I don’t make a habit of keeping secrets from my husband. Or doing things behind his back. Honesty and communication are two huge parts of a working marriage. Everyone’s got a squeaky wheel from time to time, but I really think that if you are communicating and being truthful with one another you can work through almost anything.
There is one thing though that my husband just plain does not approve of. I’ve known it from the start. I kept away from it the entire time we were dating and engaged. Well, wait. I might have had one slip, but that’s all. I promise. My respect for his opinion is much higher than my need want for this. All through college this was a major player in my life. I partook…a lot. He did, too, in his early days, but…
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. – 1 Corinthians 13:11
And for the most part, once we got married and were in such close quarters (with him living in what had been my domain and mine alone), I thought I would give it up to.
Then there was Friday. He had some things to do after school. A student was testing and then he wanted to get some things arranged in his room.
I’ve got time.
Hours, maybe. As I drove home, I developed a plan. He would be out of the house for a while. I could get by with it. I knew I could. Even though I knew that later that night I would be admitting it to Kevin. The smell would stay on me. And the smell is unmistakable.
I pulled into the parking lot, ran inside, and emerged with my spoils. I wondered how my clandestine activities might have appeared to anyone watching, but once I was home, what other people thought was the last thing on my mind.
I dug into the paperbag. Here I was. Home. In private. No one could see me. And in my hand was the thing I had been missing for so long.
I thought about my husband. He has his reasons for wanting to stay away from it. It was in abundance in college. Literally at our fingertips wherever we went at OU. Always available. A little on the trashy side, maybe. Poor quality, there’s no doubt. But there is something about it that reminds me of high school. Of being behind the bleachers during a football game. The taste…
Mmm.
I know it’s not respectable. I’m not sure what it says about me that in a moment of weakness this is what I turn to. I thought I had broken the habit.
You know what my addiction is, don’t you?
.
.
.
Friday night, for the first time in years, I enjoyed the cheap, canned cheese taste of a Classic Nacho and a greasy Crunchy Taco (and later, a refrigerated one, as I was taught) from Taco Mayo.
EDIT: Apparently, searching for the terms “closet taco” will land you here now. Mission accomplished.
This weekend was our planned (surprise) trip to Virginia Beach to celebrate Kevin’s Pop-Pop’s 80th birthday. As you know, snowed-in, no school, flight canceled, Dune, all that jazz…we didn’t get to go. Eightieth birthdays don’t happen that often and I know I was sad to miss it, I just know it disappointed my husband so much more. Lucky for us, we still get to go out for spring break to visit a few of Kevin’s family members in March.

