Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Who Does What at the Craig House Part 2

Okay, I told you guys that I was going to do more job allocations this week. Maybe you have all had a chance to think about some of your own job titles.


This is a rather new job in the Craig household. It was just brought to my attention last week. I’m in my office, probably either writing a blog or a novel, and I hear hubby yell out. “Baby, you gotta come see this!” Although, that is one of his favorite “come on” lines, this wasn’t about sex. I met him in the kitchen and he held out his arm for my inspection. Now, it’s a nice arm, but I’m not overly impressed until I see the little pea-size fuzz ball moving up his forearm.

I lean in to check out the moving fuzz ball and hubby asks, “What is it?”

I look up at him and then down at the traveling wooly insect and I say, “I don’t know, but it appears to have a tiny stinger coming out of its little fuzzy butt and if I was you, I’d get it off now.”

Hubby, thinking he’s just discovered some new species, says, “But it’s so cute.”

A second later, it stopped being so cute, when the “Fuzzy SOB” stung him with the stinger that I had already pointed out. Although, I will admit I was not able to identify the bug, I was smart enough to identify a stinger, and I had a good laugh, too. Hubby had a nice little welt on his arm, but lived “not” to tell about it. Because telling about things, is definitely my job.


Now, while I can get nose to nose with most insects, I have a rather negative attitude of two insect type creatures. For good reason, of course. I’m allergic to bees and spiders. Bees make swell up like a balloon, including the swelling of airways, and it makes breathing kind of difficult. And hey, breathing is important.

Spiders have an even more profound and faster effect on me. They don’t even have to bite me, all I have to do is see one and bam! I’m pissing in my pants from fear. It’s something about those eight legs.

So when the sound of buzzing arrives, hubby takes over in all “shooing” duties. When a spider arrives, hubby becomes my super hero saving his woman from having to change her pants.


Now, what do snakes not have? Legs. Honey, I’ll take anything that slithers on its belly over something that creeps along on eight legs any day of the week. Now, I’m not saying I like them, but I’m just saying that my pants don’t need changing when I see one. And if one shows up inside, which they do two or three times a year, I can take over the role of snake catcher. If Junior, who holds the official “human” Snake Catcher title, isn’t around, or one of the “feline” snake catchers hasn’t already done the job, I can step up to the plate.

Now, Junior has such a reputation that he even gets calls from neighbors to come remove the slithering creatures from their homes. They generally pay him $10 for the job. I know most of you think it’s a bargain, too.

Just last week, I hear some ruckus going on in the kitchen. Considering I’m alone in the house, with the exception of the felines, I went to see what had my cats bumping into things.

Right away, I see Old Henry, prancing around the kitchen with a three foot Ribbon snake dangling from his mouth, both sides wiggling and one side trying to bite him. Old Henry sees me and comes over to show me his latest toy. Now I start doing the high step dance, trying to prevent the snake from biting me. Hey, at least my pants are still dry.

Finally the cat drops the snake, and I herd all four cats out of the room, and get my tools: the broom and the dustpan. The poor snake, relieved to no longer be acting as the cat’s play toy, practically climb on top of the dustpan. I let him go in the back yard where I swear he blew snake kisses at me as he slithered away.


Now, I seriously don’t know why I’ve been given this job. Since when is it my job to find everything they lose? “Mom, have you seen my shoes?”

My answer, “The last time I wore them was . . . wait, I haven’t ever wore them!”

“Hey, hon’ have you seen my keys?”

“The last time I used them . . oh, wait, I haven’t used them.”

“Hey, hon’ have you seen my sunglasses.”

“Well, the last time I wore them was . . . wait, are they not on top of your head?”

It’s not that I’m really good at this, it’s that they are that bad at it.


What is it about having breasts that makes men think you have a medical license? I never, not once, considered working in the health care field. I don’t like blood. I don’t even like being around sick people. Sure, I admit I slapped a few band aids on boo-boos when the kids were small, (they were cute then) but does that have to mark me for life? Not too long ago I found my nineteen-year-old son in my bed hacking and with a fever and he says something like, “Can you rub my head? And get me some soup?”

