The photo you get...

... when you ask the kids to pose so you will have a keepsake of the super gigantic snowstorm, which was probably - but not definitely because we're still waiting for the official totals from the NWS - the biggest snowfall ever in your town in the history of ever, and while you are taking the photo one of the three kids gets bored and walks off so they aren't even in the photo, and the other two are actually posing with their arms around each other and smiling right when your husband decides to use his brand-new snowblower for the very first time which you probably don't need me to tell you this last part, but he does not even one little bit know how to use.

CLICK.

Instructions for my husband: Sleep-away camp has all the comforts of home. Even if it sounds like it doesn't.

My oldest, Magpie, at the age of 10 has now joined the ranks of those who can say they've gone to sleep-away camp.

My husband, who never went to sleep-away camp, finds the whole idea of sending one's child away incredibly baffling. And it becomes even more baffling to him because Magpie isn't just at any sleep-away camp this summer, she's at my childhood sleep-away camp.

Which means my husband and I have conversations like this one, which of course only re-enforces his whole idea that the concept of sleep-away camp is extremely befuddling:

Husband: I'm worried about if she forgets something.

Me: Don't worry! If you need something, Blue Boar's has it.

Husband: Blank stare.

Me: Y'know, I told you about Blue Boar's. Actually it's not Blue Boar's anymore, it's Jean Mart.

Husband: Blank stare, now on an increasingly irritated face.

Me: Jean. You don't remember me telling you about Jean? The head of camp for like years and years? Very beloved. She was awesome, truly a very special person. That's why Blue Boar's is Jean Mart now.

Husband: Blank stare, possible smoke coming from ears.

Me: (sighing) The commissary. Blue Boar's, which is Jane Mart, is just the commissary. Okay?

Husband:  (sighing in a way that makes my previous sigh seem like a tiny, little whisper) What the fuck is a commissary?

Me: The camp store. It has everything. You don't need to worry about her forgetting something, because she can get it there. The camp store. The commissary. Blue Boar's. But to be entirely correct Jean Mart.

Husband: Would it have been so hard for you just to say there's a camp store?

Me: It's not MY fault you never went to sleep-away camp.

This is my thirty-seventh instruction in my ongoing series Instructions for my Husband.

Follow along on Facebook on the Instructions to my Husband page since something stupid funny is always going on there.

Instructions for My Husband: If We Are Renovating 'Together' and I'm the One Doing the Actual Work, That Doesn't Make You the 'Supervisor'

I'm thrilled to welcome guest instructor, Rheney Williams!

Here is her instruction for her husband: If We Are Renovating 'Together' and I'm the One Doing the Actual Work, That Doesn't Make You the 'Supervisor.'

I couldn't agree more. Thanks for sharing, Rheney!

My dearest darling husband,

You are my best friend. Nay – you are my other half!

And this is why when we agreed it would be a 'great opportunity' to buy a fixer-upper and renovate the mess out of it, we knew we could handle it because we'd be doing it together, right?

Two equal parts coming together as an awesomely indestructible whole, right?!

And since it's our first house, we'll be able to overcome any difficulty we have with ease and laugh it up as a part of the great 'adventure' that it is, right?!!

Cue the slow-mo shot with the happy, carefree couple bounding together in a lush meadow of daisies and release the doves. What could possibly go wrong?

Oh. So. Many. Things.

I can't remember when you decided you were 'done' with it all but I'm pretty sure the ink was still drying on the mortgage.

Yeah, you remember the mortgage, right, honey? It's that piece of paper that reflects a 'reasonable' purchase price because of all of the concessions for the 'fixing' we decided to do ourselves to save money.

Well, here's the thing: We didn't get a completely finished awesome house at a great price. We got a dump for a great price that we get to turn into an awesome house. And that nasty carpet and the teal laminate countertops aren't going to replace themselves.

But let's back up. I'm the first to give credit where it's due so let's do a quick recap on your contributions, shall we?

You did a bang-up job on painting the ceilings. They are all fresh and white and just wonderful. And your shoulders look ah-mazing! But...are you going to get the edges?

'Of course! Don't you worry; I'll take care of it!'

And you did. With a big fat roller. That left little smears all over my painstakingly cut-in walls around the entire room. That I now have to spend another afternoon of my life that I will never get back re-painting, and oh look, there's not enough paint in the can to re-do the whole room. So now I also have to schlepp it back to the paint store. Thanks for that.

