Remember the Moose’s new Santa Hat? The one My Captain had to fight all of our four-legged critters to design? The one that took yards of red felt and yards of white synthetic fur? The one that took literally hours from design to production to completion? The one that is the sole reason I have to vacuum out my sewing machine for the first time in ten years?
Yeah, THAT new Santa Hat.
Well, Critter found it before we could put it on the Moose Statue.
***sigh***
Every year we decorate the Carved Wooden Moose outside the Little Cottage for various holidays. On Christmas, he sports Ol’ Saint Nick’s red hat. He really is as festive as any 9-foot moose can be.
Last year, his red hat had a little bit of a mishap, and had to be thrown away. (By mishap, I mean that I got so frustrated when I couldn’t remove the hat post-New Years, I ended ripping the ding-dang thing clean off of his head. Apparently I have anger management issues….)
So this year I had the task of sewing the Moose a NEW Santa Claus hat. My Captain promised he would help design it. I loved this idea because whenever My (big, strong hunk of a) Captain does something as sweet and sensitive as pick up a sewing needle, I get all gushy and warm inside. Last year, it happened when Critter’s backpack needed mending….Talk about CHICK magnet. Good NIGHT!)
Where was I? Right, My captain started to help designing The Moose’s new holiday hat. I was envisioning just making a ginormous cone hat out of red felt, and then cutting an “X” wherever an antler or ear might be.
This is NOT how My Captain’s Left-Brain personality works.
Before I knew it, he had blue-prints, schematics, and back-up logistic plans in effect. He was prepared. Newsprint for pattern making? Check. Tape Measure? Check. Sharpie? Check. Red Felt? Check.
But My Captain did NOT plan on one eensie weensie, but ultimately IMPORTANT aspect of this process.
Sir Monty of Stinky Butt.
Oh, sure, he LOOKS benign enough,
He LOOKS like he is only being attentive….
He LOOKS like he hasn’t an evil-mastermind within that wee fuzzikins head of his.
And then…..The Butt Wiggle.
The Butt Wiggle means attack is imminent.
The Butt Wiggle means you’d better hurry up and finish what you’re trying to accomplish.
Especially if you are working with Sharpie Pens. On Cream Carpeting. New Cream Carpeting that would be reason enough for your wife to beat you like a piñata if you got ink on it.
My Captain tried in vain to ignore Sir Monty. He endeavored to work around him.
All that did was induce Monty to call in the reinforcements. Silly Captain. You thought this would be straight-forward. It’s just a Santa Hat, after all.
My Captain is a smart man. Wise enough to know when he’s made a fatal miscalculation. Humble enough to admit defeat.
He picked up his tape measure, and joined the party.
Of course, Sir Monty knew all along that this would be how it ended.
Sir Monty: 1, My Captain: 0.
I made the best dinner last night. THE. BEST. My Captain said so, and he never exaggerates. His Left-Brained personality would explode if he did. So when he says it’s The Best, he means it.
I made one of his favorite dishes: Chicken Marsala. Mushrooms are one of his comfort foods, and I loaded this chicken up with two pounds of sliced Baby ‘Bella Mushroom Slices. I used nearly an entire bottle of Marsala Wine for just three chicken breasts, which means, of course, that I was trying to soften him up for later.
Then I served that drunken, fungus-filled deliciousness on a hot mess of Broth Baked, Brown Basmati Rice with Dill.
And because I believe in healthy choices, I served it all up with Spinach. Well, spinach baked in the most heavy cream-filled, butter-slathered, Parmesan-stuffed, garlic and onion sauce ever created in the history of that dastardly green food. I started by using a knock-off recipe for Boston Market Creamed Spinach, and then doubled everything that sounded good about it (which would be everything but the, er, Spinach.).
It was really wonderful.
And I left no detail behind. From the cheesy, but adorable, Dollar-Tree Fall Water glasses,
to the completely-on-the-other-end-of-the-spectrum-expensive, Iron-work-forged, artisan servingware.
But none of this is why I am posting this topic tonight.
I’m posting because My Captain took this picture below and exclaimed, “We both filled our plates with generous portions, and neither serving dish looks like we even touched it. Woman, how much food do you think the two of us could eat in one sitting?!”
Frankly, I don’t see what his point is.
Who gets to define what a portion is? I’d like to know! Who is the almighty portion decider? Hmmm? Maybe in some cultures this would be enough to feed a family of 8, but in MY world, this is enough for two for dinner, and then some noshing later.
Don’t judge.
My Captain came home from working 12 hours of overtime today, during which he ran a rather disturbing, pediatric, trauma call.
Memories of the day must have been dogging him.
Stress, and suppressed high emotions, must have been banging around in his head and heart as he pulled his truck into the driveway.
Re-runs of how the call unfolded must have been looping in his brain as he tiredly, and ever so slowly, walked to the house.
The picture of that child’s face must have been haunting his thoughts as he put down his keys, and walked into the family room to join us.
Did he voice them? Did he share them? What did he do first?
He grabbed Critter and asked him to go get his new, handmade, homemade, paper boomerang to show it off. Then he followed the very enthusiastic boy outside, soaking up the Critter’s joy. He encouraged him, and applauded him, and loved him as Critter laughed, and ran, and jumped, and threw that thing for…
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We have some dear friends, Paul and Heather, who recently moved from their house, about an hour east of us, to a different house, also about an hour east of us.
Either way, it’s still a pain in the arse to visit.
But they’re worth it.
We met several years ago in a Blueberry Pie Eating Contest, one hot Fourth of July. Paul and I were literally neck-deep in blueberries and whipped cream, fighting each other for the coveted golden spray-painted, wooden rolling pin.
Three years in a row, he’s beaten me. Three years he has ripped that bragging right from my grasp.
He does it fairly, though, I’ll give him that.
The man can eat a 9″ pie, crust, whipped-cream, fruit-filling, and all, in ….get this….UNDER 2 MINUTES….without using his hands.
He’s an animal.
This, of course, secured my deep and abiding respect for him. And for his wife, who supports such heroic gastrointestinal fortitude.
And holds the camera.
So we went to their house for the first time last month, and it was there that my Left-Brained, logical, mechanical, methodic, detail-oriented, matter-of-fact husband truly bonded with Paul. It was this that did it:
Paul’s office. Paul is a software engineer/experimenter/designer/creator/genius who can wolf down pastries with alacrity. THIS is his command central.
My Captain began quizzing Paul about the hardware, the software, the connectivity, the speed, and everything in between. You could see him relishing the pure, left-brainedness of the man before him. He was in his element, happier than a seagull with a French fry. On and on they went, discussing various computer-related, IT-ish topics…all of which were another language to me.
It was okay, though. I was happy doing my right-brained thing.
I had discovered his chair not only swiveled, but also went up and down!
As you can imagine, this kept me occupied for the rest of the evening.
At least, until, they brought out dessert.
My Captain and Me: Same planet….totally different worlds.
Good thing Opposites Attract!
Mama Boe 