As he was leaving later, I gave my standard good wishes for the day and told him I loved him.
His response today?
"You love me because I give you marketing material."
Blogs and bagels
Brandon caught up on the last few posts this morning while I was toasting our bagels.
A purple big toe
About mid-morning yesterday, Brandon limped into the house for breakfast. He had already been out irrigating and shuffling employees around, and had time to injure himself in the process. Turns out he dropped a large piece of concrete right on top of his big toe.
After hobbling around on it all day, he greets me that evening with, "Katie, I know you're clumsy, and not graceful at all, but I really, REALLY need you to not touch my toe tonight."
I cringe, because no matter how hard I try, I always seem to forget which side the current wound is located on, or trip and land right on a bruise, or grab a bandaged hand - which he also had last night. Something about trying to run a screwdriver through his hand...
So I respond, hesitantly, "Okay...I'll try...really hard, but you know I always mess up..."
And he just starts shaking his head, "No, trying isn't going to work this time. My toe is jacked, and it hurts. You know what? I think I'm just going to stay three feet away from you all night."
But we all know that didn't last.
Just for redemption here, I may be the clumsy one who loses her balance standing on a flat surface for no reason, walks into walls, trips over anything lying in my path, and forgets the exact location of others' injuries. But Brandon's (frequent) accidents always result in some sort of self-mutilation - numerous stabbing incidents, hand burnings with the torch, the new purple toe, etc. I don't mind bumping into a few walls, as long as I'm keeping all my appendages in tact.
Preparing for the Boyer's: Part 1
First, very happy birthday wishes to my mom today!
But my to-do list tendencies are starting to take over. And what's my first step in making preparations for the iminent visit now just more than two weeks away? Making a plan to begin the planning. I know, who plans for planning? But I do. So, I have started off with a list for everything I need to plan for, and then prioritized that list, so I now have a plan - for how I am going to plan.
So far, my plan for planning includes:
- Plan daily activities, including fitting in a jeeping trip, spring training baseball game and trip to Sedona (Mom's requests), day on the farm (Dad's request), and trip down south, near Sonoita (Brandon's idea).
- Planning meals and groceries needed for the week
- Planning when/what I should clean before they arrive
- Planning how to find Brandon time to connect the washer and dryer so we can be self-sufficient adults by the time they arrive (Yes, we have been married for almost nine months. No, we still cannot wash clothes at our own house.)
- Planning what needs to be accomplished for work, and how to get it done, so I can have a lot of time off that week.
Some of the possible tension that could occur during their visit has already been releived by Calli* and Morgan dropping out of the trip. Not that I'm not disappointed about having to wait a few more months to see them, but they both have legitimate reasons, and it reduces the number of people sharing one tiny bathroom to five, rather than seven. Our master bathroom is currently labeled as "under construction", and we're guessing it will carry that label for another few months years.
And two less Boyer's in a bathroom really makes a difference. Anyone remember when all six of us shared one at the barn? Brandon still can't beleive we had a "no-lock" rule for the family bathroom - only if you were in the shower, of course.
Maybe I should add "planning a bathroom schedule" to the list?
*Say a little prayer for Calli. She found out she has an upper respiratory infection yesterday. And she sounds like some old lady who has been smoking for 50 years - between the hacking. Not good conditions for a major exam week. Her immune system has really taken a hit the last few years.
Why the grill is a man thing. And should continue to be labeled as such.
Note to women: this post is included for your safety just as much as your entertainment.
I mentioned in a previous post how we recently had Brandon's family over for dinner. I did not mention how I thought I blew up our brand new grill. (Well, technically, we got it for Christmas, so it's already two months old. But if you only count how long it has actually been put together and in use, it's still brand new.)
For dinner, we were going to grill some fish - an assortment of halibut, salmon and grouper, and have some grilled vegetables - corn, zucchini and red bell peppers. Obviously, the vegetables needed to go on a little earlier to be done at the same time. And that was about the extent of my grilling knowledge.