Next time, do the edges with a brush.

But there's also our hardwood floors that we needed to bring inside to acclimate to the inside temperature before we could install them. When it came time to opening the boxes to let the wood breathe, what did you say?

'Of course! Don't you worry; I'll take care of it!'

And you did. At the end of a long day when you were tired and wanted to wrap up so you rushed through the box-opening process.

Only you ripped into every box like a rabid gorilla and now we have six boxes of extra hardwood flooring taking up space on my side of the garage (yours is spotless, of course) sitting atop shredded pieces of cardboard that we can't return because you deemed it appropriate to reenact a scene from 'Planet of the Apes.'

Truly outstanding. Good lookin' out.

Next time, don't try to do something with expensive materials when you're tired.

But the kitchen backsplash tiling situation truly takes the cake. This is the task that I took on so you could get a break from all of the hard projects.

And here you come waltzing in after a nice, long, relaxing jog on the treadmill that I haven't been able to use since last summer and you have the nerve to comment on the tile? No sir.

'Why do you keep leaving everything a mess?' Like you, I've never done this before, so I'm sorry that I had to go the store five times to get all 42 things you need to slap some tiles on a kitchen wall.

'Are you sure this tile was the way to go?' Actually, no, I wanted something very different but this was the best choice for the money that you insisted we stop spending even though this project was always in the budget.

'Why don't you try cutting them a different way?' Oh, I don't know – maybe because I'm the one who actually read the manual (three times) so that I could put together a saw and know exactly how to adjust it. And perhaps because marble is a 'soft' stone which means it will chip if it isn't cut just so.

'Should this be taking so long?' Really? That's what you're asking? Because the answer is: 'No. No it should not be taking this long. And it wouldn't be if you were pulling your half of the weight.'

And another thing, buddy, since when did you become a tiling expert? If you're not offering to actually help, you don't get to offer helpful 'tips' and suggestions on how I could be doing things better.

So seriously, either pick up a trowel and get to grouting or pipe down!

Love you, honey!! Can't wait for our next project!!

XOXO

Rheney Williams is a DIY woman on a mission who readily acknowledges that she couldn't Do-It-Herself without the support of her wonderful husband, Stephen. In addition to writing about projects for Home Depot, Rheney and Stephen are 'jointly' updating their home. Wherever you live, The Home Depot has a store near you with knowledgeable associates available to help with one-on-one advice for projects large and small.

Instructions for My Husband: A Word Can Still Exist Even if You Have Never Heard It.

This post is sponsored by Grammarly. I use Grammarly's English grammar correction feature because I don't want my husband to be able to say to me "actually, you used an 'is' where you should have used an 'are'" or something else equally annoying.

While I know you are a stanch logophile, still, there are a few - possibly even more than a few - words you don't know. I am aware that you want to think you know every single word in the English language. We all do. It would be awesome.

But you don't know all of the words.

When I use in conversation one of the clearly very, very few words that you don't already know the incorrect response is, "Never heard of it. You must have that wrong."

The correct response is, " Oh cool, I learned a new word! I can't wait to use it at the office on Monday! What a lucky break for a logophile like me to learn a new word!"

The even more correct response is, "My wife has the most amazing vocabulary. I'm so lucky to be married to someone I can learn new words from all the time!"

And last, just for the record, lonsman really is another word for Jew, and a gondola doesn't only refer to a boat in Venice.

This is my thirty-sixth instruction in my ongoing series Instructions for my Husband.

Follow along on Facebook on the Instructions to my Husband page since something stupid funny is always going on there.

Instructions for my husband: Thanksgivukkah not only is real, it real-ly is once-in-a-lifetime

I did not make up Thanksgivukkah, which is the holiday that results from Thanksgiving Day and the first day of Hanukkah falling on the exact same day this year. Yes, you heard that right.... THE EXACT SAME DAY.

What are the chances? Well, apparently almost none. That's why it's never really happened before (maybe once, but there's some uncertainty of what day Thanksgiving was back in the Eighteen-hundred-and-something year that the overlap might have occurred in) and is really, never really going to happen again. EVER.

Again, let me repeat, I am not making this up, it is well documented on everything from Thanksgivukkah websites to Thanksgivukkah merchandise.

I also did not make up the fact that this Thanksgivukah is not happening again for 70,000-plus years. A bunch of nice Jewish nerds guys have done the math, and you know it's right because you don't need me to tell you that Jews are good with numbers.