Kevin, me, and Pop-Pop at our wedding.
Here’s to you, Pop-Pop, on your 80th birthday! We’ll see you after the spring thaw.
Bet you thought I lost power yesterday when I stopped updating that blog post.
Wrong. I died of BOREDOM.
Snow is beautiful (it’s what we’re getting today) and it’s so much better than ice. But I am ready to throw in the towel on this winter business. I love cold weather. I love rain and thunderstorms. We’ve never reached a point where we had so much rain in Oklahoma that I have tired of it. I think I’d enjoy Seattle or London a lot.
This winter weather though? I’m tired of it. The whole thing might be different if I lived in a state that was equipped to take care of this kind of thing without any major hiccups. But the snow and ice are so rare that it doesn’t get handled very well. I know that the various groups in charge of taking care of things are working their hardest, but man oh man. I’m done. No chains to put on my tires. No back up source of heat if the power goes out. No place to get water if there’s a problem with a line (like there was this morning). First world problems, I know.
Unfortunately, this afternoon I made a deal with my husband that if he would watch William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet, I would watch Dune. I should have realized whenever he laughed maniacally and said, “Yeah, I’ll definitely watch Romeo + Juliet if you’re going to watch Dune.”
We’re only 20 minutes in and the faint of heart need to be warned. (If any of my uber-squeamish cousins are reading this, stop NOW.) There is an alien in this movie whose mouth was clearly modeled after a cow’s girlie bits.
I’m going to collect quotable lines from this movie for your entertainment (and in italics, things that they should have said):
And that, friends, is pretty much how today has been.
I have a few neuroses. I can admit that. When I was in 2nd grade my teacher handed out an award to each of us that was made personal by acknowledging us for one particular thing that we contributed to our class. My award was “Most Imaginative Student.” I don’t remember it, because I was too beaming and proud as I marched across the stage to take my piece of paper, but I’m certain my mom and granny were somewhere in the back stifling their laughter. Because “most imaginative” was really just the tip of the iceberg.
People, I’m the one who had an imaginary husband at age 2.
Second grade was a somewhat disturbing year for me. While I never stopped making the good grades that would follow me all of my days through public school, that year I spent a lot of time drawing pictures of “Charlie Bronw” (as I spelled it back then), writing stories, and sharing my latest nightmare with my classmates during recess. That last thing? Yeah, doesn’t go over well with teachers and definitely not with the other parents.
I was always into shocking people though. In 1st grade I got in a lot of trouble for going around to all the kids I knew that believed in Santa and telling them that he wasn’t real. It’s a wonder I never acted out as a teen.
Along with the shocking, I loved to be shocked. Stories of the macabre gave me a thrill. Probably because it was forbidden. My parents didn’t let me watch or read anything (that they knew of) that dealt with subject matter that was the least bit questionable. The school library, however tame, served to whet my appetite.
Now, thankfully, my interests in the bizarre are pretty much limited to time travel. Because…yeesh. Life was hard enough anyway. No need to ostracize myself as a freak.
All this to say, you’d think that with my love of all things freaky and weird and shocking to my mom, there wouldn’t be much that would make me shudder. Nothing that I’d find so disturbing that I’d have to turn from the TV and shout, “Change it! Change the channel!” But you’d be thinking wrong.
The first time I can remember reacting to something in this way was when I was watching a show that I wasn’t allowed to view anyway — My Little Pony (I know, but there was magic…are you starting to understand now?). I don’t remember how we landed on the show. Maybe it came on after Duck Tales. Either way, we were watching it and on this particular episode some of the ponies had fallen into quicksand and were in it up to their stomachs. My 6-year-old eyes interpreted something very different though.
I saw ponies with no legs.
There were ponies and they were missing their legs. Not cut off or injured, but cleanly removed. Nowhere to be found. It was a deformity. Something I’d never seen. And I reacted like a lunatic.
“CHANGE IT!”
Luckily my parents raised me better and I knew never to respond in such a way to a person with a birth defect or abnormality, or to someone who lost some part of their body to injury. (My dad lost part of his finger in an accident when I was in high school.) Still, my response to such things on television as a child, and to some extent even now, has been to wince in pain. Turn my head. Ache for that person or animal and just pray that it goes away. I don’t think anyone outside of my family (if they even noticed) ever witnessed this. And the one time that it happened in a group of people…well, let me tell you. It is, after all, the title of this post.
