Goodbye, Hairy Guest

My husband and I came downstairs the other day to find that the spider had completed an egg sac.  This is something she attempted about two weeks ago, but for whatever reason she failed to do correctly.  Here's a picture of her half-built egg sac and what seems to be her eggs (the yellow liquid) on the bottom of the glass.

In some ways I was disappointed that her attempt had failed.  Finally, I thought, this made the decision of what to do with her more clear.  My husband could absolutely not keep the spider if she was about to lay another hundred replicas of herself.  She had to be taken away--far, far away.  But alas, she never completed the sac and we deduced that the yellow liquid must have been her eggs...

Yet, as I mentioned, just days ago we found she had built another sac.  This time, she completed it.  And there was no yellow liquid to be seen.  I was once again feeling comforted that her future had become more clear.

My husband, on the other hand, was not as comforted.  Over the past two weeks since her failed attempt to build a sac, my husband spent various hours building a beautiful home for her.  He found a large glass container and outfitted it with dirt, rocks, sticks, and even a bathing pool.  Why a pool you ask?  Because he had also spent a similar amount of time on the computer researching just what this spider would enjoy in her habitat. And, as he researched, he found that she was most likely a fishing spider, still under the larger category of nursery web spider.  A spider who would enjoy a nice pool.

I can't say I wasn't a little jealous--I wish he spent that much time worrying that our home was as beautiful or well-equipped for our creature comforts.  But, that's besides the point.  The point is, she was, as far as anyone could tell, comfortable in her new terrarium.  Comfortable enough, it seems, to make a second attempt at building an egg sac, and comfortable enough to succeed in that attempt.

The egg sac is amazing.  It is so beautifully round and the colors are almost speckled.  Despite my disgust at the thought of one hundred more spiders growing inside it, I am in awe at the sight of it.  Some interesting facts: the spider will not eat until the eggs have hatched (she's too busy guarding her kin), and it will take upwards of two weeks until the baby spiders come out.  And in that time, my husband was tasked with finding a new home for the soon-to-be family.

Shock.  Pain.  Acceptance.  Stages of grief... even now applicable.  My poor husband couldn't bear to see his precious pet go.

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But he is a good husband.  A sacrificing husband.  An understanding husband.  And ultimately, he loosened his grip and let go...  We took a walk to the campus lake and he let her free, by the water, a suitable habitat for such a creature.  She was a long-standing presence in our home, and so it seemed fitting to spend a moment on a farewell.  She didn't scamper quickly away as I expected.  My husband had placed her on a rock, and there she stayed.  Even as we walked away, she sat.  Still.  Perhaps wondering what to do next?  She probably had lived her whole life in our basement.  I hope the big wide world of nature wasn't too much for her.

Goodbye, our large hairy guest.  I wish you well in your new life.... far from mine.

*I made my husband pose for these pictures....just in case you wanted to know. :-P

The Logic of a Man

Oh my...how differently we think, men and women....

We have been trying to get our three-year-old out of diapers at night the last week or so.  This entails keeping him in underwear for bedtime and then making sure he goes to the bathroom as often as needed before he <<finally>> falls asleep.  My husband has also been waking our son to take him to the bathroom around midnight, when we're going to bed ourselves.

Last night I was exhausted and headed to be earlier than my husband.  I was fast asleep when he came to take our son to the bathroom, and so I was unavailable to take part in the decision-making.  This fact is important only because there were decisions to be made.  Our son had already peed in his bed.

Now, if I had been awake, my own logical response would have been to change the sheets.  We have two sets for that very reason.  Take one off, replace it with another, and then put the sleepy child back where he belongs.

Of course, I was not awake, and so my husband was left to do the responding.  His own logical mind had another solution: just put the boy on a dry spot on the bed.  This, however, was difficult, since most of the bed was wet with pee.  The top portion, where ones head usually lays, was dry.  So, he placed my son vertically on the bed, curled up, since he obviously was too large to stretch out on such a small space.

