I love you…now leave!

Scott and I just returned from Guatemala with our son, Dodge, and while that was an exciting, enjoyable experience; for a week, we were confined to every tiny space from here to Central America and back. We were cooped up in planes, trains, busses, hotel rooms and even our own tiny home, Houdini would have felt claustrophobic in some of the spaces we spent time. There is only so much time you can wile away in a Central American hotel room with a husband, a baby and no air conditioning. The upside was that we watched enough Spanish television that Scott can now recite the “T.V. Guide” in Spanish. “Esta Noche en Fox, Los Simpsons.”

By the time we had spent nine days together, which, in case you were wondering, is 216 hours – I counted; we were ready to take our marriage to the mat. This wonderful, lovely man I married, has a gift for being constantly underfoot. Scott spends his entire time at home IN MY WAY! I would like to be able to vacuum without tripping over my husband's big gunboat feet. I want to be able to turn around without running into a giant lump of man wanting to know, “What are we gonna do next, Shauna?”

Scott is a terrific father, and his capacity for his children is a joy to watch; but he is the most forgetful father I have ever known. He sends Sloan to timeout, and then forgets he sent her there. He calls all over our home (which doesn't take a lot of calling) that if Sloan is into something, she's going to timeout. I have to remind him that she's already there . I have started pinning a note to Scott's shirt that reads in bold print “ Sloan is in timeout. Remember to let her out in 3 minutes! ”.

The straw that broke the already heavily laden camel's back was when Scott (28) and Sloan (2) got into a screaming argument about the correct usage of the nasal aspirator. My darling husband got into a shouting match trying to convince our almost three year old that she couldn't play with the “booger sucker” because, he explained, if she used it backwards, she would shoot boogers directly into her brain, which would ultimately cause an aneurism. Once I regained my composure after nearly losing consciousness from asthmatic fits of laughter, I had to separate the two nasal warriors and I deftly hid the offending aspirator.

Finally, after a week and two days, I turned to Scott and, with as much sensitivity as I could muster, I shouted, “Get out! Get out of my house! You have to go back to work TOMORROW!” Scott was so happy he broke into an impromptu “Macarena” right there in the middle of the grocery store. Scott went into the office for a couple hours Sunday afternoon, and when he came home, we were BOTH happy.

Boise City News
P.O. Box 278
105 W. Main Street
Boise City, Oklahoma 73933-0278
Phone: 580 544-2222
Fax: 580 544-3281
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