here i am

Today is my husband’s birthday!  Yay!

We didn’t get to go out to a restaurant like we wanted, so dinner had to be pizza.

Deep dish, Chicago style, and meat lovers, of course.

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Since it was his special day, he got to order what he wanted.  I personally don’t like deep dish pizza very much. I’d pick New York style over it any time.

My husband and I have now been together for over eight years.  I hope we get to spend many more birthdays together. ❤️

And for nostalgic purposes, here are some photos of us from our honeymoon in Orlando, Florida.

If you look real close there’s a blurry-ish full shot of me.

Happy March everyone!  I can totally sense the allergies coming on.

On being the eldest

I have four siblings.  Two brothers and two sisters.  That makes me the eldest of five.

Most of the time I would say I’m very loving and maternal towards them.  I’m sort of like a den mother type. 

But of course siblings can piss you off. 

We don’t fight often, but when we do, things escalate pretty quickly.  We get MEAN.

When you fight with a sibling, you don’t hold back.  

My youngest sister sent me this yesterday to say the sun reminds her of me. 



Ha ha ha.  😂 I have to say, I agree.  

Fifty shades of gross

Happy Valentine’s Day! ❤️❤️❤️

My in laws did us the awesome favor of babysitting. Yay for couple time!

My husband’s work friends all asked him when he was going to go see Fifty Shades of Grey. Apparently their wives and girlfriends are all dragging them to the movie.

I haven’t even read the book yet and I’m not planning to, either. My idea of a great book/love story is Jane Eyre. I can watch that on Netflix and read it on iBooks. And I have.

Michael Fassbender makes an awesome Mr.Rochester. 😍

I heard something funny on the radio about Fifty Shades of Grey. A DJ described the movie as “two hours of the stuff you fast forward through in a porno.”

Interesting.

For richer or for poorer, but not during the Colts game

Prayers for the tragedy in France.  “Peace cannot be achieved through violence, it must be attained through understanding” – Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Welcome to the newly renovated The View Through The Window.  I was getting tired of that old theme and I like to switch things up now and then.  I hope you like this new blog style as much as I do.  Now back to our regularly scheduled blog post.

He’s the good cop to your bad cop.  The fun loving parent to your disciplinarian.  The one who sneaks your kids candy during time outs.  I quote, “Daddy’s awesome and you suck.”

Point noted.

Husbands.  You gotta love em.  And because we love them, let’s start with all the things they do that make them wonderful :

-He comes home after work.

Moving on.

I’m just kidding.  We all know husbands do a lot more good than just come home from work.  Let’s add to the list.

-He comes straight home from work.

Still kidding.  Don’t get your boxers in a bunch.  The real list follows :

-He comes straight home from work to a crabby wife and hyper kids, yet still manages to remain upbeat.

-Is tired as hell but tells you to take a break.

-Knows exactly what to do when you’re angry.  When I’m mad at him, my husband starts cleaning.  He strongly believes that cleanliness is next to godliness because it prevents your wife from doing that head turning thing from the Exorcist.

-Doesn’t question the logic behind why I can be as grumpy as I want but he gets in trouble for not smiling enough.

-Worked for years at a job he hated because he felt he had to.  His hard work is what made it possible for me to stay at home with our kids.  This is the reason why I call my husband the real superman.  That and because he’s survived being married to me for so long.

-Is ever supportive, whether it’s you wanting to go back to school, starting a blog or turning off all the lights and pretending no one’s home when the neighbor’s annoying kids show up uninvited.

-Is the world’s greatest dad.  My husband has more patience than a monkey has love for bananas.  He can play make believe games with my boys for hours.  I would rather clean the house. Or watch paint dry.  Or clean the house while I watch paint dry.

-He lets you blog about him.

And since nothing and no one is perfect, here are things he does that make him so very annoying :

-You send him to the supermarket for cauliflower and he returns with lettuce.  You ask for parsley and he gets spinach.

