My Aunt Kay used to be glamorous and beautiful. Now, she is still extremely beautiful on the inside, but on the outside, she looks exactly like Eric Clapton. See the photo of Eric Clapton above? She looks exactly like that. Except that she wears dark maroon lipstick. (Also, in case you’ve never noticed, Eric Clapton kind of looks like a skinny Al Gore. Therefore, Aunt Kay also resembles Al Gore. But don’t worry–she’s much “prettier”than Gore.) Oh, she also talks like Al Gore because she’s from Tennessee. So, imagine Eric Clapton talking like Al Gore and wearing dark lipstick and high heels–that’s my Aunt Kay.

Despite her near carbon copy resemblance to Eric Clapton and Al Gore, in the late 1950’s, my Aunt Kay was the most beautiful, glamorous young lady you could possibly imagine. She pretty much looked like a gorgeous human cat with a tight ponytail, slim but curvy figure, and Katie Couric legs balanced on stiletto heels any time she had a good reason to dress up. She was and is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. She also smoked for 20 years and her husband, My Uncle Buddy, never knew it. Or so she claims. Do you think he really knew? I’m not sure. But she had an x-ray with a spot in one of her lungs–don’t worry, it turned out to be nothing–then she stopped smoking. Aunt Kay is gentle and kind, but she has a will of steel. She was very innocent, sweet, and pious–and she still is.

But I’m getting off track. I wanted to tell you the story of how they met because it reminds me soooo much of something my husband would do.

My Uncle Buddy was also a knockout when he was young and isn’t so bad looking these days either, despite a large belly and being sort of elderly…one of those Sean Connery types–age cannot and will not stop his handsomeness.  He’s also very smart and very rich–that’s not really important, except it’s kind of cute because he was totally poor when he met Aunt Kay, and so was she.

He was a student studying at a college near the town where she lived. The topic of his interest was bugs. He was studying something about Japanese beetles. There were a lot of Japanese Beetles at my Aunt Eileen’s house. Kay helped Eileen with chores, so she was over there often. (Are you asking yourself how Uncle Buddy became rich by studying Japanese beetles? He didn’t. He became an attorney, in house counsel for a big corporation. I have no idea why he was studying beetles. I should ask.)

Well, Buddy had to set up a contraption that involved lots of wires. The wires didn’t cause an eyesore because they were very difficult to see and about 10 inches off the ground. He got permission from Eileen tostring the wire around her flower garden.

So, one day after work, Aunt Kay went to water the flowers. She didn’t see the wire, of course, as Buddy had cleverly made it difficult to see (as my husband might do). Therefore, Aunt Kay tripped over one of the wires and broke her ankle.

She was extremely angry about this when they met the first time shortly after. But then they started dating. Later, they got married. They were poor because he was a student for a long time. My grandmother sewed Kay’s wedding dress. Kay was the most beautiful bride I have ever seen in my life–well, I wasn’t there of course, but I have seen the photographs. And now, my Uncle Buddy is still very in love with her, and she is still very much in love with him…

What a joyful morning. I had a dream about Luke Wilson last night. In case you don’t know him, he is a great actor! And very, very laugh-aloud funny. And, as you can see from the above photo, he’s TOTALLY good-looking. Don’t confuse him with his slighly more famous older brother Owen, who may even be funnier than Luke and who’s also really cute (hence, his reputation as a big-time ladies’ man, despite his really odd nose.) Also, despite hype about Luke Wilson getting “fat,” I say FAT SHMAT.  He’s still darn good-looking, and he always will be! he he.

Scary and sad aside: For a brief period of time, I sort of considered naming my newborn son Luke Wilson [insert my last name]. Or at least Luke. My husband would never ever agree with this if he knew that Luke Wilson is a movie star. However, because he has NO IDEA who Luke Wilson or any other famous person is, I went ahead and asked…However, the word “luke” means “onion” in Russian language. This didn’t bother me at ALL. But it did bother my husband, as he spoke Russian sometimes growing up. I was like, “Oh COME ON, the name Onion Wilson [insert our last name] is perfectly acceptable.” Amusing, no?