In the morning, I wondered if our son was in bed at all.  I only saw a bunch of sheets stuffed by the wall at the top of the bed; the rest of the bed was completely empty.  Where on Earth was our child?  No, my husband assured me, our son was not missing. He was merely on the dry spot of the bed.

Right.  And to him that made sense.

The Riddler

My husband loves riddles.  For Valentine's Day, he couldn't just give me my card, he had to give me a riddle instead.  The answer to the riddle would lead to the card.  I remember the first birthday I celebrated after we were married: he left clues, from one to the next, all around the house that I had to follow in order to finally discover my gift.  Sometimes these riddles are fun; sometimes they are extremely frustrating.

My husband's family was visiting this past weekend and much of their time was spent puzzling over his riddles.  His younger brothers love to stretch their minds, and my husband was happy to give them the opportunity to do just that.  Hour after hour was spent challenging, stretching, and frustrating their minds.

The last night they were here, the two brothers were still trying to figure out one last puzzle.  They had been trying for nearly half the day.  They decided to give it one last attempt before going to bed and heading back home in the morning.  Try as they might, they still couldn't get it.  The youngest brother pleaded with me to tell him the answer.  One of the rules of the game, though, is that no one who knows the answer is allowed to share that information.  I, in my empathy towards my brother-in-law, felt no reason why I couldn't give him clues--albeit, clues that closely resembled the actual answer.  My husband was furious; my actions were against the rules.  I was not so bothered.  Why couldn't his brother know?  He would be plagued for the night, if not subsequent days, without the answer.  What could it hurt to tell him?  At least he could get a good night sleep.

Perhaps it's best that my brother-in-law couldn't seem to grasp my well-informing hints.  He never got the answer.  This was an easy resolution to the debate over whether it was appropriate to give away the solution.  I had never realized how much more of a law-abider my husband is than I.  Now I am revealed for the rule-breaker that I am.  And I am not ashamed.

So, on that note, here are some of the riddles that my husband used to disarm his brothers on their visit.  And, like I said, I am not held by any law of riddle-ology.  If you want the answers, feel free to ask.  I willingly give that information to any who request it.

Riddle 1:
Petals Around the Rose

Riddle 2:
(taken from this site: physics forum)
30 Prisoners are on death-row. The prison warder doesn't view their crimes with much seriousness,and decides to give them a chance to escape.  He offers the following:
Tomorrow all of you (the prisoners) will be blindfolded, and either a black or a white hat will be placed on your heads. You will then be placed in a row, all facing the same direction, all in a straight line (so all but one is facing someone elses back). Then your blindfolds will be removed. You cannot see your own hat, or those on the people behind you. But you can see all the hats of the people in front of you.
The offer is escape from execution, if you can guess what color hat you are wearing. You have the opportunity to say one word: "black" or "white."  Nothing else.  If you guess correctly, they you be freed. Otherwise, death.
What strategy can be used to maximize the number of prisoners freed, assuming they get a chance to discuss a plan that same night (ie:prior to being lined up)?  What is this strategy, and how many prisoners will be guaranteed their freedom? 


Riddle 3:
(taken from a fantastic comic for silly smart people: xkcd)
A group of people with assorted eye colors live on an island. They are all perfect logicians -- if a conclusion can be logically deduced, they will do it instantly. No one knows the color of their eyes. Every night at midnight, a ferry stops at the island. Any islanders who have figured out the color of their own eyes then leave the island, and the rest stay. Everyone can see everyone else at all times and keeps a count of the number of people they see with each eye color (excluding themselves), but they cannot otherwise communicate. Everyone on the island knows all the rules in this paragraph.

On this island there are 100 blue-eyed people, 100 brown-eyed people, and the Guru (she happens to have green eyes). So any given blue-eyed person can see 100 people with brown eyes and 99 people with blue eyes (and one with green), but that does not tell him his own eye color; as far as he knows the totals could be 101 brown and 99 blue. Or 100 brown, 99 blue, and he could have red eyes.

The Guru is allowed to speak once (let's say at noon), on one day in all their endless years on the island. Standing before the islanders, she says the following:

"I can see someone who has blue eyes."