Last weekend, while I was pukey, Kevin looked over at me from behind his laptop and said, “Hey, Netflix has Johnny Tremain now. Mind if I move it to the top of the queue?”
I stared back. “Johnny Tremain?”
“Yeah. The Disney version.”
“Umm…”
–
I don’t remember what year it was. Maybe 6th or 7th grade. We were studying the American Revolution and a number of different patriots. Our reader had featured a short story on Johnny Tremain and so our teacher thought that it would be a good time to incorporate the Disney film. Not knowing what to expect, I settled in to watch what I thought would be a gentle, possibly goofy, tale of the patriot’s life. You know, like Davy Crockett. A good movie to pass notes in the middle of.
They need to put a warning on these things.
I watched, in horror, as Mr. Tremain’s hand was enveloped in molten silver. And then the bell rang. The video was stopped and we were going to finish it the next day. I sat there.
Wait. Dude. DUDE. (That was my word back then.) The guy just had his hand covered in molten hot metal! What does that do to a person? I wanted to know the facts. What was I going to come back to the next day? Severe burns? It’s not like you can pick metal off the skin like a bad sunburn. Yuck. Missing fingers? Was he going to lose his entire hand? What happens when you dip your hand in something that hot? Does it just fall off?
I had so many questions. And I was thoroughly freaked out. I had always wondered what would happen if you stuck a limb in lava. Do you pull back a stump?
I never found out the answers to my questions. Something came up and we didn’t get to finish the film. And so, for the past 13 years, I have lived in fear of the Disney film, Johnny Tremain. It never occurred to me that I might have to watch it in its entirety. Tonight I will. Not because I want to. Marriage is full of sacrifices.
But you’d better believe I’ll never watch Freaks.
I had grand plans for the past week on my blog. None of those came to fruition though. Having the first day of the week off work through me for a loop for one thing and then things never really slowed down throughout the week. Thursday, two of my office aides were sent home with fevers.
Uh-oh.
I grabbed the Clorox wipes and scrubbed down every surface in my office area, including the clock-in thingy, the doorknobs, printer, copier…everything. But by noon my tummy was pulling an Astro and saying, “Rut-ro.”
I made it through the afternoon with only a small amount of discomfort and really thought I was going to be okay. Dinner that evening wasn’t very appetizing for me, but I thought it was because of a small change I’d made in the recipe. Nothing too serious.
Later that night as we were lying in bed, watching Conan’s second-to-last show, all I kept saying was, “I could really go throw up right now.” Seriously. Ask Kevin. So I talk about and talk about it and finally go to sleep, only to wake up at 2:30 with what I like to call “The Works,” mostly because I don’t want to type out the “d” word on my blog. And because, as my husband and brothers believe, girls don’t have bowel movements.
Too much? Sorry.
After a couple of hours of some Exorcist-style projectile vomiting, I put in a disc of Northern Exposure and settled in under a plush blanket on the couch. No need to be breathing any additional germies on Kevin. That was around 4:30.
The rest of the day was the longest and most miserable of my life. I couldn’t keep so much as a teaspoon of liquid down. Constant nausea, headache, body aches, and an aching back from the vomiting made the only comfortable position on the flat of my back on the bed. Eventually I ventured to the other side of the room to locate the heating pad and laid on that until my fever made it uncomfortable.
By evening I was finally able to drink something without tossing it and I really thought I was on the mend. My whole body still ached, but shoot, going a couple of hours without puking will really raise a gals spirits. I took a bath, put on fresh pjs, and headed to the couch to rest.
Two hours later, after tossing and turning, developing a much worse headache, and falling in and out of sleep, I decided taking an Advil and checking my temp again would be a good idea.
100.5
Five minutes later, 101.7
Ten minutes after that it was at 102.1 and I was hollering for Kevin to come to the bedroom and rub me down with alcohol. After about an hour of that and cool washcloths on my head and neck, I finally started to cool down. Fell asleep and stayed until almost 9:30 this morning. It was glorious.
Today I’ve dealt with the body aches and headache and developed a new pain in my upper right abdomen, directly below my ribcage. It scares me a little because it sounds like it may be my gallbladder. Gah. Do not want.
I am feeling better. Still bad, but I’ll take today’s bad over yesterday’s awful. Thank you all for your tweets of concern
Yanking this from Misti and making my list before I forget anymore of what’s happened to me in the past ten years. Oh, and before I forget, for all you sticklers out there I realize that the decade isn’t over until the end of this year. The sticklers. You never cease to amaze me.
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
And here we are. Wooboy. Glad to be done with that.
Another driving day. You know how I love those. Only this day was better because it started out bright and sunny, no rain in sight.