Brandon has always been in charge of the grill. Even before we were married. Actually, before we were dating. It's just something that has always been "a man thing" to me. My dad always took over the grilling duties (I'm not sure anyone else is even allowed to use his grill), and therefore it's just one of those things I have labeled and reserved as a man job, and have never learned to do on my own.
So, in all my 23.5 years, I had never touched the grill.
But, 7:00 rolled around that evening. We were serving dinner at 7:30. And Brandon was still 20 minutes from being home. I had no choice but to venture out to the grill to get things started. Only I had no idea where to start.
I get him on the phone to have him walk me through turning the grill on. (Yes, I really needed help with this. No, Brandon couldn't believe it either.)
I follow each step carefully (or so I think).
I open the lid to remove the grilling utensils Brandon almost melted several days before by forgetting he had them in there, and I shut the lid back...turns out I was NOT supposed to shut the lid.
I turn each of the four burner knobs to the "on" position, then down to the low setting...but I was only supposed to turn one of them on.
And then, Brandon instructed me to, "Press the black 'ignite' button, and you will hear a click-click-and then you'll hear it start."
So, I press the "ignite" button.
But I don't hear a "click-click-start". I hear a "click-click-BOOM". Along with a big orange flash and the doors at the bottom of the grill (where the propane tank is located) flying open.
And Brandon hears a "BOOM!", followed by a very loud, high-pitched, girly shriek.
Which is also the same noise Grandma Mary, Jean and Tom hear as they are arriving for dinner.
At this point, I am already thinking I just blew up our new grill. Our guests are thinking they are not going to get dinner. And Brandon doesn't know what to think on the other end of the phone. I tell him his uncle is there, so he says, "Well have Tom look at it then. But tell him to be careful."
And then he's thinking he just sent his uncle into a death trap.
But, wouldn't you know, the man walks over there, takes a quick look, then asks me, "You didn't have the lid open when you started it?"
"No, Brandon didn't tell me that part. He just said to get the utensils out. He didn't say to leave it open."
He just opens the lid, reaches for the "ignite" button (as I start to brace myself for another explosion), and sure enough, there's a "click-click"...and the sound of gas flames.
I give Brandon a call back to let him know my attempt at grilling has not cost us our home, and he says, "Oh, you didn't leave the lid open? What?"
"No, you just told me to get the utensils out. I thought that meant to shut it back."
"Oh, Katie..."
Maybe this another example of that gap between male and female communication? But I like to think it could be solved simply by reverting the grilling duties back to the men.
Key lessons to take home:
I mentioned in a previous post how we recently had Brandon's family over for dinner. I did not mention how I thought I blew up our brand new grill. (Well, technically, we got it for Christmas, so it's already two months old. But if you only count how long it has actually been put together and in use, it's still brand new.)
For dinner, we were going to grill some fish - an assortment of halibut, salmon and grouper, and have some grilled vegetables - corn, zucchini and red bell peppers. Obviously, the vegetables needed to go on a little earlier to be done at the same time. And that was about the extent of my grilling knowledge.
Brandon has always been in charge of the grill. Even before we were married. Actually, before we were dating. It's just something that has always been "a man thing" to me. My dad always took over the grilling duties (I'm not sure anyone else is even allowed to use his grill), and therefore it's just one of those things I have labeled and reserved as a man job, and have never learned to do on my own.
So, in all my 23.5 years, I had never touched the grill.
But, 7:00 rolled around that evening. We were serving dinner at 7:30. And Brandon was still 20 minutes from being home. I had no choice but to venture out to the grill to get things started. Only I had no idea where to start.
I get him on the phone to have him walk me through turning the grill on. (Yes, I really needed help with this. No, Brandon couldn't believe it either.)
I follow each step carefully (or so I think).
I open the lid to remove the grilling utensils Brandon almost melted several days before by forgetting he had them in there, and I shut the lid back...turns out I was NOT supposed to shut the lid.
I turn each of the four burner knobs to the "on" position, then down to the low setting...but I was only supposed to turn one of them on.
And then, Brandon instructed me to, "Press the black 'ignite' button, and you will hear a click-click-and then you'll hear it start."
