My wonderful husband, Walter and I were having dinner a couple weeks ago when our conversation turned to the subject of sleep. I mentioned how relieved I was that I'd been sleeping like a baby since we'd returned from Savannah several days before. This was a much welcomed development, since I hadn't slept through the night for a number of months preceding.
After listening to me for a few seconds, Walt shrugged his shoulders and said quite innocently, "You must be going through menopause."
What?
The atmosphere suddenly became a little less than romantic.
I couldn't help but wonder where in the world Walt had been for the last few months.
In the time that has passed since shortly after last Thanksgiving I have:
1.Been forbidden to have any part in the lives of three of my precious grandchildren.
2.Watched my youngest daughter nearly die of pregnancy related complications.
3.Suffered through my fourteen year old son's emotional breakdown (to the point I had to remove him from school and put him in therapy)
4.Experienced an 80% loss in our electrical contracting business (and subsequent income).
5.Sat by the same daughter's bedside as the surgeon forcefully removed her pre-mature baby at 24 weeks 4 days gestation (that's a 5 month pregnancy if you do the math). Knowing it was the only possible chance for saving both of their lives was little consolation.
6.Helplessly stood by as the pre-mature baby died two weeks thereafter.
7.Grieved accordingly.
Need I go on?
Because those are just some of the reasons my brain had been too full to sleep!
Suffice to say I was a bit taken back by my husband's rather pat answer to the issue.
If I'd truly been "hormonal" I would have sprang across the table and strangled him on the spot. Don't tell ME about hormonal!
Within a New York minute of Walt's comment (and without the aid of strangulation) I believe I'd effectively set him straight on the matter. Never-the-less, the question remains ...why do men always seem to think that every negative emotional reaction we women experience is somehow related to our hormones?
Any one of the aforementioned situations would have merited a few sleepless nights, with or without hormonal interference. And yet Walt saw none of those things as significant in their own right?
Noooooooo .... the source of my insomniatic state had to be narrowed down to that one thing, and that one thing alone.
Hormones.
It's an age old question and I have no reason to believe that I will be the one to come up with an answer.
Maybe he was right. Maybe what I was experiencing was not a "natural" reaction to the truckload of unusually stressful situations that hit me without warning. If only I'd realized that possibility! Had it not been for my hormonal state of being, I probably would have been able to skip obliviously and happily through the entire ordeal!
Perhaps there is no such thing as "stress" aside from hormonal influence after all! Wow! What a revelation!
Of course, it would have to be a MAN who would come up with such a simple answer. We women are way too hormonal to ever think of such a thing.
Ladies, I think you will agree ... sometimes we just have to wonder what men are thinking and why they happen to be thinking it! My best guess is that their minds are over-saturated with testosterone thus rendering them incapable of grasping a true-er and more complex explanation.
I've come to this conclusion. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!
Just blame it on the hormones!
Showing posts with label husband. Show all posts
Showing posts with label husband. Show all posts
Friday, May 8, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
A Man and His Garage
I believe I speak for both of us when I say my husband, Walt and I love our home. It's everything we could ask for, really. We love pretty much everything about it, including the neighbors who live in the houses nearby.
We do have a difference of opinion about one thing. You see, my husband seems particularly fond of "his" garage, even to the point of leaving the garage doors up most of the time during daylight hours if he can get by with it. Because of the approach to the house (one of the few things I would change about the house if I could) that means that people who drive up see right into the garage first thing.
I, on the other hand have a "thing" about first impressions and the first thing people see about my home is no exception. Walt likes to laugh at me because I insist that the garage doors be closed, and all our visitors be brought into the house through the front door. He thinks it would make more sense to walk them through the garage and into the house via the door that enters the hallway between the kitchen and the utility room.
Frankly, I don't see his point! The walk around the front of the house, past the flower beds and fountain is so much more pleasing to the eye! Not to mention the appearance of the entry hall vs. the boring wooden steps and kitchen trash can which welcomes visitors from the garage area.
Our garage is nice, as far as garages go. I'd even say it's the nicest garage I've ever owned, but a garage is not part of the living area of a home ... any home. It's a place to park the cars (or in our case, a car, a motorcycle and a truck.) Period! Our (or perhaps it would be better said Walt's) garage is different. The man actually has framed Harley Davidson photos hung on the walls!
Yeah.
I once went so far, as to insinuate that I had partial ownership in the garage by buying a sign to hang on the side where I park my car. I thought I was going to have to call the paramedics for my husband when he read the words written on my purchase ...
