Isn't it romantic?

A few months ago, Mr. Yardbird and I had a rare opportunity to go out on a date. I could give you a million reasons why that is, but it's not important.

My cousin, Sally offered to watch Ham for us and when the night rolled around we put real people clothes on, got in the car and sailed down the street.

The problem is, is that we had no idea where we were going.

Mr. Yardbird turned the corner and asked me where we were headed.

I gave him my best "beats me" shrug of the shoulders.

You see, we were both pretty beat, Mr. Yardbird working harder than anyone I know and me chasing a toddler around the house while simultaneously writing well-thought papers. It was exhausting.

Somehow neither of us had thought about it.

So after driving around for forty five minutes we chose a real expensive restaurant for lack of direction and hunger and because we had no idea what to do with ourselves.

The problem with real expensive restaurants is that nine times out of ten, Mr. Yardbird is going to get sick three bites into the meal.

But we'll get to that in a minute.

So anyway, we get to the restaurant which is on a quaint but sort of busy street and decide why not sit outside. What a view the outside had, this is after all a really kind of trendy area.

What we failed to realize was that it was only 6:45 pm of one of the hottest days of the year and the cement sidewalks don't technically cool until well after the sun goes down. And so, even in the evening hours, when the sun is tucked behind buildings or trees, it's about as hot as the holy moly outside.

But nonetheless, we tell our hostess, we want to sit outside and we get a 'what a bunch of morons' look which neither of us really notice.

"Isn't this nice," I asked Mr. Yardbird.

He nods his head and smiles at me, taking a sip of his Malbec wine.

Malbec wine isn't the kind of wine you want to drink when it's excruciatingly hot outside. No, its robust, heavy taste makes it by far a cold weather wine. But we weren't thinking and so beads of sweat are forming at our temples and above our mouths.

But that's okay because this is romantic.

And besides that nothing quite cools you off like a nice breeze. No not the wind. But the gust of wind that each passing car brings as it plows down this little street. The cars that - did I mention - are only three feet away and when they pass they just about take you away with them.

That's okay because the breeze or gust of wind, well,  it's sort of romantic too.

The waiter comes out and asks us what we would like. I'd tell you what we ordered but I haven't a clue. All I remember is that Mr. Yardbird and I couldn't decide on some oysters for an appetizer and just when we decided not to get them...

"and we'll start off with oysters." Mr. Yardbird told the waiter. So I shrugged my shoulders, he must have really wanted them.

And while we wait, we try to come up with conversation that doesn't involve work, or school or Ham. But just as soon as that starts...

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Mr. Yardbird and I turn and realize our loud humming source is the street light across the road. We turn back to each other and we smirk a little bit, because I think we sort of know the situation that we got ourselves in. So, we try our best to talk above the loud constant hum of the light.

And while we talk we casually wipe the sweat from our brows, and pull at our clothes that are sticking to us, and I don't know about Mr. Yardbird, but it takes everything in me not to stand up and slap my legs and arms like a lunatic, because well, it is after all mosquito season and the last I checked there had been some mosquitoes buzzing around with encephalitis. But who cares about that.

And just when we thought we were at our wits end, the waiter appears with our oysters and boy do they look delicious. So we break off our share and we begin eating. I hardly notice Mr. Yardbird, because the fried oysters are entirely too delicious but then I decide to look up and tell him I'm so glad he decided to get them.

But, Mr. Yardbird...he didn't look so good.

I look over at a pale Mr. Yardbird, slowly chewing his oh so good oysters.

"You don't look so good."

"I don't feel so good."

It could have been the constant gushes of city air, or loud almost, deafening sound of the street light, it could have been the oysters, or the fact that it felt like 102 degrees outside, it might have even been the onset of encephalitis or any combination of the above. What I did know is that pale look of his face was nothing to take lightly.

"Maybe you should go splash some water on your face." I say this because I know exactly where this is headed and I need to by us some time to get the heck out of there.

"You're right." And while he heads off to the bathroom. I motion the waiter over, tell him to box everything up including our food that hasn't come out yet and cork the wine. We're leaving. And being the nice waiter he was everything was set to go as soon as Mr. Yardbird reappeared.

"Let's go."

Whatever it was that was ailing Mr. Yardbird didn't seem to be bothering him the closer we got to the car. "We should go for a walk. I feel better."

But I didn't think we should take any chances.

He set the wine in the backseat and we drove home in the nice cool air conditioned car.

But a quick slam of the breaks and I hear a loud thump in the back seat.

"Was that the....?" "Did you put the...."

A turn my head and sure enough the wine has exploded all over the back seat.

I shake me head. I'm trying to keep my cool but I want to tell him, "To the moon, Mr. Yardbird." and shake my fist in the air, like Ralph from the honeymooners.