Or do the math calculations yourself, Mr. Regional Math Team Champion 1986 (and '87). You'll see for your doubting self.

It is true that Hanukkah and Thanksgiving will overlap again, when the first night of Hanukkah falls on Thanksgiving Day in... 2070. And while I'd like to think that we will both be there to share pumpkin flavored latkes and jelly doughnuts shaped like turkeys, I'm just not sure it's a done deal.

So let's treat this Thanksgivukkah as the once-in-a-lifetime event for which it is, for real, really. If the unique chance to have a pairing of latkes and stuffing isn't a reason to celebrate, I don't know what is.

Happy Thanksgivukkah!

PS If there are other doubters, don't believe me just read this. Or this.

This is my thirty-fifth instruction in my ongoing series Instructions for my Husband.

Follow along on Facebook on the Instructions to my Husband page where something stupid funny is always going on there.

Instructions for my Husband: Don't Take Candy from Babies. Or Toddlers. Or Really Any Child.

I know it's tempting to take candy when out toddler offers some to you oh-so-nicely.

But you really shouldn't.

Head on over to My Life and Kids and find out Why You Should Never, Ever Take Candy from a Toddler.

This is my thirty-fourth instruction in my ongoing series Instructions for my Husband.

Follow along on Facebook on the Instructions to my Husband page where something stupid funny is always going on there.

Instructions for my Husband: The pool and the bath are not one in the same

A big thank you to Nicole Yontz for being a guest instructor here today and explaining to her husband the finer points of distinguishing a trip to the pool from actually giving a child a bath.

Nicole is a stay at home mom in Arizona and a contributing parenting writer for WhatToExpect.com. She writes a personal blog at TheBetterHalfBlogs.com, and you can also find Nicole on Facebook and on Twitter so go say hi!

Dear Sweet Husband,

You’re a wonderful man that I love dearly with all my little heart. But. Yes, but. There are a few things we need to clarify here: one of them being the bathing habits of our child. You might want to have a seat because I’m about to throw some knowledge on you…

Swimming in the pool is not the same as swimming in the bath.

The other day when I asked you to bathe our offspring and then you didn’t, rationalizing that she was clean enough after having been in the pool for hours and hours, was the day that I realized we had a problem. You see there are serious fundamental differences between these two bodies of water that I will now outline for you.

POOL:
• Is filled with water
• Makes hands and feet pruney
• Contains chlorine

BATH:
• Is filled with water
• Makes hands and feet pruney
• CONTAINS SOAP

As you can see from my bullet points, yes, both the pool and the bath contain water and they both make little hands and feet pruney. I can see how you could get confused, I really can. However, the last point is the most important; the pool contains chlorine and the bath has this amazing stuff called soap. Chlorine is meant to clean germs and bugs out of the pool; it, however, does not clean toddlers.

So I hope I cleared up any misconceptions you may have had previously and I look forward to a clean and good smelling toddler in the future.

Love,
Your Adoring Wife

PS: If you need some tips for making bath time fun, check out WhatToExpect.com.

Thanks again Nicole for adding this important instruction to our growing list!

To read all the instructions for husbands, click here.

Instructions for my Husband: We're Still Not Buying Sketchy Skechers

Remember how back in 2011 I told you we were not buying their shoes because of sketchy Skechers ridiculous, insulting, hideous campaign to get pre-teen girls to wear shape-up sneakers, to look good for the boys in class?

Well, we still aren't buying Skechers. Sure, the shape-ups are off the market (not because Skechers saw the error of their ways) because the FTC made them stop selling them for false claims that could not be substantiated.

And yet, while you might think this is the year you could make your daughters' dreams of owning twinkle toes shoes be realized: it is not.

Because now Skechers has managed to find something arguably even more offensive than fucking shape-up sneakers for first-graders.

It's a line of shoes for teen and pre-teen girls called... DADDY'S MONEY.

Wait, sorry, that's not quite right it's DADDY'$ MONEY. Apparently Skechers is too cla$$y for a regular ol' S when they can plop a $ in there instead and make it like they're all cool to the kid$.

Ironically, after the shape-up bullshit these new shoes have a "hidden 2-inch wedge." Because you can't start too early teaching girls their body isn't thin enough, tall enough or good enough.

