Text From A Very Sexy Husband

Posted on August 31, 2012

Begging For Trouble

Posted on August 31, 2012 Updated on August 31, 2012

In October, the husband and I will be going to Cancun, Mexico.  Michael, having sworn off officiating weddings, agreed to this particular wedding because 1) it is for some very dear people in our church and B) IT’S IN CANCUN!  In December, we will be celebrating eighteen years of not killing each other marriage so that was just even one more reason to selflessly travel to Mexico.

Now while it may seem that I am totally fixing to switch gears, follow me; it’s all related.

Yesterday, Michael and I buckled down and started a diet.  Michael, after years of having a kidney disease was recently cleared to  step up his workout  regimen and diet (eating certain foods he was not allowed to in the past).  Now that he has a slew of conferences in the near future along with this wedding, we both sat down and drew out a plan to get him back to his fighting weight.  I have a few pounds to lose myself so yesterday we embarked on this journey together.

By the afternoon, we were passing each other in the hall like gunslingers.  The air was thick with tension and nothing I did was quick enough and certainly nothing he said was right.  We both agreed the lack of carbs were making us cranky and made a pact to persevere with the promise to stay married . . . . long enough to make the trip to Cancun.  We’d renegotiate after the four days of relaxation, margaritas and good Mexican food.  I’m hopeful.

Yesterday’s near civil war only proved what I have always suspected:

Skinny people are not happy people.

And Honor Is His Middle Name

Posted on August 27, 2012 Updated on August 27, 2012

As the daughter of a minister, I have been the subject of many sermon illustrations.  Philip, Marlie and especially my mother were also fair game.  It never seemed to bother any of us; it was life as we knew it.  Dad was usually great about forewarning us and even asking our permission at times when the story was sensitive in nature.  I think I speak for the siblings and say we managed to leave home with minimal emotional baggage.  My therapist seems to think so as well.

Fast forward twenty years.  I am married to a minister and we have three children.

This morning, my husband spoke of our children in his sermon.  He was simply talking about the differences in personalities.  Chloe, for the most part, has given us little trouble.  Makes good grades.  Doesn’t dress inappropriately.  Isn’t boy crazy.  Doesn’t cuss and has NEVER sassed us.  I’m not kidding.  My boys, on the other hand, . . . . little bit of a different story.  While they too are not boy crazy nor do they dress scantily, both have quite the mouth on them.  Just. Like. Their. Father.  So tonight, Michael and I sat down with Titus and reassured him that we do not, in fact, believe that Chloe is perfect and that we love him and are proud of him.  Michael said that in next week’s sermon he will be sure to make Chloe look bad and Titus look good.  Joking.  We were joking.  Anyway, there were laughs and, in true form, Titus made some sarcastic remarks.  And off to youth group he went.

Fast forward two hours.

Cortland, our youth pastor and Michael’s right hand man, along with my husband, were sitting in the living room going over the events of the day including the youth group attendance and whether or not there were any incidences.  There was.  The question was asked to the high school freshmen: “What do you like about finally being in high school?”  A young man raises his hand and waits to be called upon.  “The girls’ dress code is more relaxed.”

Out of the mouth of our son, Titus HONOR Cheshire.

Seems like Michael has his work cut out for him in preparing next week’s sermon.

Winning By A Nose

Posted on August 3, 2012 Updated on August 4, 2012

In light of the summer Olympics, my household, like most others, has been glued to the television.   And never having given these sports a second thought since the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, we are all now experts in gymnastics, volleyball, swimming and tennis.  Michael recently pulled his tennis racket out of the garage and has hit the courts again.  Remember how I said that we are both highly competitive?  It’s true.  It can get ugly around here.  And to be quite honest, I don’t know why I even still try; he kills me at EVERYTHING.  He even refuses to play tennis with me because I am not challenging enough.  Yeah, . . . . that competitive.

Every night for the past week, we plant our corn-fed derrieres down on our comfy couches and judge the landings, the precision of the synchronized dives, and whether the ball was out or on the line.  Seriously, I don’t know why we weren’t even considered to be judges as the dowdy ones we are subjected to every night suck.  We, at least, are funny and could bring energy to the two weeks of athletic pageantry.  Our witty banter would at least distract the rest of us on this planet from the guilt of being under-achievers.

Whether we are wannabe judges, athletes or middle-aged underachievers, we are still funny.  At least I’d like to think so.  Two nights ago, while watching relay swimming, my husband decided that he would like to add swimming to his workout regimen.  He asked if the rec center where I take the kids swimming every week has a lap pool.  It does indeed, but it is always occupied by the elderly.  Emily, our friend and Michael’s assistant joined in the brainstorming session.

Emily:  There’s a pool at the rec center near the high school I went to.

Michael:  Emily, NO!  Did you not just hear Amy say that it’s always full of old people?!  I don’t want to swim in their Cocoon juices!

(Reference to the 1985 movie, Cocoon in which a group of trespassing elderly swim in a pool containing alien cocoons only to find themselves energized with youthful vigour.)

For those of you who do not know Michael well, you should know he is just kidding and loves older people.  But his humor is always well timed.  He waited till I was drinking a Diet Coke and so it shot out my nose.  Luckily, I was sitting next to him and he caught it all on his shirt.  Michael, a self-diagnosed germaphobe, screamed like a little girl and ran to take a shower, and team Amy walked away with a gold.

