Posted in Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Uncategorized | Posted on 19-01-2012

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Hubs and I got married waaay back when no one knew what a hanging chad was. We were lucky enough to go to the Greek Islands for our honeymoon. (Pre-Euro= cheap ouzo. Opa!) It was an amazing trip and we swore we’d go back for our 10th anniversary. Crazy kids. (That was two years ago….I think we got as far as Carrabba’s.)



Anyway, while we were vacationing near the equator, hubs teased me because I was slathering myself in buckets of sunblock….I literally massaged Coppertone all the way into my hairline. (It takes work to be this sexy. It really does. If he was hoping annulment at that point his face didn’t show it. )  I interrupted his teasing to remind him of my 100% proud Irish potato heritage. (I vacillate throughout the year between the color of flour, sugar, and pizza dough. I am? Job security for the field of dermatology. And beer distributors.) So I offer him some sunblock and he replies, “Um, no thanks…” (eyeroll) “I’m Italian!”

I reply, “Yeahhhh, you’re HALF Italian, you’re from Boston, and we’re near the equator, but it’s your party, dude!” Smarty McOliveGarden!

Fast forward to that night. My Good Fella is limping through the streets of Mykonos, fried yet shivering, whimpering in all his half Italian glory.

“I’ve never had a sunburn before.”

Welcome to my world, Homie. Welcome to my world.

I look at him, his demure bride of 4 days, my sun kissed pizza dough face glowing, and snicker, “E-qua-tor.” (Ok, it’s technically not even that close. At all. But in my defense Widipedia wasn’t even invented yet so how was I supposed to know? So maybe I took some creative license to make my point!)And, I might have added something about how he should probably listen to his smartypants wife in the future. He was too weak to reply. But I took his silence as his tacit agreement.

There have been a few million other times in our marriage that I’ve nagged. And a few times when he’s been astounded at my profound lack of common sense, mostly around cooking utensils. It’s worked, this thing we’ve got going. So fast forward 12 years, three kids, and two houses later. It’s our youngest’s three year old birthday. (Sobs!) I’m feeling sad he’s not a baby any longer, as evidenced by him managing to convince me to bake him a fire truck cake. The boy is seriously obsessed with all things firefighter. He was a firefighter for Halloween, watches Fireman Sam daily, and knocked my floor lamp down the other day shrieking, “This is my fire pole, mama!” 

 So….I didn’t want to attempt any Martha shenanigans with the cake, but I spent two and a half hours doing just that because he looked at me with those big brown eyes. (Mamas, you know the look!)I wanted to buy one, but I can’t because all the bakery ones say “may contain peanuts/tree nuts” and my boys are allergic. So I was left to my own nut free devices. By the time I finished it, I was sweating. It was kinda stressful! It took patience (I have none!), skillz (No, none!) and a steady hand (And…no.). When the thing was done, I was happy it kind of resembled the photo provided and swore to high heaven I’d never use the pan again.

 It was a crisp zero degrees in beautiful Southern New Hampshire on my boy’s birthday, and one of our small pipes wound up freezing in our basement playroom. So Hubs cut a hole, propped up my industrial strength, professional hair dryer (I know people) and retreated back upstairs. I said, “Hmm, I don’t know if that hair dryer thing is such a great idea, hun.” He mumbled something about being Italian insulating the pipe for next time, at which point I went on to attend to other pressing matters. (Food Network. Cheese and crackers. Adult beverage.)

A few minutes later we fix dinner for the kids and we’re all chatting about going bowling the next day (I kick ass with the bumpers up!) when I turn to him and say, “I smell smoke!”

He says, “I don’t smell anything!”


(I am a lot of things. Some good, some not so good. But dude, my Karl Malden nose rocks. Scents give me massive headaches. I have smell radar. The police should fire Fido and hire me for their sniffing assignments. I can even walk on two legs. Not to get all braggy.)

Hubs looks at me, blasts downstairs, yells, “Whoa! Fire! Dial 911!” By now the smoke is wafting up the stairs and it’s rancid. I push the fire button on our burglar alarm pad, throw coats on the kids, and we bolt outside. They are shoeless and it is zero, but the alternative is clearly worse and I’m worried about my oldest’s asthma to boot.

Hubs runs out a few minutes later and tells me he put the fire out—it was small— and gives me the key to his car and the kids and I pile in. Within a few minutes, my street is filled with cop cars, fire cars, and two firetrucks. The firefighters go in to see what’s what. They use a machine to make sure there are no embers in the walls that could have caused another fire later. My husband ap0logizes up and down for his hair dryer experiment and he said the firefighters tried to make him not feel like a dummy by relaying other, dumber things people have attempted. (So nice!) They said he did the right thing unplugging the hair dryer, throwing it out in the snow, and dousing the fire and that if he hadn’t done that, our house would have been up in flames by the time they got there.

