So, naturally it called for a fire in the fireplace, no? Husband built a beautiful one just in case the electricity went out (which we’ve been warned does just for the heck of it. So, why take chances?).

I took this as an opportunity to actually learn something about the fireplace. We had just watched our first episode of Meet The Preppers (on Animal Planet) and I have decided it was time I knew how to do some stuff.

(Side note: Have you seen this show? OMG. Cliff notes: There are people all over America — even in the seemingly calm Phoenix suburbs – who spend their entire lives preparing for the end of the world. Stocking up on coins, fitting themselves and their 4 year old children with gas masks, hoarding food, changing their backyard swimming pools into a self sustaining green house-fish farm-goat house. I am not kidding. The fact their neighbors will likely blow them up to get to their food stores on probably, oh, day three of Armageddon, doesn’t seem to bother these folks. They also appear to be heavily armed. So, go get your own food.)

Anyway, back to me learning to make fire.

Husband pushed the little handle thinkee back just before he lit the pile. So, that’s how you open it? I ask? Yep.

He then lights the honking pile of twigs, newspaper, logs, cardboard, and junk mail. It caught quickly.

It also suddenly started to blow ashes out of the fireplace like crazy. Husband stars poking and prodding, which only made it loook like Mt. Vesuvius had erupted in our living room. Husband gets out The Animal to vacumm the furniture. (You don’t know about The Animal? It is our new Dyson vacuum cleaner that can suck up small children and animals if you aren’t careful. Another day, another post.)

It was about this time that I noticed the room’s visibility dropping and the wafting smoke curls in the light. Hmmm…

Husband, are you sure the flue is open??

Silence.

He checks.

You know where this is heading, don’t you?

It was CLOSED.

In addition to it being the first time Callum has ever seen snow. He was now getting a taste of Armageddon. Indoors.

I rush to open all the doors and start fanning out the growing smoke while checking on Callum to make sure 1) he wasn’t dying of smoke inhalation or 2) sneaking outside to eat more snow. He did.

I also notice that our smoke alarm was not going off. Yet another thing to fix. During all this I did not have time to take pictures of the evidence.

Guess how long it takes for smoke to disappear from a house? Try 3 hours. And, it was Downton Abbey night!! I was not vacating.

Turned out the flue had been open for weeks (the last time we built a fire), which would explain why I was always so effing cold every night.

The urge at the point to point out Husband’s mistake was like holding back an avalanche. But, then I realized the leverage I had just gained. Why waste it? Oh, no, I have much, much better plans for this little incident. I am tucking it away in my little brain for future reference.

About a half hour later he starts second guessing himself, muttering and wondering how this could have happened. I start to feel sorry for him. Perhaps I should just forget this ever happened and not use it at a later time, like when I make a mistake and I have to remind him no one is perfect?

Nah.

When you are over 40 and merging your life with another, you come with all kinds of skills, knowledge, convictions and general experience. Good stuff. Except for one thing — most of it happened without your spouse. So, as you listen to how he learned how to ski with HER and sail around the Mediterranean with friends (and HER), it may be interesting to hear but it is also can raise a certain little green monster.

It also makes me feel like I don’t know this person very well. To catch someone up on 20 plus years of life experiences takes some time. So, even after six years of marriage I am learning all kinds of things about Husband. This was never more in my face than when we were moving houses.

He shared with me some old photographs of him building a house. One arm held a hammer, the other arm held his young son. This was a huge part of his life. I wasn’t even known to have existed.

It is so strange looking at young-looking pictures of Husband. Who is he, I wonder? Who is that guy who I have never seen to look like this? It makes me kinda sad. (It makes me sad to think he never saw me a size 2 with completely, utterly impossibly smooth thighs — which I never noticed was a gift until someone in the middle of the night replaced those wonderous thighs with my current pair, starting to show little veins and “dimples.” But, I digress…)

Then, the other day he sat down in front of his piano and started playing Christmas songs. I knew he was the band leader in his Atlanta high school, and that he was a pretty good trumpet player. But, that day he told he was the first trumpet chair, ranked third in the entire state. And, that he used to play with the Georgia State Symphony occasionally. But, he never could play that well again when he broke his tooth surfing. He was 16. Wait. Back up. Surfing? Symphony?

Yes, it is a strange thing, indeed, to realize your spouse actually had a life without you.

Oh, Lordy, the mistakes that get made by moi. Mea Culpa! Here goes nuthin’.

1. Not spending enough time with Husband.

If you get married for the first time over age 40, you came to your marriage with a life. And, I’d bet  it came with all kinds of ways to entertain yourself. These things may or may not be condusive to having another person around. For instance, I loooooove to be in dance class. Husband is not allowed to attend burlesque class, so I spend one to two nights a week away from him. That would be okay, but that’s not all I do. Add friends, business networking events, stops to the gym, the mall and the grocery story on the way home, etc. and suddenly, I am only home one night a week. Not good.

