thought about holding a mirror in front of Boo and pointing out the cartoon similarities, but I wisely decided against it.

Insert cuss words here and a completely agitated Boo as he headed for the kitchen, slamming cupboard doors and looking for the phone book. Fric and Frac wisely headed outside to avoid the thunderheads hovering over Boo's head.

"It didn't seem serious," Boo mimicked maniacally. Grabbing the phone book (and cursing) he came to a stop in front of me.

"Tell me, Tanis, when, in your schooling, did you become a mechanical expert?" Since the steam from his ears was fogging up my lap top, I looked at him (blankly, I admit,) and shrugged.

"What's the big deal?"

(Note to self: When husband is visibly agitated with you, perhaps the best course of action is not to be cavalier and dismissive.)

"The big deal is when you told him to continue mowing after hearing a boom and telling him he just ran over a rock (again with his maniacal mimicking) you effectively MURDERED my lawn tractor!!!"

"What?" I asked, somewhat defensively (and possibly a wee derogatory.)

"Yea!" he continued all huffily. "It seems the crankshaft broke and blah, blah, blah, (I kinda zoned out through his mechanical explanation) and now the engine of my beloved lawn tractor is seized!!!"

Boo may deny this, but I swear I saw tears glisten in the corner of his eyes as he lamented the loss of his favorite possession.

"Oops."

It was right about then that his eyes bugged out and his face went red and I think he contemplated murdering me.

"Sorry. I didn't know," I offered, while sipping on my drink.

"OOPS. SORREEEE?" he kinda screeched. You could see the synapses firing in his brain as he weighed the pros and cons of burying my body out back as he stood there and twitched before me.

"You can fix it, right?" I helpfully offered.

"You don't FIX DEAD things! DEAD is DEAD!!! It needs a whole new engine. I don't have the time or the money to rebuild that engine!! I may as well buy a new tractor!" he choked out while I watched his left hand twitch.

"Oh." Pause. "That's sucky." Aren't I helpful in times of crisis? Thinking fast, (as I recognized my life may depend on it,) I thoughtfully pointed out how much he would come to love a new lawn tractor. We could find a really pretty one and I'd even let him name it.

Boo stared at me, in slight disbelief, and said "I rebuilt that lawn tractor! It was my DAD's."

I was tempted to point out that the lawn tractor was old and ugly but common sense kicked in and I tried to look apologetic.

I apparently didn't succeed because Boo cussed again, muttered something about useless wives not understanding the value of things and stalked outside, slamming the door behind him.

I walked to the front door just in time to see him kick the front tire of my car. Thinking I could make this better, I opened the door and called out, "Come back in, honey. Let's talk about this."

Boo shot me a murderous look and went to go mourn his beloved tractor.

"Would a blow job make things better?" I yelled. "I won't use my teeth!"

Boo stopped and slowly turned around. I could see by the look on his face he was not amused.

Here I thought the blow-job was the band-aid for all marital boo-boos. Turns out, not so much. I've got a feeling that the only way Boo's gonna be happy with me is if I show up naked riding a brand new riding lawn tractor sporting a big red bow and smiling a toothless grin.

Let's just say the odds of that happening are slim to none.

Poor Boo. He's always getting screwed and never the way he wants.



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Yesterday I was featured in a local newspaper. Click HERE to witness me make a public arse of myself. Again. My family is sooooo proud of me. Heh.

Be Careful What You Wish For

There has been some upheaval recently, under the roof of this redneck. What with my recent hearing loss, and the kids home for the summer, it's taken me a bit to find my bearings.

I spend a lot of time yelling, "Huh? What? I can't hear you!!" while pretending I actually care that we ran out of grape flavoured popsicles.

My husband, bless his sweet soul, apparently got tired of listening to me whine about how not being able to hear out of one side of my head is driving me nuts, how the kids are paid employees of the Devil himself, intent on driving me batshit crazy and how life would be so much easier if he were home.

(I know...banging my head against a pile of sharp pointy rocks as I type this.)

Boo did the unthinkable. He quit his job. Without telling me, and drove home. Because that's what insane people loving husbands do. They make huge life altering decisions without including their spouses in the process and pull the plug on the only source of income that supports four people and provides a family with small necessities such as groceries and shelter.

My darling Boo, however, is unconcerned with such trivialities as money and bills and small whiney mouths that demand to be fed at all times of the day. I truly believe he thinks I keep a money tree hidden out back which we can grab hundred dollar bills off at any time.

Colour me stupid and somewhat shocked, when the front door opened and in walked my husband, bags in hand and sporting a big silly grin. "Honey, I'm home!"

No shit Sherlock. After blinking a couple of times to make sure the mommy juice I was sipping on wasn't messing with my brain, I realized I wasn't delusional and my husband really was home. Ahead of schedule. Which is never good.

