Rules For He, But Not For Me

Time to vent again. It's more of the same. Mrs. HM is tired of having one set of rules while Farmer H makes his own as he goes along. While usually I slowly simmer, today my angst has boiled over. The papercut on my left ring finger second knuckle incurred while stuffing the Lowe's payment in the envelope was the tipping point.

I was paying bills, specifically the Lowe's bill, which is hard to decipher because of how they space the itemizations. Turns out NONE of this $964 bill was for anything related to our flip houses or household  or Farmer H's SUS2.5. Nope. It was for materials Farmer H used to renovate one of the senior apartments. Now I have to wait on the reimbursement check, and make sure Farmer H deposits it in our checking account. Oh, and I just found out he is being paid EXTRA money above his more-than-$300 a month salary. 

I don't begrudge Farmer H working extra for extra money. HOWEVER... from the beginning, as a married couple, filing taxes jointly, all salaries and monies have gone into our joint accounts. Then Farmer H started his business, and decided all that was HIS money. Despite what my mom bequeathed me being OUR money. It should be one or the other. It's all ours, or we each have some separate. It's not that I NEED my own money. Just that fair for one should be fair for the other. 

I know Farmer H does all the work on the flip houses and doesn't charge "us" a fee for his labor. And the proceeds are split equally. But I also do uncompensated work, like the finances and taxes and waiting on him hand and foot, and pay the bills for his business without even a thank you. I resent that Farmer H feels entitled to have his separate money. Which is mainly fed into hoarding merchandise for his SUS2.5. Which certainly doesn't need THREE storage units for which he pays rent and electricity. Eventually, he will probably control the entire flea market!

Still, I don't need anything which I can't afford. It's not like Farmer H is spending it all on casinos and strippers and vacations. The idea of only separate funds for him is what rankles me.

When paying our lone credit card that we use for household expenses occasionally, I saw three charges to Casey's. This usually means GAS. Unless we order pizza there, which we haven't in several months.

"Hey! I see three charges to Casey's on this credit card bill. I didn't know we were paying for your gas. That's why we have our weekly cash allowances."

"I don't charge my gas to us, HM! I drive my truck all the time doing things for us and don't charge the gas. Them was when we went to the casino. In the Acadia. And when I went to the doctor. And for lawnmower gas."

"In SPARTA, ILLINOIS???"

"What? Oh. Um. I forgot to put gas in my truck before I went to Illinois. So I had to get some there."

Sure. And he had to use the credit card? Instead of the cash he always carries around? I'm not buying it. Farmer H knew exactly what he was doing. Scamming gas out of OUR money, on a trip to buy stuff for his business. I guess he doesn't know that the location of the Casey's comes up on the bill.

"Well, YOU owe US $45.85 for gas."

Am I being petty? Probably. But if a man has his own money from his business and side jobs, I think he should use it for expenses related to his business and side jobs. 

The Baby-Stepper Seems To Have Hit His Stride

Just when I think slow progress is being made in the kitchen-training of Farmer H... I am slapped in the face by reality. In this most recent case, I was slapped with liver and cornbread. From the Liver and Onion dinner Farmer H brought us home from the Senior Center.

He was too full of lunch to eat his dinner that night, when I was ready to warm it. So his was saved for the next evening. It was a warm day, and Farmer H was out on the porch with Jack and Pepper. It was only 4:00. He usually eats around 5:30 or 6:00. I was planning to change clothes and sit down with my scratchers. 

"I guess you're okay to warm up your own supper when you're ready?"

"Uh. Yeah. I guess so."

The look on Farmer H's face showed that he felt put-upon by my assumption. Too bad, so sad. He's an adult. Capable of putting food from a container in FRIG II onto a plate to microwave. It's not like I asked him to prepare a 7-course gourmet feast. If he'd been ready to eat right then, I would have put his liver in the oven to warm up while I was changing clothes, before sitting down with my scratchers routine. It doesn't disrupt my schedule when I do it while squeezing the lime for my Shasta Zero Sugar Cola.

When I came out of the bathroom in my Mansion clothes, Farmer H was in the kitchen warming his food. At 4:30!