I don't even know where to start to explain the outrage and revulsion I feel that from all of the clever names they could have picked, Skechers chose Daddy'$ Money. Apparently this was the best they could come up with after deciding Shoes for Your Whore Daughters was just going too far.

Also, I'm going to guess Mommy's Money didn't have the same ring, nor did Shoes I Bought with Own Damn Money.

I want to think that it doesn't matter. Who cares if some stupid over-priced garish shoes are called Daddy'$ Money or any other dumb name. But I think it really does matter. These aren't shoes being marketed in a kitschy way to grown-ups. These are shoes - with a hidden heel! - being marketed to teens and tweens, specifically teen and tween girls - there are (surprisingly!) no shoes for boys in the Daddy'$ Money line.

 

And that's why it matters. We don't want our daughters, and girls everywhere to think that Daddy's Money is the answer, literally or figuratively to get shoes, or anything else in life. And it's never too early to teach girls that they matter, their choices matter, and that when companies make bad choices we need to show them that that matters, too.... by not buying their crap.

 

 

So when this family spends Daddy's money - and Mommy's money - it's going to be on shoes with names like Free Run and Jazz, and the shoes we buy won't have any hidden heels, or hidden messages.

And in case you're wondering if it's just me, it's not. I'm not the only one that thinks these shoes suck. So do a lot of other people, you can read why they're outraged here.

So to sum up: Do not come home with Skechers for the girls no matter how much they want them. They'll thank you later, I'm sure.

This is my thirty-third instruction in my ongoing series Instructions for my Husband.

Follow along on Facebook on the Instructions to my Husband page where there's always something funny (or frustrating) going on.

Instructions for My Husband: Frozen Yogurt and Ice Cream are Not "the Same Thing"

I know I refer to going to the frozen yogurt place as "getting ice cream," but that is because I am talking to the kids, and frankly (no offense kids!) they're too young and stupid to know the difference.

So I will admit that I was surprised when you told me you thought frozen yogurt and ice cream are -- and I quote -- "the same thing."

There is a difference, because frozen yogurt is not actually ice cream -- it's frozen yogurt.

And while sure, I remember that Seinfeld episode where the whole gang got fat from eating too much frozen yogurt that claimed to be fat-free, and I'm the first to admit that frozen yogurt may not be nearly as good for you as they claim it is, but it still isn't nearly as as bad for you as ice cream.

Just one example:

8 oz from Red Mango: 200 calories

8 oz from Carvel: 410 calories

Ice cream is about twice as bad for you as frozen yogurt. And while I only felt like Googling one example, feel free to google as many other combinations as you would like.

As this photo shows, kids are equally happy with frozen yogurt (top) or ice cream (bottom).

In fact, one of the kids seems okay just eating a shoe (calorie count unavailable):

And while the kids might want to junk up the frozen yogurt with Fruity Pebbles and Gummy Bears, you can just quietly steer them towards the blueberries and pineapple, and call it a healthy outing.

Or,as the kids call it, getting ice cream.

This is the thirty-second instruction in my ongoing series of Instructions for My Husband.

I've also just made Instructions for my Husband its very own Facebook page. Go be an early adapter and like it, please?! Facebook.com/InstructionsformyHusband

Instructions for my husband: A four-year-old should not know her little sister's school schedule better than you do.

I know it's hard to keep all of our kids' schedules straight, being as there's both of them, but if Magpie (who is four) can do it, I think you can, too. Or at least do it a little bit better than your current abilities.

But that is not really my point.

My point is that if we have a conversation that goes like this at breakfast:

Instruction-needing Husband: "Have a nice day at school, girls."
Magpie: "Daddy, it's Wednesday. Only I go to school on Wednesdays. Kay doesn't."
Kay: "Me no school today. Me school tomorrow."
Instruction-needing Husband: "Wow, I really have no idea of anything going on with them, do I?"
Awesomest Wife Ever: "I know it's complicated. Magpie goes to school five days, and Kay goes four days - every day but Wednesday. It's a lot to keep straight."

And again, let me remind you, I'm totally fine with the conversation above, I'm sure it is hard to keep their wildly divergent schedules straight, but what I'm not okay with is the phone conversation we just a few hours later:

Instruction-needing Husband: "So did the girls have a good day at school today?"
Awesomest Wife Ever: "Uh, Magpie did."
Instruction-needing Husband: "Oh, what happened to Kay at school?"
Awesomest Wife Ever: "Nothing. Kay doesn't go to school on Wednesdays."
Instruction-needing Husband: "Oh right, Magpie just told me that this morning."
Awesomest Wife Ever: "Yes, your four-year-old knows when her sister goes to school. And you don't!"

