Friday, February 3, 2012


My husband Edward is the sixth of seven children.  He weighed just under three pounds when he was born, stayed an entire month in the hospital,  and slept in a box near the stove when he came home.  He has put on a few pounds since then but still likes to be wrapped up tightly when he sleeps - and he does like to sleep.  Our youngest granddaughter says if she doesn't get her sixteen hours of sleep each night then she can't function.  Grandpa taught her that. 

Hubby and I met while we were both in high school, rival schools.  I went to the good one and he didn't.  Surprisingly they are both still in existence today and mine is still the best.  He was working at the local grocery store.  My sister (the one who never does anything wrong) and I trapped him one day and asked where the canned peas were (not that we didn't already know) and managed to keep him talking for a few minutes.  Long enough to bat our eyelashes and sway a little back and forth so our poodle skirts and crinolines would swish around.  Unfortunately, we forgot we were both carrying a gallon of milk.  Now for those of you who don't remember, milk came in glass jugs in those days.  Our swishing and swaying was good for flirting but not so good for glass.  My sister swished and I swayed and BANG!   Suddenly there was a lake of milk everywhere and my poor hubby had to clean it up.  He tells people he's been crying over spilt milk ever since.

Don't let him fool you.  He loves every minute, why else would he hang around for 47 years cleaning up my messes?

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