Anyone that knows me well knows I love money. My father-in-law jokes that I probably have the first dollar I ever made. My grandmother tells me to, "Stop being a miser and take your husband out to dinner!" How's that for old-fashioned?
Poor Nick...I make him eat leftovers, I shop generic and I love a great deal. I was ecstatic when I found four blade disposable razors for Nick to try. They were $4 for 8 of them instead of $9 for 1 with two cartridges...my penny pinching self was over the moon.
When Nick opened his drawer in the bathroom he said, "Thanks for picking up razors. I was running low. Where did you find these?" I paused and said, "I hope you like them. I got a great deal."
I could see the skepticism. The thoughts running through his mind. Great my wife "got a deal" again.
Now don't judge me! They didn't fall of a truck. I didn't find them in the clearance bin. I didn't pick them up at a sketchy, everything is slightly lopsided dollar store.
I assured him that they were four blade they had to be good. The next day was time for a shave. He got himself all situated and ready to go. He grabbed the new FOUR BLADE razor out of the package and got to work removing all remnants of that five o'clock shadow.
I love the feel of his face and the smell of his aftershave after he's freshly shaven. What can I say? That baby face is incredibly sexy. But as he walked out of the bathroom I saw the results of my great deal. Tiny bits of tissue paper stuck on my blots of blood were strewn across his face.
His eyes were not accusatory. I felt guilty beyond belief. I of course was not the one who shaved his face, however I did supply the weapon.
He looked sad. He looked worried. All I could think of was I should really know his blood type for moments like this.
I couldn't help but crack a smile at the look on his face. I apologized profusely. Nick asked with the meekest voice, "I know they were a good deal, but you think we could just toss them and stick to the ones that work pleeeeaaaasssseeee?"
Poor Nick....he had to sacrifice his face for $5. His scabbed face made him look like a recent chicken pox victim.
But I gained more than $5 in my pocket...I got some pretty good razors for my legs!
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
5.26.2011
5.23.2011
Deep rooted hatred.
We've lived in our townhome for nearly nine months (something about nine months always makes me shudder). We've painted the entire house, decorated and accessorized just about every nook and cranny.
I thought for sure we'd have more arguments about making our house a home. It's bound to happen somewhere between paint samples, throw pillows and pillar candles and creating the ideal man cave. Thankfully, we've made it through that process with all appendages still intact.
Now we're on to landscaping. We have a private courtyard and a modest backyard to make all our own. I hate making choices and now I have to choose grass seed or sod, white diamond rock or mulch, perennials or annuals, flowers or bushes...ugh.
It's exciting to complete another layer to our house. To say, "I did that". Or at the very least, "Nick did that and I did a fabulous job supervising."
Our neighbors recently hired a landscape company to redo their entire frontyard, driveway paver stone, courtyard, etc. So I thought we could borrow a few ideas and do it ourselves.
I guess that comes from being a cliche woman who loves HGTV and DIY Network. Anytime Nick walks into our family room and one of those channels is on I see the look of terror on his face, "What is she going to have us do now?"
After discussing a few things we liked Nick decided he'd get started one day while I was at work. While I'm sure he wanted to get a head start, part of me has an inkling that says he was avoiding being "supervised".
He removed the old, ugly, pinky-coral colored rock from the pathway and then decided to make a gametime decision. See there were (note: past tense) these hostas planted along the pathway. While they were probably a good idea at the time they were planted they grew of course. And they grew and they grew and they grew. They practically took over the pathway through our courtyard and left about six inches worth of clear walking space. If you veered from that path you were guaranteed to have to trudge through what felt like a jungle along your feet.
I had said how hostas were such a hearty plant they would make a great filler in our backyard. Nick had some deep rooted (no pun intended) hatred for those hostas and said he just wanted them gone.
We went back and forth, back and forth about what to do with the plants. Dig them up and pitch them? Dig them up and donate them? Dig them up and transplant them? Again - choices to be made.
I thought we had decided we would put them in the backyard. I came home to a clear pathway prepped for solar lights and new rock. The pile of old rock was left to be picked up...but the hostas were nowhere to be found.
I was excited to get them planted in the backyard. Add some greenery to a blase landscape. When I asked where they were Nick looked coy and claimed he didn't know. He changed the subject quickly and went about his business. I knew something was up.
The mystery of the disappearing hostas baffled me for a few days until I made my way into the garage to take out the recycling. As I walked over to the recycling container I saw it - a weak, limp little hosta leaf poking out of the garbage can. I peered over the edge I saw the damage and the landscaping inhumanity! He mutilated those poor hostas! The hostas were torn to bits leaving no chance for a transplant.
Determined to have not a single hosta in his landscaping plan, my husband took matters into his own hands. He was determined to have his way. He would stop at nothing. Now I have to live with my husband - the plant killer.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
I thought for sure we'd have more arguments about making our house a home. It's bound to happen somewhere between paint samples, throw pillows and pillar candles and creating the ideal man cave. Thankfully, we've made it through that process with all appendages still intact.
