How to tell your husband about your speeding ticket. (and stay out of hot water)

Alright, I admit that I quite purposefully put off telling my husband, Nate, about the speeding ticket. Its not that I was so much afraid of his wrath, (I can handle his little growl), so much as I just didn't want to deal with his gloating. You see, Nate is hopelessly proud of the fact that in his thirty-two years of life (16 years of driving) he has yet to get a traffic ticket and he'll use any opportunity he can to compare my driving record to his spotless one. For example, if I am riding with him and tell him to slow down or remind him that there is a stop sign ahead, he will very piously remind me that he does not need driving lessons from the woman who has managed to total five cars in a matter of ten years.

So I stashed my ticket in the bottom of my purse along with all the other forgotten hand-outs and half-pieces of gum and waited for just the right opportunity to whip it out. What would you know, the right opportunity presented itself the very next night when Nate, upset over some other trivial matter, overreacted, yelled at me, and an hour later felt like a total douche bag. Perfect speeding ticket confession moment!

 I think the logic behind this is fairly obvious. The husband has already had a major tantrum, and adequate time to calm down. His demeanor is now repentant. He apologizes profusely for his behavior. I, in turn do not accept his apology too quickly, but let the guilt brew for a bit. (I may have let him order dinner in so he feels a little retribution in letting me off the cooking hook). I avoid eye contact and  do not allow physical contact at this early stage. Everything has to be perfectly timed or the entire scheme will blow up in my face. Just when it seems my poor husband is on the verge of lashing himself with a whip, I grab my ticket, shove it at him and tearfully say,

 "I guess since I'm already a huge screw up in your book, now is as good a time as any to tell you I got a ticket today!"

There it is. The look of great restraint. The forced smile, put on to ensure me that his repentance is real. He cannot yell, he cannot even look upset, or I'll know that his temper is still not in check. It takes every muscle in his body to control what I know he wants to say at that moment. Mine, is a look of cautious defiance. An expression I've mastered over the eight years we've been married. Its the look that says, 'come on sweetie, I dare you to get angry right now'. It worked. I never once had to endure even the slightest of teases about my ticket. It may sound mean, but its just survival. Plus, he got the perfect opportunity to redeem himself. Good boy Nate.

Feel free, wives, to use this scheme at any time with your husbands. But be careful, remember that timing is everything. Its as delicate a script as a Neil Simon piece, move to the confession too quickly and you're sunk, move too slowly, and you're in for another lecture. Play at your own risk.

Kitty gone bad!

When you have kids winter is mostly made up of runny noses and stomach flu's, with a few sprinkles of healthy days in between. In fact I think I should be able to have a "coming to work pending" pass between the months of November and February. It would save me a lot of call in's. This last week brought us a nice easterly wind of Matthew and strep throat. The week before last, Harrison woke up in the night screaming in ear ache agony. And I'm sure you'll be glad I spared you from the details of our week before Christmas vomit fest.

Now, as if dealing with sick children all winter long wasn't enough, my stupid cat, Mr. Kitty, always chooses these sick days to have a little kitty mishap. Including, but not limited to, puking a hairball up on one of the kids' beds, wiping his furry little kitty butt on the downstairs carpet, smearing kitty poopie on the side of his litter box, or just simply taking a crap in the middle of the girls' bedroom. Why Kitty? Why?!!!

After cleaning Matthew's puke out of the van on Wednesday, the last thing I wanted to do was come inside to find kitty poop on my family room floor. I admit, I freaked out a little bit. Said some things to Kitty that I later regret saying. And, yes, I did lash out a little too.

I found Kitty laying ever-so-chalantly on the floor beside the dining room table. Kitty was immediately taken into my custody and thrown, not set, thrown outside into the cold January weather where he would stay until Nate came home later that afternoon. I was so angry with him that I was able to simply ignore his persistent meowing outside the back door. Then later, his meowing outside the front door. When he jumped up on the window sill so he could look me in the eye with protest, I shut the curtains. That cat had pushed my last nerve.

When Nate came home from work that day, he was equally angry at the stupid cat. So angry in fact, that he insisted we take him to the shelter that day. I don't have the heart to turn my pet into the shelter, so I suggest we take him for a ride to a nice little farm where he can live out the rest of his miserable days among the company of horses and sheep.

We did it. We finally just set our minds to it and rid ourselves of the cat. And we both are sick with guilt ever since. We found a nice place for him, but he's not used to living outside. I've been feeling so guilty in fact that I went to look for him last night, but with no success. I may try again today. Unless I can find another way to divert myself from my guilt.