"Queen Parking Only ... you're not worthy!"
I thought it was pretty funny, but Walt came this close to losing consciousness when he learned I was serious about hanging it.
Needless to say, I won that battle and still snicker at my sign every time I pull my car into it's spot just below the metallic blue sign with it's blazing white letters. Most of my female friends also see the humor in it and laugh accordingly.
The men, well. They seem to sympathize with Walter. What else would you expect?
I suppose many men have a thing for their garages. It's probably deeply rooted in their DNA somewhere. It would be an act of futility to attempt to understand, much less fix it. For that reason, I've chosen to compromise on the matter. Walt can have the whole garage as his own, with the exception of spot supporting my "Queen Parking Only" sign.
Fair is fair, after all.
Unless of course, he decides to bring one of his Harley Davidson photos into my foyer.
We do have a difference of opinion about one thing. You see, my husband seems particularly fond of "his" garage, even to the point of leaving the garage doors up most of the time during daylight hours if he can get by with it. Because of the approach to the house (one of the few things I would change about the house if I could) that means that people who drive up see right into the garage first thing.
I, on the other hand have a "thing" about first impressions and the first thing people see about my home is no exception. Walt likes to laugh at me because I insist that the garage doors be closed, and all our visitors be brought into the house through the front door. He thinks it would make more sense to walk them through the garage and into the house via the door that enters the hallway between the kitchen and the utility room.
Frankly, I don't see his point! The walk around the front of the house, past the flower beds and fountain is so much more pleasing to the eye! Not to mention the appearance of the entry hall vs. the boring wooden steps and kitchen trash can which welcomes visitors from the garage area.
Our garage is nice, as far as garages go. I'd even say it's the nicest garage I've ever owned, but a garage is not part of the living area of a home ... any home. It's a place to park the cars (or in our case, a car, a motorcycle and a truck.) Period! Our (or perhaps it would be better said Walt's) garage is different. The man actually has framed Harley Davidson photos hung on the walls!
Yeah.
I once went so far, as to insinuate that I had partial ownership in the garage by buying a sign to hang on the side where I park my car. I thought I was going to have to call the paramedics for my husband when he read the words written on my purchase ...
"Queen Parking Only ... you're not worthy!"
I thought it was pretty funny, but Walt came this close to losing consciousness when he learned I was serious about hanging it.
Needless to say, I won that battle and still snicker at my sign every time I pull my car into it's spot just below the metallic blue sign with it's blazing white letters. Most of my female friends also see the humor in it and laugh accordingly.
The men, well. They seem to sympathize with Walter. What else would you expect?
I suppose many men have a thing for their garages. It's probably deeply rooted in their DNA somewhere. It would be an act of futility to attempt to understand, much less fix it. For that reason, I've chosen to compromise on the matter. Walt can have the whole garage as his own, with the exception of spot supporting my "Queen Parking Only" sign.
Fair is fair, after all.
Unless of course, he decides to bring one of his Harley Davidson photos into my foyer.
Friday, March 6, 2009
In The Dark
Help!
Mr. Taylor is out of town and I don't know how to operate the majority of our house lights.
You think I'm kidding? Well, I'm not.
Such occurrences are common in the Taylor household. My wonderful husband, having a tangent for all things electrical, likes to periodically re-program the automated lighting system in our home.
Apparently he grew bored with the way things were working sometime between the last time he went out of town without me, and yesterday when he left again.
I discovered that fact in the early evening when I realized it was growing dark outside and neither the lights in the keeping room or living room had turned themselves on yet.
For a good ten minutes I plundered around in the twilight looking for the magic box that dictates such matters. The last time I was in this position, both sets could be controlled by a gadget that sits on our bedside stand. Obviously that has changed and no one bothered to send me a memo.
I finally met with success when I recalled seeing a new magic box sitting on the end table in the keeping room. Feeling my way back through the house, I located it and repeatedly pressed buttons until Voila'!
There was light!
After that, all was well in my little corner of the world until 11:00 p.m. which happens to be the designated hour for "lights out". At that time I was sitting on the bed watching videos on my laptop computer when I heard the tell-tale click that accompanies the night-time darkness through out the house.
Except for the glow of my computer screen, I found myself once again sitting unwittingly alone in the dark.
Thank goodness the magic box that sits beside our bed still works for our master bedroom lights! Otherwise I would have been forced to go right to sleep.