Now we're on to landscaping. We have a private courtyard and a modest backyard to make all our own. I hate making choices and now I have to choose grass seed or sod, white diamond rock or mulch, perennials or annuals, flowers or bushes...ugh.
It's exciting to complete another layer to our house. To say, "I did that". Or at the very least, "Nick did that and I did a fabulous job supervising."
Our neighbors recently hired a landscape company to redo their entire frontyard, driveway paver stone, courtyard, etc. So I thought we could borrow a few ideas and do it ourselves.
I guess that comes from being a cliche woman who loves HGTV and DIY Network. Anytime Nick walks into our family room and one of those channels is on I see the look of terror on his face, "What is she going to have us do now?"
After discussing a few things we liked Nick decided he'd get started one day while I was at work. While I'm sure he wanted to get a head start, part of me has an inkling that says he was avoiding being "supervised".
He removed the old, ugly, pinky-coral colored rock from the pathway and then decided to make a gametime decision. See there were (note: past tense) these hostas planted along the pathway. While they were probably a good idea at the time they were planted they grew of course. And they grew and they grew and they grew. They practically took over the pathway through our courtyard and left about six inches worth of clear walking space. If you veered from that path you were guaranteed to have to trudge through what felt like a jungle along your feet.
I had said how hostas were such a hearty plant they would make a great filler in our backyard. Nick had some deep rooted (no pun intended) hatred for those hostas and said he just wanted them gone.
We went back and forth, back and forth about what to do with the plants. Dig them up and pitch them? Dig them up and donate them? Dig them up and transplant them? Again - choices to be made.
I thought we had decided we would put them in the backyard. I came home to a clear pathway prepped for solar lights and new rock. The pile of old rock was left to be picked up...but the hostas were nowhere to be found.
I was excited to get them planted in the backyard. Add some greenery to a blase landscape. When I asked where they were Nick looked coy and claimed he didn't know. He changed the subject quickly and went about his business. I knew something was up.
The mystery of the disappearing hostas baffled me for a few days until I made my way into the garage to take out the recycling. As I walked over to the recycling container I saw it - a weak, limp little hosta leaf poking out of the garbage can. I peered over the edge I saw the damage and the landscaping inhumanity! He mutilated those poor hostas! The hostas were torn to bits leaving no chance for a transplant.
Determined to have not a single hosta in his landscaping plan, my husband took matters into his own hands. He was determined to have his way. He would stop at nothing. Now I have to live with my husband - the plant killer.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
5.18.2011
Seven year itch
[If you're not a hopeless romantic do not proceed to read this article]
Sometimes it's hard to wrap my mind around...Nick and I have been together for seven years.
When we started dating we had our driver's licenses for a year. We were trying to decide what colleges to go to. My biggest concern at the time was whether or not he'd make a fun prom date. I wasn't looking for a potential husband that's for sure.
And somehow seven years have flown by. People may think it's crazy to be with someone so long when you're only in your mid-twenties. My response is it's not for everyone. Not everyone can handle literally growing up then growing old with someone. I consider myself lucky.
We haven't missed out on life, but enhanced each others. We've experienced our fair share of challenges, heartaches and disappointments. But it's what you do in those moments and in those tests that make all the difference.
We're at a time technically we're suppose to be experiencing the "seven year itch"...I know it's a little difficult to have when you're a newlywed, but I have to say I've never felt closer to him.
We talk more. Laugh more. Cry more. (eh and other things more).
But the one thing I love the most is that we're still learning about each other. There's so much to discover. I know we have a lot more growing up to do.
My itch is to enjoy this adventure of life together even more than we already have. Challenge each other. Try new things. And most of all don't get comfortable in the norm. Have a routine, but mix it up from time to time. Dare to be a different type of couple.
With Nick, forever isn't long enough.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
Sometimes it's hard to wrap my mind around...Nick and I have been together for seven years.
When we started dating we had our driver's licenses for a year. We were trying to decide what colleges to go to. My biggest concern at the time was whether or not he'd make a fun prom date. I wasn't looking for a potential husband that's for sure.
And somehow seven years have flown by. People may think it's crazy to be with someone so long when you're only in your mid-twenties. My response is it's not for everyone. Not everyone can handle literally growing up then growing old with someone. I consider myself lucky.
We haven't missed out on life, but enhanced each others. We've experienced our fair share of challenges, heartaches and disappointments. But it's what you do in those moments and in those tests that make all the difference.
We're at a time technically we're suppose to be experiencing the "seven year itch"...I know it's a little difficult to have when you're a newlywed, but I have to say I've never felt closer to him.
We talk more. Laugh more. Cry more. (eh and other things more).
But the one thing I love the most is that we're still learning about each other. There's so much to discover. I know we have a lot more growing up to do.
My itch is to enjoy this adventure of life together even more than we already have. Challenge each other. Try new things. And most of all don't get comfortable in the norm. Have a routine, but mix it up from time to time. Dare to be a different type of couple.
With Nick, forever isn't long enough.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
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