I was getting ready to head to the grocery store when Brantley (my husband) and I finished up a conversation about a girlfriend of mine. We’ll call her Stacey. Stacey has been through a lot lately- the loss of a loved one, a bad breakup, and a serious health crisis. Despite all of the things going on in her life Stacey always remains upbeat and concerned with others. She’s the kind of friend that remembers your Mother’s birthday. Who does that?
Throughout my years as a writer, I’ve maintained my nursing license by working part-time, here and there at a clinic. However, due to some recent and, ahem, sudden staffing shortages, I’ve been needed on a more routine basis. I could use the money and am happy to help, so it works out well. I only have one complaint. Working is hard, y’all.
This is such a news flash that CNN is bound to pick up this article at anytime.
My mantra has always been, “Don’t work too hard,” and I’m proud to say I’ve stuck to that principle, until recently. I’ve been working about three days a week at the clinic. On my off days at home I write music reviews for the paper, and do my best to keep my blog current. Then there’s my husband who follows me around asking questions all the time like, “Lori, what do you want for dinner?” and, “Lori, do you have any whites that need to be washed?” Omg! I can’t make every decision by myself!!
Could you feel the sarcasm there? Yeah, my husband is kind of awesome. He works about fifty hours a week AND does all of the laundry. On his days off he cooks dinner. He’s a grat Dad and is kind of, really attractive. You know what else? He doesn’t complain. I can’t believe he’s still married to me, either.
When I got home from work the other night I walked in on him having a conversation with Luke (4).
Luke: “Dad, tell me a spooky story.”
Brantley: “It was a dark and stormy night when the power went out. Suddenly, the lightning flashed. It lit up our dark bedroom and I saw someone standing there. It was your Mom, and she didn’t have any makeup on!!”
Then, they both screamed and Luke laughed so hard he fell out of his chair.
So I’m working on getting over myself and becoming a better multi-tasker. I will close with a conversation I had with one of my patients this week.
Patient: “It smells weird in here.”
Me: “Yeah, that’s my body. I emit an odor when I’ve worked close to eight hours in a row.”
Luke started acting classes at the Nashville Children’s Theater today. He’s a little outgoing so Brantley and I thought we’d throw him out there and see if we could get a return on our investment. Only time will tell. In the meantime, it was fun watching him pretend to be different things as instructed by the teacher. At one point, however, Brantley did whisper in my ear, “He does this at home for free.” “Yeah he does,” I said. “But when we’re in a theater it’s art, so shut up.”
The teacher instructed the children to have a “pretend argument” with their parents over not wanting to take a bath. Luke’s argument was pretty solid, “Pirates don’t take baaafs,” but when Brantley didn’t back down Luke thumped him squarely on the nose. Knowing full well that no one had instructed them to become physical if the situation called for it, I teared up over having just witnessed my baby’s first ever improvisation. I was one proud Mama.
|Note the perfect thumping form of his fingers.
Maybe he should play piano, instead…
On the way out I slipped the teacher a five and whispered, “Put us on the Bieber fast track to fame.” So be on the look out for that to happen within the next week.
|Brantley- “I put my chapstick in my mouth so it wouldn’t get muddy in my pocket.”
“Of course you did.”
Brantley had just fixed himself a fine looking turkey sandwich. I can’t explain it, but I was feeling the overwhelming urge to bully someone. So without giving it too much thought I punched his sandwich flat. The bread was soft, and it felt great. Brantley expressed his disapproval. “What the hell was that for?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just saw it and felt like punching it.”
“I see something I feel like punching too.”
“Point taken. You complete me.”
On May 10th, 2003 Brantley Wescott made the smartest decision of his life by way of marrying me. Congratulations to him on managing to hang on to me for nine long years.
The following is a poem that, I think, sums up our marriage thus far.
|The Wescott’s 2011|
|Being a good Dad.|
|Handsome enough to be a part-time sock model. Can anyone else say that about their husband?|
|Not him, but someone on a cereal box that resembles him.
I’m also going to include the Thunderballs video to give you an idea of what he’s like in a live action (surveillance) situation.
Happy anniversary, Brantley Wescott! And, don’t ever make me angry.
I believe Valentine’s Day is a made up holiday perpetrated on consumers by the candy, greeting card and medical industry in an effort to have us needlessly spend money. Those with partners fall for it hook, line and sinker with Godiva chocolates, and cheesy cards about love. Those without partners unnecessarily decide they must have a partner, if only for one night. That person then goes home with someone from the bar, catches a germ that won’t wash off, and shows up at their doctor’s office for treatment three to four days later.
One of the many things I love about my husband is that he is as unromantic as I am. Most women would’ve been appalled at the question he posed to me last week regarding Valentine’s Day.
“Hey, instead of getting each other Valentine’s Day cards this year, can we each throw five dollars in the garbage can? That’s where it’ll go the next day, anyway.”
My heart swelled with pride. “You complete me.”
I don’t need a specific day of the year to remember that I have the most wonderful husband in the world (when he isn’t being a butt hole). Happy VD everyone.
I was driving down the road today when I heard a celebrity news bulletin on the radio. The DJ explained that David Beckham had been named Sexiest Man on the Planet for 2012. “How can this be?” I shouted. “They have not even met my husband. They don’t know what they’re missing.” I knew then and there that it was my job to reach the nations with the glory that is Brantley L. Wescott.
Step 1: (There’s only one step, actually.)
Flood the internet with attractive photos of him
We were discussing the early start to my day when Brantley asked, “Why did you get up at 3:30 this morning?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just woke up and couldn’t turn off my brain, I guess.”
“Hmm, I never knew you turned it on.”