Do I have to return the casseroles without eating them?

First, my sincere apologies for stirring up such a hornet's nest yesterday with my blog post. I had NO idea just the first few lines of the entry would show up on Facebook and lead so many to believe that Husband Unit and I were having marital issues. Let me assure you, we are just fine. He is a fiery Italian and I am a stubborn Southern Belle but our marriage is on solid ground.

The e-mails started flying when people saw the post. One of my girlfriends went into her closet and spent the morning praying for us. She was very upset with me as she had errands to run. A very dear friend offered to be available day or night if I needed to talk. Thank goodness my Mother is not on Facebook or she would have dispatched the entire clan on both sides of the family to intervene including Uncle Guido from Italy. That would have been terribly, terribly embarrassing - especially since Husband Unit was in the dark about the whole mess. I finally did confess to him, under duress, and he laughed. I am fondly calling if our Faux Divorce.

The question I have for my gentle readers is... Do I have to return the casseroles in a Faux Divorce? I know you have to return the gifts from your showers if you call off the engagement and you need to write notes to those inconvenienced when a family member passes out in public from too much medicinal drink and someone reports he died but my Belle Manual says nothing about what to do about returning the casseroles if there is a Faux Divorce so I'm keeping them and eating them. I will return the dishes in the prescribed amount of time and offer my sincere thanks for kindness.

By the way, the green bean casserole was yummy!

I Think My Marriage May Be in TROUBLE

I am so glad to have this blog as an outlet for my overwhelming emotions at this moment. My marriage is in trouble. Yes, Husband Unit has made an unforgivable error in judgment and, quite frankly, I am not sure I can continue to live with this man.

HE ASKED ME TO PUT MY KITCHENAID MIXER UNDER THE COUNTER!!

(For those of you needing some background on how attached I am to that darling little kitchen gadget please read the November 2008 post "Sockfoot Contessa - a Baker is Born" below.)

I do believe and swear on my Granny's grave that I blanked out for a few minutes. Was I experiencing some type of space time warp continuum thingy? Certainly I did not hear the love of my life, the man I have spent over 12 years with and suffered through child raising issues with asking me to do this most unspeakable act.

"Sweetie" I said, "let's go take your blood pressure. I do believe it is high as you are just not thinking clearly. In fact, let's take mine too because something has affected my hearing. Did you just ask me to put my KitchenAid Mixer under the counter?"

"Yes, I did." Husband Unit says with a most convicted of all voices. "I simply do not like the counter tops cluttered with your kitchen gadgets. Something must go under the counter."

Well, all I can say is that man is lucky the butcher block with all of the sharp knives was clearly out of reach because my blood pressure no doubt went into overdrive after my ears processed that statement. Had he lost his mind? The angels sang when I brought that baby home. He has been the lucky recipient of many baked goods compliments of that blessed kitchen gadget and now he turns on it like a rabid dog. Have mercy!!!

It was obvious he was not to be swayed with logic which included him being proud he had purchased his wife such an incredible machine or the fact that I may feel the incredible urge to make Parmesan Thyme Crackers on a moment's notice and simply would not have the time to extract it from under the counter OR the fact that it looked so lovely where it stands beneath a little spotlight. "No," he says "it has to go under the counter."

I was simply struck dumb. Words cannot express the shock and amazement I felt. And so, like any good Southern Belle, I pulled out the big guns..... I stomped my foot and started crying like a baby. Big whopping, slobbery sobs that would have drowned out Big Foot at the Monster Truck show. Husband Unit was taken aback. He knew that he had stepped in it and promptly began initiating the "Oh poop I stepped in it and better step out of it" plan.

My KitchenAid mixer is still on the counter. Just love that man.

Life with Frank

Previously published on Facebook - Saturday, January 17, 2009 at 11:18am

Frank - Whatcha doing Pookster?

Cheryl - Writing my biography for our new website at work. I think it's too long though.

Frank - Well, honey, you are a lot older than your co-workers so it's going to be long.

ER Physician - I think Mr. Citrone should be able to be discharged from the hospital on Monday.

Life with Frank

Previously published on Facebook Sunday, December 28, 2008 at 9:18am

Cheryl (hugging Frank) - We are truly blessed this holiday season.

Frank - Yes we are

Cheryl - Of course, I think the biggest blessing you have is me.

Frank (patting Cheryl on the hips) - Yes, it's a big blessing for sure.