So, I press the "ignite" button.
But I don't hear a "click-click-start". I hear a "click-click-BOOM". Along with a big orange flash and the doors at the bottom of the grill (where the propane tank is located) flying open.
And Brandon hears a "BOOM!", followed by a very loud, high-pitched, girly shriek.
Which is also the same noise Grandma Mary, Jean and Tom hear as they are arriving for dinner.
At this point, I am already thinking I just blew up our new grill. Our guests are thinking they are not going to get dinner. And Brandon doesn't know what to think on the other end of the phone. I tell him his uncle is there, so he says, "Well have Tom look at it then. But tell him to be careful."
And then he's thinking he just sent his uncle into a death trap.
But, wouldn't you know, the man walks over there, takes a quick look, then asks me, "You didn't have the lid open when you started it?"
"No, Brandon didn't tell me that part. He just said to get the utensils out. He didn't say to leave it open."
He just opens the lid, reaches for the "ignite" button (as I start to brace myself for another explosion), and sure enough, there's a "click-click"...and the sound of gas flames.
I give Brandon a call back to let him know my attempt at grilling has not cost us our home, and he says, "Oh, you didn't leave the lid open? What?"
"No, you just told me to get the utensils out. I thought that meant to shut it back."
"Oh, Katie..."
Maybe this another example of that gap between male and female communication? But I like to think it could be solved simply by reverting the grilling duties back to the men.
Key lessons to take home:
- Always leave the lid on a gas grill open when starting.
- Always get very specific instructions when working with flammable materials.
Understanding the meaning of "I've had a bad day"
I had a lesson on this last Friday.
For most women, this comment is usually used to open an opportunity to tell someone about all the things that went wrong in her life that day, and explain each detail that made this "bad day" so awful.
Not the case with men. At least with my husband, anyway.
Brandon walked into the kitchen about 7:30 Friday evening saying, "I've had a bad day. I just want dinner, a beer, and to go to bed."
So, being the good wife I am, I reached in the fridge to retrieve a cold beverage for him, and finished up the dinner preparations.
At this point, I was two for three on his wishes for the evening - sitting in pretty good shape. But after dinner, the female tendencies took over.
"I'm sorry you had a bad day. What made it so bad anyway?"
"Oh, yes, that is bad. But why did that happen?"
"And then what happened after that? I mean, something else had to have happened for you to be so upset about the whole day."
"Oh, that too, huh? Well what caused that? And why exactly was it such a problem?"
"Okay, now I see why it was such a bad day. But can we go back to that first thing that went wrong? I have more questions about that."
Turns out, this is not the conversation Brandon had in mind for the evening. This series of dialogue was eventually met with:
"When I walked in the door tonight, I was very clear about the fact I had a bad day. As in, I didn't want to talk about it. Actually, I wanted to do everything I could to forget about it. But all we've done is talk about it. Now, can we please NOT TALK ABOUT IT ANYMORE?"
"Oh. Okay. If that's what you want."
And three minutes later...
"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"
[Met with a very frustrated blank stare]
And with that, I began to understand the meaning of "I've had a bad day" in man speak.
For my married friends and family, I hope this post gives you something to laugh about, because you've probably known this for years, and might even remember the day you learned this little difference in communication.
For my unsuspecting single friends and family, I hope this post is a lesson for you: just give him the beer, make him some food, and don't ask questions.
For most women, this comment is usually used to open an opportunity to tell someone about all the things that went wrong in her life that day, and explain each detail that made this "bad day" so awful.
Not the case with men. At least with my husband, anyway.
Brandon walked into the kitchen about 7:30 Friday evening saying, "I've had a bad day. I just want dinner, a beer, and to go to bed."
So, being the good wife I am, I reached in the fridge to retrieve a cold beverage for him, and finished up the dinner preparations.
At this point, I was two for three on his wishes for the evening - sitting in pretty good shape. But after dinner, the female tendencies took over.
"I'm sorry you had a bad day. What made it so bad anyway?"
