My Quintessential Husband #AtoZ

 I have a quintessential husband. For those who aren't familiar with the word:

quintessential |ˌkwintəˈsen ch əl|
adjective
representing the most perfect or typical example of a quality or class

That's Mitchell! I married him almost a Quarter of a century ago and along with the man, I've acquired a magic sink. I put dirty dishes in it, and they come out clean. I've found this same magical quality sometimes happens in the laundry room too. The dogs get fed and the trash cans emptied. Not only is this amazing, but it's also making me a lazy wife. 

Quintessential

Not only does he do these mundane chores, but he also pays our bills, taxes, and keeps us all organized about what needs to be accomplished and when. He's better than a date book and an alarm clock! When I need to get up, he sets the alarm and is sure to nudge me if I'm not moving. I'm not even sure how to operate any gadgets around the house or my life, for that matter.

He's cute too. Mitchell gets up early every morning and runs, bikes, swims, or something to maintain his quintessential physique. Plus, he gives a great back rub! I really don't deserve him.  

Peculiar Presents #AtoZ

The infamous "they" has always stated that it's better to give than to receive. I tend to agree with this because I've often had more fun in the planning and giving of presents than in actually getting them. My daughter Erica has also enjoyed gift giving adventures as demonstrated a few years ago when she and her two buddies gave Ben a gift of 520, er 517 pieces of bubble gum. They purchased a huge tub, opened it, each snatched a piece of gum out of the container, and corrected the amount with a Sharpie pen.

Rhonda's Blog - It's pretty darn funny!

My favorite gift giving experience happened back in college with my former roommate Rhonda author of http://www.laugh-quotes.com. She had a crush on a ZBT pledge who she had never actually met, and I snatched the opportunity to buy him for her at the fund raising pledge auction. I secured him for the bargain price of $5, placed a bow on top of his head, and sat him on her bed. Then I told Rhonda, "I have a present for you. It's on your bed."

Owner of Brahmas Pro Ice Hockey Team? 
Uh, er, Sorry Sir.

Can you spell a-w-k-w-a-r-d? That it was at first, and she wasn't letting me leave her with this one. So Mr. Cute Slave painted her nails and I can't remember what else. It was the eighties, and we were a lot milder with our slaves back then.

She got over her anger when she formed a friendship with the young man, and he asked her to the ZBT formal, but the slave purchase never went any further than that. I am glad to say that Rhonda has a wonderful husband and is happily blogging from New Zealand. http://www.laugh-quotes.com

And once the sun goes down, I'm ready to observe another thing that starts with the letter P- Passover. If you celebrate it, have a good one! 

This was only one of our many college adventures. I'll share another one in a couple of days for the letter R - Roommates; but, between now and then, we have a big, fat Q.

Oops! Oliver--The Class Pet #AtoZ

Erica in First Grade (left) & her Best Friend Leah

When my littlest one was in the first grade, she was most honored to be chosen by her teacher to take Oliver the Parakeet home for Spring Vacation. So, we gathered up the little bird, cage and all, and carried him to the most frightening experience of his short life. 

Once we arrived at home, we set his cage on a kitchen counter where he happily chirped while perched on his wooden rod. My son, finding Oliver interesting, opened the cage to pet his furry head while I was engrossed in a phone conversation. Seeing a chance at freedom, Oliver flew out of his prison and lapped the kitchen. 

As the loose bird soared, my children tried to cup him in their hands, but no, children's paws are not good for capturing birds. To trap a bird, it takes a professional; it takes a golden retriever. That's right. Snap! Our dog Swaz thought he was helping by catching little Oliver in his toothy jaws.

I dropped the phone, let out a panic scream, and ascended on the bird-catching furball to pry his thick jaws open. Oliver fell out of the Swaz's dark mouth and landed on the floor. I picked up the slobber-soaked bird and placed his shaking body back in the cage.

Oliver didn't sing anymore. Not his high-pitched flute sounds nor deep-pitched oboe; not country, rock, or rap. He just hugged the wall of the kitchen and shook like a schizo. Every time our dog sniffed or even passed the cage, he squeezed even closer to his corner, shook harder, and his beady bird eyes grew as large as ping pong balls. Okay, they stayed small and beady, but he was scared.

Finally the day came for Erica to bring Oliver back to school and share her journal about Oliver's week. The shocking truth proved a bit of an embarrassment, especially when Oliver mysteriously kicked the bucket over the summer. I think it was heart failure from plaguing nightmares of sharp teeth. RIP, Oliver.