Frank (walks away as he plants a kiss on the cheek of wife who is plotting revenge)

Life with Frank

Previously published on Facebook Wednesday, November 12, 2008 at 4:58pm

Cheryl - I won a medal. They gave me a medal for winning my age group!

Frank - I know, I am proud of you.

Cheryl - I won a medal!

Frank - I know. Just think of how fast you would have run if you were the same weight now that you were when we married.

Cheryl - Yes, I was tiny then wasn't I.

Frank - Yes, your extra weight is like carrying a bunch of concrete around.

Cheryl - Not a good analogy.

Frank - Uh oh....

Life with Frank

Originally published on Facebook Saturday, November 8, 2008 at 1:33pm

Cheryl - I am allergic to housework
Frank - I know
Cheryl - I am a princess. A princess shouldn't have to do housework.
Frank - I know
Cheryl - So if I am a Princess and allergic to housework, why am I doing it?
Frank - Keeps your feet firmly planted on the ground.

Cheryl - Honey, what are you doing?
Frank - Cleaning the cat room.
Cheryl - Haven't you been doing that for quite a while now?
Frank - Yes, when I clean I don't just clean with a hit and promise.
Cheryl - I believe the phrase is "lick and a promise."
Frank - I know but I didn't want to use the word lick when talking about the cat room.

My husband - the King of the bottom line.

Sockfoot Contessa - A Baker is Born

First, let me give you a little background on how this story evolved. When my husband Frank and I married, I was a successful career woman who did not cook. In fact, you had to dust my stove and had only darkened the door of a grocery store to buy coffee and cream to put in it. I was happy with this arrangement due to the fact that it let me be efficient - I could combine a social activity with the required eating one must do to sustain life. Worked for me but life has a funny way of standing you on your head.

I meet Frank, we fall in love and, after a bit of time, the talk turns to marriage. With marriage comes being a step-mommy to Nick (Frank's son who lived with him) and with Nick comes a healthy appetite and plenty of friends who love to hang out at his house because of the pool. With plenty of friends and a teenage son comes.. yes, dare I say it... the necessity of grocery shopping and COOKING.

Frank's mother identified her son and grandson were at risk when during one of her visits I burned the boiling water. When we announced our engagement, she sprang into action, purchased an airline ticket and spent 2 weeks with me teaching me how to cook. I got the basics down - spaghetti sauce, toast (buttered sides together please!), cereal (you have to keep milk in the house for cereal I learned), and lots of grilling. I am so grateful to that woman for teaching me enough to keep my family from starving. After all, in a proper Italian family, the Grand Matriarch is responsible for the meals. Frank promptly forgot everything he knew about cooking including how to turn on the stove. I did not, however, forget how to make reservations in case of emergency.

In the interest of time (and space allowed by Google to blog), let's fast forward to today. I have become a foodie and I love to cook. Little did I know that cooking involves all of these cool gadgets whichs feeds my inherent tech geek personality or I would have adopted this hobby long before I married Frank. Fueled by the mentoring I have received from my friend Jan and the continued observation sessions at the feet of my mother-in-law, I think I have become a relatively good cook. Of course, watching an episode of The Barefoot Contessa every day doesn't hurt either.

Speaking of "Barefoot" (my pet name for my idol), I lusted in my heart for a KitchenAid mixer with every episode that involved some sort of baking. I stalked, and shopped, and watched and pined until I finally found them on sale at Home Depot for an incredible price. The angels sang when I walked down the aisle and there was my little baby sparkling and gleaming in the spotlight. Frank and I had gone to buy tubing for the icemaker and walked out with my brand spanking new, white, lovely, KitchenAid mixer.

I am finishing this post on Thanksgiving and so far have created cupcakes with Marscapone Cream Cheese icing and a Banana Nut Cake with buttercream icing. Yum Yum!!! My confidence has soared and I am thinking about entering the Next Food Network Star contest. After all, I have my own name now... my family calls me "The Sockfoot Contessa." Life is good!

10 years and counting...

This is a quick post to reflect on 10 years of marriage... again. I am sitting on my lanai and my 2nd husband is firmly applied to the couch in the sitting room (inside) watching the news. We have a realistic marriage.

We don't make a big fuss about anniversaries or birthdays or holidays. We don't put pressure on each other to buy Hallmark cards or gifts that we don't need. We have a realistic marriage.

We woke up this a.m. and gave each other a hug and kiss knowing that today would be comfortable and easy. We weren't going to rush but, instead, do what we each love to do. Drink coffee in our pajamas until we get tired of drinking coffee - me on the lanai and him firmly planted on the couch watching the news. We have a realistic marriage.

