That's Why.

*phone call*

Me: Hello.

Mr.F.: Hey, how's my 13 yr old Ball and Chain?

Me: Very Funny. Happy Anniversary to you, too.

Mr.F.: So, do you mind if I go out with the guys tonight?

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Such a funny dude. Such a funny dude who's going to get the smack down on his WRY, SARDONIC self.

FYI, he is taking this certain, cute Ball and Chain out tonight. No guys allowed.

I Ain't Cheap And Neither Is My Time.

This is going to be another one of those bulleted List posts where I just babble on and on about myself and the events of the past few days. After all, I am ALL about the Economy of Words and, frankly, attempting to segue is beyond my capabilities this morning.

• Friday afternoon, our business did a contractor appreciation lunch. Really very informal and fun. Like a "Come And Go Tea" kind of thing, except without the Tea or the nicely dressed and Clean people. Also, without the breakable plates and real silverware. Also... OK, so it's nothing like a Tea. But, the guys did come and go as they were able. Our store has been doing this thing a few times a year for a while, now. And it's been pretty successful in doing what it's supposed to do, which is make the trades feel welcome in our ritzy *murphlegasp* little corner of decorating heaven *HA!* and gives us the opportunity to do business-ey kind of things with them such as Inform, Collaborate and Communicate. Also, Sell Stuff. What it also means is that I get the dubious pleasure of making more Chili than the law should allow the night before. How much is More Than Should Be Allowed? Try somewhere between Commercial Pasta Pot and Industrial Vat of the stuff. Yes, that is an amount that is officially described as A WITCH'S CAULDRON of chili. Except it's rather hard to come by Cauldrons in this day and age, which is unfortunate as one would have been extremely handy. So, I was left piecing together four batches of chili into numerous, very large slow cookers and hoping for the best. At 3 a.m. Cause I'm dedicated to the Chili like that and wouldn't want it to get scorched from too many cooking hours. Mission accomplished, bee-yatches. That was some Slammin' chili -- got "spoons up" from contractors around the store. My wounded pride (I refer you, dear reader, to the Beef Stew CookOff post) was healed and I once again walk tall in the kitchen.
• We are having some the THE NICEST winter weather, ever. I'm sure we'll pay for it somewhere down the line... we always do. But, yeah. For now, THE NICEST.
• Chanukah. Our family just wrapped up a super fun eight days with, uhhh, more Fun. Special thanks to the lovely JJ for hosting the gory lot of us. I promise the next one's on me, sis!
• Nothing says "family" like a little GNR. Take one Paradise City video:
  and add four wildly flailing, dancing, stalling, flipping and headbanging grommets. Add way too much laughter and an inordinate amount of Mommy/Auntie pride (cause, yeah... out of all the songs these kids could pick? GNR, dudes!!!) and you have a recipe for happiness. Or societal anarchy. Take your pick.
• New Zealand. Yeah, I'm doing it, again. I'm one step away from phoning the Consulate to request an immigration packet. You can't tie me down. You can't fence me in. I was made to ROAM. ...Or at least to crazily contemplate roaming while being safely entrenched in my life and home Here in the frozen part of the Frozen North. Which, granted, has been unseasonably lovely and all of late. But, it's no NewFreakingZealand, I tell you that much. I do give Mr. F. grand and glorious kudos for understanding this part of me -- this little unconventional bit of me that comes up with these idealistic dreams. I'm not sure if he's just humoring me or really is willing to go on the wildest adventure with me, but he's being exceptionally accomodating of all my enraptured babbling about this. High Five, Mr. F.!!!
• And now... now I must go deliver paint. Excitement like this does not come cheap.

HO-LEEEEEE COW!!!

I gave Mr. F. my recipe for beef stew this summer. Previously, the boy's idea of cooking was melting CheezWhiz on a bun under the broiler. I didn't have high hopes that his stew-making skills would amount to much, but wished him the best.

Fast forward to tonight when I, for the first time ever, get to sit down to a Totally-Mr.F. - Prepared supper. See the look of surprise on my face?

And watch the surprise turn to elated disbelief when I see that nothing was burned, mangled, set on fire or wounded during the making of said stew.

And then see my eyes light up at the tasty, mouth watering aroma of the Totally-Mr.F.-Prepared supper.

I taste. Hmmmmmmm.

The dude makes good stew. And as hard as this is for me to admit, being that I take a little bit of pride in my kitchen skills... I think it was better than I've ever made it.

Ouch. I know.

But, the trade-off was worth it. Taking a small hit to my pride in exchange for MY MAN IN THE KITCHEN. Cooking. Stew. Really, really, really good stew. Now that's a deal I can stomach.