Tag Archives: dr. toy warden

Back to Reality

For the past semester, I have been extremely spoiled. Every morning, while I took a shower, my husband would come down and make breakfast for the kids. He would watch the younger kids in the house while I waited at the bus stop with Lily, and then he would drive Rose to school on his way to work. Every single day.

Basically, my mornings were hassle-free until preschool pick-up. I was so spoiled. I actually probably should have pitched in more, but I hate mornings SO MUCH, especially breakfast prep, and he never complained.

Since I’m married to a college instructor, every semester is a gamble when it comes to what my parenting support schedule will look like. My little idyllic morning ritual is OVER until at least May thanks to this semester’s early morning course load. Starting tomorrow, my husband will have left at least before the bus comes. So I’m in charge of most of the morning stuff. I’m not so sure about breakfast yet, but I’m for sure in charge of getting Lily on the bus (I’m required by the school system to wait outside with her) and dropping Rose off at preschool.

Man, this is going to be a shock to the system. I think I may go into withdrawal if I start having to make breakfast for the kids myself too.

Or maybe the kids will go into withdrawal. Their dad makes them some really elaborate breakfasts, and I hate to cook breakfast more than any other meal. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up at his level of morning amazingness. While I will definitely feed the kids, I’m not so sure they’ll be getting THREE hot items plus fruit on their plates when I’m in charge!

Gasp, they may even have cereal some days.

THE HORRORS.

Now, I know I can do this. I can get over being completely spoiled. I can get everyone to the right place by the right time and feed them too. Other moms do it with far less support for far longer periods of time far earlier in the morning.

But man, this first week of adjustment is going to SUCK.

It was fun while it lasted.

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Being a Good Sheep

It’s the Super Bowl tonight. I hate football, but my husband is a pretty big fan in non-conventional ways. He seems to prefer watching sports commentary to watching actual games. He has no favorite team but follows pretty much everything. He follows sports because he is interested in what sports show us about societal views of race and power. He keeps track of things like black NFL coaches and quarterbacks (they are rarer than you’d think) and Asian players of any professional sport and how their success is portrayed by the media.

Despite the fact that he follows football year round, my husband boycotts the Super Bowl. He says only sheep watch the Super Bowl. He gets angry because people who don’t watch football at all the rest of the year act like football is super important for one night a year. He won’t be a part of it, which is fine with me because like I said, I hate football. I wish we could as passionately not watch football the rest of the year as we do tonight.

Anyway, after declaring we were not going to be the type of sheep that watch the Super Bowl, my husband announced we WERE going to be the type of sheep that get pizza on Super Bowl Sunday.

I was excited. We don’t order pizza very often. All weekend long I’ve been looking forward to this pizza.

So imagine my surprise when we were at the grocery store today and my husband walks into the frozen pizza aisle and asks me which one I want to get for tonight.

I don’t think sheep eat frozen pizza on Super Bowl Sunday. I’m pretty sure that sheep order in pizza. I assumed when it was announced we were going to be having pizza that we would be having pizza from a restaurant.

Frozen pizza! On Super Bowl Sunday! The very idea!

I mean who says “And we’re going to have pizza!” with excitement and means frozen pizza? How disappointed would you be if someone was all “tomorrow we’re having pizza!” and then they pulled out a Red Baron?

It’s just not right!

Needless to say, I made sure we were real sheep tonight and we ordered the pizza from the GOOD pizza place– the local one that specializes in stuffed breadsticks and white sauce pizzas.

It was delicious and the perfect way to celebrate my not having to watch or hear football again for a while. Except for the stupid NFL draft. And stupid NFL Network. And stupid commentary on ESPN that seems to focus on football no matter what else is happening in the world of sports.

Actually football never stops, even when there is no actual football happening.

He would say the same thing about the “Friends” reruns I like to watch.

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Cursing

Lily and Rose have been visiting their grandparents for the weekend. It’s been nice to relax with just the baby, but my husband’s favorite part sort of cracks me up.

“It’s been great to be able to curse freely!”