Who leaves the island, and on what night?


[There are no mirrors or reflecting surfaces, nothing dumb. It is not a trick question, and the answer is logical. It doesn't depend on tricky wording or anyone lying or guessing, and it doesn't involve people doing something silly like creating a sign language or doing genetics. The Guru is not making eye contact with anyone in particular; she's simply saying "I count at least one blue-eyed person on this island who isn't me."

And lastly, the answer is not "no one leaves."]

Home Alone

My husband had a stomach pain for a couple of days before being rushed to the hospital--turned out, his appendix was inflamed to the size of his thumb.  (Reference point: the appendix is usually about 4 inches long and maybe the width of a pen.)  The hospital worked fast and smoothly to remove it within hours of his diagnosis.  He stayed in the hospital overnight and then came home the next day.  His time at home recuperating has given me enormous insight into differences between my husband and I.

I loved having a large family growing up, but I always cherished the time at home alone.  That rarely happened, but when it did, I treasured it.  Still today, if I ever get a day at home without the kids or husband, it is a treat.  It's like a day to do-what-I-want.  I would use the day curled up on the sofa watching movies or TV shows, eating all the junk food I wanted.

And so, projecting my own wishes on my husband, I originally tried to avoid being home as much as possible after his surgery.  Instead of being delighted, he was disappointed.  He told me that he'd rather I be home more.  As far as I was concerned, this was ridiculous.  Why on Earth would he prefer two whining, troublesome, rambunctious children to be home just so he could remind them that he couldn't play with them or get very near them?  And for my part, I didn't realize how difficult it would be to have my husband at the house in body but not in assistance.  I hadn't realized how often I relied on him to pull my 11 month old away from an outlet full of wires or help my 3 year old on the toilet when necessary.

It still confounds me as to why he'd rather us be home than away.  I think that my best dreams are spent imagining myself home alone with nothing to do but enjoy the peace and quiet that actually exists in my house without the rest of my family--choosing my own activities and eating whatever I want without questioning.  This whole situation with my invalid husband has moved me to wonder what his dreams are.....obviously, I've learned they don't look like mine.

To start with, he obviously feels like being home with the family all day while recuperating from laparoscopic surgery is not only possible but preferable.  These are definitely not emotions I would share in similar circumstances.

Subliminal Messages/Girl Scout Cookies

I love this time of year.  But, its not because the temperature sometimes jumps up a few degrees and Spring feels like its finally on its way.  I do certainly enjoy this phenomenon.  What I love about this time of year are the cookies.  Yes, the Girl Scout Cookies.  I do a lot of my own baking (if you haven't already noticed), but Thin Mints and Caramel DeLites are cookies I've never attempted on my own.  And I don't plan to.  I'm sure any I could create wouldn't compare to the deliciousness of the ones mass produced by the Girl Scouts.  And I mean that wholeheartedly.

Tonight I broke into my first box of Caramel DeLites.  I had never taken much notice of the name, maybe in part because I grew up calling them Samoas.  My husband, on the other hand, walks over to me as I'm happily indulging and tells me that the Girl Scouts are trying to send me subliminal messages.  You see, the term "lite" generally stirs up images of something that is "lighter" than a similar product--for instance in fat or sugar content.  The idea of "lite" makes a person feel like the thing they are consuming is, to some degree, more healthy.  So, as I'm enjoying my Caramel DeLite, my husband tells me that my mind is being manipulated.

No, I tell him.  My mind is not being manipulated.  I assure him that I bought the cookies based on their taste and not their title.  In fact, I didn't even notice that it was DeLite instead of Delight.  No, no, no, he says.  Your conscious may not have realized it, but your subconscious surely did.  And that is their purpose--to sway you to buy the cookies on account of their "healthiness"--though they are most certainly not healthy at all.

While this may be true for some people, this definitely wasn't true for me.  I bought these cookies because they taste amazing.  In fact, I tell my husband, I would buy them even if they were called Caramel DeFats instead of Caramel DeLites.  Huh, he says, walking away in disbelief, shaking his head.  He might not believe me, but I'm sure of it.  They're delicious no matter their name.  As far as I'm concerned, worth the cost and the calories.

