Tag: husband

Why Super Bowl Sunday is So Special this Year

Published on by J. Kelland Perry6 Comments

Unless a major catastrophe strikes our world between now and February third, I can pretty much guarantee where my husband will be this coming Sunday. That’s right, he’ll be cheering for the San Francisco 49ers as they compete against the Baltimore Ravens in the Forty-Seventh Super Bowl football game, and I will be cheering alongside him.

But what makes this particular game so significant for us?  Well, there are a few reasons. For me, the game itself  is – dare I say it – secondary. Not being a huge sports fan of any stripe, I’ll be taking part to enjoy the following:

1.  The Half-time Show with Beyoncé. I am looking forward to seeing and hearing this lovely lady perform, and I don’t even care if she lip-syncs.

2. The delicious and obligatory Super Bowl snacks. Can’t wait to dig into the colossal batch of Super Nachos I am planning to prepare, and the Super Spicy Chicken Wings that, of course, must accompany them. My mouth is watering already, just writing about it.

nachos

wings hot

image

3. And we must not forget the ice-cold beer to wash it all down!

4. Sooky baby Tom Brady will be nowhere to be seen. Even though I’ll be rooting for the 49ers, I’d love to give the Ravens a pat on the back for eliminating Mr. Ego and his ilk from the Championship.

5. But the fifth and the biggest reason the game is so special this year? It is an Anniversary of sorts for my husband and me. You see, 1994 was the year we met and started dating. And I soon found out what an avid, longtime fan of football my new man was, when the season started that year. Being stuck-like-glue-to-each-other-in-love, I was quickly initiated, and even dragged into a big-screen pub two weeks before the Super Bowl to witness San Francisco eliminate the Dallas Cowboys.

And wouldn’t you know it, in that first magical year for us, his beloved 49ers won the Super Bowl (January 1995). This is the first time, in the eighteen years since, that San Francisco is getting another shot at the Championship. Can they do it again?

Honestly, it doesn’t make a heck of a lot of difference to me, personally.

But it would be kind of special to see a victory dance, and that victory smile again, on the face of the man I love.

football49er

Related articles

Hard-workin’ Man

Published on by J. Kelland PerryLeave a comment

My husband, who works at home, usually tries to take the weekend off to get some much-deserved rest to recharge his batteries.  So Saturday morning he put his drafting and design work aside, and got outdoors.

First, he cleaned out the shed, put aside some renovation debris, and straightened up some of the things we have stored out there. Then, using the wheelbarrow, he moved said debris out on the point near the water’s edge, requiring several trips, and built a huge bonfire.

After the fire died down, my sweetie then built a little step-ramp to the shed door for wheeling out the barbecue and lawnmower.  When that was finished, he tuned up the lawnmower and proceeded to cut the grass on our property.  All of this relaxation had worked up his appetite, so he came inside and made himself a sandwich.  But hey, that grass wasn’t done yet, so out he went again to finish up.

When the lawn was done, my husband took out our zero gravity chairs and set them up on the deck.  Then he wheeled out the barbecue and put that on the deck.  Because it hadn’t been used since last fall, he had to clean off the grill.  Perfect!  We would have our burgers barbecued tonight, I thought, my mouth watering.  So my honey made our delicious dinner.

And that was Saturday.

This morning, my husband made his specialty scrambled eggs for the two of us, the ideal fuel for his second day of leisure.  Time to get to it!  First, he took out the recyclables, fed and watered the cats, and changed the kitty litter.  Then he went upstairs and put up some wood trim around our shower.

Well, that was all he needed to do around the house, for now.  So he went back to his office this afternoon, not to do drafting, but to put some time in on his favorite hobby, his pen and ink art.
It’s always nice to see my husband enjoying a weekend off.   ♥

Menopause…or “Perry”-Menopause?

Published on by J. Kelland Perry7 Comments

So here I am, on a frigid January evening. Outside, a bitter wind chill of minus 10 degrees Celsius (that’s 14+ degrees for you Fahrenheit folks), is blowing directly off the North Atlantic just a few yards from our door. My husband Paul is gone playing floor hockey at the high school gym, so I’m alone, trying desperately to chill out. Not figuratively, mind you, but literally. I turned down the thermostats so there is  no heat on in my house, simply because my body feels like a furnace turned up on cremate.

This is a new and fresh hell for yours truly, only making itself known within the last couple of weeks. Somehow, I had let myself believe I’d be lucky enough to escape the discomfort of “tropical moments” at this time of my life. How I used to chuckle when one of my friends or coworkers complained of a hot flash. Ha! The joke is now on me. And for the uninitiated, it doesn’t feel like a source of external heat that hits you. It’s more like internal spontaneous combustion, where you think you just might suddenly burst into flames.

Stripped down to a tank top and appropriately, sweat pants, eating blueberries out of the freezer (still frozen), I’m trying to hold it together. I made the mistake earlier of googling other menopause symptoms, and started ticking off other lovely ailments I’ve been experiencing. Brain fog? Check. Anxiety? Check. Night sweats? Check. Mood swings? Okay, that one is just me, can’t blame that on The Change.

The website also warned that the whole process could take anywhere from two to eight years before it is done. That’s just terrific. Think I’ll go out and stick my head in a snow bank.

And now Paul is home. “It’s freezing here!” he says. He looks at my red face. “Is it alright if I turn up the heat?”

“If you must,” I bark, fanning myself with a throw cushion.

Then I realize something. In our house, PMS always stood for Paul Must Suffer. Well, the PMS might be coming to an end for me, but it won’t be ending for him any time soon. Will he survive? Will I?

Check back in two to eight years.