It was so nice to dream about someone I LIKE after having so many dreams about famous people like Vladimir Putin wanting to date me (read here, very bizarre) or Robin Williams trying to set me up with Josh Hartnett (read here, barely even know who Josh Harnett is).

Too bad the dream was SO DUMB. Luke was not in any way interested in me or asking me out. In fact, his friend was kind of mean to me. Plus, for some reason, the dream involved a 90 year old Hungarian lady who I’m pretty sure was Luke’s grandmother (in the dream only…in real life, I think his parents are Irish)…

Let me warn you that this is boring and dumb, but basically, here’s the dream: Me, Luke, Luke’s friend, and Luke’s Hungarian grandmother were sitting in the grandmother’s apartment. It was old and rundown. We were talking about how to solve some problem–I think she wanted to move out of that apartment. So, the friend looks up and says to the group “Do you want to see how bad it is?” Then he looks at me and says, “Go over there and lift up that piece of posterboard.”

Right before I lifted up the posterboard, Luke’s friend says, “Wait till you see all the bugs under this thing.” Um, bugs? I don’t lift things up when there are BUGS under it. Needless to say, that posterboard stayed extremely intact. But I had to ask myself, “Why do I always get the crap jobs no one else wants to do? Why didn’t he ask LUKE to do it?” Whatever, I’ m used to it. Ha ha.

Anyway, then the dream fizzled out because slowly the sound of my beautiful baby crying became louder and louder in my ears. The one I wanted to name Onion. And I got up. That’s it. That’s my big dream about Luke Wilson. Give me a break. By the way, does everyone have dreams about famous guys (or girls) asking them out? If no, I guess this is yet one more sign that I have low self-esteem or am starved for attention or something like this. Will make a note to check that out closely. As soon as I have time. And money for therapy.

Anyway, today, we go to get a bassinet from an acquaintance of mine. The couple’s beautiful, beautiful 10-week old baby BOY is sleeping on a bed beside the bassinet. Their beautiful 7-year old GIRL and her cute 6-year old BROTHER are sitting on a couch watching TV. Let me add that the girl has looooong pigtails in her hair with a pink dress on. The 10-week old baby BOY has a blue onsie on.

So, we’re checking out the bassinet, as I share with the parents about how I have 2, soon to be 3 boys. The mother, my acquaintance, talks about how it is to have 2 boys and 1 girl. We’re talking about how cute the baby boy is. Lots of “boy” and “girl” talk going on. Meanwhile, my husband is checking out the bassinet. Then he made 2 trips to take the bassinet to the car, and we left.

On the way home, my husband asks, “So, is their baby a boy or a girl?” (Remember, the baby was lying RIGHT BESIDE THE BASSINET. In his BLUE OUTFIT.)

I answered his question and didn’t bother to tell him how odd it was that he could have possibly not known the answer himself…

Then he says, “Oh. Were the older kids also boys?”  Clearly, he missed the plain view of the older two children as we walked through the front door AND back out of it–the girl was sitting right by the door watching TV. And he also clearly ignored the entire conversation, brief as it was, the mother and I had as he stood beside us checking out the bassinet.

Interesting, hu? By the way, for me, the even stranger part of this story is that he actually drove us to get a USED bassinet and didn’t complain about it at ALL. In his eyes, used things are simply the work of the devil. Used things must not be touched. Used things must not be used. Especially by children. But see–not a single sly remark, scowl, or pressure to get a new bassinet instead. Nope. I wanted it, we went to get it. It’s puzzling, slightly alarming, but I LIKE it and hope it LASTS.

