A Couple of Saturday Morning Re-runs

Obviously, I'm taking the idea of "summer vacation" very seriously, because I can't seem to find the energy to sit down and write an original blog post--at least not on any sort of regular basis.  I used to plant myself in front of my laptop the second I had my coffee made, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, thinking I had all sorts of things to say.  These days, I wonder if I'm all blogged out.

However, I've gotten some very sweet and supportive emails and Facebook messages recently that have convinced me that perhaps I shouldn't close up shop here for good, at least not just yet.  But until the juices start flowing again, I'm going to re-posts some oldies, if that's okay with you.  Even if you've been following this blog forever (hello, faithful husband of mine), you may have forgotten them by now.  And if you're new here, you'll get an idea of what goes on every day on my humble little blogsite.

Thanks for stopping by!  And I promise I'll try to push through this blogger's block and start pumping out some new posts for you!

Until then, here's a re-run from last year:

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Terms of Endearment

My husband has recently taken to calling me his "best girl."  When he first called me this, about a week or so ago, my first instinct was to smile and--hoping to make him laugh--to tease him, "Best?  Your best girl?  Are there others?  Is there a long list or something?  I mean, I'm glad I'm at the top.  But I thought I was your only girl."  My poor, sweet husband! He was only trying, after over thirty years of marriage and a retinue of oft-used endearing pet names he has for me, to mix it up a little.  To make me feel special.  And he does. That guy makes me feel special every day of my life.  He's my best guy (and I'm his best girl). Period.

A couple of days ago, our second oldest son came for an overnight visit.  (He's a high school teacher and this week is his spring break, and he decided to spend part of his vacation catching up with his dear old mom and dad.)  He heard his father call me by this new term of endearment, and his take on it was different than mine: he thought it sounded like something out of the fifties, something you'd hear a husband say to his wife on a black and white T.V. show. Like something Ward Cleaver might call June on "Leave it to Beaver."

"Exactly," my husband said.  That's just what he'd been going for: a sort of throwback to some of that good, old-fashioned chivalry and gentlemanly courtesy so lacking in our modern world.  And really, it's actually a huge compliment: it means that out of all the girls he could have chosen, I guess he liked me best!  How lucky am I?

I've decided that I'm going to start calling my hubby my "main squeeze."  And I'm going to be slightly disappointed if I do and he doesn't come back with, "Your main squeeze?  Are there others?  How many squeezes do you have, anyway?"  If he does, it will be exactly what I deserve.  (When he gets up, I'm going to execute this little experiment, and tomorrow I'll post the results.)


The above painting is called "Little Spooners," by Norman Rockwell.  That's my husband and me on that sagging bench.  At least, that's what I always see when I look at this piece of artwork.

And because I know you're just dying to know the results of my experiment, here's another oldie (and hopefully goodie):

Friday, April 27, 2012

I Think I'll Keep Him

Well, here are the promised results of the little experiment I conducted yesterday morning. (If you haven't read yesterday's post, "Terms of Endearment," you might want to, or this one won't make much sense.)

After I published my blog post, I went upstairs to see what my beloved was up to.  He was in our bedroom, getting ready to change out of his jammies into gym shorts and an Under Armor muscle shirt so that he could start his daily P90X work-out (or as I like to think of it, the "gun show").

"How's my main squeeze doin' today?" I asked, just as sweet as pie.

He did not joke around and say, "Hey, wait a minute!  I'm only your main squeeze?  How many other squeezes do you have, anyway?"--as I thought he might.  No, he simply smiled that killer smile that has melted this heart of mine since I was a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl.

I know I said yesterday that I would be a bit disappointed if he didn't come back with a teasing retort when I used this unfamiliar term of endearment, but I've changed my mind. He's a better man than I (well, you know what I mean), because although he can tease with the best of them, and the two of us love to make each other laugh, my husband can be a big old marshmallow--a really romantic guy--when it comes to his "best girl."

Here's one of my favorite pictures of my main squeeze.   I love that smile of his.

I think I'll keep him.