My Sensitive Gentleman

So today I was informed by a few women that I indeed, had a "sensitive gentleman" as my husband.

He brings me flowers out of the blue, you may be thinking.

He turns off the television in order to listen carefully and intently when I pour my heart out about what is bothering me, you may be thinking.

He suggests that I get out without children in order to recharge my batteries, you may be thinking.

He wakes up early to get the kids ready for school when I am blinded by an ocular migraine feeling under the weather, you may be thinking.

Or you may be thinking that he pops a load of laundry into the washing machine when he notices that the darks are tumbling from the laundry basket.

Your thinking is all wrong.

The women who informed me that I am married to a sensitive gentleman, were the sweet nurses that were taking care of my husband today at the surgical center where he had a hernia repaired.

The sensitivity that they were referring to was his sensitivity to anything relating to medical procedures. Little did they know, I was already aware of the fact that I hand-picked a sensitive gentleman.

I wasn't at all surprised to be summoned from the waiting room by the pre-op nurse, requesting that I help to calm my sensitive gentleman.

It wasn't anything I didn't expect, walking in to find him drained of any color and soaked with sweat from head to toe. Like oil and water, my sensitive gentleman and IV's, or any needles for that matter, simply do not mix.

Nor does he do well with just the thought of what the doctor is going to do to him...that's enough to erase the pigment from his skin and make him weak in the knees, as well.

I am truly married to a SENSITIVE GENTLEMAN!

One that I overheard explaining to his children the other day that his stomach was going to be stapled closed. (He has a one inch incision sealed together with Dermabond. Insert clip art of a cardboard induced paper cut and you get his wound.)

One that lay in bed behind closed doors, fifteen feet away from me, when my cell phone began ringing downstairs. By the time I got to it, it was done ringing, flashing a RESTRICTED NUMBER message. Upon returning to the computer, my phone began ringing again. Running just a bit faster down the stairs, risking life and limb, I got to it in time. If I didn't just get this cell phone, I would have chucked it out the kitchen window, for the voice on the other end was the voice of my sensitive gentleman, a mere fifteen feet away from where I had originally been sitting, requesting that I open the bedroom door to let the cat out! And because I know I would never find an alternate husband willing to take on my four children and myself, I refrained from throwing him out the second story window as well.

Before I head to bed to rest up for tomorrow's recovery and rehabilitation procedures, I'm going to google the relationship between hernia repair and decision-making. Seems there is some correlation...my sensitive gentleman has needed me to make every decision on what he should be putting in his stomach!

So we've got the whole sensitivity thing a bit mixed up and I tease him relentlessly about it...but my sensitive gentleman produces good-looking kids! I'll give him that!

You Can be Pretty Sure...

that a child was born into a Republican household when you can hear the following inquiries and comments.

While playing with his toys the other day, Isaac paused and questioned me after great thought, "Mom? Are flaming liberals the worst kind?"

I responded, "I don't know Isaac. Why do you ask?"

His reply. "Because Daddy said they were!"

And even before all of the recent political conversations buzzing about, Isaac brought out one of his flame shaped Lego pieces and cheerfully exclaimed, "Look Mom. I have found a flaming liberal!"


And the questions have been flooding in since the election of Barack Obama. While driving to school yesterday morning, Isaac had a concerned look on his face. I could tell he was contemplating an issue. Just as a I was about to ask him what it was he was thinking about, he questioned, "Mom? Is Obama going to steal money from us, too?"

And as if she was disgusted by the question, Annie replied, "No, Isaac! He doesn't even know where we live!"

It's nearly impossible to explain politics to a child!


But you can be pretty sure that a child is being raised in a household with parents who hold the traditional positions within the home when you hear a child exclaim the following:

Upon finishing his dinner, my husband rinsed his dish before putting it down in the sink. (Which even that task is unheard of, even after making that request for the past 10+ years!)

Angel happened to walk by and see Mark doing this. She fell under a spell of shock and commented, "Mom!!! Daddy is doing the dishes!!! I have NEVER seen a boy doing dishes before!!!"

I guess you could call my children Conservative, Republican, Un-Liberated Little Kids! And that's a title I'm completely at peace with!