How do you not remember a discussion we just had that morning? Like, three hours earlier? And how hard is it to remember that Kay doesn't have school on Wednesdays?!

Which brings me to something I've been meaning to share with the blog readers out there for a while now, the original purpose of Instructions for My Husband was not so much to leave real instructions or even to complain about my beloved husband, but to provide a written record for which I consider my dear husband to now be responsible for knowing.

So my dear husband - don't tell me I never told you the girls school schedules. Because here it is in blog and white.

This is an old instruction from when I had an entire blog devoted to leaving instructions for my husband. I remembered it today when we had a snafu with the kids' school schedule. I'm not going to say whose fault it was, but let's just say the name rhymes with Wusband.

This is the thirty-first instruction in my ongoing series of Instructions for My Husband.

Have an instruction for your other half? I would love to share it here. Email me at anna@randomhandprints.com.

Who remembers the kids' wacky schedules best at your house?

Instructions for my husband: you don't need to buy "easy to peel" clementines

What sort of marketing bullshit did you get taken in by at the grocery store today?

What are you going to come home with tomorrow, magic beans?

What exactly do you think makes an "easy to peel" clementine different from a "regular" clementine?

And to begin at the beginning, how long have you been secretly thinking every time you tried to enjoy a sweet piece of citrus fruit, "Dammit, this clementine is impossible to peel. If only there were clementines that I could peel with more ease, perhaps such a thing exists only in my dreams."

As far as I know, clementines are all the same in terms of peel-ease, and let's face it, I'm not sure how much easier they could be made to peel. They're not surrounded by barbed-wire or rows of tiny shark teeth. It's not like peeling a Clementine takes a lot of strength or endurance, nor are there any other difficult side effects, say like one might find when taking on the difficult task of peeling an onion.

In fact, I'd say marketing "easy to peel" clementines is pretty much just another step towards the final lazification of civilization, the slippery slope of which Ellen DeGeneres pointed out years ago:

"We're just so lazy. We used to have breath mints. Now we have breath strips that just dissolve on our tongue. Can we not suck anymore?"

So no, the world - and our family - does not need "easy to peel" clementines.

At least that's my take on it. Wendi Aarons of course would be the first in line to get some of these newfangled clementines, located in the produce aisle directly across from the gluten-free strawberries.

This is the thirtiest instruction in my ongoing series of Instructions for My Husband.

Have an instruction for your other half? Email me at anna@randomhandprints.com and be a guest instructor.

More of the same on Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest - don't miss it; join us!

Instructions for My Husband: I know the difference between inequity and iniquity.

Do you really think I don't know the difference between the word inequity and the word iniquity?

Really?

I was being funny. Hilarious, even. One might even say uproarious.

And it is funny. Because when you told me that you were going to go play poker in Atlantic City with your friends instead of coming home - which in itself is comical - I said, "Oh, the iniquity."

And you said, "Uh, I think you mean inequity."

Which, had I said that, would not be nearly as clever.

If there's one thing I'm sure of, you going to play poker instead of coming home to help with the kids, is funny. Hilarious, even. One might even say uproarious. Not to mention iniquitous. And full of inequity.

So yeah, I know the difference between inequity and iniquity - even if your little last-minute trip to Atlantic City with the boys managed to combine the two into one so nicely.

 

This is the twenty-eighth instruction in my ongoing series of Instructions for My Husband.

Have an instruction for your other half? Email me at anna@randomhandprints.com and be a guest instructor.

More fun on Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest - let's connect!

Instructions for my husband: you can't just quit the mail.

See this? This is your mail. The mail I carefully, methodically leave for you every day in your neat brown mail bin so that nothing goes missing or lost within our home post office.

There's one small thing though: the system only works if you take a teensy little glimpse through your mail once in a while.

I know there is important stuff in there, that's why sometimes in addition to my sorting duties I tell you things like "there's a letter marked post-due," or "I saw some official-ly looking stationery. You should open that one, maybe."

It's sorta funny and cute when I ask you to go through the mail and you scoff, "Nah, I'm done with mail." But the thing is you can't be done with mail - or at least, you can't be done with it yet.

Maybe one day mail will go the way of dial-up modems and cassette tapes, but until then you have mail, good, old-fashioned mail, and you need to take care of it.

