So It Begins…

Never mind the black shrouds hanging on all of our windows at the Jedi Manor tonight.

I put those up every year about this time.

The Colorado Avalanche are, as we speak, playing their season opener.

Hubs was home when I got home this afternoon, which is rare. The reason revealed itself soon enough, as I walked inside and found him passed out cold on the bed.

(It’s not a drinking problem that causes him to pass out early, regardless of what the boy’s teachers think. I promise!)

Hubs came home from work early with a migraine today. He was miserable. His vision was messed up. He was on the brink of delirium.

I whispered, “Okay, then. I won’t cook dinner. The boy and I can eat cold cereal.”

And Hubs whispered back, “Oh, I’ll be hungry later. I’m going to beat this migraine. The Avalanche play tonight, honey! My boys will be on the ice later! Go ahead and make something for dinner. I’ll try to eat a little bit to keep my strength up for the game.”

With that said, Hubs got up, took two Excedrin Migraine tablets, chugged a Coke without stopping, and crawled into a hot bath.

While I slaved in the kitchen for hours on end, creating a culinary masterpiece that only gourmet chefs can handle.

We had Shake ‘N Bake pork chops. And steamed potatoes. And a green salad.

In actuality, it probably took me thirteen entire minutes of prep work in the kitchen, and, forty-five minutes later, dinner was on the table.

I told Hubs that I’d just put his meal aside, and he could eat it later.

It wasn’t to be. The man came bounding out of the bathroom, freshly scrubbed from a good migraine-beating soak in the tub and dressed in his most comfortable sweats and Colorado Avalanche T-shirt. He proceeded to eat his weight in Shake ‘N Baked pork chops, steamed potatoes and salad, pronounced himself cured and in perfect health, and marched himself downstairs, where he has set up Base Camp 1 in front of the big screen.

He is grinning from ear to ear.

He said that tonight is even better than Christmas.

The migraine has been cured.

So begins the 2010/2011 NHL season.

I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the NHL season, but the Avalanche play 42 televised games per week, and the Broncos play one. This is a total of 43 professional games that Hubs will devote himself to in the course of seven days, over and over, and then he’ll have to watch the pre-game predictions on ESPN, and the post-game highlights on Sports Center, and then he’ll have a web page full of chatter and comments about the game pulled up on his laptop, so that he can READ about the game, too.

I will be available most evenings for outings with any of y’all from now until the Avalanche get booted out of the playoffs sometime in May.

Of course, Hubs will probably frown at me for saying that, and he’ll emphatically declare, “They’re going all the way this year, Baby! The Stanley Cup is coming back to Colorado in June!”

Call me, people.

And now, I have to wrap this up, because we have homemade apple pie at our house. Sister picked all the apples off of her tree, and she made apple pies.

Plural.

And she slipped into our house, when no one was home, and she left one on our counter, and if that isn’t the grandest of gifts, I don’t know what is.

I flat-out love when people stop by bearing food items.

(Hint. Big hint.)

Of course we have two apple trees in our side yard, too, which are brimming with apples as well, but listen, people. I don’t have time to check Facebook. I don’t have time to shave my legs. When am I going to pick all those apples, and peel all those apples, and sprinkle them with cinnamon and sugar and butter, and roll out pie crusts?

Unless, of course, I baked a pie during an Avalanche game.

Hmm. I might be on to something there…

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