Prerogatives

We were talking about prerogatives in our house today, if only briefly.  My husband handed me a dirty dish and asked me to put it into the sink.  As I took it from him to do so, I firmly said, "No."  

He mentioned something to me about how I like to say one thing and do another.  I told him that was my prerogative.  To which he replies, "I'm a physicist: [therefore] I don't have to wear matching colors.  You're a woman; [therefore] you don't have to do what you say [you will do]."  

Yes, exactly.

We all live with certain prerogatives, don't we?  The dictionary calls them "exclusive or special rights, powers or privileges."  I'm not sure who ever told me that I could have those special rights, but I do so firmly believe I am entitled to them.

For example, I work a couple of hours a week watching children for parents who are exercising.  We have a big play area for the kids, one area for bigger kids, and another area for babies and infants who aren't yet walking.  The kids aren't supposed to have food while they're there, and yet, my son has a special medical condition that necessitates his eating snacks, somewhat often.  And, as it's my prerogative, I give my child food, much to the chagrin of the other children.  At times, some of the other children will gather around him, telling me things like, "I'm hungry!  I need a snack.... please.... I'm really hungry.... why does HE get one....??"  Not fair.  So not fair.

You might think this is an acceptable circumstance, and maybe it is, but it does make me think a lot about our prerogatives.  Sometimes it's downright funny what we think we are entitled to.  Like Shania Twain's song, "The best thing about being a woman, is the prerogative to have a little fun...."

Most of the prerogatives we live by we probably don't even realize have.  Like when my husband pointed out that because I'm a woman my actions and words don't have to line up.  He was really only joking when he said it, but when I think about it, there is some truth to it.... there is a part of me that feels like I get to be more fickle because I'm a woman.  It's pretty ridiculous. But it's true.

And it's also true that deep down inside, I feel like my husband has an excuse for not knowing how to dress.... he's a physicist.  Isn't that his prerogative...?? 

Playing Games

I didn't realize it growing up, but I love to play games.  In my childhood home, we almost never had all the pieces to any game.  Those that we did have all the pieces for, we seldom played.  And, when we did play, it was more for the time together than for the thrill of the game.  I remember that we used to spend hours playing monopoly--just trying to get as much money as we could.  The first round was always the round to just get money.  No one would even think of buying a property.  Not because we were trying to quell the urge, but because we truly had no desire to do such a thing.

Then I played Monopoly for the first time with my husband.  On his first turn, he bought a property.  I was aghast.  I was so shocked that I couldn't help but let out an audible gasp.  He looked up at me, perplexed.

In the last four years of my marriage, I have learned to play games for the thrill and competition of playing them.  It has awakened in me a passion for the activity, but it has equally awakened in me an anger of losing.  It's not that I hate to lose.  Once.  Or maybe twice.  But when I start losing often, I get pretty angry.  I get so angry, that I struggle to have normal conversations.  My face even begins to contort into an evil grimace.... If you saw me, you might think I was just messing around.  But really, inside, I feel like a steaming kettle about to burst.

But, you know that phrase, "if you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen"?  Basically it speaks to the idea of keeping yourself from situations that you can't really handle.  I've taken that phrase to heart when it comes to playing games.  I try very hard to keep myself from getting really angry.  And how do I do that?  Simple.  Make sure I don't lose too often.  Ahhhh.... But how do I do THAT?

I pick carefully the games that I am willing to play with my husband.  With other people, I am not necessarily so picky.  But when you are married to an uber-smart person, you must take certain steps to assure yourself of not feeling like a dummy all the time.  This particularly applies when playing games.  So,  these are some things that I consider when choosing games I will play with my husband:

1) The game MUST have some element of chance.  It cannot be entirely strategy-based.
2) Along the lines of number 1, but more specific: It cannot be chess.  I will never play chess with my husband.
3) It cannot be something I know he is already good at, or has already practiced.  I will first play with someone else.
4) I will not play it if I have recently had consecutive losses when playing the game with him.
5) The more luck-based the game, the happier I am when I'm playing it.


