Newest Addition

Six weeks ago, on a bitterly cold Saturday morning (35 degrees in the South is considered bitter), I was attempting for the third time to drink my luke-warm coffee while simultaneously blocking my two-and-a-half year old from catapulting off the back of the couch. Wyatt had recently watched a particularly inspiring edition of Dino Dan, and thought excavating from the top of our overstuffed Ethan Allen was a super idea.

The phone rang, and like any normal Saturday before 8 a.m. in our house, I was debating setting my child in his crib, and going outside. Or, perhaps, catching a boat to Puerto Rico. I decided against the latter, and answered the phone instead.

"Guess WHAT?!" My husbands giddy shrill was so loud, that I yanked the cordless to arms length. Oh CRAP. (in my head, not out loud, in order to keep the toddler from being kicked out of pre- school). I don't even have to ask. I already know what he is about to say. I ask anyways- trying so, so very hard to act a teenie weenie bit happy.

ME: what?

HIM: I shot a 10-point!!!

ME (again, in my head) Wow. Really? Would have never guessed in a million years that this could be the reason why you sound like a teenage girl on crack.

ME (for real this time) Wow. That IS FANTASTIC! I am SOOO SOOO haaaaapppppyyyy!!! I mean, instead of being home between the hours 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. today, you are now going to be gone ALL day, leaving Wyatt and I to our own devices- and we can't even leave the house because its the freaking arctic out there, and on top of that--- I get to look forward to blood and guts in my garage and raw meat on my kitchen counters, but wow, a 10 point?!?! That is so awesome honey.

HIM: Yeah, I know awesome huh?! Oh, and by the way, Jamie and I will be processing it all day tomorrow.

ME: Gee. That's fantastic! I didn't have anything I wanted to do this weekend anyways- other than packing my bags for Puerto Rico, of course.

Fast forward three weeks. My sleep-deprived, anxiety stricken, pre-occupied self cannot for the life of me understand why there are 23 industrial-sized bleach bottles filling up my laundry room. I stopped asking questions a long time ago, but when my testorone laden better half arrived home with a Sally's Beauty bag filled with peroxide cream, curiosity won out.

Before the question could even leave my mouth, Mark was bounding for the garage with enthusiasm that could rival Leslie Sansone. He reappeared with the skeletal remains of something that I thought he had perhaps dug up in the Arizona desert. Only Mark has never been to Arizona. Then it hit me-- I could tell from the sheer excitement spreading across his face, that he actually thought the creepy skull thing was cool. And, then suddenly, a worse thought crossed my mind. Oh, NO. He wants to hang this ON MY WALL. IN MY HOUSE. Oh please no... but, ask he did... and in a moment of sheer insanity, mixed with guilt over the fact that every single organism that my husband had ever killed, stuffed, preserved or mounted had been banished ages ago to the attic (well, except for the Turkey- which was in our garage... until our Cocker Spaniel devoured it- but alas, I digress), anyways- in that moment of pure insanity, I consented to letting him have one tiny corner of the least trafficked room in our house. And, have since grown to regret it (after walking into our guest room and almost peeing my pants).

Welcome dear friends. I do hope that this empty skull staring at you while you sleep does not give you nightmares :). I am thinking that not even my parents will come and visit anymore- perhaps this was his plan all along... ;)