He’s been cursing up a storm all weekend. I hadn’t even noticed. I’m not as good as he is at watching my language. If they hear it they hear it. If they say it, we’ll discuss why they shouldn’t. It’s not that big of a deal.

“It was especially nice to be able to swear as loud as I wanted while I was installing that curtain rod.” — Dr. Toy Warden

Perhaps we should send the kids to my parents’ house whenever Dr. Toy Warden is working on home improvement projects.

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I’m Apparently the Husband in This Joke

Dr. Toy Warden’s glasses have been broken for a long time. They had gotten to the point where the lens fell right out and there was no way to fix it ourselves. Dr. Toy Warden barely needs glasses, so it was no big deal except that his license says he’s supposed to be driving with glasses (his eye doctor said he could probably have that qualification removed because his correction is so minor).

Anyway, Dr. Toy Warden told me he was getting new glasses. He told me when he went to the eye doctor and I pushed for me to come along to help choose his new frames. We don’t really have childcare, so he turned down the potential circus that would happen when all five of us went to pick out new glasses. He picked out his own frames and told me when he was going to go pick them up. I was really worried about what he might have chosen because before we got together his glasses were ginormous and ugly and I hated them. I have picked out all his glasses for the last 8.5 years.

And then… nothing. I totally forgot about the new eyeglasses thing.

Until a week later when we were at the apple orchard and he was standing in the middle of a granny smith tree wearing glasses. The very brand new glasses he’d been wearing ALL week at times when he usually didn’t wear glasses to see how long it would take me to notice he had new glasses.

It took me a week to notice the glasses. I’m as bad as an inattentive sitcom husband who doesn’t notice his wife’s new haircut/glasses/dress.

The good news is he actually did a decent job picking out glasses all by himself! I’m impressed!

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Ice Cream Etiquette

Sometimes I think my husband was born on another planet, or at least another country. The other country part does have some basis because he was raised by South Korean immigrants and, thus, some of the typical American childhood experiences most of us assume everyone has had, he missed. For example, when we met, he’d never had a milkshake.

Ever.

And no, he didn’t have a food allergy. He’d just never had a milkshake. (I guess my kids haven’t had milkshakes yet either, but Lily has a dairy allergy. I must get some coconut milk ice cream and fix this.)

I didn’t realize until recently how poor his ice cream knowledge was. We took the girls for ice cream and dairy-free fruit freeze after a trip to the park (They are starting to expect this and demand it if we were planning it. Uh oh/yay.). I ordered a vanilla soft serve cone dipped in chocolate. It had been forever since I’d had one and it was extraordinary. Why have I been wasting my time with other ice creams when I can just order that? Oh, wait, because ALL ice cream is delicious.

Anyway, I was eating this ginormous cone (small, my ass. If that was small, a large must be as big as I am) and my husband turns to me and says “What is that? A sundae?”

I had to explain to my 41-year-old US-born husband that a sundae involves ice cream with toppings in a cup. What I was eating was a cone dipped in chocolate. Somehow in his 41 years of life he had never eaten one.

So I’m licking the cone, because that is how one eats ice cream in a cone, right? You lick it. He turns to me, disgusted, and says “Why do you eat your ice cream like a little kid?”

I asked how I was eating like a little kid. My cone was pretty messy and I had admittedly done some not so graceful work with my fingers/teeth to get the chocolate pieces off of it. I know it wasn’t the most elegant procedure, but the cone was huge and melting and the chocolate was falling off. There wasn’t much way around it, but was I being grosser than I realized?

“You keep licking it. Little kids lick ice cream cones. You are almost 33 years old and you are licking an ice cream cone like a kid!”

I was flabbergasted.

“I’m licking it because THAT’S HOW YOU EAT AN ICE CREAM CONE. How else am I supposed to be eating this thing?!”

He still doesn’t have a good answer for me. Perhaps this is why he eats his ice cream out of a bowl. Maybe he doesn’t even know how to lick an ice cream cone. I know for a fact he doesn’t eat a popsicle properly. He bites it like it’s a breadstick. My teeth hurt just watching him.