Goodbye, red barns…

Red fields…

White steeples…

And hello again, bridge. I was thankful that we could see ahead of us while crossing it this time.
New Brunswick really is beautiful and I was glad that we got to enjoy it while driving back through. There’s something about pouring rain and potholes that makes the scenery, no matter how picturesque, a little less important.
I took a few naps on this trip. Much needed because even though I didn’t want to talk about it at the moment, my hands were getting tingly with a potential panic attack at the though that I would be going back to work in 3 days. Yuck. I used all the time to rest that I could and before you know it, we were almost to the border.
All it took to really wake me up from my nap was seeing this:

“What is that?” I asked Kevin. Neither one of us knew. What I was sure about was that there would be pictures of this thing.

Snap snap snap. I was being quite the paparazzo about this thing.

Then, the man turned. I captured just one shot of this glare before I put my camera down. He continued to glare at us until we had passed him. Dude! I just liked your…your…whatever you were driving.

We crossed the border back into the US and the agent that questioned us had a thicker Canadian accent than anyone we’d met on our trip. This is also the part where I smuggled a seashell back into the country. And not that we would, but I can tell you, it would have been totally easy for us to bring something illegal back into the country. They barely gave us a second look. Surprising, given how threatening we both look.

Back in Maine there was more driving and when we arrived back in Manchester, New Hampshire we were both starving. We had dinner that night at Famous Dave’s Barbecue (one of our favorites that we do not have in OKC) and then slept in The Best Bed. I was so sad that our last night (and an early morning to top it off) were to be spent on the most comfortable bed of the trip.
Out of Manchester we flew and we arrived back in Oklahoma later that next afternoon.
Back in our neighborhood with a car full of birdseed…

Across the threshold…

And home…to this:

Ahh!
Thanks for tuning in for this long, drawn-out series. I’ll try to think of another one that might interest you guys in the future. Question is, what do you want to hear about?
But it’s not over. Oh, no. Sufficiently grossed out? Good
It’s really difficult to go back to real life after 1.5 weeks of no responsibilities and lots of seafood. Tomorrow morning I’ll be bringing you our last day of travel and our arrival back in Norman. You don’t want to miss it. There’s some elderly road rage, smuggling across a border, and maybe some carrying across a threshold.
In case you missed any of the other installments, here’s a complete list:
Day 1 – On a plane, no entry
Day 2 – Portland, Maine
Day 2 – Part 2, Cape Elizabeth & South Portland
Day 3 – Portland to Bar Harbor
Day 4 – Part 1, Acadia National Park
Day 4 – Part 2, Sand Beach
Day 4 – Part 3, Dinner at Geddy’s
Day 5 – Part 1, Cadillac Mountain
Day 5 – Part 2, Bar Harbor
Day 6 – Part 1, Leaving Bar Harbor
Day 6 – Part 2, Arriving on Prince Edward Island
Day 7 – Green Gables
Day 8 – Lighthouses & Charlottetown
We were lucky that my dad called us that morning to wake us and say, “Come home” because if we hadn’t left when we did, I’m pretty sure that we would not have made it 50 miles south. We were out of bed at 7am and both showered and packed everything in the car ready to go by 8am. It took us a few minutes to put gas in the car and by the time we were on the road out of Norman there was already a mix of freezing rain falling.
As always, people were driving like nuts in Norman and ignoring the slick roads. By the time we made it to the interstate it looked like the road was pretty clear, but it only took driving south about 10 miles before we saw an accident happen and had to call the highway patrol. That one was pretty scary and to see the car I think you’d be surprised to know that the guy was out of his car and on his cellphone just about the time that we were.
My route to Mom and Dad’s house is usually a winding one. I take one of the earlier exits and spend most of my time on small state highways instead of the interstate. There was no question on Christmas Eve — we were taking the interstate as far as we could. Cars littered the shoulder until we reached Pauls Valley. South of there it was much clearer. I chalk that up to the fact that, no apologies, people from rural areas are generally better at handling this kind of weather in an automobile than their city mouse counterparts.
As we had expected, the state highways were already rather slick and turning on to Highway 76 south was quite a surprise: the highway that runs in front of my parents’ house was the most treacherous we had come to. Finally, a few miles and one tree in the road later, we were home.
The rest of the day I watched the snow accumulate while my husband played video games with my younger brothers. Younger as in 23 and 21, in case you don’t know. I documented the snowfall throughout the day.
Back yard:
Front yard:
I had never seen anything like it. And it wasn’t so much the snow that was remarkable, but the wind with the snow. Forty to fifty mile per hour winds blowing snow across the rolling hills of southern Oklahoma is really something to see.
Our traditional Christmas Eve did not happen because we couldn’t travel the 35 miles to Duncan, Oklahoma, where one set of my grandparents are, to celebrate with them. Their area of the state really got hit the hardest with a ton of sleet and freezing rain dumped on the main highway that runs through town, shutting down most travel. Since we couldn’t make it over there my parents made the call that we were going to do our Christmas that night with dinner followed by opening gifts. Now, in my 25 years of living, they have never let us open a gift on Christmas Eve, much less made us open all of them. This was a record-breaking Christmas in more ways than one.
For my mom, I took a family picture of our snowed in selves right before we opened our gifts.

It was really a great time getting to celebrate with my immediate family and our new addition, even if nothing so far this holiday season had seemed to go right.

For the first time in my life, I woke up to a glittering, white Christmas morning.


