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Happily Ever After

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Paint and Pop Tarts

by Valerie Nusbaum

Recently, our upstairs landing and stairwell finally got a fresh coat of paint. That project had been “on the list” and “in the works” for several years, but something had always come up to keep the job from getting started. Randy, bless his heart, took a day of vacation on Friday and spent two hours that morning putting up lovely blue painters tape and putting down plastic drop cloths.

I had thought that I was being kind and considerate when I made the suggestion that we hire someone to do the painting, but Randy saw it as a challenge. Honestly, we’ve had so many other obligations lately, coupled with the hours he works at his job. I really didn’t expect him to do the painting himself. He had other ideas.

My way of helping was to go to Walmart (which, for me, is less enjoyable than a good teeth cleaning) and buy the supplies. To make it simple, we decided to paint the walls the same color as the walls in the foyer and kitchen, and Randy assured me that he had more than enough paint stored in our basement.

He ran out of paint by lunchtime on the first day of the job. I was kind of glad about that, because I’d been stuck upstairs in my office all morning since the stairs were taped off.  Even my bathroom was off-limits, as the door opens onto the upstairs landing. When Randy had to stop work, I was relieved in more ways than one, and I scampered downstairs to get lunch ready. One of my jobs while Hubby does “man’s” work is to keep him fed and watered. Yeah, I know Gloria Steinem would have my head, but I really don’t like to paint and the stairwell and landing aren’t large enough for both of us and an open can of paint. Besides, just two days before this job commenced, I went to Brunswick and painted my mother’s kitchen. So, there. We dined on Swedish meatballs over wheat pasta, steamed zucchini, and crescent rolls.

After lunch, Randy drove down to Home Depot and got some more paint. That was not without its problems, because the young lady behind the paint counter was a trainee and her supervisor had left to go to the bathroom an hour ago. Randy ended up showing her how to mix his paint, and then assisted with several other customers. I heard all this second-hand from Randy since I skipped the Home Depot trip and stayed home to clean out the linen closet.

The walls and ceiling were finished by Friday afternoon. On Saturday, the linen closet, the bedroom and bathroom doors, and the trim were the agenda items.

After a hearty cheese and veggie omelet and whole grain waffles, Randy got busy. An hour or so later, I gave him a small piece of a breakfast bar as a treat. He commented that it tasted good, and I made the mistake of saying that it reminded me of a Pop Tart.  I realized my mistake, but it was already too late. You see, there was a Pop Tart incident some years ago. We never speak of it, but it went something like this…..

Randy liked Pop Tarts, and I sometimes bought a box of them for him to take in his lunches for work. I began noticing that the Pop Tarts were disappearing rather quickly, so one evening I asked him about it.

“Have you been eating two Pop Tarts at a time?” I asked.

“They come two to a package. Aren’t you supposed to eat both of them?” he replied.

I explained that one Pop Tart constitutes a serving. The other one in the package is to be shared or put away for another time.

“The package isn’t resealable. And Randy isn’t sharing his Pop Tarts,” said my husband.

I pointed out that the serving size is printed right on the back of the box, along with the nutrition information. It is clearly stated that eating only one Pop Tart is recommended.

“Really?” he exclaimed. “It’s a Pop Tart. There is NO nutritional value. That’s why they’re so delicious. And furthermore, Kellogg’s is trying to scam us with that packaging.  If they only wanted me to eat one, there should only be one in each package.”

The next time I bought a box of Pop Tarts, I opened all of the packets and put each Pop Tart in its own little baggie. Randy took two of them anyway. I stopped buying Pop Tarts, and we never mentioned them again.

The doors and trim eventually got painted, and everything looks bright, shiny, and clean.  Our next project is pulling up the carpet and putting down wood flooring in the rooms upstairs. I’m already planning my menus. Breakfast will not include Pop Tarts.

happily ever after

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You Asked For It

by Valerie Nusbaum

Spring is finally here! During our long, hard winter, I must have heard the phrase, “I can’t wait until spring” at least a thousand times.  As my old friend Jay would have said, “Well, here it is—spring….”  You asked for it my friends, so don’t come crying to me when you’re sick of doing yard work or when the robins and doves use your clean car as their personal bathrooms. When your allergies kick in and your back is killing you, I don’t want to hear about it.

This is a beautiful time of year.  I’ll give you that. The blooming trees and sprouting bulbs are gorgeous; their bright colors are a pleasant change from all of the white stuff we have seen. It’s comforting to know that our trees will soon be filled with leaves again—the neighbors won’t be able to look in our windows and see all the weird stuff we’re doing.

It’s not that I don’t recognize the beauty and appreciate the spring season, but, I confess, I’m one of the few people who actually likes winter.  As a menopausal woman, it’s so nice to not be hot. Granted, I don’t like freezing or having dry, itchy skin, but I do enjoy picking up a glass that isn’t sweating. When January rolls around, and the Christmas stuff is cleaned up and put away, I find it relaxing to watch the snow fall. There’s a certain peacefulness and serenity. That is, until the phone rings and my in-laws’ pipes have frozen or my mother’s oil line won’t work.

Spring always makes me tired. The aforementioned yard work is never-ending, at least until fall rolls around again. And don’t get me started on the home-improvement projects.

Randy and I are redecorating our guest room. I did my part early on in the project by going to Home Depot, picking out the paint, buying it, and bringing it home. Randy did almost all of the painting, but I helped him out a bit by painting the closet doors and two wall racks. I also went along with my hubby to pick out the new floor covering, and I offered him a cold drink while he ripped up the old carpet and disposed of it. He’s been busy installing the new floor, and we’ve both been looking for furniture options. I’m exhausted. This project has been in the planning stages for several years, but you know how it goes. Something else always comes up.

We’ve promised my mother that we’ll help remodel her kitchen; and, just the other day, I offered to help my mother-in-law clean out her attic. We’ll have to do those projects before summer gets here, because neither house is as tundra-like as ours and I don’t like to sweat.  There’s so much to do. It must be spring.

Randy doesn’t plant a vegetable garden any more, but I usually start some tomato plants from seeds, and we tend to those all spring and summer. Those darned things are so temperamental. It would be easier to go out and buy a couple of plants, but my objective here isn’t to have fresh tomatoes. It’s to keep my father’s legacy alive. Dad painstakingly bred and grafted those original tomato plants years ago, and I’ve kept them going ever since he passed away.

These days, most of the flowers at our home are perennials. I figured out that it was too much work to replant all the flower beds year after year. We’ll probably add in some impatiens since they’re pretty and not much work. Randy and I are gradually paring down our trees and shrubs, too. I’m all about making life easier. 

At least half of my spring cleaning is finished. I’ve been washing windows and curtains, wiping down walls and ceilings, cleaning light fixtures, and scouring all the nooks and crannies. We don’t have much carpet in our house, but the rugs and upholstery are getting cleaned, and the blankets and bedspreads will be changed. Turning and flipping mattresses is a job for Randy, and he reaches all the high stuff for me. The poor man never knows what he’ll find torn up when he comes home from work. Drawers and closets are being sorted and reorganized, and I’m finding stuff that I never knew we had. Things are being donated and given away left and right. Randy will do the outsides of the windows, and we’ll wash down the siding on the house and the porches and doors together. We’ve been cleaning out the basement, too. No wonder I’m so tired!

I think I’ll make some lemonade, sit on the porch, and watch the yard sales down the street. Yes, it surely is spring.