Paying A Listen

Perhaps it’s all the crying, the dogs barking, or the voices in my head, but I’ve become keenly adept at tuning it all out.  This would be great news if I were kicking game winning field goals, but not so much when my wife is asking me to help her with something around the house.  Even as I’m typing this, I can hear her calling from the kitchen-- something about a fire.  Oh, she said tired, false alarm. 

Justin Lynham - Flickr

Being male, I've never been considered an astute listener, and until recently it wasn't much of an issue.  But these days I have to catch more than every third or fourth word, and even pay attention to detail. Pay attention and listen, that may be asking a bit much, as evidenced by my recent shopping trip.  

With my wife on house arrest after labor, I was sent out to the grocery store armed with a list and a few detailed pointers that I quickly tuned out.  

Yeah, yeah, I got it. I often nod in an effort to speed up conversations because I can't sit still. Okay, enough with the confessions.  

I set out on the aisles, bumping carts with coupon cutters in an effort to find hidden necessities such as soy milk and feta cheese.  I knew that the grocery store carried milk and beer, but I had never given much thought to what lined all of those shelves in between.  I quickly discovered that I had no idea where I was going, apologizing to other shoppers as I zigzagged through the store.

After several calls home, I painstakingly found the items on the list, including diapers for both wife and son.  I returned with my haul, proudly displaying my finds and bargains for all to see.  But when I handed my wife her diapers, she looked at me like an idiot.

These are adult diapers, I don't need adult diapers.....I just need pads.

But, what's the......Back out I went.

Listening is just one area in need of improvement, multitasking is another. While my wife can do four or five tasks at once, I'm more like that kid in that AT&T commercial, proud of the fact that he can shake his head and wiggle his hand at the same time. 

I have to stay on my toes with our new arrangement. It’s no longer just the two of us, the little monkey towel hanging in the bathroom reminds me of our new addition, so some adjustments are in order.  Plans have to be made before I walk the dogs or even go to the bathroom; and dinner has taking on a drastically different approach.

Don't get me wrong, I’m embracing my new role of being a family man, but after 37 years of doing what I want, when I want, it has been a bit of a shock to my system.   The constant, 24 hour care that my son requires is not always easy, and he has a boisterous way of letting me know what I’m doing wrong.  But have no fear, I am listening.

The Eternity Store

November Saturdays are a magical time for college football.  The games intensify as teams make a final push for the post season.  Rivalries are in the air and---what?  Oh we’re going to the maternity store?  Oh good.

On a beautiful Saturday, with temperatures reaching 70 degrees, we headed an hour up the road to the mall because our mall doesn't have a maternity store  (who knew?).  I had ducked the first shopping trip, but I was handcuffed here; it was my wife’s birthday weekend so I couldn’t say no.  I could, but there would be consequences involved.

In the car, my phone started buzzing, a friend of mine had made the trip up to Charlottesville to watch the University of Virginia take on the Miami Hurricanes.  How boring!  My wife and I on the other hand, were on our way to the Motherhood Maternity store to find some white blouses.  How exciting! 

Entering the mall, we walked past Buffalo Wild Wings, The announcers’ voices could be heard in the distance. ~~~What a play, now that is not something you see every day!~~~ Yeah, I thought, neither is this sale going on at the maternity store! 

We find the store, and it was everything I imagined.  Stretchy shirts and pants were abundant, elastic reigned supreme, and comfort was winning the battle over style.  I settled in, checking my phone periodically for scoring updates.  14-14 in the first quarter?  What’s going on?  Oh well, Virginia will lose, they haven’t been that good this year.  My wife heads to the dressing rooms.  I get a text message.

21-21  Wtf is going on?

She's talking to the sales lady, never a good sign.  They point her towards a rack of what looks like a couch covers.  I check my phone:

28-24 Virginia at the half – Seriously?  Touchdowns were being scored in Charlottesville at an alarming pace.  I was missing a shootout. I’ve got to find a t---What Honey?  Oh yes, that looks great!

I had spotted a spa store of some sort across from the sports bar.  Complete with massage tables and chairs.  I wonder if this was done on purpose.  I was willing to pay for high dollar for a massage at this point if it meant I could sneak into the sports bar for a score.  I hear my name...