I suppose that timing was meant to make me feel guilty. I didn't. I had taken the container out of FRIG II, and it was open on the stove. His blue plastic plate with three sections was right beside it. All he had to do was put the food on the plate, and lift it into the microwave. Which he did. Seemingly without incident.

Later, he brought the plate back to the kitchen, along with the styrofoam container that had held a large slice of lemon meringue pie. Farmer H used his knife to cut the lid off the container, so it would stack under the bottom, and take up less space in the wastebasket. I was proud of this baby step. He remembered the trash protocol. 

"Don't you run crumbs into the sink drain!"

"I KNOW, HM. I'm not."

I lost interest then, and went back to my scratching. It was later that I saw the aftermath.

Farmer H had set his plate beside the sink with mashed potato residue in one section, a piece of zucchini from the breaded tomatoes in one section, and the main section littered with crumbly moist flour particles from the liver. He had not even shaken that plate against the sides of the wastebasket, nor used his paper towel to wipe it out. He KNOWS that's how a plate should be returned to the kitchen.

But wait! The cutting block was covered with cornbread crumbs! Because Farmer H had cut the two cornbread squares in half on its surface. Not over a plate. Not on a paper towel. Just left them there, like the cutting block surface was self-cleaning.

I hollered at him about the plate.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No. You're not at all sorry. If you're really sorry, you'll clean up this cornbread mess you left on the cutting block!"

Which of course he did not. It was still there after he went to bed. Even though he'd been through the kitchen again, to take one of MY little Drumsticks from the laundry room freezer, despite his slice of pie, and having his own regular Drumsticks well-stocked.

I sense a backslide coming on.

Pepper Gets Jack-ed

Jack can be an ornery little cus. He's not a bad dog. He's just smart enough to get his way. Especially now that new puppy Pepper is loose. Pepper torments Jack by jumping on him. His favorite move is to wrap his front legs around Jack's head, in a headlock. And hang on, while Jack walks away, resigned, dragging Pepper along for a ride.

Pepper almost knocked Jack off the side porch the other day. Which is quite a feat, what with Jack being so low to the ground, and a bit... ahem... portly right now, due to Farmer H's overfeeding. We'll get to that in a moment.

I can't get a good picture of Pepper because he's so bouncy. He leaps like a sheep sometimes. He's full of puppy energy. Farmer H captured a photo on March 9. Back before Pepper was allowed loose all the time. And when he was not eating anything but his special packets of puppy food. 

It helped Farmer H that Pepper had ventured over to Shackytown Boulevard, and was tired out from an hour of play, and ready for a nap. Of course this is a zoom-in on Farmer H's original photo, which showed a whole lot of the Mansion grounds, and little bitty Pepper in the center.

Anyhoo... the point is that when they greet me as I return from town, it's hard for Jack to get petted, because Pepper jumps all over him. Pepper himself has fallen off the side porch a couple times, in his hyper excitement.

The other day, Jack just walked off towards the kitchen. I thought he might be going to get a drink, and come back to meet me as I got to the kitchen door to dole out treats. But no. Jack came walking back. He had an empty plastic water bottle in his mouth. He stopped over behind the metal chair on the side porch where Farmer H sits to wait for me to get home with groceries. 

Jack dropped the water bottle, and looked at Pepper. "Oh, sweet. They're going to play." I thought. But no. Pepper gallumped over to the water bottle, and Jack sidestepped him and came to me for uninterrupted petting. He's a clever one, I tell you!

Last week was warm. Farmer H was always sitting on the side porch when I got home. He started a habit of feeding the dogs in a big metal pan. Pepper is now eating a can of moist food these days, as well as his pouch food, which he gets in the morning. I was there to see Farmer H's feeding technique. It's not very efficient!

Farmer H pulls the lid off a can of food. Rather than turning it upside down and shaking until it falls out in a blob, he holds the big metal pan in the left hand, and with the right hand he whacks the open can on the rim of the pan. The can is at a 45-degree angle at best. Sometimes it's parallel to the ground! I don't know how Farmer H expects gravity to assist him with this technique. It takes 15 or more whacks to get that log of dog food to plop out into the pan.

Farmer H sat down and put the pan at his feet. Pepper rushed over to start gobbling the food he previously distained. Jack stood back behind the chair, watching.