Which probably would have been a good idea given the fact that at promptly 6:30 a.m. 365 days a year, our room lights up as bright as the noon day sun! There are no pesky, noise making alarm clocks for us! Instead it's wakey wakey, rise and shine via a bright light in my face ... whether I need it or not.
While, in time I usually manage to figure out how to work the rest of the lighting mechanisms, I've never mastered the "alarm lights" that faithfully announce the break of dawn. Because I was clueless as to how to turn the darn thing off, I use to unplug the clock before I went to bed if I didn't otherwise have to wake up at the 6:30 the next morning.
Eventually I succumbed to the powers that be and learned to deal with it.
Oddly enough I am not technically challenged. I do have a degree in science. Back in the days of working in the hospital lab, my job required a decent knowledge of instrumentation. I could dis-assemble a number of extravagantly expensive pieces of medical equipment, put them back together and calibrate them without blinking an eye.
And yet I am challenged by a matter so simple as turning my own house lights off and on.
I have to wonder if keeping me in the dark is my husband's way of making himself feel needed. With that in mind, I suppose it really is a small price to pay.
Mr. Taylor is out of town and I don't know how to operate the majority of our house lights.
You think I'm kidding? Well, I'm not.
Such occurrences are common in the Taylor household. My wonderful husband, having a tangent for all things electrical, likes to periodically re-program the automated lighting system in our home.
Apparently he grew bored with the way things were working sometime between the last time he went out of town without me, and yesterday when he left again.
I discovered that fact in the early evening when I realized it was growing dark outside and neither the lights in the keeping room or living room had turned themselves on yet.
For a good ten minutes I plundered around in the twilight looking for the magic box that dictates such matters. The last time I was in this position, both sets could be controlled by a gadget that sits on our bedside stand. Obviously that has changed and no one bothered to send me a memo.
I finally met with success when I recalled seeing a new magic box sitting on the end table in the keeping room. Feeling my way back through the house, I located it and repeatedly pressed buttons until Voila'!
There was light!
After that, all was well in my little corner of the world until 11:00 p.m. which happens to be the designated hour for "lights out". At that time I was sitting on the bed watching videos on my laptop computer when I heard the tell-tale click that accompanies the night-time darkness through out the house.
Except for the glow of my computer screen, I found myself once again sitting unwittingly alone in the dark.
Thank goodness the magic box that sits beside our bed still works for our master bedroom lights! Otherwise I would have been forced to go right to sleep.
Which probably would have been a good idea given the fact that at promptly 6:30 a.m. 365 days a year, our room lights up as bright as the noon day sun! There are no pesky, noise making alarm clocks for us! Instead it's wakey wakey, rise and shine via a bright light in my face ... whether I need it or not.
While, in time I usually manage to figure out how to work the rest of the lighting mechanisms, I've never mastered the "alarm lights" that faithfully announce the break of dawn. Because I was clueless as to how to turn the darn thing off, I use to unplug the clock before I went to bed if I didn't otherwise have to wake up at the 6:30 the next morning.
Eventually I succumbed to the powers that be and learned to deal with it.
Oddly enough I am not technically challenged. I do have a degree in science. Back in the days of working in the hospital lab, my job required a decent knowledge of instrumentation. I could dis-assemble a number of extravagantly expensive pieces of medical equipment, put them back together and calibrate them without blinking an eye.
And yet I am challenged by a matter so simple as turning my own house lights off and on.
I have to wonder if keeping me in the dark is my husband's way of making himself feel needed. With that in mind, I suppose it really is a small price to pay.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Dressing Up Is Hard To Do!
I've been exhausted for the last few weeks. It seems to take every ounce of energy I have just to get out of bed and dressed in the morning. Even if I wake up feeling rested, it doesn't last long. Within a few hours of being up and about I am tired to the bone again.
This is really bugging me. I recognize the symptoms as those associated with an even lower than usual iron level. The manufacturer of the ferrous gluconate supplements I use to take has stopped making them, so I had to switch to a different brand and form of iron. I suppose I'll have to toy around with the dosage until I feel better because obviously what I am taking now isn't doing the trick.
It's no fun being tired, especially when I have so much to get done.
On the lighter, yet still stressful side of things, we are planning to attend our neighbor's Halloween party tomorrow evening. We don't normally "do" Halloween, but we really want to go for the social aspect of it. We love spending time with our neighbors but it seems that every time one of them has an event, we are either out of town or otherwise obligated. As luck would have it, we are free tomorrow night.