But, I don't and I say "let's go get some carpet cleaner."

And so instead of getting our facebook, power couple photo in front of the restaurant, we snapped this at wal-mart.

Good Ole Wal-Mart

When we pulled up at home, we were shocked to see a night heron walking in the street. I had been telling Mr. Yardbird all about these birds that looked real strange in the tree across the street. And if things didn't happen the way that they did, we wouldn't have spent the rest of the night sipping gin and tonics, googling and chasing a night heron down the street with Sally which turns out was ten times more fun then oysters, encephalitis and 102 degree heat.

Night Heron

Googling Night Herons

We need a new.....We need to do...

Just last week, Mr. Yardbird came home and in his typical fashion, replaced our filters, said his favorite phrase "we need a new ________" about sixteen thousand times to which I wearily nodded my head and thought yep, add that to the list of we needs, and showed me how to properly operate my not so broken vacuum cleaner.

"It's not sucking anything up." I said. I hoped this would turn the "we need a new vacuum" light on in his head.

It didn't. Why doesn't that work when I need it to?

"Did you try turning this nob?" He asked. He points down to the nob that says something like floor followed by an arrow and then I don't know....carpet. Whatever.

I admit, I hadn't thought of that. "No." I say flatly.

"Well, it works just fine when you do that." He runs the vacuum over the carpet and okay, so yes, it looks like it might actually be working.

"Well wait a minute. That's nothing." I disappear into the kitchen and come back with a hand full of crackers. I smash them into my fist and toss them in front of the vacuum. "See if it can take THAT...I mean, that's what we're dealing with here." I motion over to Ham who looks like this smash cracker thing is something I made up or something that Murphy does, but certainly not him.

Sure enough it works. My temperamental, won't work for me, vacuum, works just fine for Mr. Yardbird.

I hate you, vacuum.

And I'm sort of mad, because just a few weeks ago, I was so proud of myself for taking it all apart to fix the internal problem I thought it was having. I called Mr. Yardbird and told him. "Yep, I think I fixed it. Took the whole thing apart. And I put it back together, no problem. Yep, nothing to it."

What I didn't realize is that I hadn't really done anything internally to it. I opened it all up, said yep that's the inside of a vacuum, and put it all back together. And as I hung up with Mr. Yardbird I glanced over and saw three screws I somehow missed. Three screws I sure hope the vacuum doesn't miss. Needless to say I didn't fix it like I thought. I was forced to use the handheld vacuum for weeks.

But oh Mr. Yardbird turns a nob and *poof* it's like a brand new vacuum.

He has a way of getting things back on course.

And besides the attention he gave our vacuum, and our air filters, he decided we should also think about dusting the house from top to bottom. "I bought this new duster and I think we need to dust the whole house," he said.

I look at that cute little duster in his hand.

"Uh huh." I forced a smile. And thought...If only I could wave that thing around and it would throw Ham's toys in his toy bin, the books on the shelves and magically organize my pots and pans, if ever I could locate them all.

Then I look over at Ham and I think...Who the heck has time for dusting?

But besides the filters, the vacuum and his sudden interest in dusting, he noticed my potted plants in the front of the house were looking a little shabby and he thought maybe it wouldn't hurt to go pick out some new flowers from Home Depot.

"We also need some new flowers," he said.

My ears perked up. "Did you say flowers? I asked.  Seriously....hadn't he just said "we need a new broom, we need a new rug, we need a new bed, we need a new portable gas grill, we need a house with no dust, we need a new filter, we need floors that are insulated or a house that's not a hundred years old"....I'm sorry but I can't keep up with our need news and need to do's.

But flowers. Well I can do flowers.

So off to Home Depot we went.

We put a dazed, I need a nap real bad, Ham, in the cart and as Ham and I whirled around the isles of plants, I rubbed his little back and hummed a song to him. I've master the push the cart with one hand and hug my Hammy with other.

And as we wheeled around, Mr. Yardbird searched for the purple/blue flowers I wanted so bad and Ham snapped out of his daze for a minute, glanced up at me - smiled real big - I'm not sure if it was from the back rub or the song I was humming- reached up and kissed my face. It was one of those sort of melt your heart moments, that makes you realize, my kid really loves me.

Ham has a way of doing that a lot.

While Mr. Yardbird located my purple/blue flowers, I managed to pick out a few other flowers I am pretty sure we needed.

And we went home and opted for working in my potted plant garden instead of dusting, thank goodness. We'll save that for a rainy day. And I've decided since Mr. Yardbird and the vacuum get along soooo great, they can just continue their lovely relationship.

Because, I think we need a new.... vacuum pusher.

 Thanks, Mr. Yardbird.