"I give Pepper a can of food first. He eats it all! Then I open another can, and Pepper eats what he wants. Then Jack finishes it."

Indeed. Jack was quite the gentleman. Not crowding in. Just watching, biding his time. The second can got stuck. Half plopped out, then the other half. Pepper nibbled away at one of the lumps. Then he left the pan and came to me to bite my wrist be petted.

Jack walked calmly to the food pan. How polite! Just taking his turn now. But wait! Jack picked up the half-log of dog food in his mouth, and trotted back behind Farmer H's chair to drop it on the porch and start eating. Pepper went back and started licking the crumbs left from his already-eaten portion.

Jack is nobody's fool!

Pepper Can Now Be Himself At The Vet

Little puppy Pepper had his second vet visit on Monday. It was for a second round of shots. In the three weeks since his last visit, Pepper has gained 3.8 pounds. So he's eating better now! Most of that weight seems to me to be LEGS! Of course, I'm used to seeing Jack, with his short half-dachshund legs. Pepper is now as tall as Jack, even though he's just 11 weeks old.

Anyhoo... Farmer H put a leash on Pepper's collar. Walked him around the front yard a bit before they left, with no problems. He had a big wire carrier that he used to contain Pepper in SilverRedO. It was the one Scarlett came here in, I think. The small plastic carrier is the size you might use for a cat, and Pepper wouldn't fit. I imagine he could have been crammed in, but he wouldn't be able to stand.

Farmer H said Pepper did not like the carrier at all! That he HOWLED all the way to the vet. Which is thankfully less than five miles away. Little Pepper has quite a howl. I'm thinking there IS some beagle in him. Jack does not have such a howl.

At the vet, Pepper did not want to go with the technician to the exam room. Farmer H did not describe this specifically, but I imagine Pepper being pulled across a slick floor by his leash, much like a water-skier.

Farmer H had strict instructions to ask the vet personnel why Pepper's description on the paperwork from the first appointment was:

Canine - German Shepherd Mix - M - N/A

Farmer H did his job. Because the papers from the second visit said:

Canine - Blue Heeler Mix - M - Blue/Red

Apparently the end of that description is for color. So I'm guessing when Farmer H called to make the first appointment, he might have messed up by saying Pepper was a German Shepherd mix. Or the appointment-maker was looking at a German Shepherd while taking the call. In any case, the file for Pepper was created without seeing him.

Anyhoo... Pepper is certainly spotted, in the color of a Blue Heeler, but with the orangy freckles of a beagle, or Jack's Red Heeler colored spots on his legs. I gotta say, he's a cute little thing.

There's Pepper, two weeks ago, on the front porch with a bone he found. Good thing Jack wasn't there to see it! Jack was down behind the house, looking for his possum.

Anyhoo... Pepper's next appointment is April 22. And the next one, for his very special operation, is May 14. He has to be there before 8:00, and will spend the day. I wonder if he will have a cone head when he comes home.

This Behavior Is Only Logical For One Person

You'd think I'm the only person in this Mansion who knows my way around the kitchen. You'd be mostly right. Sometimes, Farmer H gives the impression he might be almost competent, but then the illusion falls apart.

Farmer H got a dozen fresh eggs from one of his customers at the SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). He kept forgetting to bring them home. I think it was four or five days. When he finally remembered, he decided to have eggs for supper. I will boil eggs or scramble eggs, but I don't FRY eggs. I don't like them that way, and I don't cook them that way.

Farmer H said he was going to have ham and eggs. I had offered to scramble (but leave them in a solid piece), and make him a ham, egg, and cheese McMuffin. Farmer H said no, that he'd fry his own ham and eggs, because he wanted the runny yolk, and put them on a slice of bread, to eat with a fork.

That was fine. I was scratching my lottery tickets at the kitchen table when he began. He fried the ham. Then added oil to the pan for his eggs. I resisted complaining when he whacked those 3 eggs on the side of my small non-stick skillet for about 10 times each. It's not a cast-iron skillet! Just a flimsy thin pan. He would have been better off cracking the eggs against the edge of the counter.