I’m like, “Do NOT cough on my pillow and get your fever-laden butt out of my bed!” I did bring him some soup, in his bed.

Now, hubby is just as bad. Several years ago, he got a really bad staph infection in his knee. We’re talking hospitalized, and an IV tube for antibiotics put straight into his heart to prevent the infection from spreading to his ticker. After three days in the hospital, (Which by the way my husband detests) the doctor says, “I can let you go home if you have someone we can train to flush out your IV tube two times a day and then you can come to the hospital to get your antibiotics every evening.

Now, while I’m a sitting there wondering who we could get to train to flush out hubby’s IV, he volunteers moi. Did I tell you that it went to his heart? Did I tell you I had to, like, wear rubber gloves after scrubbing myself down with anti-germ soap? I nearly passed out every time I had to flush out said tube.

The kicker was when after doing this for four days, hubby looks up at me and asks, “Do you enjoy doing this?”

Enjoy it? Was he freaking nuts? Okay, sure I had been hiding my repulsion (much like I hid my repulsion of delivering chickens soup to my son when he had the flu.) And while flushing out my hubby’s heart tube, I had managed not to pass out from fear that I might do something wrong and kill the man, but where in his messed up mind did he think I enjoyed it.

Oh, but I pulled my big girl panties up, did the right thing, smiled and said, “I’d do anything for you.”

“Really?” he asked. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think I could do this for you!”

I almost kicked him in his bad knee.

Yup. But you see I have breasts, so that just means all nurse-related issues are my job.

Okay, there you have it. A few more chore/assignments. So do share a bit. What chores to you really hate? What chores do you like?


Elle J Rossi said...

OMG Christie,

I could have sworn you were writing about my house! We tend to do it all, don't we.

Great post, lots of laughs. I needed that this morning.

Justen writing as Elle J Rossi

Sandy said...

Christie, I have to admit that my hubby could do it without a problem, but I would have to force myself to do it and be really careful.

Here's a funny story about my hubby. Yesterday, he went to the casino before coming home from counting money at church (nope, he didn't steal any money, he used ours), and he called me to tell me he couldn't find the car. He was sure someone stole it because he knew exactly where he parked it. He'd parked it beside a van with ladders on top of it. The van was still there, but another car was parked beside it.

He let me know he'd contacted security and they were going to help him find his car. They were going up and down all the levels of the undercover garage, then they were driving around outside looking for his car. While doing that it dawned on him that he got wet getting inside the casino. lol
Yep, he'd parked in the high roller parking lot outside because the arm was down (he's definitely not a high roller lol)and had forgotten. lol

I cried one time because my hubby killed a garter snake when it got under his car while he was working on it in the driveway. The city boy can't tell one snake from another. lol I had to explain to him that there were good snakes and bad ones. Grin.

Stacey Joy Netzel said...

Chore I hate the most? Cleaning up puke. The kids always seem to puke on me, over my shoulder or at my feet. Never do that to their father. He can be holding one of them when they're sick, I'm getting the bath ready, medicine, cool compress, crackers, ect. He hands them over--puke down the front of my shirt. Dad takes kid back, Mom goes to change and wash up, comes back to get kid, thats when Mom gets it over the back.

Chores I love. None. They're called chores for a reason. :)

RM Kahn said...

Since I am most often home during the day, the cats tend to bring home the lizards and birds for me to admire and praise them. They still don't get it, that I am not going to praise them. Especially when I have to clean a million feathers from UNDER the bed.

But my husband and son praise the master hunters so then husband and son have to clean up the remains of the kill most often left on the front and back doorsteps. ICK!

Christie Craig said...


So your life is just a crazy, huh? I'm a firm believer we just gotta keep laughing as the crazy falls around us.

Thanks for stopping in.


Christie Craig said...


