Winning!

My husband and I booked our two free personal training sessions back to back. When we arrived, the sports club couldn't find our appointments, but were kind enough to squeeze us in for an hour of high pressure sales.

To help us more efficiently we were handed two forms. The trainer had us fill in privileged information such as height, weight, age, gender, and fitness goals. Then he used the information to calculate our BMI's with what looked like a high tech PS3 controller. I was 1% over normal.

"So...Nikki, what is your fitness goal?" the trainer asked.

"I'm going to loose 1% body fat this month," I responded.

"Impossible, that will take 6-8 weeks," he replied.

"Want to bet?" I challenged.

"What are we betting?" he asked.

"The satisfaction of being right," I presented the extremely high stakes.

"Okay, but you're not gonna win. If you could lose 1% in a month...you'd be the poster child for fitness," he warned me.

"We'll see," I answered. My confidence unwavering.

Later that night my husband questioned the wager.

"You know, there's a possibility you might be wrong on this one," my husband warned me. "That guy is personal trainer, he probably knows what he's talking about."

"That guy doesn't know anything," I barked back.

My husband raised his eyebrows at me.

"Okay, so I might of added 15 pound to the weight I wrote down," I filled him in on my tiny white lie.

"You're nuts...who does that?" he laughed.

I also wrote that I'm 29. Who says cheaters never win.

How to Clean a Cell Phone

When my husband comes home from work he leaves a trail throughout the house. His keys are abandoned in the front planter, his shoes are shoved in the corner of the entry way, one sock is dropped in the hall, the other sock is thrown in our room, and his dirty work clothes are left in a pile on the bathroom floor. This is all in addition to the drywall crumbs that he's left in his path so he can find his way back to wherever it was he came from.

Out of habit, picking up after two sloppy kids all day, I collected the evidence he left behind and put everything I found back where it belongs. If I didn't, I would get a question like, hey babe have you seen my keys? At 4 in the morning.

What didn't occur to me, is that his cell phone wasn't among the other items in his daily route.

"Hey Babe...have you seen my phone?" my husband asked.

"No, call it," I told him as I continued picking up after everyone.

"Maybe it's in my truck?" he scratched his head as he walked out of the front door.

No luck. It wasn't in his truck, the office, the kitchen, our room, or the planter.

"Where are my work pants?" he asked exiting the bathroom.

"Oh, no!" My eyes widened.

"What?" he questioned.

"I threw them in the wash," I admitted. "Twenty minutes ago."

Yup...it was a goner!

Traffic Tickets

Traffic tickets are a regular occurrence with my husband.  The one I payed this weekend was the most expensive by far. 

It was $370 for the traffic fine, $49 for traffic school eligibility, and a $10 convenience fee for paying the ticket online. Then add the $35 to take the online traffic school course...it's a very expensive lesson my husband refuses to learn.

My husband has a lead foot and will have two or three tickets rotating on his driving record at any given time. He tries to hide them from me, but eventually the truth is found out.

"Hi, I'd like to inquire on insurance rates through your company," I told an insurance agent over the phone.

The insurance agent was polite and happy to help. I gave her my information, then I was asked to provide my husbands.

"Sorry, I can't help you," the agent cut me off before I finished spelling my husbands name.

"I don't understand?" I asked.

"We can't help you, Ma'am!" the agent replied abruptly.

"Can I ask why?" I thought I must of missed something.

"He has too many points on his record. One more and he could loose his license," the agent informed me, before she ended the call without saying good-bye.

That would explain the sudden increase on our insurance bill. I called my husband at work, since it was his idea to shop for cheaper car insurance.

"So...I figured out why our insurance rates tripled," I said instead of saying hello.  "Is there anything you want to tell me?" I challenged.

"Nothing you're gonna like," he confessed.
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Orlando

Orlando...
not Rolando, Armando, Hernando, Alejandro or Jose.  My husband's name is Orlando. 

I don't know why people confuse his name, but they do.  People mix up his name so often he's made a habit of using word associations during introductions.

"Hi I'm Orlando," he'll say, offering his hand to shake. "Like Orlando, Florida." And if that doesn't work he will tell them to just call him 'O'.

My husband has brought to my attention numerous times that I always refer to him as my husband. Oh, no...I just did it again.

"I've noticed you mention everyone's name but mine," my husband said shrugging his shoulders. "I'm just your husband."