I DID question how he was getting his eggs from skillet to plate, which was on the cutting block. I'd seen him balance each slice of ham on the spatula, and walk it over to the cutting block. I sure didn't want him walking drippy eggs across the kitchen floor. He haughtily replied that he would carry the pan over to the cutting block. I'm still waiting to see if my floor starts collecting dirt on any drippings that might have dropped from the edge of the pan as he tilted it to scrape out his eggs.

Anyhoo... with his supper completed, Farmer H opened FRIG II to reach for a Diet Mountain Dew. He instead picked up a mini jug of milk that I'd gotten to make his generic Hamburger Helper with added mushrooms a while back.

"Are you doing anything with this milk?"

"Um. No. It's expired. I keep forgetting to take it out when I bag up the trash around 10:30 at night."

"Oh. It says 3-6. I was thinking that was March-26."

And with that, Farmer H PUT THE EXPIRED MILK BACK IN FRIG II!!!

It's one thing to keep forgetting to pour it out because you don't remember to check FRIG II when bagging the trash. It's another thing entirely to be told that it's expired, and PUT IT RIGHT BACK IN FRIG II.

I guess throwing out milk is a job only I can do. Like washing his dirty egg skillet.

How Sweet Is THIS?

It's always nice to get a surprise in the mail. Or by UPS or FedEx. Farmer H was sitting on the porch supervising Pepper and Jack on Thursday evening. I had just sat down with my scratchers, after a busy Errand Day that included the closing on Lap House, our newest flip purchase. Farmer H barged through the kitchen door.

"This package just came for you. I don't know what it is."

Well. Of course not. Why would Farmer H know what a package was? Unless it's something he made me order for his business, the occasional ordering of items is not shared with him until I'm expecting it. In case it might get left by the garage, or on the porch, where Farmer H will be the first to see it. Or delivered to the lock boxes down on Mailbox Row, in which case Farmer H should be watching for a key in EmBee to get it out.

I did not know what this package could be, either. Once I removed it from the shipping envelope, I knew exactly the source, even before reading the enclosed card.

LADYBUGS! In the form of chocolate! I knew right away that this was the work of my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel! She knows what ladybugs mean to me. And she's a very caring and gifty person.

THANK YOU, MABEL! I ate a bug last night, and it was delicious.

False Hope Addendum

After talking to a real live person at the Wound Care Clinic about my proposed referral... 

I was not overly optimistic about a timely solution to this issue. It was, after all, 1:30 on a Friday afternoon. My situation was not an emergency. I figured it would be next week before I heard anything.

I laid down for my 20-minute nap at 2:30. I took a shower to get ready for town. As I was getting dressed, I heard my phone sitting by the bathroom sink. Huh. I had an email saying there was a new message in YourChart!

Well. That was speedy. I wondered if they were giving me a time for an appointment with Physical Therapy, and to respond if the date didn't work for me. Normally, I would wait until back from town, with Farmer H's supper done, before getting on HIPPIE to log into YourChart. But what if they wanted me to call? It was 3:35. I could still catch them before they closed at 4:00.

I turned on HIPPIE and logged in.

"This is a reminder to schedule your mammogram appointment."

Ooh! That's a dirty trick! Getting my hopes up for this reminder that I'd had a few months ago, but pointedly ignored because I am not exactly mobile these days, and don't feel like gimping around on non-urgent trips unless they involve scratchers, casino, or groceries. I am not feeling like hobbling through the hospital on my bum knee, making Farmer H take time off from his busy schedule to drive me and drop me off at the door.

But wait! While reading that reminder and feeling tricked, another email came in at 3:38. Oh. This must be about my PT appointment, right?

WRONG!

"You have a new statement."

PAY BILL

WHAT? I never had an old statement. I pay my co-pay when I'm at the appointments. How dare they charge me because SOMEBODY at the Wound Care Clinic had to call my NP to verify a referral for my lymphedema intervention because one of those two offices messed something up!

Then I figured out how to read the details of that statement. It was from my orthopedist appointment on March 5. For the x-rays. Insurance had been billed $800, and my part remaining was now $48.51. I paid it with my debit while I was already in YourChart. 

I guess these two "sudden" notices in YourChart was one way of punishing me for being DIFFICULT!

Meanwhile, I am on the edge of my seat, awaiting a call from Physical Therapy to make an appointment.