This man’s book helped me through a very difficult time in my marriage. It was difficult, I learned from the book, because my husband and I went through a stage called “The Crisis” stage from Day 1 of our marriage! Usually this should be Stage 5. But for us, Stage 5: The Second Crisis occurred alongside Stage 1 and the ohters that followed. Our crisis was that my husband couldn’t find a job for a very long time, and that was hard for me to understand by about week #2 of our marriage:) But it’s all good now, as we are in year 9, AND he has had a really good job for years now.

Oh, see writing at 12:00am. That’s never good. Too many weird tangents. I apologize!

SO, as I was saying, these 12 stages are quite similar to real life, except that some stages will occur out of order. The stage that makes me saddest to read about is Stage 3: Power Struggle. This stage can last for years, and it is the stage during which most people get divorced. The reason it makes me sad is because for some couples, this stage would probably lead to Stage 4: Awakening, except that marriage is so confusing and hard, sometimes that couples don’t know there’s another stage around the bend.

That last paragraph does NOT in any way imply that I think people should avoid divorce. I know a few too many people who’ve been in dangerous or hopeless situations to judge. So, to clarify, the prior paragraph means ‘I get sad when marriage is hard and confusing for people, especially me,’ NOT ‘I get sad when people get divorced.’

Okey Dokey, so this post was a tad on the unfocused side, as I am writing it after 12:00am, which I think is against a rule I set for myself a LONG time ago for this very reason…But hopefully you’ll find the article interesting–and, should you be having a hard time with your spouse–helpful and a source of relief.

Oh, let me not exaggerate. My husband has cooked several times over the last 10 years. But only for himself and on a very rare Saturday for the boys–and this involves nothing more extravagant than a scrambled egg. In fact, I can just say it this way: Over the last 10 years my husband has cooked, but only scrambled eggs, and that very rarely, and NEVER for me.

So what’s Mr. Romantic doing at 11pm as I’m working at my computer bringing me a VERY DELICIOUS OMELET with sliced bread and sliced tomatoes on the side??? He had to walk upstairs to do this. [Right here, new readers please note: Despite how this all sounds, my husband is a very kind man, and I'm a kind lady. We're both just kind of in the stone ages when it comes to sharing housework.]

And then I, in a very extremely nice voice, was kind of like “Wow. Thanks a lot! Hey, um, are you looking to have um [how can I phrase this on blog]…to do reproductive activities?” Seriously, he looked so surprised. I am sure he only cooked to be kind. But why? Why do husbands suddenly realize they need to be attentive? Does he have a girlfriend telling him he needs to be attentive?

No, definitely not–I did the monthly cell phone-slash-wallet check and *67 (if you do that, the person getting the call can’t see your number on their phone), call all unfamiliar numbers on husband’s cell phone. I found only two unfamiliar numbers, and both people who answered were males–so sorry I hung up on them!!! He he he–can’t really explain how I am checking to be sure they’re not my husband’s girlfriend, especially since they’re obviously his guy friends–boy that’d make BOTH of us look weird, how embarrassing! [One more note for new readers: I'm SO not the jealous type, but when your husband works from 9am till 3-5am for 4-5 weeks, you start feeling that you need to check wallets and cell phones just in case--but see, I only checked once in a month. I could be SO much more diligent. But too busy.]

But back on track: I bet my husband is afraid I’m going to die when I give birth in a month–no, that sounds more like me. No, I say it’s just his great love of babies and that I’m about to have a third one for him. That’s a wonderful trait for a husband to have, but how great to get all this attention lately too! I’m basically in heaven right now, both from good food and good husband.

PS. YES, I DO REALIZE that I am probably too easily pleased. I mean, the first omelet in 10 years could have been husband cooking once or twice a week for 10 years…But how does one force oneself to be NOT happy with something when she’s just thrilled? I could try to repeat over and over, for example, “I will not be happy with first omelet in 10 years. Need husband to cook at least twice a week.” But it won’t work. I’ll still feel really happy about this omelet.