"Oh, yes, that is bad. But why did that happen?"
"And then what happened after that? I mean, something else had to have happened for you to be so upset about the whole day."
"Oh, that too, huh? Well what caused that? And why exactly was it such a problem?"
"Okay, now I see why it was such a bad day. But can we go back to that first thing that went wrong? I have more questions about that."
Turns out, this is not the conversation Brandon had in mind for the evening. This series of dialogue was eventually met with:
"When I walked in the door tonight, I was very clear about the fact I had a bad day. As in, I didn't want to talk about it. Actually, I wanted to do everything I could to forget about it. But all we've done is talk about it. Now, can we please NOT TALK ABOUT IT ANYMORE?"
"Oh. Okay. If that's what you want."
And three minutes later...
"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"
[Met with a very frustrated blank stare]
And with that, I began to understand the meaning of "I've had a bad day" in man speak.
For my married friends and family, I hope this post gives you something to laugh about, because you've probably known this for years, and might even remember the day you learned this little difference in communication.
For my unsuspecting single friends and family, I hope this post is a lesson for you: just give him the beer, make him some food, and don't ask questions.
The Toothpaste Wars
I was very disappointed at Christmas this year when, for the first time in many years, I did not get a tube of toothpaste in my stocking. Yes. Toothpaste.
Not to say I didn't have a wonderful Christmas full of more gifts than I deserved. I just really needed toothpaste this year.
You see, about November I realized I was beginning to run low on my toothpaste. So, I took a little peak in Brandon's drawer to take inventory there. His tube was almost full. This meant that, for the first time, we would have to share toothpaste. I immediately knew this would be a problem.
There were two very valid reasons why Brandon and I simply could not share toothpaste:
Since it was November when I made this discovery, I had some relief when I realized Christmas was only a few weeks away. I could probably stretch my toothpaste out until then, and I always get toothpaste in my stocking, right?
Except for Christmas 2008. So why am I bringing this up in February? Because it's something I am reminded of daily. Each morning, I am thoroughly annoyed as I work all the toothpaste back to the top of the tube, even though I know my efforts will be destroyed that evening. Really, if all the toothpaste is already at the top, how hard is it to just squeeze from the back?
What's your take on the toothpaste? Or, any other trivial battles you have with your significant other?
Not to say I didn't have a wonderful Christmas full of more gifts than I deserved. I just really needed toothpaste this year.
You see, about November I realized I was beginning to run low on my toothpaste. So, I took a little peak in Brandon's drawer to take inventory there. His tube was almost full. This meant that, for the first time, we would have to share toothpaste. I immediately knew this would be a problem.
There were two very valid reasons why Brandon and I simply could not share toothpaste:
- I had used Colgate Total for almost ten years; he's a Crest man.
- He squeezes from the middle.
Since it was November when I made this discovery, I had some relief when I realized Christmas was only a few weeks away. I could probably stretch my toothpaste out until then, and I always get toothpaste in my stocking, right?
Except for Christmas 2008. So why am I bringing this up in February? Because it's something I am reminded of daily. Each morning, I am thoroughly annoyed as I work all the toothpaste back to the top of the tube, even though I know my efforts will be destroyed that evening. Really, if all the toothpaste is already at the top, how hard is it to just squeeze from the back?
What's your take on the toothpaste? Or, any other trivial battles you have with your significant other?
Business Cards and Orange-Scented Pledge
I've been working in Photoshop a lot recently, trying to sharpen some skills so I can pick up some more work, aside from the marketing I do for Cattlesoft, Inc. One of my upcoming projects is a mailer for KB Structures that my dad and I plan to work on while they are visiting for Spring Break (which Brandon and I are excited about).
Brandon has been in desperate need of some business cards, especially before we start cutting hay, so we worked on those last week, and they just came in yesterday. All 1000 of them. The price difference between ordering 500 and 1000 was only $5, so we may have these around for the next 10 years or so.
The printed version turned out a lighter green than we expected, but those things always change a little from the computer to the printing company. These will certainly do the job for now. Any requests for a Rocker 7 card?