"Ahhh...would you like me to mention your name babe?" I teased.

"That would be nice...but do what you want," he told me, pretending not to care.

So here it goes.  He's not just my husband, he's my rock.  And although I spend a good chunk of my time keeping him together, without him I would fall apart.  He's not just my husband, he's my best friend. And whether he really cares about the things I say or not, he pretends to hang off my every word.

"Orlando meet everyone, everyone meet my husband, Orlando."


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Homework

Helping my kids with their homework isn't my best skill. I get bored staring, page after page at subject lessons that are elementary to me. My husband says it's my been there done that attitude. Maybe, but I think it's more of a I hate repeating myself thing.  I blame Amaya.

"What letter is this Amaya?"  I asked while helping her with one of her homework packets in kindergarten.

"I don't know?"  She answered shrugging her shoulders.

"It's the letter 'D'..." I stressed. "Now you tell me, what letter is this?" I pointed to the letter.

"B?"  She questioned.

"No. It's the letter D," I sighed. "Write the letter ten times," I said as I handed her the pencil.

We repeated the above steps over and over.  Each time Amaya guessed a different random letter.  Nothing worked.  She mentally blocked out the letter "D". 

Two years of preschool! What a waste of money!

My husband came home to find us both in tears, crying. He kindly took over and earned his very first gray hair.

I was so relieved!
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Gift Cards

Gift cards....what's not to love? They're little credit cards with positive balances. I love them?

The drawback is, I hold onto them forever.  I save them for when I really want something.  The thing is, I never really want anything. So I set them aside for in case.  In case what?  The heck if I know.

"You need to spend these!" My husband ordered pointing to my rubber banded card assortment in the closet.

"Why?" I asked. "They won't expire."

"Target! You were just there, you should of used this," he said as he thumbed through my gift card collection.

"Oh..I forgot I had that one..." I played dumb.

"Put these in your purse so you have them on you." He handed the stack to me.  "You can't spend them if they're locked up."

I kind of thought that was the point.
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Frugal

Frugal
adj. 1. Practicing or marked by economy. 2. Costing little; inexpensive.

My husband prefers to call me cheap. But cheap has a negative connotation, I like to think I'm economical, reasonable, careful, smart, or conservative.

It's easy to spend money, it's saving money that's tricky. I like to pretend the savings account is a black hole. Once money is deposited, I pretend it's gone forever. 

My husband views our savings account differently. It's a money tree planted in the backyard that's attached conveniently to is ATM card.

The fact is...I'm the saver, he's the spender. It's proof that opposites attract. While he's content to squander away every last dime in his pocket, it's my job to minimize the number of dimes he has left to spend.
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Date Night

Date night is detrimental to my health. Without it, I become one frantic momma on the edge. I took date night for granted before my children were born, but now, it's a crucial tool my husband uses to maintain my sanity.

A typical date night is the usual, dinner and a movie. 

Dinner, because it's important I eat a meal once in awhile, free of hovering children waiting for the opportunity to put their fingers in my food.  Why do they have to touch my food?  I haven't the slightest clue.  They don't put their little fingers in my husband's food...ever.  

A movie, because it's a luxury to sit and watch anything from start to finish without explaining what's happening, travel five times to the bathroom, or listen to Rio give us his play by play narration.

"Don't you feel guilty..." people ask,  "leaving your children so you can go out?"

My answer is always the same...HELL NO!

Complimentary Shampoo Collection

Complimentary shampoos, lotions, and bath gels...what is so appealing about those little bottles displayed in a hotel bathroom? The obvious word comes to mind...free!

Even though the soap strips my skin of moisture, the shampoo dehydrates my hair, and the lotion leaves behind a waxy film that I spend all day scratching off with my finger nails. I can't help myself! I have to take them home with me.

"What is all of that?"  My husband asked, as he watched me dump out our toiletry bag into the bathroom sink.

"Shampoo," I answered frankly.

"Why do you have so much of it?" he questioned. 

"I don't know? Every night I threw them in my bag, and every day the maid brought me more."

"What's a shoe mitt?"  he teased, implying lunacy, while rummaging through the sink of goodies.

"I don't know but they gave me one," I told him.

"You know you're insane, right!"  He accused.

Later...I put my most recent complimentary items away...and there was only one little problem. 

I think I'm going to need a bigger box.

My husband may have a point.


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