And so… early morning… my favourite time of the day… I’m alone, it’s quiet, dark and I crank the heat to 73degrees to make it all cozy-schmozy (before husband gets up and, before he’s even had his morning pee, is turning it back down to 65- arrrrgh…) and I pour, out of my oh-so-wondrous coffee percolatin’ lovliness, my first perfect cup o’ joe. Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh.

To make my mornings the easiest possible, and to not risk waking anyone prematurely, I prepare the coffee the night before. All that’s required of me next day, before I go for my morning pee, is plug it in. Magically, when I emerge from the loo… coffee. Hotter than stink. Ready. For me.

This morning: routine painfully interrupted.

Last night, downright pooped. Just enough left in me to settle in all snuggly beside sleeping girl child (yes, still in our bed) for American Idol, I asked my darling Filipes if he could make the coffee. Hmmm……… This seemingly small request launches a tedious not to mention, inconvenient, discussion about the household responsibilities that fall to him, alone. One and only example he continued to belabour: bucking and splitting firewood…

OK, fine. So the man chops wood. I have no problem admitting that he takes this on fully, solely.

I will not go into my list here, but suffice it to say, after remindiing him of my own list of responsibilities that exist in my lap alone, he then felt compelled, this one time, to prepare the coffee for morning.
Off to bed. I smile as hear him labour. Under the covers for the first night of real Idol competition. Yes….. Sing it, baby.

This morning. Plug. Pee. Bestest cup. Sugar. Pour. Bubbles and fizz as sugar instantaneously dissolves with the scalding heat of freshly brewed liquid. The comforting fruits of his labour. A chill of appreciation for my lovely man with a quick splash of the Cream-o….. uhhhhhhh……………wha?

Dishwater. Pale. Grey. Pour out half. Add more coffee (in my enhanced sensory state now noticing the pale liquid pour into my cup). Still grey. Still pale. Still so disappointingly reminiscent of dishwater, thoroughly dished. Ugh.

Make the coffee. Hear manly man up and stirring as a result of noisy grinder. Bleary, yet so very indignant, “You aren’t making a new pot of coffee?!?!”

Typical. In Man-dom. Do it shitty, so you never have to do it again. And do make sure you’re duly put out…

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Filipes is sick. Ugh.

For the past two weeks, this will be the third, he’s killed at least a day on the couch, ekeing out a bit of work… from couch, being sick. Or, and I quote, “fighting something“.

Jeez Louise.

To this something I say, “shit or get off the pot, already!” Make the man sick, and I mean really sick, where he purges all, the good, bad and ugly, and is done with it. Or just leave us the hell alone (this option being preferred, of course). Be gone. Allow this man to get his bones off my damn couch!

Oops! He caught me.
This perpetual “fight” is becoming incredibly inconvenient!

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The loves of my life.  Neither of whom is sportin’ a look I’m particularly fond of….

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Well, another Friday.  A Friday to follow a strange week of funky moods, funky health, funky food.  Just plain funky.  I guess it can just be attributed to a bad case of the winter blahs.

Adding to this general sense of malaise- blah and funk… my husband offering, just to be a pain in the ass:

I don’t think I will let you go away by yourself again.  You aren’t any better when you return.  But I guess it’s just a matter of expectations…” 

“Was I supposed to come back different?  Am I to assume you are hoping I change when I leave for a week?  You’re not happy with who I am?!?!”

“No…. it’s just that…”

“Brilliant!  It’s just what, genius?!?”

“Well, no.  When you go away… it’s just….”

“Don’t even friggin’ bother, man.”

Got out of the room with both jewels. Lucky bugger!

So, there you have it.  The week after a week away.  Was it worth it?  Hard to say.  But it has been a weird, friggin’ mid-January, sub-freezing bloody week. 

One bright spot:  watching dear Sally pull off a near perfect breast stroke this afternoon.  In a race with teammates, he swam like we’ve never seen before.  After a mere three weeks he’s off like a champ.  And grinnin’.  Fabulous!

Oh, right.  Grinnin’ without both of his top front teeth.  That nasty second one fell out last week.  Finally.. jeez.  Tooth Fairy better take a second job, cuz we’ve still got a lot of tooth losin’ to do and at this rate, she’s gonna bound to run dry….

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