Now I have approximately 26 hours in which to come up with costumes for myself and my husband.
When we first RSVP'd the event I was planning to design some kind of get-up for both of us that would be flat out amazing. So much for that idea. Unless I get an unexpected burst of energy and creativity, we'll be cutting eye-holes in bed sheets and going as ghosts.
There's not much chance we'd win the award for "most original" with that idea.
We could always wear our Harley leathers and go as bikers, but wait! We are "bikers" when acting in our alter egos so all our neighbors are already accustomed to seeing us like that on occasion. It wouldn't really raise any eyebrows if we were to arrive in such a manner. If we are going to go to the trouble of dressing up, then eyebrow raising is a definite requirement!
I tried to think of something we could pull together with other clothing items we already own and suggested we go as "Mr. and Mrs. Thurston Howell III" We might as well make some use of all that formal clothing we have hanging in our closet but never wear. I figured I could go into the grand-kids playroom upstairs and find some fake money to stuff in our pockets, just in case there was any question about "what" we were suppose to be.
Mr. Walter Taylor (the first and only) didn't like that idea. Bah Humbug!
He suggested we go as Annie Oakley and Frank Butler.
In other words, he wants to dress up like a cowboy.
Some guys never grow up, do they?
I still don't know what we're going to do. I don't own any "Annie Oakley" clothes (well, I do have boots and a hat) and Mr. Taylor has apparently forgotten that he sold his fancy Harley Cowboy hat on eBay a while back. What's more, I seriously doubt the neighbors would appreciate us showing up at their event equipped with rifles.
Sigh.
Hopefully I'll wake up feeling creative and energetic in the morning. If not, I'll call Walt and ask him to stop by Wal-Mart on his way home from work and pick up some last minute el-cheapo/boring costumes for us to wear.
So I'm not the life of the party right now. I'm sure the neighbors will get over it.
This is really bugging me. I recognize the symptoms as those associated with an even lower than usual iron level. The manufacturer of the ferrous gluconate supplements I use to take has stopped making them, so I had to switch to a different brand and form of iron. I suppose I'll have to toy around with the dosage until I feel better because obviously what I am taking now isn't doing the trick.
It's no fun being tired, especially when I have so much to get done.
On the lighter, yet still stressful side of things, we are planning to attend our neighbor's Halloween party tomorrow evening. We don't normally "do" Halloween, but we really want to go for the social aspect of it. We love spending time with our neighbors but it seems that every time one of them has an event, we are either out of town or otherwise obligated. As luck would have it, we are free tomorrow night.
Now I have approximately 26 hours in which to come up with costumes for myself and my husband.
When we first RSVP'd the event I was planning to design some kind of get-up for both of us that would be flat out amazing. So much for that idea. Unless I get an unexpected burst of energy and creativity, we'll be cutting eye-holes in bed sheets and going as ghosts.
There's not much chance we'd win the award for "most original" with that idea.
We could always wear our Harley leathers and go as bikers, but wait! We are "bikers" when acting in our alter egos so all our neighbors are already accustomed to seeing us like that on occasion. It wouldn't really raise any eyebrows if we were to arrive in such a manner. If we are going to go to the trouble of dressing up, then eyebrow raising is a definite requirement!
I tried to think of something we could pull together with other clothing items we already own and suggested we go as "Mr. and Mrs. Thurston Howell III" We might as well make some use of all that formal clothing we have hanging in our closet but never wear. I figured I could go into the grand-kids playroom upstairs and find some fake money to stuff in our pockets, just in case there was any question about "what" we were suppose to be.
Mr. Walter Taylor (the first and only) didn't like that idea. Bah Humbug!
He suggested we go as Annie Oakley and Frank Butler.
In other words, he wants to dress up like a cowboy.
Some guys never grow up, do they?
I still don't know what we're going to do. I don't own any "Annie Oakley" clothes (well, I do have boots and a hat) and Mr. Taylor has apparently forgotten that he sold his fancy Harley Cowboy hat on eBay a while back. What's more, I seriously doubt the neighbors would appreciate us showing up at their event equipped with rifles.
Sigh.
Hopefully I'll wake up feeling creative and energetic in the morning. If not, I'll call Walt and ask him to stop by Wal-Mart on his way home from work and pick up some last minute el-cheapo/boring costumes for us to wear.
So I'm not the life of the party right now. I'm sure the neighbors will get over it.
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