-Half your kitchen stuff ends up where it shouldn’t be when he unloads the dishwasher.

-His version of cleaning is to dump everything in the kids’ toy box and/or the closet.

-You can always count on him to not answer his phone.

-Wouldn’t know his way around the kitchen even if it came equipped with exit signs.

-Thinks it’s okay to have a conversation with you when you’re brushing your teeth.  Or through the bathroom door.  But thou shall not interrupt viewing of football game.

-Thinks we are out of <fill in the blank> if a sixty second search for it yields nothing.

-Grins and says But I picked you when you tell him his taste sucks.

-Thinks sitting down to pee is a strange and foreign concept.

-His looking for something usually ends up with you finding it for him.

-His lack of attention to detail and failure to pick up on social cues makes you wonder if he spent his adolescent years devoid of human interaction.  When I was pregnant and mine no longer fit, my husband thought it was okay to tell my family I was wearing his underwear.

-Hogs the blanket.  Tosses and turns enough to wake the dead.  My husband’s nocturnal bed shaking (no, not that kind) once even woke him up.  He turned to me, still half asleep, and asked was there an earthquake? to which I replied no, darling, your ass was just doing its sleep aerobics thing again.

-Leaves all pantry and cabinet doors wide open.  Shutting them makes you feel like Vanna White after an exceptionally large puzzle solving on an early 90’s episode of Wheel of Fortune.  You know, before it went all touch screen.

-He lets you blog about him with the condition that you will do a similar post on wives.

Needless to say, I accepted the challenge.

New Year, same crappy weather

Happy New Year!  I’m back!  Literally.

We returned late Saturday night from our mini vacation to the in laws house in Terre Haute, IN.

Here are some pics of the view from their huge living room window.

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I wanted to take more pictures of their beautiful home but didn’t get the opportunity.  I’m lucky to have nice in laws that tell us to leave the boys with them and go out and have fun.  In the two and a half days we were there, my husband and I managed to catch the latest Hunger Games movie and have a belated anniversary dinner.

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Here are pics of the condiments that came with the bread and the soup I ordered because I thought it came free with my meal.

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Terre Haute’s a cute little semi-rural town that’s full of farms, hills, woods, and railroads.  I probably think more of it because I associate it with free babysitting and lots of touristy type of fun, but it’s definitely home to some beautiful natural scenery.  I managed to get a few pictures of the area, but neither my phone’s camera nor the fugly winter weather did the landscape any justice.  I’ll post some spring/summer pictures in the future and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

I also hope to devote a blog post to the neighboring city of Bloomington, IN, which houses the main campus of Indiana University and was my home for a few months after my wedding.  I was accepted to IU but unfortunately never attended :(.  Bad decision making at its finest.

Here are some really ugly winter pics of Terre Haute for your viewing pleasure.  It was a rainy, foggy day when I finally got the chance to drive around town for some camera action.

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Terre Haute is home to Indiana State University, which my husband tells me is famous for Larry Bird.  Whoever he is.  The city also contains the Wabash river state park, which we didn’t get a chance to visit, a huge federal correctional facility, and what seems like half the country’s railroads.  It’s definitely train town there.

We had to stop at the local Walmart for some essentials while we were vacationing.  When we got back to the car, I adjusted my scarf and found this. IMG_4752

Yes, those are two and a quarter old french fries stuck to my scarf via crusty old ketchup stain.  I’m on a low carb diet and mostly sticking to it, so they weren’t even mine.  They must have come from my four year old’s lunch, where he was sitting on my lap, and I missed it because they got lost in the folds of an infinity scarf that wraps around your neck a few bazillion times.

And here I was thinking the people at Walmart were staring and giving me the kind of pitying smile you save for homeless people because of the fabulous new way I did my hair.  I was slightly embarrassed at first, I must admit, but compared to the other social and fashion faux pas I’ve made, this is pretty minor.  Let’s just laugh and move right along, shall we?