And don't ask me to just read/pay/reply to said pieces of mail, I already do - to the pieces addressed to me, stored prettily in my pink mail bin. All that mail pictured here? Is yours, all yours.

Look at it this way, the mail service just axed Saturday delivery, just five more days to go and your mail-free lifestyle is reality.

This is the twenty-eighth instruction in my ongoing series of Instructions for My Husband. Have an instruction for your other half? Email me at anna@randomhandprints.com and be a guest instructor.

More fun on Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest - let's connect!

And for all instructions, all the time visit the Instructions for my Husband Facebook page.

 

Instructions for My Husband: The Differences Between Lavender and Rosemary Plants

We don't have a rosemary plant in our garden.

We have a lavender plant.

I know this because I bought it.

I know this because I planted it.

And, I know this because our plant looks like this:

Image from our garden

And a rosemary plant looks like this:

Image from Pinterest

And here is a handy side-by-side, which shows that while similar, the Lavender plant (in my garden) has many differences from the Rosemary plant (on the Internet):

As you can see, Lavender is a "smoky green grey color" whereas Rosemary is a more waxy green.

And if computers were equipped with smell-o-vision these days - which clearly, they should be - it would make the lavender obviousness that much more, uh, obvious.

This is the twenty-eighth instruction in my ongoing series of Instructions for My Husband.

Update: my kids just saw this post and said, "Uncle thinks it's a Rosemary plant, too!" Really, Uncle?Is this true?

Instructions for My Husband: Please leave the empty water bottles out on water delivery day

Please remember to leave the empty water bottles out for collection on water delivery day. Because if you don't leave them out, they don't get picked-up. And yet, the new water bottles are still delivered. And even though we are no longer living in our dollhouse-sized Manhattan apartment, unless you want to build a water bunker we still don't have room for all the old water bottles AND all the new water bottles (and me) to coexist happily in our suburban home.

It is especially important to remember to leave the empty water bottles on on days when your super-awesome wife somehow manages to remember herself and reminds you ever so nicely, "Dearest husband, please don't forget to leave the water bottles outside. After all, it is water day tomorrow."

And, it is especially, especially important to to leave the empty water bottles out when your sweet and lovely wife reminds you AGAIN "My beloved husband, just wanted to make sure you knew that today is the day the water guy comes."

And you say, "Don't worry. I got it."

Well, the empty bottles are still here. Along with their four new friends, the new, full water bottles.

And what really annoys me the most is that in addition to the insanely large stockpile of water bottles you insist we hoard at all the times, you have also written into our delivery order that four bottles must be left at all times, even if no bottles are returned. 

All this means that we are now going to have to live in a water bottle factory until the next delivery. Assuming, of course, that you remember to leave the empies out then. And that is really annoying.

So, please.... leave the water bottles out on delivery day. Especially when I remind you to do it, and y'know, "you got it."

This is the twenty-seventh instruction in my ongoing series of Instructions for My Husband.

Instructions for My Husband: At the end of a long day when the kids are sick is not the optimal time to go shopping at Radio Shack

When the kids are sick, and I'm home alone with them, you should come directly home after work. As the saying goes, Do Not Pass Go, or in your case, Do Not Go to Radio Shack.

This advice is particularly applicable when one of the sick kids is puking. Repeatedly. On me. And the other sick kid is snotting repeatedly. On me.


Let me set the scene: I'm home with sick kids, puked on laundry and carpet, boogery tissues and snotted on clothes, and I call you to see when you'll be home and you answer helpfully in an upbeat tone "around half-an-hour, I'm getting a new phone right now at Radio Shack."

This takes place at 5 o'clock. You get home at 5:30pm. Many of you reading this may be thinking, what's the big deal, it's only 30 minutes. And now your husband has the phone he wanted!
But you would be wrong. In those 30 minutes I had to feed the snotty one, while explaining to the pukey one that she couldn't eat the dinner, she could only have jello and Popsicles, while simultaneously trying to convince the snotty one to eat some real food, not just the pukey one's food.

And remember, this delightful dinner is taking place after a day of snot and puke and general toddler sickness and ickiness of one kind and another. Which, and I know this will come as a surprise, is actually not nearly as fun as it sounds.

Radio Shack is two blocks from our apartment. Two measly blocks. They are open at 8am. They stay open until 10pm. Was there really no other time you could find to go? The day when I was home by myself with two sick kids and their tears, whines and various bodily excretions,  going today at 5 o'clock was the absolute best time you could come up with?