Now that they're in, I have a lot of pressure. Notice that "www.Rocker7.com" in the bottom right corner? It doesn't currently exist. It is one of those New Year's projects I mentioned in the first post that hasn't exactly come to fruition yet. And, as long as no one else knew about it, it didn't matter much (other than my daily frustration with a giant project looming over my head). But, now that Brandon has these business cards to hand out, the race is on.
Needless to say, my spare time will be filled with Dreamweaver tutorials (Adobe's web builder program) and lots of research. Wish me luck!
In other news, we have a clean house! It desperately needed attention; the floors were so bad I tried to keep the light in the kitchen turned off as much as possibile to disguise the filth some. We had Brandon's family over for dinner last night, including his aunt and uncle who are visiting from Maryland, so I went on a cleaning spree yesterday. Everything is dusted, swept and mopped, and I still can't get over how amazing it looks and feels.
Brandon ran in the house yesterday afternoon as I was wrapping up the mopping, and said, "It looks great in here. But the whole house smells like you just cleaned it."
"Yeah, um, that's the point. I just did."
"Well, I just didn't know if you wanted everyone to know you cleaned it for them right when they walked in."
"Well, what do you want me to do, light some candles? I wasn't really planning on trying to hide the fact I mucked out our house today from your family."
And then, as he's headed across the wood floors that were freshly Pledged and orange-scented*, I hear, "Uh-oh...you might want to come back in here...my boot dropped some dirt."
Not something I wanted to hear standing over a mop bucket, with just four feet of scrubbing left in the entire house.
"What? Brandon Leister, you just get out of my house right now."
And we wondered how the floors were so dirty in the first place? Oh, the wonders of living with a farmer.
*We are only allowed to purchase orange-scented cleaning goods. Orange is Brandon's favorite scent, flavor and color.
Brandon has been in desperate need of some business cards, especially before we start cutting hay, so we worked on those last week, and they just came in yesterday. All 1000 of them. The price difference between ordering 500 and 1000 was only $5, so we may have these around for the next 10 years or so.
The printed version turned out a lighter green than we expected, but those things always change a little from the computer to the printing company. These will certainly do the job for now. Any requests for a Rocker 7 card?Now that they're in, I have a lot of pressure. Notice that "www.Rocker7.com" in the bottom right corner? It doesn't currently exist. It is one of those New Year's projects I mentioned in the first post that hasn't exactly come to fruition yet. And, as long as no one else knew about it, it didn't matter much (other than my daily frustration with a giant project looming over my head). But, now that Brandon has these business cards to hand out, the race is on.
Needless to say, my spare time will be filled with Dreamweaver tutorials (Adobe's web builder program) and lots of research. Wish me luck!
In other news, we have a clean house! It desperately needed attention; the floors were so bad I tried to keep the light in the kitchen turned off as much as possibile to disguise the filth some. We had Brandon's family over for dinner last night, including his aunt and uncle who are visiting from Maryland, so I went on a cleaning spree yesterday. Everything is dusted, swept and mopped, and I still can't get over how amazing it looks and feels.
Brandon ran in the house yesterday afternoon as I was wrapping up the mopping, and said, "It looks great in here. But the whole house smells like you just cleaned it."
"Yeah, um, that's the point. I just did."
"Well, I just didn't know if you wanted everyone to know you cleaned it for them right when they walked in."
"Well, what do you want me to do, light some candles? I wasn't really planning on trying to hide the fact I mucked out our house today from your family."
And then, as he's headed across the wood floors that were freshly Pledged and orange-scented*, I hear, "Uh-oh...you might want to come back in here...my boot dropped some dirt."
Not something I wanted to hear standing over a mop bucket, with just four feet of scrubbing left in the entire house.
"What? Brandon Leister, you just get out of my house right now."
And we wondered how the floors were so dirty in the first place? Oh, the wonders of living with a farmer.
*We are only allowed to purchase orange-scented cleaning goods. Orange is Brandon's favorite scent, flavor and color.
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