2. Letting my mind dwell on the things I had when I was single that are impossible to have when married.

For instance — and this is going to sound so stupid – but I really miss having full control of the television remote. I really, really do. Namely, I miss being able to control the “off” button. I like being able to turn that damn thing off when I am in sensory overload. But, I also like Sex and the City reruns and jumping around my favorite movies all afternoon to just watch my favorite bits.  Husband does not. So, I have to compromise (said with a not-too-small-amount of whining).

(I also miss having the bed to myself from time to time.)

3. Taking out my frustration with clients, traffic, the Whole Foods parking lot, real estate agents, traffic, my body’s refusal to just drop the damned vacation lbs, Wall Street, did I mention traffic?, and Wells Fargo’s stupid fee structure on Husband. 90 percent of the time it’s not him. It’s me. No, wait, it’s them. Oh, hell, it’s just not Husband.

4. Like Gretchen, demanding gold stars from Husband.

Husband comes from a conservative, low(er)-communication, low(er)-acknowledging family. My family, on the other hand, is over the top. No, wait. It’s acknowledgment central. I am used to being told good things when I do good things. Husband is not that verbal. I try to make up for it by being doubly verbal. This also can be a mistake.

5. Not discouraging behaviors that are not good for the relationship. Okay, being lazy.

This means having us eat dinner in front of the TV news every night instead of the table. This means doing work on weekends until we can’t remember the last time we actually did anything else on a weekend. It also means getting really, really lethargic about a lot of things.

So, I try to be do things differently, think about different things, and be grateful for what I do have. But, I don’t always succeed. I wonder if men think about this?

Except when The Voice is on, however. I am seriously addicted to The Voice. And, I’m a bad wife. I got Husband hooked, as well. We agreed that Dia is an original. But, we think Javier Colon will win even with his last name.

We talk about the judges, too. Husband declared Christina’s black leather shorts “unfortunate” even though she has the best voice on the planet.

I am generally too busy watching Adam Levine.

Neither one of us could figure out where CeLo came from. But, then I heard his songs and I remembered. And, Blake? Well, he’s just a teddy bear. A very, very tall teddy bear.

When The Voice isn’t on, there’s always something else to amuse us. There is Leverage, Sanctuary, Grey’s Anatomy, The Practice, Masterpiece Theatre (we’re not complete Neanderthals), a dozen or so aviation-oriented shows whose names I cannot remember, Supernatural, Men of a Certain Age, and I really could go on all day.

I’ve been trying to get Husband hooked on True Blood. He’s not biting. (He-he.)

Tivo is not helping with our addiction. This magical device has us thinking we can watch twice as much crack. This is true, actually. We can watch one channel while it records another. This little device was so addictive we got a second one for the bedroom TV. I know, I know. TV in the bedroom will kill your sex life. (I say you’re just watching the wrong channels, if you get my drift.)

We also watch movies. The last few that Netflix delivered were horrible. Never Let Me Go with Kiera Knightly, Carrie Mulligan and other cuties made me want to slit my wrists.

Last night we watched Skyline. The first hour had us snoozing. The second hour was disgusting with heads being ripped off and brains being slurped up by aliens only to abruptly end when the heroine landed in the mothership with her boyfriend — his brain now transplanted into an alien –hovering over her in said alien body. Awww, did I ruin it for you? Good. You didn’t need to rent it anyway. No one needs to rent it. See, I didn’t even add a hyperlink to it above.

Husband swears I don’t handle our Netflix que right, at which point I tell him he does have access to it, ya know, and stop telling me to add things when we watch the previews to other movies. Previews lie. Never trust a preview. Trust your friends. (I was warned about Skyline. But, did I listen?)

And, then, of course, there is the mindless “the TV is just on in the background” kind of watching. It’s sad when I realize we spend more time staring at the TV than each other. Something’s gotta give. Maybe we should give the “off” button a try. But, not tonight. The Voice is on. Maybe tomorrow?

Husband has been sick. First, a few weeks ago, it was strep throat. A round of antibiotics did the trick, only to open the door for a sinus infection. Husband is now on his third round of yet another antibiotic in order to kill whatever has decided to decamp in Husband’s head. (The first two — the “wimpy drugs” as I affectionately called them — couldn’t take the heat.)

In the meantime, as a war is being waged inside Husband’s nasal passages, a war also is being waged at night. It comes in the form of snoring. And, snorting. And, coughing. And, changing body positions at the speed of light.

I’m not going to lie to ya. It made me a little pissy. And, that made me feel guilty because you marry for “in sickness and in health,” right? It’s just hard to remember those words — or any words — when you are on your umpteenth night of four hours of sleep. (Yes, God knew what she was doing when she did not give me children.)

It wouldn’t be so terrible if I had someplace else to go. But, we only have one bed and one pretty broken down couch that also equals no sleep.

Last night, the super-biotics finally kicked in. This is why I have the energy to type. I think I got 8 hours. Can I get an hallelujah?

Everyone talks about the big stuff around marriage — the finances, the children, the blah-blah-blah. I say it’s the little things. Both good and bad. Husband snatching covers in the middle of the night as he attemps to roll away from whatever ails him is one such little thing. But, it is still hard. Thank the heavens for modern medicine (and future new houses with guest bedrooms).