Things that go Thump

When it snows in the country, it can give you the feeling of being wrapped in a warm blanket, especially when you know you have now where to be. 

So when the weatherman predicted that snow would be descending on southern Minnesota for the weekend I was excited. I had two days off of work, a house to clean, a little boy to cuddle with and romance novel to get lost in. 

But what really happens.

The power goes off. 

This isn’t that big of a deal, until you live in an old house in the middle of nowhere. 

Then you get scared witless. 

I know I have chronicled the hubby’s creeped out feelings about living in an old house, but now it is my turn.

Saturday morning the hubby had left for work, braving an unplowed road with three inches of freshly fallen snow and I had settled in to the task taming the wildness of what we call home. I was making great progress. Darren was fed and playing, the dishwasher was running and I was finally folding mountain of clothes that covered our kitchen table. 

Being comfortable with the sounds our old house makes and with the fact that it can be weird sometimes, I didn’t even blink when the lights flickered and dimmed every once in a while.

Then the power goes out and puts a wrench in my housewifely duties. 

In all honestly, I didn’t mind. I just proceeded to wrap Darren and me in a blanket. As I start playing with him I try to shake off the feeling of eeriness. 

The house it completely quiet. No water heater or furnace kicking in. No nothing. 

Except Darren’s trying to have a serious conversation with me.

“UUUUUUUUUbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbeeeeeeeeeeer, EEEEEEEEEEAaaaaaaH”

“Really, man? I know the power went out but it’s ok.”

 

“Bababababababa…bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuh.”

“I agree. We should text daddy and let him know.” I pull out my phone which Darren tries to confiscate.

Then….

THUD. THUD

Then…

The house shudders.

My heart drops and my ears going into hyper hearing mode. Every few moments there are thuds coming from above, these are followed by the house shuddering.

My mind goes into overdrive. Then I remember my sister-in-law swearing her and my brother heard someone walking around upstairs one night during a thunderstorm. My heart starts beating in my throat.

Then I tell myself to stop being so ridiculous. There is a perfectly explainable reason for all these noises in a quiet house. 

After twenty minutes a pure freaked out weirdness, and visions of a translucent ghost appearing in the doorway of the living room to talk to Darren and me, I realize what it is:  

Snow falling on the roof from the trees and the wind shaking the front patio.

See, I have my creepy old house moments too.

I am a point to tell my hubby. 

“Babe, if you think this house can be creepy with a bunch of noises, you should be here when it’s completely silent.”

He laughs at me, but he totally agrees. 

Ask him how it feels when you’re alone in the house and the power kicks back in, while you’re on the toilet. 

Yeah, he was just as freaked out as I was.

The Healing Powers of Kettle Corn

So yesterday ended pretty crappy and to be honest this morning didn’t start any better. 

I woke up tired; again. I am still waiting to have my imminent crying jag; any day now please. AND the Hubby’s phone went to voicemail all morning; cue in mini panic attack.  

So to put it on the light side, I was crabby and not wanting to deal with people. Period.

The good news is, I survived.

All because of Angie’s Kettle Corn. The perfect blend of salt and sweetness made my day end in perfection.

I am not a blogger who shamelessly promotes giveaways to boost my traffic. (I really should think about it though, it would make using Google’s AdSense worth it.) But I will promote healthy yummy delicious treats that turn awful days into heaven and turn the devout non-snacker in a guilt-free snack junkie.

I have to give all my credit to my co-worker Pammy. She brought her left over Halloween treats (Angie’s Carmel Kettle Corn) to work early this week. I about had a conniption. I hadn’t had Angie’s in ages.

So after my crappy morning this morning, I was in for a treat. As I meandered around the grocery picking up WIC items I spotted an Angie’s Kettle Corn display. I walked by the first time, telling myself I really didn’t need anything to eat.

Five seconds and two aisles later, I had rationalized my way to buying myself a treat.

I deserved a little something. I hadn’t really smiled all day. My eyeballs felt like they were rolling around on cotton balls, I paid bills, played gopher for my boss, and my husband was (and still is) in Vegas. I definitely had earned a treat.

My hand hesitated, when it saw the price. $2.28 per bag. Only for a second though, Angie’s Kettle Corn is definitely worth two dollars and twenty-eight cents. And if I had to rationalize it, I could say I was supporting a local business and eating healthy. I was going to talk myself into a bag either way.

I even gave the bag the privilege of sitting in the passenger seat all the way home. With my first sweet and salty bite, that bag of kettle corn had earned that privilege. It took my stress level from ten to zero in seconds.

It also helped that the hubby if finally turned his phone back on and we had a pretty good talk and that I was going to see Darren’s face in thirty minutes time.

But the fact that the laundry got folded straight out of the dryer? That was definitely the Angie’s.  Only magic can make me do something like that.

Romance novels be damned, I need to get me a stash of Angie’s Kettle Corn. That and a little more of that face below.

The Dirty Laundry Fetish

The laundry and I are holding an uneasy truce. All the clean clothes are in three baskets piled in the bedroom, while all the dirty clothes occupy the floor in front of the laundry machine. The dryer is rumbling and the washer is waiting patiently to feed it its fifth load of laundry.

We have come to an impasse because I promised to keep up with laundry if the laundry promised to stop enticing the hubby. I have very low hopes in the laundry, because the hubby has a dirty laundry fetish and can be very persuasive.

You don’t believe me.

You should. Ever since I’ve known the hubby he has been a dirty clothes diver. It never matters if he knows (because I’ve told him) that certain baskets are dirty clothes. He gets some perverted pleasure in digging through piles of laundry for a semi clean shirt he can wear inside out.  I am glad to report that this fetish extends to clean clothes too.

But clean laundry is also off limits. Before you think I am abusing him, there is a reason. This man will unfold a whole basket of white t-shirts just to find the ‘whitest’ one. The kicker is that he is going to wear it as an undershirt. My mom says the simple solution is to hang all of them up. I just issue an ultimatum.

“Baby, all clothes either in front of the washer or in a basket are off limit, or else. Do you understand me?”

“Now, why do these special rules have to be made?” He says this with a sly look on his face.

He knows why.

He is going to convince the laundry to commit the biggest sin; to cheat on me.

Yeah, I know, the jerk.

But the laundry and I went to couples therapy and we sorted things out.  It told me that I never paid enough attention to it. I complained that the laundry was a home wrecker, always looking to split us up by tempting the hubby and encouraging his dirty fetish. That’s why we have both made promises to change and give the other more attention.

It is also the reason we have a date tonight.