My Lovely Lady Lumps

Posted on July 22, 2012 Updated on July 22, 2012

When I was a little girl, I was forbidden to watch any news or medical drama.  If there was a disease that was reported, I had it.  If I didn’t have it, I was a prime candidate to get it.  My first hypochondriatic memory was when I was . . . . . . ummm . . . . maybe eight years old.  I was laying on the floor in the living room and my family was watching 20/20.  I don’t remember much about the different topics they addressed that night, but I do remember Lime Disease, and after hearing all the details from flea and tick experts, doctors and victims of this horrible disease, I had it.  It is important to note that I lived in South Texas.

Now I don’t recall my mom rolling her eyes, but now having children of my own, I have no reason not to believe she didn’t.  After the “assumed” eye rolling, she went to the medicine cabinet for the trusty bottle of Johnson & Johnson orange flavored children’s aspirin.  If I close my eyes, I can still taste it.  That stuff was the cure-all for every ailment, real or make-believe.  Two tablets later, I was healed and my fears were calmed.

When I married Michael, he inherited more than he bargained for.  Now he rolls his eyes at me!  And while there were a few years that the “self-diagnosed” hypochondria went into remission, I have recently started freaking out again.

Over the past several years, I have been poked and prodded more than my fair share.  I had two ovarian cystic tumors (one weighing ten pounds) and a breast lump.  Two years ago, when I discovered the said breast lump, I was told it was Radial Scarring which is abnormal tissue that, in my case, was not cancerous but does put me at a higher risk to get breast cancer.  So consistent annual exams are highly encouraged.  Two weeks ago, I found another lump.

I immediately did what any normal and rational person would do.  I mentally planned my funeral.  I chose the 8×10 glossy photo of me that would be framed and positioned right next to the black urn containing my ashes.  It would have a lovely satin pink bow tied around it because pink and black are my favorite colors.  Then I made a list of possible songs that would accompany a slide show of the less than epic life I have lived up till now.  I also went over the conversations I would have with my kids before I departed earth.  Twisted, I know.  Save your comments.  But I freaked.  And then I called Michael.  Then I called my mother.  And neither of them gave me children’s aspirin.  Both concurred it would turn out fine.

So on Tuesday, I have an appointment to have my bosoms squished and flattened and my pride and dignity deflated along with them.  Yea.  But with this discovery, I have also taken notice of the sharp stomach pains, a headache (I never get headaches) and a few other physical ailments that on any other day would not even warrant a second thought.  Now while I have never, in the eighteen years of marriage, “passed gas” in front of my husband or burped without ever saying “Excuse me”, I feel the need to tell Michael way more information than he can handle.  Don’t get me wrong, he is more sympathetic and nurturing than I am by far, but after a what seems to be a lifetime dealing with me, this was the great advice I was given the other night when I walked into his room with that “deer in headlights” look in my eyes:

“Grab two bottles of water and sit here and chug ’em before you even say a word.”  Water is the cure-all in the Cheshire household.  “Amy, I need you to get out your phone and Google ‘hypochondriac’ and read it out loud.”  I did.  It is someone who has hypochondria.  So I look up ‘hypochondria’.

Titus

Posted on July 15, 2012 Updated on July 15, 2012

Sure.  His IQ could be dropping with every level advancement.  And even right now, Titus is in my room launching gummies in the air and catching them with his big mouth.  But today, he came into the kitchen, gave me a hug and a kiss and thanked me for making him a quesadilla.   All I was trying to do was clean out the leftovers.

Civil War

Posted on July 12, 2012

Just in case you do not read comments from previous posts, this is one left by the author or Hitler’s Socks (insert snicker and eye-rolling here):

Just giving you a head start before you get smashed. I have written 9 posts. They are not up yet because I want a good amount (15) of reading before I let the 3,500+ followers of “knock over a 7-11″ in on it. You in a hurry to lose?

See what I’m dealing with here, people?  In all fairness to The Husband, I do “bait him”  and am just as competitive as he is.  The only difference is . . . . I pout if I don’t win, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?

Just Showin’ Off

Posted on July 11, 2012 Updated on July 11, 2012

OK.  So the premise of this blog is to share the funny texts that my husband frequently sends me, the chirpy things my family says, stories, updates, blah, blah, blah, blah blahblahblah . . . . .and to “throw down” in the competition The Husband recently declared.  Ransom Notes vs. Hitler’s Socks (insert snicker and eye-rolling here).  I think we all know who the winner will be for Most Followers.  Funny thing is, I Googled Hitler’s Socks/ Michael Cheshire and I got nothin’.

Granted, he is busy writing his second book, painting the boy’s room, installing new carpet, rebricking our front walkway and preparing for a conference that he has been invited to speak at tomorrow all while I vacation with the Corzines in Texas.  Side note: He will be speaking right after Ruth Graham and before Paul Young, author of  The Shack.  His new friend, Ted Haggard invited him.

Yep.  I’m totally name dropping. Three times.

So here’s what I didn’t take into account when agreeing to this competition: my blog is dependent upon his wittiness and playful texts.  If he withholds his funny, I’ve got nothin’.  And while I’m not above making $#!+ up, I cannot match his humor.

Tomorrow I leave Texas and head home.  I am beyond thrilled that I was able to see friends that I have not seen in years. I enjoyed spending time with both my younger sister, Marlie and her little family and with my older brother, Philip and his family.  And as always, time with mom and dad is always special.  Not pictured below is Marlie’s husband, Andrew and their two boys Logan and Aaron.