Season 2 Episode 6 Hubby Watch, Moving & Pet Gifts

Season 2 Episode 6 Hubby Watch, Moving & Pet Gifts

Hi y’all, welcome to Still Stella – Living Life Sarcastically.

This podcast comes with a trigger warning: Extreme sarcasm and mild emotional violence.

Today we’re talking about the ongoing Hubby Watch, moving, and pet gifts. Talk about stress and chaos. Around here it has been one long episode of “What fresh nonsense is this?”

Stay tuned for the ongoing Hubby Home Watch.

Well y’all, it has now been twelve weeks and counting. Twelve whole weeks. Hubby has been home waiting for surgery, and I have learned something important about marriage.

Marriage is the only war where you willingly sleep with the enemy and split the electric bill.

Transcript

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Welcome to Still Stella. Living Life Sarcastically. Sarcastically. Hi y'all. Welcome to Still Stella. Living Life Sarcastically. This podcast comes with a trigger warning, extreme sarcasm, and mild emotional violence. Today we're talking about the ongoing hubby watch. Moving and pet gifts. Talk about stress and chaos. Around here it's been one long episode of what fresh nonsense is this? Stay tuned for the ongoing hubby home watch. Well y'all, it's now been twelve weeks and countin'. Twelve whole weeks. Hubbby has been home waiting for surgery, and I've learned something important about marriage. Marriage is the only war where you're willing to sleep with the enemy and split the electric bill. Now before anybody gets all dramatic, we're both still alive, mostly. Nobody's walked the plank yet. I'm not saying he's driving me crazy. I'm just saying if I had to choose between hubby and a zombie apocalypse, I'd have to find out how bad the zombies snore first. Because his heart, bless his heart, he's stressed. Waiting this long for surgery has given him entirely too much time to think. Y'all know how hard it is to get a medical appointment these days. You call the doctor, and they say we have an opening. You get excited. Then they say in six months. By then, you've either healed, died, or figured out how to live with whatever's wrong with you. It's absolutely ridiculous. Waiting has become a master class in patience. And y'all know patience is not exactly my spiritual gift. It ain't hubbies either. Unfortunately, all this waiting gives him plenty of time to think about every possible thing that could go wrong with surgery. Never let a grown man with free time and internet access Google symptoms. According to WebMD, he's got seventeen rare diseases and somehow he's pregnant with twins. Enough already. We just need to get this surgery done and get him on the road to recovery. And selfishly get him out of my house. Because y'all know what all this free time means. Cabinet doors. Every single cabinet in my kitchen stays open. I walk in there looking like I'm navigating an obstacle course. It's like a six foot tall raccoon lives with me. And the dish towel, y'all, the dish towel deserves its own support group. Why is it never hanging where it belongs? Why is it in the middle of the counter? Why is it in the garage? And why does it have grease on it? Why does it smell suspicious? One day I'm convinced I'm gonna find it under the truck changing the oil. At this point, I just don't investigate anymore. I just quietly retire it and move on to the next towel. Our mammas would have smacked us clear into next Tuesday for using the dish towel for anything besides dishes. Meanwhile, hubby treats it like the Swiss Army knife of household items. I'm beginning to believe he's just isn't trainable. I've got a better chance teaching Gurley to pay bills. Now I joke, but I admit I kinda like having him around. The last few years he worked nights which made spending time together hard. Weekend trips were next to impossible because Saturday was basically recovery day after Friday night shifts. It's actually been nice having him home. He helps with the chores. Now granted, there are restrictions. Nothing over ten pounds and nothing over his head. Nothing that sounds difficult. But he has stepped up. Laundry, trash, clothes, even a few dinners. Now ladies, can we discuss men and grillin? Why do they think grillin automatically means they cooked dinner? Sir Ye grilled meat. I made vegetables, potatoes, bread, salad, dessert, set the table, clean the kitchen, but somehow you emerge from the backyard like a conquerin' hero. I cooked dinner. Bless your heart. You contributed. Would you like a participation trophy? Should I call the local newspaper? The little things seem to require the biggest recognition. I'm so proud of you. Good job, buddy. Who's a big helper? Now before y'all fuss at me, he has been wonderful. He's getting workman's comp while waiting on surgery. I'm just wondering how much I'd have to pay them to take him back. It might be worth budgeting, maybe even a second job. I'm kidding. Mostly. The truth is I like em home. As long as he's being helpful and not following me around, asking me what I'm doing every five minutes. He's been hiding in the garage a lot lately. Honestly, I don't blame him. He's hiding from chores. I'm hiding from work. We're basically