We came home to a lovely dinner put together by my family <gushing family love> and this. IMG_4856 IMG_4857

Have I mentioned I find winter fugly?

I’ve given up on football for the season, but my husband is still into it because his team, the Indianapolis Colts, are in the playoffs.  He’s not loving the outcome of the first round, though, where Dallas beat Detroit.  My husband feels bad for the Lions because they live in Detroit they play in the same division as the Bears and the Packers and he feels they never get a fair chance.  Lucky for them that this year the Bears decided to suck ass.

I hope not to spend so much time away from blogging in the future and want to thank the internetters who have been wondering where the hell I have been.  I started this blog as a means of catharsis after the demise of my social life around (how old is firstborn child?  oh, yeah, seven) seven years ago and as a way to keep my writing mojo intact.  Soon after, though, I realized I do have a life and it keeps me busy, apparently.  But no worries.  I return, fashion faux pas and all.

This is what I did on no sleep

So you know that really really bad stomach thing my four year old had?  Well, we realized he caught it from the hotbed of germs known as the kids play area at the mall during the busiest shopping season of the year.  In the future we will have to consider exposing them to really shitty illness as a drawback to getting the kids out of the house and away from the TV.

Our son is doing much better now, thank god, and being his regular self again.  But guess who caught it from him?

*Raising hand slowly*

And not just me.  The rest of our little family, meaning my husband and my seven year old, were also not safe from its predatory ways.

This year’s strain of the stomach flu is not the stomach flu you are familiar with.  No, not at all.  This feels more like it should be called Ebola, Jr.  I kid you not.

It leaves you feeling hot and cold at the same time.  It sends its minions to gnaw on the inside of your abdomen.  The best way I can describe the feeling is hot little dull knives poking at your innards.  The pain was what kept us awake the most.  I don’t remember dealing with so much of it during past stomach issues.  It made my not so very religiously inclined seven year old ask if it was time to pray so that Allah could take away the hurt.

You don’t know whether to shit or to barf first, they’re both so overwhelmingly compelling.  There’s an eye of the storm moment after every mad dash to the bathroom, where you think okay, that was the last one, I feel much better, until around 30-45 minutes later, when you’re doing it all over again and you realize the effing remote’s crapped out (no pun intended) and the repeat button is stuck.

The one and only good point about mutant stomach bug, version 2014 is that it moves fast.  The little slut.  The three of us caught it late Wednesday afternoon, and by early Thursday morning, we were able to give the hallway bathroom a break and get some rest.  By Thursday afternoon, I was able to get up, walk around for a few minutes, and attempt to take care of my pretty much back to normal four year old.  Yay for primary caretakers!  Where being sick means you get to do all the stuff you normally do with the addition of being sick.

Protect yourself from this year’s strain of stomach flu as well as you can, internet peoples.  You don’t want to catch this thing, believe me.  Compared to it, the stomach bug you have dealt with in the past is the common household cockroach.  This, my friends, is Godzilla.

If you think you can handle hours of shitting out all your body fluids, caressing your garbage can like it was your breastfeeding newborn, and having your ass make love to the toilet seat, then go ahead and give it a call.  You’ll find its number scrawled on the walls of dirty public bathrooms everywhere.

Ha ha.  That’s a funny one.  Get it?  Walls?  Stomach bug?  Dirty bathrooms?

You suck. 😐

It is now Friday afternoon and we are all on our way back to normal.  Lingering side effects have been a constant state of mild nausea, a heightened sensitivity to smell, and an overall feeling of having a bad hangover.  My nose is telling me there’s an open jar of sewer water somewhere in our house, but my husband is saying just stop complaining, will you? and that I’m overreacting.  Okay, then.