Most people don't get the good snake/bad snake thing. Of course, I don't get the good spider/bad spider issue, either. LOL.

And hey, your poor hubby and his car. I haven't had security involved, but there's been times I'm walking around the parking lot, clicking my on/off switch to see if I can hear my car calling me home. What did people do without those things?

Thanks for stopping in.


Christie Craig said...


Too funny, girl. I think my granddaughter is a bit like that. I haven't seen her once that I haven't gotten spit up on. But I still love her.

Thanks for the chuckle.


Christie Craig said...

RM Kahn,

LOL. I don't know why they continue to think they should get praised, but they do. We attempt to keep all kitties indoors, but one is a little escape artist. I've learned to be very careful letting her back in because she's always trying to bring a toy inside. The last time it was huge frog.

Thanks for stopping in. And keep sweeping up those feathers.


CheekyGirl said...

oh - I'm so glad I have a job title now "Lost and Found Manager" Yep, that's me.

snakes=we're selling the house and moving for me!

catslady said...

I thought I just wrote this article lol.

Christie Craig said...

Cheeky Girl,

I think the job pays well, too. Or at least that's what I'm told, I've never gotten my check yet!!!

And I still would choose snakes over spiders.

Thanks for popping in.


Brandy said...

Cat or kid throw-up? Somehow that's my job. It's not like I volunteered, especially with a strong gag reflex. *G* I can say that my kids aren't the worst patients when sick, it's the hubs. WHY do men act like they are dying when it's a cold? All chores are mine, though I have now delegated the bug catching (what the cats don't get) to my Daughter. She's practically fearless. *G*
Is it written in all women's DNA that we have to take care of this stuff?
And lest it sound like my hubs is a bad fellow, he does take care of making phone calls for me. I, for some weird reason, almost have a panic attack at the thought of making phone calls to someone other than him or my Daughter.

Christie Craig said...

Hi Catslady!

Thanks so much for stopping in.


Christie Craig said...


I don't know what it is, but being female does get us labeled for certain jobs. However, I guess if we're being fair, men get labeled with some, too. Hubby does outdoor chores and car care.

And about your phone call issue, I hate and can panic over filling out paperwork, so that job goes to hubby. I think we all have a few of those things.

But . . . the whole men sick thing. OH MY GOD! You are so right. My hubby had a vesectomy and I swear, he moaned and groaned more than I did when I gave birth. Of course, the birth was before the vesectomy. LOL.

Thanks for stopping in.


Refhater said...

Because of the young children in our family, some of the chores I've had include being a human kleenex, video rewinder, and rear end wiper for potty training toddlers.

Other chores include finder of all things lost, human pack mule, birthday and anniversary reminder, and official hospital visitor. (I work at a hospital and everyone (family and friends)expects me to go visit whom ever they know who's admitted.)

Anonymous said...

I'm definitely a Lost and Found Manager, The Pooper Scooper (my hubby will scoop the litter if I'm gone and tell him if he doesn't do it our cat Cujo will be pooping all over the house), and the Garbage Woman (my husband would jump in the garbage can and stomp it down before he'd remove the bag and put in a new one!)

Beth Watson (my Google account won't work so I'm posted anonymously without trying to be anonymous...)

Christie Craig said...


Okay, I had a good hard laugh at the human kleenex. It is soooo true. I remember so well my little guys turning their heads and rubbing their snotty little noses on some article of my clothing. LMAO!!!

And hey, I'll let you know if I ever get into the hospital. It sounds as if you are wonderful at visiting.

Thanks for the laugh and trip down memory lane, even if it was a yucky memory.


Christie Craig said...


Your description of your hubby's garbage handling is very visual. I can so see my son doing that. My hubby, he's not that bad, but it amazes me how he will toss something in the garbage and if he misses, he just assumes it's close enough. This is not horseshoes!!

Thanks for stopping in.


EmilyBryan said...

Suzanne Sugarbaker said it best:

"The man's supposed to kill the bugs!"

And anything that has more than four legs in my house deserves to die.

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