When I was growing up, my immediate neighborhood had a handful of kids my age.  Within one block there were three boys and a girl with whom I spent many a summer night climbing trees and playing baseball.

One of the boys was a good friend and I spent a lot of time at his house.  He introduced me to Monty Python and he had a one-eyed, guinea pig.  No, that’s not a euphemism.

I had so much fun at his house.  I played his keyboard (oh my goodness, NOT a euphemism!), we battled at bumper-pool and there was a time, or two hundred, when we played video games.  Geekdom rules!

Fast forward to high school where one of my best friends was a boy.  I hung out at his house so much that when he moved away for good after high school, I still hung out with his mom all the time.  She and I used to have playdates for my daughter and her granddaughter.

I had another really good male friend during college, a group of men with whom I used to work that I’m still close to and, of course, there’s my ultimate best friend…my husband.  He has been with me through highs, lows, trauma, drama, thick and thin.  Mostly thick, if we’re discussing my thighs anyway.  Oh, and blogging; he’s been with me through that too.  He also pays our mortgage.  He’s a friend with all kinds of benefits.

Every one of these guys are people that I could see for the first time in years and pick up right where we left off.  There is no judging each other about the way we look, or what kind of moms we are, or feeling guilt because our house isn’t clean and theirs is, and they’re the head of the PTO and just made a craft and cupcakes and let their daughter have a slumber party where Supermom blended up cauliflower and put it into the punch, but the kids don’t even know they’re drinking vegetables!  Men don’t care.  I’m pretty sure they’re lacking the superficiality gene.  Because, there totally is one.

I am lucky that I have a husband who trusts me and understands that I like beer and football as much as I like home decorating and flowers.  He has a girl-friend (that’s a friend, who’s a girl) who goes to hockey games with him, because she loves hockey.  I don’t.
 
I feel more comfortable that he’s hanging out with her than with a lot of guys I know.  No offense, fellas.

And, if you are offended and feel like you need to argue that men and women can’t be friends, then me and my male, blogging bestie will take you down.  That’s right.  Downtown, Buster Brown.

Photo courtesy of Angry Julie.  Word.

Either that, or I’ll squish you with my chin(s).

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Since I started working over 40 hours a week, my husband has taken over some of the household duties.  Yesterday, he did the grocery shopping.  It kind of made my heart melt.

His greatest assistance has come with the takeover of getting the eight year old to bed.  Most of my work is done in the evening, so while I am clicking away on my computer my husband deals with the stall-tactics, the decision of which book and stuffed animal to take to bed and the newest thing to throw a wrench into the routine…SpongeBob mouthwash.

My husband has managed, after a long day at work, to turn this time into something fun.  There are races to the top of the steps, shoulder rides and the Mom’s-chest-pain-inducing-toss-the-tiny-kid-onto-the-bed-from-across-the-room-adventure.

So with all of these shenanigans, it was no surprise the other night to hear my son declare, “Daddy!  Let’s play the opposite game.”  My husband was quick to oblige.

I laughed as I listened to them go back and forth, with my husband telling our son to, “Hold your pee”, “Put your clothes on” and “Don’t brush your teeth”.

My son answered all yes-questions with a firm, “No” and everything that should have been a denial was met with a jolly, “Yes!”

As usual, my husband had turned bedtime into something giggle inducing.

After a few minutes, I heard my husband say, “Okay, buddy.  Don’t say goodnight to your mother.”

Which is when the game came to an abrupt halt.

Because as I climbed the stairs to meet my son halfway, he greeted me with a smile and outstretched arms for a big nighttime hug and he said, “Good morning, Mom.  I hate you so much.”

**There are still a few days to enter my $100 Visa giftcard giveaway from BlogHer, sponsored by Welch’s.  Stop by my review blog for your chance to win!**

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While returning home from a family dinner the other night, my 11 year old daughter suddenly spoke up from the back seat.

She asked, “Hey Dad, what’s the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you?”

My husband peered out at the night sky and thought aloud, “Hmmm…”.

Then my son offered his unsolicited opinion when he said, “I know!  It was probably when he married mom.”

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