So, please, let me help you - today at 5pm was not a good time to go to Radio Shack. Go any time in the middle of the day this weekend. Go any night after the kids are asleep. Or even go at 5pm, on any of the many other days when one of them isn't throwing up. Repeatedly. On me.

This is a post I started back in December, 2007. Thanks go NaBloPoMo, I finished it today. I'm still sorta annoyed, which is surprising because I am totally not one to hold a grudge. At all.

This is the twenty-sixth instruction in my ongoing series of Instructions for My Husband.

Does your husband ever pick the absolute worst time to go run an errand while you're at home with the offspring?

Instructions from My Husband for... Me!

A few days ago my husband and I made a bet in which I wagered "If I'm wrong, you can leave instructions for me on my blog!"

You can guess who was on the winning end of that argument. So here are a few instructions for me from my beloved, which I happily post below, because I am nothing if not a woman of my word.

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As someone who reads Random Handprints with some regularity, I've spent a good deal of time sitting around and wondering just who this poor lady's husband could really be, and I'm sure you've done the same. I mean, who makes all of these unbelievable comments? Who in the world actually thinks, let alone says, even half of all of these rude and unthinkable things? And who could be that stupid, aright?

Well, that person is me. And I'm here to clear the air a little bit.

First off, let me start by explaining why I am even being given this opportunity to stick up for myself in this forum. Last night, baby Ziggy pulled his favorite blankie -- that he sleeps with each and every night since he was...well...born -- right into his bath. Of course, with the Ziggster scheduled to be heading to bed about 15 minutes later, I knew there was going to be trouble as his blankie was completely and utterly soaked. I told your favorite blogger that we were in trouble, and was quickly informed that she would throw the blanket in the dryer and it would be ready "within ten minutes."

Now, I may not do the laundry all that much in our house, and I may not be so great at remembering to do the dishes, or to take out the trash, or even what to put into the trash for that matter. But I know that a completely soaked, thick blanket like the one belonging to Ziggy is not going to be dried in 10 minutes. And I said so.

And the reaction I got to my completely innocent comment would have reached the top 10 of anyone's list of all-time human indignities. It was unbelievable. Ms. Handprints herself not only disagreed with me, but she gave me that look. You know, that look that you always give your husband when you know not only that you are right, but that he is talking completely out of his ass about something he basically knows nothing about whatsoever. It's a look, and a feeling, that wives have been making famous since time immemorial, and I received it in spades last night. The response I received, in fact, was that not only would the blanket clearly be totally dry in 10 minutes, but that it might be too dry, so dry that it could break the entire dryer and perhaps short out the power in all of northeastern New Jersey in that period of time. Uh huh.

So, being nothing if not opportunistic, a bet was offered by me, and a certain over-excited don't-call-me-a-mommy-blogger happily accepted. The terms were simple -- she would go drop the blanket in the dryer, and if it was not dry after 10 minutes, I would win the right to write any post I wanted for her blog.

And here I am. So after explaining above how I got to this point, I thought I would take the rest of this post and give you all a list of helpful suggestions for my wife and how she gets through the day with our happy family. Honey, you may have thought you would never see instructions like this on this here blog, but it looks like you were wrong....

1. Don't forget that I lived on my own for a looooong time. This includes actually cooking for myself, cleaning, doing my own laundry, and all of those other things that, you know, adult human beings do to take care of themselves from day to day. I might actually know something about laundry!! I even used to breathe on my own, wayyy back in the day. Can you believe it?

2. Don't be totally loud and aggressive when you place a bet with someone, but then when you find out later you were wrong, suddenly transform into the most silent, humble person alive who simply "forgot" to mention that she was wrong. This is one of my wife's best moves, to the point that it's just a joke in our household at this point. She makes a bet, stakes a claim, makes an assertion about something and makes a big huge deal about being right. She stomps into the family room to verify and "prove" it on her computer. And then, suddenly, it's radio silence. No confirmation of rightness, no admission of wrongness, in fact no sounds at all. You go check the room and she has either moved on to something else entirely, or she's not even there. No, I'm not going to just forget about our bet because you left the room for 15 minutes. I would say "nice try", but it's not even, really. Oh, and by the way? The Ziggy-blanket took an hour to completely dry out.