Scary! So grateful we were all okay.

All the awesome firefighters stopped to say Happy Birthday (including a super cool woman—girl power!) to my little buddy and remarked on the irony of this happening on his big firefighter birthday. I said the theme was a little too played out for my taste! They let the boys go on the fire truck and invited us to stop by the station for a tour. Love them and I’m sure no one will ever forget this birthday! I told the fam I will make the fire truck cake ONE more time for the kind firefighters and we’d drop it off next weekend. 


Hubs wound up apologizing to the boys and me for the hair dryer stunt and I actually felt sorry for him because he felt so sorry. (We all make mistakes even me.)

But not sorry enough to stop from asking him, “Are you burnt? Do you need any sunblock?”

Hey, that flame was strong!


Comments (19)

Oh my gosh! So glad your house didn’t burn down!

But at least I got a laugh out of it. *grin*


So glad to hear everything is OK. I saw your tweet and was thinking of you


Thanks, Linda! It’s all fun and games when the house DOESN”T burn down and no one is hurt–so let’s have a laugh over it! Phew!


Thank you so much, Kelly! Disaster averted…very grateful. Definitely going to be more careful in the future!


Oh my gosh, that is hilarious! Not that a house fire is funny, but I’ve had days like that. As in trying to get my big girl panties on and build a fire in the wood stove. I ended up smoking out the house and catching the rug on fire. My hubby says that if it can be done, I end up doing it… with gusto.

The cake is lovely though and I am glad you are all a-ok!


Glad you huys are fine. I read to Adam I had tears in my eyes laughing so hard.


I know, right, @Alyson? When we try to start a fire in our chimnea, it’s just not that easy. Maybe I should just shoot the hair dryer at the kindling! Thanks and be careful! :)

@Meegs….I had a feeling you might relate, my sister in flour!


First…SO glad everything is ok and the fire didn’t spread. That would have been a seriously sucky situation!

Second…Oh My freaking God that was funny! As a half-Italian myself I completely relate to your husband. However, I have learned that I am fully capable of burning so I have come to love Coppertone.

And good job on the fire truck cake! You are WAY braver than me! I would have made a sheet cake and stuck a picture of a fire truck on it! :-)


Oh, Lily, I’m so glad you learned to embrace the Coppertone like my hubs, you crazy half Italian girl! :) Yes, so glad the house didn’t burn down–including when i was making that crazy cake!! And thanks…I thought of doing your plan but decided to go for it bc I took one, one hour cake decorating class a year ago and needed to woman up and try!!


You left out the most important part! Did he buy you a new hairdryer???


@Jeffe YES! HE did. I’m the proud owner of a new Conair. A phone call has been put in to my “people” about scoring another industrial one tho as my hair is thick and retains water like a sponge! If I dry my hair with the 9.99 Conair for much longer, the kids might have enough time to figure out how to burn the house down, know what i mean??????? Needless to say, I’ve been sporting a lot of hats this week!


Only YOU could make a house fire story so frickin’ HI-LARIOUS! By the way, my ITALIAN husband overheard me reading this and asked me “what’s so funny?” And as for those “other pressing matters”? I’ll be right over to assist you.


Thanks @Iris but I need to know…is he ALL Italian or HALF Italian and what are his thoughts on sunblock???? Step on up for your adult bev, girl. I was taught to share in the sandbox….you fly, I buy! :)


For someone who claims not to be talented that is a really amazing firetruck cake. I would have assumed it was store bought! Also, I’m sureit made your sons day that he got to see actual firefighters and go on a real firetruck. If you visit the station do you think they’ll let you slide down the pole?


The photo was purposely iphonishly fuzzy, but thank you! I took a one hour cake decorating class a year ago in case one of the kids ever asked for a “cool” cake. I learned two litttle tricks but that was about it—not a lot of skill–it’s more tedious work. He was totally psyched to see the firefighters. Our fire dept. is one story so no pole. Boo! Oh well! We still have our floor lamp. Gah!


Crikey! I am so glad you’re O.K.!
And hey, like I always say, at least you got a post outta it. :) a funny, funny post. Loved how you started out on your honeymoon. “Equator!”


@Dawn, not like I tried to hide my smartassishness during our engagement so he had time to turn and run if he didn’t want to hear about the equator!


Hahah, great story! Moral is: You’re always right. I’m surprised hubby didn’t try to claim he did it on purpose to make your son’s birthday extra special and firemanish (trying to one up your cake, perhaps?)


Mayor, I’m glad someone knows I’m always right! You might be the only one. :) Thanks for reading!


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