Archive for the ‘Marriage’ Category

Aaaaand We’re Back…   1 comment


So for those of you who do not know, my wife is pregnant with our first child.  She is due October 17th and we won’t know the sex of the baby for quite some time.  Over the years I have taught myself to take things as they come and never get too excited one way or another about things as they occur.  Because of this, the magnitude of our first pregnancy and everything it entails did not set in until our first doctor’s appointment.

Even as we entered the women’s health office at the hospital, it all just seemed like a normal visit to any doctor’s office.  I was remarkably calm as I knew this would be one visit where there was absolutely no chance of me getting any shot or having to turn and cough as a doctor skipped the dinner portion of our date.  I sat down while my wife checked in and located the nearest ESPN Magazine and started reading.  My wife’s name was called by a friendly-looking, elderly female nurse in bright pink scrubs and as we made our way through the maze of exam room hallways to her room my main concern was whether Iowa was going to upset Michigan State in the Big Ten Tournament match up that afternoon.  Then that sweet, grandma-like nurse opened the door to the room…

Now, I’ve been to plenty of doctors’ offices as during my childhood I was rushed to see Dr. Curtin and his endless supply of antibiotics anytime I sniffled.  This was NOT a normal exam room.  The first thing I noticed was the size of the room – it was about the size of my living room at home…except my living room has comfortable couches, my big fluffy recliner, and a TV.  This room had an exam table that looked like something out of a Saw movie complete with what the nurse would later define as a “crotch light”.  As we sat down, the nurse began to ask a series of questions to my wife which I tried desperately to block out as my comfort level plummeted to somewhere near the Titanic’s current location.  I turned around to look out the window and realized the windows here were like those in high-rise buildings in Chicago.  They could open, but just barely enough as to not allow any “accidents”.  Well played, hospital design team.  You all must have known that questions about things like “flow” would cause husbands to want to find the absolute closest exit, even if that was an eighth floor window.

It turns out my Irish ancestry doesn’t bring much luck as the nurse who just five minutes ago looked like she would give me a quarter if I held a door for her transformed into an interrogation officer from the Spanish Inquisition and started asking me questions, “And how is your health lately, Joseph?”  I responded with, “Other than the intense discomfort I have right now, just fine, thanks for asking.”  Apparently she and my wife share the same sense of humor as neither laughed at that zinger or the “Now, I have to ask, is ‘crotch light’ the medical and/or scientific term for that black tentacle with a light bulb sticking out from the exam table?  Or is that just a pet name you all have for it in the office?” question I followed it up with.

Nurse “crazy questions” left the room and my wife put on what had to be the most flattering (sarcasm if you couldn’t tell) peach-colored exam gown I have ever seen and proceeded to climb the beast-like exam table and wait for the doctor.  I appreciated my wife’s courage as I would not want to be anywhere near that thing despite the fact that they put pink booties on the ends of the stirrups.  I hate to break it to you, but two pieces of three inch pink cloth definitely DO NOT hide the intimidation of a mechanical exam table that looks like if it were to be touched by the cube from Transformers it would instantly take over as the leader of the Decepticons, just like the bag of candy doesn’t make the guy in the windowless van any less creepy.

The doctor came into the room and slid into “exam position” and I quickly realized that the spectator chairs were perfectly aligned with the exam table so I would have a bird’s eye view of an exam of which I wanted absolutely no sight.  With speed I haven’t shown since the last fifty yards of a high school cross country meet, I lept up and moved my chair to the head of the mechanical bull of an exam table as the doctor prepped instruments and a “wand” that, like other things in the office, seemed harmless at first but in fact ended up not being very friendly according to the faces my wife made as they were used.

Then it happened.  All the discomfort from the previous twenty or thirty minutes disappeared as a Thumper-like noise became audible (yep, you read that right…I referenced Bambi and Transformers in the same blog).  Our baby had a heart beat and strong and healthy one at that.  I held in tears like I used to do when watching Extreme Make Over: Home Edition with my roommates in college because I am an idiot and don’t like to show emotion even at amazing moments like this one.  As the doctor, the head of the evil organization known as a women’s health office now turned angel, moved things around and the picture began to change and clear up, she pointed out the arm and leg nubs along with the head of this tiny person my wife and I made.  All three of us laughed as the baby wiggled around like it knew it was on camera and wanted to show us he or she was just fine in there despite whatever craziness I had imagined earlier during the exam.  Our little one made the first three people to ever see it crack up within five seconds of seeing him or her.  I couldn’t help thinking to myself, “Touché, baby Jackson, touché…I think you and I are going to get along very well for a long time”.

Posted March 21, 2011 by joejack7500 in Humor, Life, Marriage, Pop Culture

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“S#*% My Wife Does That I Don’t Understand” Vol. 2   4 comments


As this is the second installment of “S#*% My Wife Does That I Don’t Understand”, I must preface this entry by again saying that I love my wife and that if she ever had time or the desire to write anything like this about me, she would have enough material to fill a 12 volume set.

A few nights ago my wife and I were peacefully asleep when I woke up to a low growl coming from our dog at the foot of the bed.  I assumed she was dreaming and thought nothing of it until I felt her stand up in bed.  I looked up and she was standing over me growling at the main entry door to our bedroom (there is a second door that goes through the master bath…that’s important for later…).  At the same moment I began to hear a faint rendition of the creepiest Christmas song of all time (click here and listen before continuing your reading).  A wave of terror swept over me but promptly left as I decided that the cat must have hit a Christmas decoration that played that song.