There you have it.  My best means for staying away from the temptation of an evil rage.  It doesn't always work, but I think it keeps me generally sane.  I did go to bed angry the other night because he killed me in a game, but, it was really my own fault.  I didn't abide by my own rules; in this case, rule  #3.  But don't worry.  While he's working this weekend, I'll make sure to practice up on my own so next time the playing field is more equal....

Probationary Friends

Tomorrow is an important anniversary for my husband and me.  It is not our wedding anniversary, or the day we met.  Nor is it the day we got engaged.  It's not any of those semi-normal days of remembering in a relationship.  It is, instead, the day of remembering on October 23rd, year 2004*, that we were no longer "probationary friends."  The restrictions were lifted and we were allowed to take that next step.... dating.

Now, truth be told, we had already dated.  That was part of the problem.  I had already "gone out with him" (albeit, when I was half -the-world away in New Zealand).  Then I promptly discarded him after the two-month trial was over.  (To that date, I had consistently broken up with my boyfriends after two months.)  There had been so many ups and downs in the two years since we had met that he didn't even feel we were able to start back at friends--we had to be "probationary friends."

It is probably the curse of the genius that they need to give a term to every idea in their universe.  My poor on-again-off-again boyfriend/friend/enemy had to make a term for what was going on.  Obviously I had already broken his heart once before, but just so everyone was clear that he wasn't just opening himself up to let it happen again, he defined what was taking place: probation.  Examination.  Evaluation.  Should I pass the test and be considered a friend, only then was it possible to move on to more-than friends.

I understood his need to do that.  I really did.  I had been a fickle and flirty freshman when he met me, and there were things I said and did that weren't so nice.  I was happy for a chance to redeem myself.  I had realized, after some time, that he actually was a pretty amazing guy and I didn't really want to let him go.  This revelation came as a great surprise to me, since I had previously written a long list defining the reasons why I could never be in a relationship with such a man.  In fact, I sent him this list; just so that he knew why he was doomed to failure.  Yes.  I did.  And so you see why we needed to be probationary friends.

But, praise God, I passed the test!  I was let off probation, and today I am the wife of a very forgiving man.  Tomorrow I celebrate, because we are no longer probationary friends.

*I had previously written 2005, but that was definitely wrong..... :-P

pros. vs. cons. to marrying a genius

I have already shared some of the hardships I endure on account of being married to a theoretical physicist. This morning I was spending a little time thinking about some of the pros and cons, and  I thought you may enjoy some of these thoughts. :)

Benefits	Disadvantages
He’s a genius! (genius=heartthrob)	I think everything he says is true even when he’s totally pulling my leg.
He can beat  normal people in pretty much any strategy-based game.	He beats ME in pretty much every strategy-based game; leaves us with so few options of games to play.... (I do so hate to lose over and over and over again....)
He’s smart enough to teach college.  And does.	I’m the wife of a professor--suddenly I feel very very old.
He went to MIT and knows what technology is out there.	Gets [extremely] annoyed almost EVERY time I’m dealing with a provider (medical, internet, phone, you name it) and their systems are “so medieval!!!!”  (So, I’m supposed to tell them that on the phone or what??? YOU tell them that and see if it resolves the issue!)
Likes to teach our children to inquire about the world around them.	Elijah has watched so many absolutely disgusting videos.  Did you know there are parasites that will grow inside another animal and take over it’s functions--so it basically makes the host like a zombie?  Then they’ll eat their way out--GROSS!!!!!!
Finds math very easy.	He can then get frustrated with people who don’t do their math. (Like, when he knows that America’s Got Talent is trying to pull a fast one when they say, “oh! wow! both of you will go instead of just one of you”--No surprise to Jon... he did the math....Why does EVERYTHING have to be about math!?!  give me a break! :-P )

Okay, I'm done chuckling at my husband's expense.... (for now!) Time to make better use of the kids' nap time!