After Boo gallantly told his boss to shove it and walked off site, he drove six hours to get home, all the while dreaming of how pleased I would be to have him home. He may have envisioned blow jobs and kinky sex while professing my gratitude at his thoughtfulness.

Sadly, the screeching he heard didn't involve "Oh Big Daddy! OH! OHHHH!" with nails clawing down his bare back. It was more of the "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR F***KING MIND?" variety.

But my darling Boo had a plan. One that involved sitting on me to avoid my flailing limbs and muzzling me so he could explain he didn't just grab a ticket to Poor-ville, he had a new job. One that would allow him to be home every night and tuck his children to bed and still provide me with the life style I had become accustomed to.

(Yet another shining example of how I freak right the fack out before learning all the facts. Heh.)

Like myself, Boo dreamt of the day he could be home every night and how life would much easier if he were home with his family.

There may have been some slight differences between our visions though. Boo mistakenly thought being home in his own bed every night would lead to unadulterated sex EVERY. NIGHT. OF. THE. WEEK. And at least TWICE a night.

I dreamt of having the garbage taken out before it started to fester and attract flies and having my oil changed on a regular basis. The oil in my CAR, I explained to him as I batted his groping hands off my boobs.

Turns out, neither of our dreams have come true.

Boo thought he'd use all his energy and time doing me instead of doing things FOR me.

Me, turns out my life of leisure has come to a screeching halt now that my man is home every night. Life was easier when I didn't have to worry about cooking and cleaning.

Instead of having to entertain and amuse two kids, now I've got another person added to the mix, wanting to be entertained at all hours. Except his version of entertainment is grabbing my arse or my boobs and seeing if "I'll go for it."

Cuz, as he explains, you can't catch a fish if you don't bait the hook.

Who says dreams can't come true? Just take it from me, be careful what you wish for.

Hearing Loss, Humor Gain

***Updated below***

If one doesn't take into consideration that I'm female and thereby batshit crazy one week out of every month, I am a relatively stable and normal person.

Heh. I don't care what the shrink says. I'm well-adjusted.

My husband likes to point out to me (usually when he's been drinking and feeling particularly brave) that if I had been born any earlier in history, I would have likely spent much of my time locked up in a sanitorium, eating bugs out of my hair and talking with my invisible friends.

I like to point out to him that this crazy women is fairly bendy and if he'd like to make use of this talent he ought to keep his flapping yapper shut.

So I can get a little nutty. Things could be worse for my husband. I could be nutty, unpliant, rigid and look like the back end of an ape. He should be counting his blessings. Nuts are good for the soul. Plus, they are natural laxatives. Ask my husband. He throws a shit fit about something I did on a regular basis.

Heh.

Life recently got a whole lot crazier around here as I have been struggling with the latest bout of plague. The inmates were running the aslyum and the zookeeper was too damn sick to do anything more than moan and beg for water. My kids ate more sugar cereal and processed cheese this last week than I care to know. I get constipated just thinking about it.

Thankfully, life has returned back to it's regularly programmed schedule of Redneck hijinks and looney tunes. Except, there's been a twist.

I've gone deaf.

I have lost all hearing in my left ear and my right ear sounds like it's submerged underwater. Picture me doing a whole lot of yelling "Pardon me?" "Speak up, I can't hear you!" and my personal favorite, "What??? EHHHHH???? You talkin' to me?"

While I've always been a little on the nutty side, I'm now officially driving my family crazy. Heh. Welcome to my world, my lovelies. Glad you've decided to join me. Don't be alarmed when you start hearing voices in your head.

The doctors I have seen are comfortable in telling me this is only a temporary hearing loss, part middle ear obstruction and part viral infection. Nothing that time and a handful of colorful pills won't fix.

Meanwhile, every time I lay down my husband is trying to stuff candles in my ear, shoot hot water into my brain or pour oil into my plugged canals.







I suppose this is mildly less annoying than him waving his Mr. Pickle in my face.

But if I have to hear about one more idea for his home remedies I can't guarantee I won't end up bouncing off a padded wall somewhere.

Meanwhile, hilarity ensues. (For me. My husband, friends and relatives aren't as easily amused.)

Because, as I'm discovering in my boggy-eared state, there are a LOT of words that rhyme with f*ck.

And while I suck at reading lips, I apparently am quite skilled in the dirty minded department. Just ask my husband who took his deaf wife out to watch the fire works last night and mingle with the local townsfolk.

He had to keep explaining to me that most people were not asking to tickle my ass with a feather.

They were just making commentary on our particularly nice weather.

Heh.

Funny, I kinda liked my version better.

***Update***

It's a good thing I like my version better. Apparently, I may have to get used to life without hearing in stereo. The doctors are now insisting I've suffered nerve damage and the hearing in my left ear may never be restored.

Shiiiit.

This is what happens when you agree to try your husband's peckercillin. Contrary to his insistence, it is not the cure-all he believes.

Wink, wink.