Then the song got louder.  And louder.  And louder.  I realized we had no decoration that played that song because, no matter how nice the words were, I always thought the tone and chanting of it were too creepy to be enjoyed during a holiday.  Our dog started growling louder.  And louder.  And louder.  Uh-oh.  That same wave of fear swept over me again as my wife popped up from her slumber to ever-so-loudly yell, “What the $#%@ is that?”  A childhood of staying up late to watch Child’s Play, Halloween, and Friday the 13th movies caused my mind to snap into “there is a psychotic man dressed in a Santa costume with a radio and gun/sword walking down my hallway” mode.  Do most people EVER enter this mode?  No, but it was 3:00 AM and again my formative years were filled with me witnessing indestructable serial murderers killing teenagers for fun.  Also, it didn’t help that a few months back we were informed from a detective from the police department that our house used to be rented by drug dealers.

“I have no idea…I’ll check it out, stay here.”  I put on my glasses and climbed out of bed.  I realized then why my dad always had a 2 x 4 underneath his side of the bed.  There I was in a pair of polar bear boxers with nothing to defend myself with against whatever was coming down the hallway but Jack Johnson and Mr. Tom O’Leary.  Crap…this is absolutely not the story I want in my obituary.  The song was so loud it sounded like it was right outside the door so I ran around the bed and into the hallway ready to be instantly mauled by Satan with a Santa hat.

Nothing.  Not a damn thing.  I crept down the hall and the music started to sound like it was coming from back inside the room.  As the dog started to bark I realized whoever/whatever was out there must have heard my wife yell and went around to the other entrance to the bedroom and was now inside.  That means he/she/it is fast, too.  That’s exactly what a guy who polished off two Whoppers (fine, you caught me, I had onion rings, too…are you happy?) for dinner wants to go up against in the middle of the night.  Super.

I ran back into the bedroom donning my very intimidating polar bear boxers again ready to do whatever it is I am supposed to do in that situation.  Yet again, nothing.  It then became crystal clear what was going on.  We were dealing with some sort of crazy, invisible gremlin creature hell-bent on ruining Christmas by torturing a young suburban couple with creepy chanting music and spells of invisibility.  (Did I mention this took place at 3:00 AM?)

As it turns out, I was wrong on all accounts (go figure).  “Oh God!” my wife yelled, again making me think something is about to jam an axe into my back, “It’s my Iphone.  I must have turned on Pandora radio in my sleep and it went to the Christmas station.  Sorry, baby.”

Sorry??  Sorry, you say??  My heart rate is in the thousands and I get “sorry”.  Thank you, honey.  I may not have died defending the house and your life that night, but those few minutes will most likely end my time on this earth five years earlier than I was set to go before.

Merry Christmas and watch out for those invisible gremlin creatures.  They’ll get ya…

World Premier…   4 comments


Let me start this off by saying that I love my wife.  She’s an amazing woman who does things on a daily basis that impact others’ lives in ways I can only dream about.  Having said that, on occasion she also does things that leave me shaking my head in confusion.  This story is one of those instances and the premier of “S#*% My Wife Does That I Don’t Understand”.  (Disclaimer:  If she ever had time or the desire to write anything like this about me, she would have enough material to fill a 12 volume set.)

As anyone who read my last post knows, we had a furnace put in this past Friday.  Our utility room where the furnace is housed is also home to a good amount of random crap.  My wife, being the considerate person she is, cleared out the room so the workers could easily move around.  In doing so, she also disturbed some of the uninvited guests we’ve had come into our warm house from the cold outdoors through the backyard access door in that room.  As I later found out when I noticed what appeared to be a slow moving black golf ball with legs on our bedroom wall, one of these guests was apparently the spider from the wine cellar scene in Arachnophobia.  With the string of obscenities that flew from my mouth, she woke up in a panic and asked what was wrong.  I told her about the spider and she casually responded, “Oh yeah, I saw that thing earlier.  It was in the towel under the litter box.  It ran into the bedroom after I screamed.  I looked it up online and I think it’s some sort of wolf spider or something.”  Phew, good thing Al Gore invented that internet and thanks for the creation story of the tyrannosaurus rex arachnid twenty feet away from where we sleep, honey.  The part I failed to catch was where you stepped on it with your shoe instead of welcoming it to kill us in our sleep.

I don’t want to be married to Xena the Warrior Princess or anything, but is killing a spider that tough?  Maybe I am asking to have my cake and eat it too here, but when I’m home, feel free to act like you’re really scared and let me get all Rambo/Boba Fett on insects 1/100th my size, but when I’m not around throw on some Pink/Alanis Morissette angry woman music and channel your inner G.I. Jane/Ellen Ripley/Chun Li/Sarah Connor and take care of business.  You are the same girl who took a softball off the face, picked up the tooth from the infield dirt, and tried to reinsert it into your gums with your only fear being the possibility of looking like a carnie for the rest of your life.  You walk a half mile through Hyde Park’s finest dimly-lit streets each day for work.  Next time, just smush (not Jersey Shore style) the bug and move on.  Also, the beef in the chilli last week was a little dry…just saying…