Mr. Romance Strikes Again

I don't think he even reads my blog (if I'm mistaken, then ... hi Babe!), but ever since my post re: my new glasses, Elvis has redoubled his efforts to be a super-romantic husband. He's full of displays of affection, sweet whispered nothings, and little treats from each trip to the grocery store. But the absolute most romantic moment of the year (so far) happened on Saturday night.

Our old friend Joe came around for his quarterly visit to see Elvis & me, and to check up on little Henry (Joe was E's best man, and was one of a few friends who actually came from out of town to be at the hospital when our little man made his big debut). He's currently splitting his time between his girlfriend near Houston and his job with a movie studio in Austin, so we don't get to see him as much as we'd like. He's also a confirmed bachelor, and the differences between his single showbiz lifestyle and Elvis' gig as a teacher and family man have never been more evident. We got caught up, exchanged stories, and heard much movie-making gossip. Then, after Henry went to bed, we settled into a nice game of Uno and played for about an hour without incident.

As it always seems to happen, I was forced to play a +4 card against Joe who was down to his final card. In his overzealousness and, perhaps, after a few too many drinks our often-socially-inappropriate friend Joe forgot himself and screeched "Slut!" Although I was a little taken aback, I knew that he wasn't actually casting aspersions on my character or questioning my fidelity. Elvis, however, did not hesitate. He got pissed, and turned to Joe with A Look in his eyes. After a serious punch in the arm, my knight in shining armor even delivered a rousing speech:

"Apologize right now. That is my wife. She is the mother of a 20 1/2 month old child, and I am the father of that child. Apologize."

Of course Joe apologized immediately and very sincerely, and we moved on to a game of Monopoly. The transgression was forgotten, and we enjoyed Joe's company until he left the next morning. But I learned a very exciting lesson about my husband: he is not only my best friend, partner and co-parent, but also a most ardent defender of my honor. What on earth could be more romantic?

I am NOT a Ms.!

So I understand we live in an age where the old standards of decorum and ettiquette have pretty much fallen by the wayside. But I'm an old-fashioned Southern girl, and I still observe the very important proprieties: I write thank you notes, I say sir and ma'am, I don't talk about politics or religion, and it makes me cringe when I see a man wearing a hat inside or - horror! - at the table. One of the little manners our society has moved past that I have not is the way we address ladies. I understand that unmarried ladies don't want to be referred to as Miss after a certain age, and that's why there's the option of Ms. But I, as a married woman, absolutely hate being called Ms. I guess I can see where, in this politically correct world of ours, it's easier to address everyone as Ms. Such-and-such rather than run the possibility of offending a single or divorced woman. But I am a Mrs. and I am very proud of those three little letters. I hate to sound snooty, but I do not wash, dry and fold 5 loads of laundry a week or get up at 6 to make coffee and breakfast for Elvis to be addressed as Ms. It's Mrs. thank you very much!

I wore this shirt for weeks before we got married.  I couldn't wait to be Mrs. Irwin!

My Practical Valentine

My sweet, sweet husband gave me the most romantic valentine this year: I got a new pair of glasses! Yay!

As a side note: It is ridiculous how unromantic our Valentine's Days have been. Every year Elvis plans something grand and romantic, and every year something completely out of our control goes awry. It's uncanny how life throws those curves at just the right moment, isn't it? But of course the disaster always reminds us that the whole point is to celebrate love, and who needs to shell out $400 for dinner to prove that we're in love? Not this couple!

Anyway ...

I'd been needing glasses for awhile. Mine got stepped on some time ago, and they've never been right since. The lens would pop out with little provocation, and the frame was pretty crooked. So Elvis decided this was the time, and here I sit with brand new spectacles upon my face! It is perhaps the least traditionally romantic valentine ever, but there's nothing I could have appreciated more.

Maybe some chocolate, but of course my beloved brought that too.  He is, seriously, the best husband I could have imagined.

RIP, Old Friend

I bought my very first brand new car just weeks after I turned 19. I'd been working hard for about a year and a half at my crappy little job saving up money, and 9/11 pushed interest rates into the ground. I found exactly the car for me, and committed to an indecent car payment for the next 5 years. It was a sporty little red number that made me feel like a princess, and I LOVED it. Then, one rainy morning about a year later, I totalled it on the way to school. Super. I mourned deeply for awhile, and - once the insurance was straightened out - bought another brand new red car (if God is merciful, I'll never have to drive a car of another color. I love red). I drove the hell out of that car, all over the place. It was our only car when Elvis and I first lived together, and we put thousands of miles on it together. Of course, each year or so it would spend an expensive week in the shop, but we loved that little red car like it was a member of the family. It was our "getaway" car after we got married. We drove it on our first vacation together after we were married: a weekend trip to Mississippi. We brought Henry home from the hospital in it.

Our dear friend Spongy (yes, we name our cars) died for the final time this week. I'd had her towed into the shop, and got the dreaded call on Tuesday morning: The estimate was $3500, and they hadn't even gotten to the major problem yet. With an exceptionally heavy heart, we made the decision to let Spongy go, and I had her towed back home where she's currently sitting and being slowly emptied of 10 years of accumulated junk. Sigh.

Big Game Day

Even though none of us really cared about the game, we had a little get-together last night to watch the Superbowl. It was totally last-minute, but everyone had a great time and got a belly full of delicious food. My parents and E's dad (his mom had to work ... boo!) came over right time for kickoff, and my brother joined us after he got off work, just in time for halftime. I myself am SO over professional football, so I sat with my back to the TV and watched Henry show off for his grandparents and uncle. The highlight of the evening was, without a doubt, halftime. I'd been hounding (pun intended) Elvis to let us watch the Puppy Bowl, and he finally relented and said that, rather than watching whatever Beyonce was going to do, we could watch Puppy Bowl at halftime. Almost everyone protested when Elvis turned the channel (not because they love Beyonce; they just thought the puppies would be lame), but the protests died quickly when Henry caught sight of the TV. He pointed and laughed and even squealed with delight at watching the precious baby kittens. He would look around to make sure we were all watching, and then he'd scream and laugh and do a little dance. It was the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life. I hope he's half as delighted next year!