Frampton and Chocolate

My dear, dear Husband and his father are so much alike in some ways it can be pretty scary. I mean I love his Dad so it isn’t an insult. More like some sort of surprise. His Dad once handed me a community college ID card and watched me turn to my Husband and ask when did you attend (blank) college? We had met in community college and I assumed I would know that he had attended there. Husband said, “I didn’t” about the time I note the year on the card and turn back to my F-I-L with a “this is you?!” Well it was and now I have a pretty clear picture of what my Husband may look like in 30 years. They looked that similar at 18.

They are also alike in a few other ways. They both go “HUH?” because they aren’t listening (or heard what you said but feel compelled to say it anyway). They both will consider putting something into a sandwich that I would not consider sandwich material. Both are fools for babies and little kids. He also got his kind heart and his sensitive nature from his Dad. Both are not easily angered at all but you better watch out when you get that far. He Dad passed on his love of classic rock and old cars. His Dad also loves to mess with and build stuff a hobby that my Husband shares. I recently found out they are both partial to clipping toenails and fingernails and leaving them in little gross nail graveyards until someone comes by and starts screaming, “are you freaking kidding me?” This is a line that the MIL and I share.

So all of this to tell you that my Husband and his Dad can both also be distracted; sometimes fairly easily.

For the past two weekends my in-laws have come over to help us paint the interior of our house. It has existed in its white expanse for more than 2 years and with a baby on the way apparently I decided that it needed to look like we lived there. My MIL was thrilled. She loves to paint, plant, demolish, and decorate. She also is Southern, loves sweet tea, Drag Races, and trucks. She is great, but I digress. Anyway the first weekend goes great. We paint the kitchen (two different colors), the front bathroom, living room, and the eating area. In fact my MIL balanced herself with two toes clinging for dear life on the top of my kitchen cabinets and the other foot firmly rooted to an extension ladder with a paint roller in her hand like a cartoon spider to get the two walls I wanted in my vaulted ceiling kitchen blue. Aren’t I a lucky girl?

So the second weekend the painting project is winding down. We are down to the hallway (a T), entry way, second coat on bathroom, and nursery. MIL goes to town on the front bathroom, Husband and his Dad start on hall (FIL on edging and H on rolling), and me cleaning house. We are all just happy go lucky painting away listening to the stereo system we have pumping though the house; which is, of course, tuned into our local classic rock station. All of a sudden we hear a “shit, shit, shit!!” At which point we all come running (the picture of MIL on the ladder trying to give me a heart attack from the week before still clear in my head) to see what the heck is going on. FIL is standing in the hallway saying “now umm you wanted the ceiling painted too right?” Husband says, “no why Dad.” We all go around the corner to see that FIL went way zealous and started totally painting the ceiling of the hallway grey. He starts to explain by saying that he was up on his ladder listening to the song just painting away and he didn’t realize. So Husband says, “Your telling I have a grey ceiling because you were rocking out to Frampton?” My poor FIL we all have a pretty good laugh at his expense. My Husband keeps shaking his head at him the whole rest of the day and saying “Frampton huh?”

Now in an effort to be fair…my Husband can’t seem to focus when he is eating chocolate anymore. I mean a few weeks ago we were having fudge bars after dinner and he ends up having this star burst of speckles all over the front of his undershirt in chocolate. How a man of that age can get chocolate all over himself is just well he clearly must have been distracted. Fast forward to the night before last… I have myself a drumstick (baby likes ice cream- doctor not so much) and he has a choco taco. About an hour later we get off the couch to go and get ready for bed and I see this huge (what I think is) new freckle on his ankle. Upon closer inspection it is, of course, melted chocolate from his ice cream bar. Once we get to the bathroom he notes that it is on the opposite ankle as well suggesting that he rubbed his ankles together. To you know further distribute the chocolate. I bring up the fudge bar incident and laugh pointedly at him. I know what a nice wife right? I never vowed not to laugh at him. Anyway his response is “hey you know it runs in my family…Dad has Frampton, I have chocolate.” Which alas I suppose is true. I mean the man talks about Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake like a pregnant woman.