I just informed him that I was writing this and he claims that I was making shapes with the ice cream. You know what shapes I was making? The shapes that happen when you strategically lick around an ice cream cone to stop the drips.

That’s how most humans eat ice cream cones. At least in this country.

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I Only Threw Up a Little

Dr. Toy Warden, also known as The Berated Professor, has taken over potty training Rose because I’m utterly incompetent. It took me more than 2 years to potty train Lily and I couldn’t get a drop out of Rose on the toilet. I don’t think I have a good personality for potty training. I’m way too easily annoyed and the kids can tell even if I fake not being upset that they’ve had their millionth accident of the day.

I’m not sure what’s happened or how he did it, but after two days with Daddy Rose is doing much better with the potty and may even make it to preschool on time (2 1/2 more weeks!). Dr. Toy Warden may blog about how he did it later, but one moment of potty training will forever stick in my mind as a moment of comedy even though I wasn’t there to witness it.

Rose had two really bad poop accidents while in underwear early on. Apparently it made the hugest most disgusting mess Dr. Toy Warden has ever seen. Poop was all over the floor. He has a really wimpy gag reflex and still gags every time he changes a poopy diaper after FIVE years of having this duty. While diapers are pretty awful, I have never once gagged.

Dr. Toy Warden has a notoriously weak stomach. He was known for his vomiting exploits after running in college. When he runs a race, he always pukes afterward. He doesn’t think throwing up is a big deal. He goes to work with stomach flu and has actually neglected to tell me he’s sick with food poisoning or stomach flu in the past.

This is baffling to me because to me throwing up is pretty much the worst thing that can ever happen. I hate every single part of it. I always think I’m going to die when I’m vomiting.

Which is why it cracked me up when I learned that he threw up while taking care of one of Rose’s horrible accidents. My mom was in town visiting and both of us were horrified for him that the poop made him throw up. He didn’t even make it to the toilet. He threw up on the floor right next to the toilet. I haven’t not made it to the bathroom since I was a little kid.

“But I only threw up a little,” he said.

Throwing up “only a little” clearly makes the incident far less horrible somehow.

Whatever the case, it’s possible that the drama of seeing that her poop made Daddy throw up MAY have triggered Rose into putting her next poop in the potty. I suppose a little throw up was worth it if that’s what’s getting Rose potty trained, but I’m glad I’m not the one who had to make the deposit.

In fact, I’m “not allowed” to potty train anymore. Dr. Toy Warden will be potty training Violet. Man, am I ever disappointed.

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18 Anniversaries

It’s my husband and my 18th anniversary. Sort of.

We were married three times 6 years ago, so we somewhat celebrate our anniversary three times a year. This year “all” we gave each other was a new baby, but we go out to eat three times.

How do you get married three times to the same person without getting divorced? It is possible. We actually got married by a justice of the peace about 6 weeks prior to our scheduled wedding so that I could get on his health insurance after I quit my job to relocate to be with him.

Then we wanted to honor both of our cultural backgrounds. Dr. Toy Warden is Korean. I am Jewish. The cultures require very different wedding outfits and I didn’t want to stop mid-wedding for a costume change. We had a traditional Korean wedding ceremony the night before our Jewish ceremony.

The Jewish ceremony was 6 years ago today.

And so, it’s our 18th wedding anniversary in 6 years.

No wonder we look so much older now than we do in the wedding pictures (or having 3 kids in 5 years may have something to do with it!).

Happy anniversary to my amazing husband.

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Aladdin Revelation

Dr. Toy Warden: Who does Princess Jasmine marry anyway?

Me: Um, Aladdin. That’s sort of the point.

Dr. Toy Warden: For the longest time I thought Aladdin was the name of the genie.

Me: What?! Why would you think THAT?

Dr. Toy Warden: Whenever I saw a poster or a promo for Aladdin, all it showed was a picture of the genie.

Me: When did you figure out Aladdin was the BOY and not the genie?

Dr. Toy Warden: Last week.

Is this a man thing? Or is my husband really out of it? Or a little of both?

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