I am married to a pathological Ski Bum. What is that? You say there is no such thing. Come to my house and you will see it is true. Delmar has spent his entire life skiing and/or finding a way to pay for skiing. He learned to ski at such a young age he doesn't remember learning to ski. His skiing has been considerably hampered by his recent attendance of law school and opening his own law firm. Has this squelched the desire to ski? Absolutely not. Despite the depth this inner need to ski burns within, Delmar is pretty good about spending time with the Maniac and myself.
I recently discovered that I would be required to attend two baby showers over the next three weeks. I told Delmar "Why don't you plan to go skiing on the days I have baby showers, and spend the other Saturday with us?" He thought this was a great plan. Then it hit. Snow. The mountains are starting to gather the white stuff. You can see the drool dripping from his chin as he watches the local weather report. It looks as if this will be a great weekend to ski. The only problem is this isn't a Saturday I have a baby shower to attend. I feel bad that I don't want him to go. He skis dramatically less than when we were first married. Yet, I want to spend time with him. (No I can't go with him--our skills are well, let's say drastically different. I must wait until he relieves some pent up adrenalin.) What is a girl to do?
Recently I had one of those days. When Delmar returned from work I handed over the Maniac and told him I needed a couple hours. Delmar so lovingly took over. Delmar gave the Maniac a bath as I was pleasantly reading blogs etc. on my computer. While thinking to myself that I had a wonderful husband I hear a terrifying thump in the tub, followed with a scream of panic for me. I jumped up nearly dropping the laptop in my haste. As I opened the bathroom door there sits my baby with blood covering the side of his forehead and the bathwater quickly turning pink. His face had this bewildered look as I screamed "What did you do!" at Delmar. In that instant I was sure he had a concussion which would explain why he wasn't crying. Suddenly, Delmar began to laugh and everything made sense. The Maniac was playing with his Crayola bathtub crayons. Which just so happen to turn the water colors. The aforementioned crayons also have the ability to leave marks on the skin which in turn wash away. Delmar had made the thump after the Maniac had marked up the side of his head looking like blood. All I could say as I turned for the door was "Not Funny". So much for a relaxing evening, it took all night to calm down.
Note: Delmar apologized profusely.
This year I am not going to make a single resolution. This will alleviate the dilemma of trying to keep the thing. Should I try to loose weight? Yes. Should I be more organized? Yes. Should I be more fiscally responsible? Yes. I have an abundance of things I can work on in life. At this point I don't want to set myself up for failure. Maybe in a week or so I will choose something in my life that I can take control of. We shall see, not making any promises.
When I started to blog a few years ago I determined that I wanted to post in complete anonymity, if possible. As I pondered upon what name to use for my husband I drew a blank. Rabid was already using Spouse which, in my opinion, was and is the best name. Out of sheer laziness I chose to call him "dear hubby". Never loved it. Due to recent events I have taken time to think of a better name. From this point forward dear hubby will be known as Delmar. For those of you who know us personally you will find this to be more humorous than those of you who don't.
My favorite part is: the rough translation of Delmar from Spanish means "of the sea". When he is in water--any form--he's truly in his element. This photo is of him putting on a show for tourists doing back-flips off the rock in Cabo. He will do a back-flip off almost anything including cliffs while skiing. He used to frighten me with his shenanigans. I have since learned he is what he is and I can't and won't change him. He is an amazing husband and father. I couldn't ask for anything more, well...
Now I just need to develop a pseudonym for my son. When I was pregnant Rabid and I called him the wart. I can't use that anymore, he is too cute. Any suggestions?
Here is reason 8,263 why I will never buy another Volkswagen -- Sweet German Engineering!
The battery in my Touareg died. No big deal you say. WRONG. My dear hubby (who is quite the car repairman) spent half an hour trying to find the battery. The battery is not where one would think. It is under the driver's seat. After reading through much of the manual he found that there is a post under the hood to use for a jump start, though Volkswagen doesn't recommend jump starting or charging your battery. Wait, there is more. Not only is the battery in a most ridiculous place. We haven't been able to find one for under $300. That is if the hubby replaces it himself. The entire driver's seat must be removed.
Enough, I want a different car. I am tired of spending $100 on oil changes, $50 on wiper blade replacements, $1500 on drive train repairs, etc. The worst part is I have actually loved the car. It drives awesome in all conditions, turns better than any compact I have ever driven, and is the perfect height for placing a child in a carseat. I just don't want anymore surprise expenses.
Take my advice (unless you are one of the elite who don't mind costly repairs) never buy a Volkswagen.
I could use a little rainbow in my house. Why? Because I am tired of the flood. Two days ago I went downstairs to begin washing all the clothes from the vacation. Low and Behold there was my washer and dryer sitting in a giant puddle. Hubby is at work so this leaves me to deal with it. So what do I do? Call dad. My dad did his best to patch up the problem the fact still remains we are going to have to buy a new garbage disposal. This is not what I want to do at Christmas time. I want to buy fun things. So for now I will keep an eye on the bucket catching the drip and dream of a magic rainbow to promise me no more floods.