Me zero, facebook still counting

I’m mad at Facebook.  Hmph.  Imagine an angry Winnie the Pooh with his arms crossed and you’ve got my current look.  I’ve been told I resemble the honey junkie.  I don’t see it, but I take it as a compliment.  I’d rather share similarities with him than that wuss Piglet or emo Eyore.

One upon a time Facebook used to be a good way to keep in touch with your far away friends and relatives.  Slowly, though, it’s turned into just a platform for showcasing who has the best what.  It was inevitable.  That’s what happens when people interact.  Our internal wiring is fixed to compare and compete.  It’s an ingrained human trait which social media has taken to a whole different playing field.  We now have the power to be jealous and petty electronically.  Yay to ‘one giant leap for mankind’!

What’s the worst thing about Facebook?  The Facebookers of course!  What’s the most annoying type of Facebooker?  That’s easy.

That honor goes to the lives on and through social media type.  You know, the one who takes up half your news feed?  Every movement is a status update?

I just shat!  Five minutes later.  Now flushing what I shat.  Two minutes later.  Need to wash my hands!  Two more minutes later. Done washing my hands!  One minute later.  Hmm, who thinks I might have diarrhea?  He he.  Well, I don’t know about the stuff coming out of your ass, but you are releasing a whole lotta shit via that keyboard.

Then we have the compulsive liar.  The one who leaves comments that make you think her job title must be professional ass kisser.  Wow, I’m so jealous! You look so beautiful in that picture!  No. No she doesn’t.  She looks like a bloated Effie Trinket crossed with John Travolta’s drag look from Hairspray.  Even she knows it.

The bullshitterMy career’s going great!  I’m in talks to be the first Indian James Bond!  Really?  That’s awesome.  Real step up from your last job as token brown guy in IHOP commercial.

The Selfie! queen.  Thinks she’s the next Victoria Secret angel when she looks more like the Taco Bell chihuahua with heavy makeup.

The ultra clingy wife/girlfriend.  One word.  BAE.  I don’t think there are any other three letters in the alphabet that when combined sound so. fucking. annoying.

The show off.  The lady who’s sole purpose on social media is to show us how great the version of her life inside her head is.  Because outside of it everyone can see it’s a total shit fest.

The Matriarch.  Pops out one kid every year in order for more Facebook posting material.  Numbers 1, 2, and 3 were cute.  Number 8 is making me wonder what birth control failed you so I can sue the company for abetting mental torture.

To be honest, I know I’ve been guilty of most of these at some point.  Not the show off one, though.  I can’t even drink myself to that point of delusion.  Not that I drink.  Or that I fancy delusions of a perfect life.  Who wants to be perfect when you can have fun being just you?

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah!  My son is incredibly bored with his first day off from school so I told him to go draw clothes on the ladies of my Victoria Secret catalog.

You were meant to read this

Prayers for the innocent victims of the violence in Sydney and Peshawar and for their loved ones.  Posting one of my favorite poems in their honor and memory.  Poem written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

It’s been a sad week.  Disturbing images of death and grief have kept me from wanting to do anything but just sit and hate the world.  That doesn’t do anyone any good, especially not me.  Too much sitting negatively affects my slower than the turning rate of a dead gerbil’s spinning wheel metabolism.  I realized I needed to get off my ass and just do something, so I decided to blog, even though I have no idea what to blog about.  If this post make any sense, it’ll have the good fortune of being published.  If not, then why should you care. You don’t even know about it.

Now that you’ve read the last paragraph, you can see what the title is implying.

I’ve attempted to blog three times this week and all three times I fell asleep with the laptop warming my thighs and the light from the screen reflecting off my face.  Once I woke up from a nightmare where I was being fondled by a giant i-pad.  I kid you not.  That shit cray cray.  I think my laptop conned its electronic brethren into sending me a subliminal message.  Do this for me or I’ll tell Apple you’re sleeping with Motorola. 