playing hide and seek as adults. I'm just jealous. I'd love to hide in the garage from work. I'm tired too. Work is busy. Mikey requires constant supervision. Life is chaotic. I just keep telling myself one day you can retire. One day. I'm not holding my breath though. Speaking of hard work, my son moved back from school. I spent the day helping him move. Y'all you don't realize how old you are until you help somebody move. And yes, he moved into an upstairs apartment. Of course he did. Young people love upstairs apartments. They think what a great view. People our age walk in and think I could die carrying a crock pot up these stairs. My high maintenance knee was filing complaints with human resources. My back was threatening to quit. Halfway through, I wasn't sure what hurt worse. My knee, my back, or my feelings. And don't ask me how many times I tripped or bumped into something. It was too many. I've got bruises in places I don't even remember hitting. After every move, we all look like we lost a bar fight. Then somebody always says you just need to exercise more. No, that ain't it. My body's tired. My body's raised kids, worked jobs, moved houses, helped other people move, survived menopause, fallen downstairs, walked into walls. My body's been through enough. I've officially decided if I ever move again, I'm hiring movers. I plan to die exactly where I'm living. Unless we hit the lottery. That changes everything. Then movers will pack my house while I'm sipping mojitos on a beach somewhere. I can dream. Thankfully my son has amazing friends. They showed up ready to help. They actually ordered me to stay upstairs, packing and doing laundry. You don't have to tell me twice. I may be old and broken, but I'm not stupid. I survived, mostly recovered. I'm just happy I could help. He has a great little apartment, and my grandkitty seems to love it. I'm so happy they're back closer to home. We love our kids. The human ones and the furry ones. Speaking of furry children, pets are something else. They provide us much joy. So much love, and so much property damage. They're our babies. Don't judge us. We love 'em. Even if we're just walking treat dispensers. Isn't it funny how our pets bring gifts? Twigs, leaves, rocks, dead things, headless things. Things you don't even recognize anymore. And they are so proud. Look what I brought you. Meanwhile, we're screaming drop it. They're looking at us like we're ungrateful. They think they're helping because clearly we can't hunt for ourselves. Not a pity. Well, thank you for the mangled bird. I'll cancel my dinner reservations. When I was pregnant with my first son, I was on bed rest for about six months on. I had a cat. That cat loved me a little too much. He brought me gifts, usually alive. A bird flew through the house, hitting walls. A live rat run between my legs and under the couch. I was standing on that couch screaming for help. Then came the snake. I was home alone, huge pregnant belly, got up to go to the bathroom. About the only exercise I was allowed. Made it to the hallway, and a snake reared up at me. I screamed, jumped on the dining room table, and called my neighbor. His wife was pregnant too. We all looked after each other. He showed up with a giant stick ready to wrestle a monster. Here's the part I forgot to mention. The snake was about the size of a pencil. He bent over laughing. I got offended. I said what's so funny? He said, I thought you meant a real snake. Excuse me, sir. I was pregnant, protecting my baby. Every snake is a real snake. He picked that tiny thing up and carried it back across the street. I still maintain I was justified. Y'all can laugh. As I'm sitting here, I just looked out the window, and girlie is carrying around another carcass. Seriously? I guess she saw my weight loss and decided I needed a snack. Bless her little murderous heart. There is always some critter around here with something they shouldn't have. Somebody's chewin' something. Somebody's digging something. Somebody is peeing where they shouldn't. The other day Girlie stole the dish towel and ran off with it. Now I have questions. Did Hubby put her up to it? How many treats did he pay? Are they working together? I'm not saying there's a conspiracy. I'm just saying the evidence is piling up. I swear some days they all test my patience. Hubby? The cats? The dogs? Honestly, some days I'm not sure who's trained and who isn't. But I love every one of them. I'm thankful for them every day. Even when they're driving me absolutely crazy. Remember to hug your kids, fur covered or otherwise. Be patient with them. Laugh when you can, and appreciate the beautiful chaos, because one day the house will be quiet. And honestly, that sounds a little suspicious too. Thank y'all for taking the time to listen and spend a little part of your day with me. I appreciate every one of y'all. As always, remember to marry your lobster, drink the rum, and hug the friends who don't secretly root against you. Thank y'all for listening. If you enjoyed today's chaos, follow or subscribe so you don't miss next week's episode of Still Stella Living Life Sarcastically. Thank you for listening to Still Stella Living Life Sarcastically.