She asks which color velour track suit I liked better, they are both strikingly similar to something from the set of the Golden Girls.

“Gray”  I answer.

“That’s not my color.”  She says, and I remember that my own lease on the color blue is up for renewal.

“Brown?”

Back to the dressing room, score check, 31-28 Miami.  Virginia’s going to lose again, maybe it’s a good thing I’m missing this.

I turn my attention to the small gifts near the cash register.  Father to Son A tiny book that holds my attention for 2-3 minutes. My wife comes out, the salesperson reminds her of the buy one get one half off sale.  I cut my eyes.  Low blow sales lady, you know she's easy pickings.  My wife is a salesperson’s dream, she can’t resist.

Update, Miami 38, Virginia 28.  Stupid iphone, I hate you.  I don’t want to become one of those people, who walk around like a zombie staring at their phones.  But I’m bored…I’ll snap a picture.

<----That about sums it up.  (And yes, I'm fully aware that at times I act like a 9 year old).  Finally we're done, there's nothing left to try on. My wife whips out her credit card and makes her purchase, I don’t look, don’t want to know.  We leave and she’s happy.  I take another picture.

The next stop was lunch, and low and behold there was a tv with the game on.  Virginia had fought back and was trailing 38-35 in the fourth quarter.  As I’m sitting in the empty bar, drinking sodas and water with my pregnant wife while watching the game,  I realize that my Saturday’s have change just a bit.

We get the tab and Virginia is falling apart.  They play better when I don’t watch, so we head to the downtown shops.  The last time we were there this shop had these hanging wooden planes that I wanted to buy for the nursery if we had a boy.  They no longer have them.  This trip is a bust.  I check the score as we drive home.

Virginia has just scored, and with 6 seconds remaining, they lead 41-40.  This cannot be happening! But it does happen, Virginia beats Miami and the all is good in the world.  I’m sure it is because I didn’t watch.  My wife is happy, the day is beautiful, and Virginia won a football game.  I love shopping.

Shopping...

Over the weekend my wife and I visited family in Williamsburg, Va.  Williamsburg is a beautiful town rich in colonial history and the roots of our country’s beginnings.  It also has a ton of outlet stores.  On the drive up my wife mentioned something about picking up a few things at the maternity store.  Great idea I thought, knowing that I would be sitting on the couch with my uncle watching college football.

The plan fell into place, with my wife shopping with my Aunt and cousin, while my uncle, my cousin’s husband, and I held down the fort.  We flipped from game to game, while I observed my cousin's husband put his two small daughters down for a nap like a seasoned pro.

Later that afternoon as the women arrived with bags in hand, my wife seemed quite pleased with her purchases.  She started small, warming me up with little outfits for the baby, complete with various animals on the butt of the outfit, ducks, raccoons and countless other harmless creatures.  My Aunt had bought little booties and bibs for the baby and I couldn’t help but to smile at these cute little get ups.  My joy was short lived.

She bent down, digging into an industrial strength bag that was stretched to the limit with what looked like enough material to clothe a small village. 

“I bought a few things so I would have something to wear.”  She said, as if she had been getting by wearing a toga.

One after another, she pulled out long, loose fitting shirts that she will eventually grow into. Other sexy items included jeans with large stretchy waistlines and pants with elastic.  It became quickly obvious that buttons were the enemy and comfort at a premium.  I put on a smile, happy that she was happy, but started noticing the price tags dangling from the atrocities she held up.  $39.99 here, $ 29.99 there, and it didn’t stop.  There were purple ones, striped ones, teal, white, more tops!  How much did she spend?  I took a sip of the suddenly medicinal beverage my older and much wiser Uncle had provided.

“How…ahem…How much did this little trip cost?”  I mustered, my voice struggling to find its pitch.

“Oh, I put it on the credit card.  You owe me some money.”   She said smiling.  The new line of thinking is that since I did this to her I am responsible for the fashionable maternity clothes as well.

Back at home, I was treated to a fashion show of every shirt and pair of pants that will become the staples of her wardrobe.  As she strode down the hall I had to admit that she did look quite good, and although I would never have thought it, I'm really starting to like her tummy.  Although I do have a 3:30 appointment at the plasma center in an effort to pay for the new clothes it requires..