If it could talk I’m sure my laptop would say either fucking write something or get the eff off of me.  Being upset really messes with your blogging mojo.  I don’t write very well in dramatic.  When I try to, my stories come out sounding less like The Fault in Our Stars and more like the script of a bad episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians.  That’s not really narrowing it down, though, since they’re all pretty shitty.  Pick one of your choice.  There.  That’s how bad my drama is.

And please don’t say it.  Don’t.  Believe me, it’s scripted.  All that botox can’t emote on its own.

Sarcastic smart ass is more my dialect.  But there was nothing to be sarcastic or smart ass about within the past week.  There was only sadness.  So I stayed away.

What’s on my mind right now is that a whole group of people will be judged for the actions of the few or the one.  While things have been bad in the past, they’ve never been this bad.  We’ve had to change what we wear.  Alter our plans for the weekend.  Take well lit and more populated roads home at night.  That’s right, folks.  That’s right.  There’s a long, hard road ahead for us Bears fans.

Wait, what?  What did you think I was talking about?

Oh, that.  Pshaw.  I have a cousin in Sydney whose husband is a police officer.  When they visited us a few summers ago, he would go on and on about how everything’s better in Australia, from the food to the weather.  Even the pots and pans.  And we’d get irritated, because while Australia is awesome, you know everything in the US is the bestest.  Including the people.

With the weekend just around the corner, this suck ass week will come to an end, thank god.  This weekend means watching the football game where Jay Interception Cutler will be warming his ass on the bench it’ll be perched on.  Nice to see that he’s working hard for the salary that Chicago will have to, I don’t know, sell the fucking Willis Tower for? 

I don’t want to pick on the guy.  He’s not the only player on the team that sucks ass.  But when you’re being paid one of the highest salaries in the NFL, if not the highest, it’d be nice if you did something other than help the other team win.

Tried to throwback thursday that too was interceptedI’m not a big football fan.  I only got into it because my husband likes it.  I understand precisely half the game and less than that of the terminology, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it means when you throw the ball and a player from the other team catches it.  You can always count on me to get excited for the local team,  but not this season.  No.  Not this season.  *Shudders*

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Now for some The View Through The Window household news.  That’s the “diamond” my son got me as a present from his school’s holiday gift shop.  He was excited when he handed it to me but said I can always take it back! when I punished him for being naughty later on in the day.  I tried to explain to him that gifts should come from the heart and aren’t conditional, to which he made a quacking duck sort of movement with his right hand and replied blah blah blah.

This is the same child who answered eat more salad when he overheard me asking my husband what my husband would tell me if he could be completely honest.  It’s a measure of how much I love the kid that the remark only got him a time out.  More than being a gift, the fake giant diamond is proof that he has a softer side to him somewhere in his utterly spoiled and sarcastically rude self.  He does love me, I just know it.

Last week we accidentally left the front door to our house wide open on our way out to run some errands around town.  So basically for over an hour our house’s welcome mat stood for my owners are sleep deprived idiots, please come rob them.  When we got back and saw what we had (or hadn’t) done, the accusations went flying even faster than the ones racking up against Bill Cosby.  I blamed my husband, he blamed me, and we both blamed the kids even though we didn’t say it.  Some shit had gone down in the van where they had dropped water on the seats and in the ensuing confusion, I guess we forgot to lock up.

I might have been sleep deprived before, but that night I was a freaking insomniac.  Even with the alarm system on I couldn’t close my eyes for more than a split second.  Behind every corner I thought I saw an axe murderer with a passion for hacking off people’s heads while they slumbered.  Luckily nothing happened, except that the next night I was so tired that I dozed off while putting my son to bed and instead of telling him a bedtime story, I started sleep talking the plot line to While You Were Sleeping

I kid you not.  You can’t make this stuff up.  This shit cray cray.

Poem retrieved from http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/do-not-stand-by-my-grave-and-weep.  Throwback Thursday pic from everywhere you look, because woah, Chicago is pissed.