We have big plans to eat at some fine steakhouse but will probably end up at one of our hole in the wall restaurants in our bluejeans eating Grouper because we don't want to dress up. We have a realistic marriage.

Our activities today will be comprised of looking at model homes and exploring neighborhoods in the areas we would like to live someday. My Mother-In-Law will be with us because we like for her to be with us when we look at model homes and neighborhoods. We will dream and plan and scheme and cipher and figure and notate and, probably, fight once or twice because we don't agree on our cobbled together vision of our next 10 years together. My Mother-In-Law will say "Now Kids..." when we start fussing and we'll stop. We have a realistic marriage.

Our vision will get worn down in some spots and highlighted in others and erased and rewritten until we get it right and both of us are happy with the product we have produced through 10 years of plotting and planning and scheming and dreaming and ciphering and figuring and notating and... fussing. We have a realistic marriage.

So today we will have a realistic 10 year anniversary day, drinking coffee in our separate places until we get tired, not putting pressure on each other until after we have had our showers and dressed and started our day. We appreciate each other for who we are, we respect each other's space and try not to be persuaded by unrealistic expectations of what marriage is "supposed" to be. We just love each other and forgive when one is cranky and says things we don't mean or becomes unlovable. We hang in there no matter what.

We have a realistic marriage and I wouldn't change it for the world.

Happy Anniversary to my husband of 10 years. I hope we can replicate this day at least another 10 times. Is that unrealistic?

Women are from Venus... Men are from some planet I have never astral projected to!

First, an update on the weight loss. I've stalled. I lost my Nutribuddy and went into a diet depression. Right now I have about 1/2 of a shelf in my pantry filled with little boxes of pre-cooked food. I keep looking at it and telling myself it won't hurt me but those darn brown sugar cinnamon PopTarts keep calling my name! I am, however, continuing to run so I figure I'm offsetting part of those 1 million calories. Now for the real story.

Speaking of running, I came home one night (very late) exhausted and stressed to the max. My shoulders were above my head and my head was about to explode from the tension headache. Not to speak of the knot I had in my shoulders. I decided to jump on the treadmill and run a couple of miles thinking it would wear me out. And wear me out it did. I completed my mileage and decided to sit in the chair right outside the room where my treadmill lives. (All of this is taking place upstairs and my hubby is downstairs watching the news.) The time is about 8 p.m. I fell asleep. Now just any sleep but hard, snoring, drool running down the side of my mouth sleep. I woke up about 10 p.m. and realized where I was.

I came stumbling down the stairs, hair plastered down on one side of my head and spiked on the other, dried drool on the side of my face and just a wee bit aggravated my husband had not even come upstairs to check on me. The audacity of this man. I could have been face down on the treadmill with my face half burned off by the belt and he would not have noticed. AND, my left arm is numb.

By the time I get downstairs I have worked myself into a frenzy and totally convinced I am having a heart attack. This fit perfectly into my logic as I had run harder than normal and probably stressed my heart. I was lucky I hadn't died right there in the chair.

When I announced the delimma to hubby his response was to walk to the kitchen and say "Here, take an aspirin." My head spun around when I realized he didn't even give me an aspirin but an ADVIL! So, let's add this up...

1. He leaves me upstairs to die and
   
2. He doesn't even care about getting me the right medicine.
   

Am I singing to the choir here gal pals?

I was so angry I stormed off to the bedroom (with my numb arm flying in the breeze) and took a bath to wash that drool off my face. Afterwards I decided to give hubby a chance to make amends (what was I thinking?). I announce my arm is feeling somewhat better and he announces I am interrupting the show he is watching. But, he has the aspirin bottle handy, just in case.

I can't even see I am so mad. I decide to go to bed but wake up at 1 a.m. realizing he is still up and hasn't come to check on me. What if I had died!! Right there in the bed!

I've had enough! I storm into the den and give him a piece of my mind for being an uncaring human being. He replies ... "I knew you weren't going to die. See, you're standing right here." as he holds up the aspirin bottle. He is just lucky that bottle didn't get stuck where the sun doesn't shine.

My retort was as follows: "You obviously don't care if I die BUT, let me tell you something Mister. If I die, it's going to be in that bed and dead people pee all over themselves. That Tempur-pedic mattress will be ruined so you won't be able to put another women on my side of the bed!"

And with that, I relaxed and went to bed. Slept like a baby the remainder of the night. Future revenge is so sweet.