3. While we're on the topic of laundry, don't drop your clothes wherever you're standing when you take them off. I mean, it's one thing if you're right near the hamper in the bedroom when you change into your pajamas, even if you miss the hamper a little bit (not that you would let Magpie and Kay get away with that kind of sloth). But three different pairs of shoes covering the entire landing of our stairs? Your often mismatched socks strewn across our upstairs hallway for days on end? And somebody please tell me, how on earth did your lacy bra end up under our latest water delivery, anyways?

4. Speaking of which, our pretty-boy water delivery guy is not in love with you. Yes, he chats you up like you're old bitties at the salon every time he comes in. Yes, he seems like a very friendly guy. And yes, even I have to admit he is kind of pretty. OK, very pretty. But I'm pretty sure his friendly attitude has more to do with the commission he gets on those two 32-pack cases of diet carob pomegranate iced tea you manage to buy from him every time he comes by, and then promptly throw out since of course no one in our house would ever drink that crap, than it does with an actual desire to get you to break your marital vows. I'm just saying.

5. And most importantly of all, don't let your mouth write checks your blog can't cash.

Words of wisdom to live by. And with that, I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming of handprint crafts and cute-ass pictures of my children.
 
Many thanks to my husband for joining in on the Instructions fun. He's been blogging since before it was called that, and his blog was even an MSNBC site of the day in... wait for it... 1998.

Instructions for My Husband: When You Start a Sentence with "In My Opinion" You Do Not Need to Always Add "Which is Undoubtedly Correct"

Usually, when people give their opinion, it is something they believe to be true. I'm too lazy to Google/Wikipedia/Dictionary.com it, but I am betting that is even the actual definition of opinion.

So, you don't need to (always! every single time!) be redundant and say "My opinion, which is undoubtedly correct, is that you are doing blah blah blah totally the wrong way." I know you think you are correct, even undoubtedly correct, and that is exactly why you're saying whatever stupid thing it is you're saying.

Why would you be saying something you didn't think was correct?

Because in my opinion, which is undoubtedly correct the day is not going to come when I hear you say "My opinion, which I'm not totally sure about and might be incorrect..."

Sigh. 

Am I the only person who thinks an opinion doesn't need a qualifier?
This is my twenty-fifth instruction for my husband in my ongoing series Instructions for My Husband.

Instructions for my Husband: Five Guys is not Good For You.

Let me just start by saying I also think Five Guys burgers are delicious. And yes, I also wish that Five Guys Burgers was good for you, or even just sorta-ok for you.

But, sadly, Five Guys burgers aren't even ok to eat every once-in-awhile.

They are straight-up as bad as fast food, which completely surprised me too, but it's true. And as you know, I don't eat fast food. So I guess I'm not eating Five Guys anymore.

Here are the numbers, directly from Five Guys nutritional guide:

A single burger (which they call a little burger) is 480 calories and 26 grams of fat.

And the double burger (which they call a burger) is a perfectly frightening 700 calories and 43 grams of fat.

And last, just in case you're thinking it's not that bad, take a quick comparison to the McDonald's nutritional guide:

A Big Mac is 540 calories and 29 grams of fat, not as bad for you as a Five Guys burger.

And a McD hamburger? Is actually less bad for you than a Five Guys Little Burger - 250 calories and 9 grams of fat.

I think the McD serving sizes are smaller than the Five Guys ones, but still... it's pretty bad.

And no, I don't think Five Guys is lying on their nutritional information sheet to make the food seem worse for you then it is.

This is my twenty-fourth instruction for my husband in my ongoing series Instructions for My Husband.

Image source: Clip art licensed from Clip Art Gallery on DiscoverySchool.com.

Instructions for My Husband: While delicious, bacon does not need to be included in every single dish you make.

I love bacon.

You love bacon.

And yet...

We don't need to include bacon in every meal, let alone every dish.

For example, when you cooked a delicious meal on Saturday night it was great that you included bacon in the home fried potatoes. It was a nice touch to wrap the steaks in bacon. But really, did you have to put bacon in the asparagus? Couldn't one dish be bacon-free?

As you know, I love bacon as much as the next person, but at least one dish in every meal should be bacon-free. One dish should also be low in sodium, but that is an instruction for another day.

Photo from the very awesome The Baconcyclopedia: The Ultimate Bacon Reference of Baconic Proportions.

This is my twenty-third instruction for my husband in the ongoing series Instructions for My Husband.