MamaBlooMarriage. Motherhood. Life.

MAMABLOO WANTS TO KNOW: Date Night?

§ February 2nd, 2010 § Filed under Questions for my readers § Tagged favorites, food, Marriage § 7 Comments

Oh yes, I have heard of these… these… DATE NIGHTS?  They are a rare and exotic creature in our house.  The planets have to align just right, there must be a elder in town (aka Grandma Bloo) from the faraway regions (aka Yakima, WA), and there must be well, honestly, the date night participants cannot be in a knock-down-drag out fight….

Dave and I are simple folk.  We’re not foodies or art-lovers.  The perfect date night for us is a night at a pub (one of our favorites is THE ATTIC  in Madison Park, Seattle) having pub food and a malt beverage.  Even better if there is a Seahawk or Mariner game on while we dine.  Follow that up with a walk somewhere interesting — along the water, on a trail, down a city-block — winding up in a bookstore to browse.  We may throw in a movie if there is something we are dying to pay $75 (it seems) to see.  Our only rule is we are only allowed to talk about the kids in the car… once out of the car, we must talk about something else.  Oh, our other only rule is that no one is allowed to puke.  We once went on a three-in-a-row date night stint where one of us ended up puking at the end of the night.  No, we did not over-indulge… the flu, food poisoning, and vertigo were the culprits. 

The Attic in Madison Park Seattle

What does YOUR perfect date night look like?

Professional Gleaner

§ December 7th, 2009 § Filed under Marriage, Stories § Tagged family, food, humor, Husband, Marriage, posts with pictures § 5 Comments

My husband will eat just about anything.  What he considers food, most of us would consider garbage.  Last year when we were unpacking boxes from our storage unit, Dave found a bag of half-eaten tortilla chips (why these were stored is anyone’s guess).  Right there in our garage, he opened the bag and started munching away.  If one of the kid’s friends drops a half eaten piece of pizza on the dirty floor, Dave merely picks it up, walks it into the entryway – presumably to hide – and polishes it off.  Crusts off of baloney sandwiches?  Merely an appetizer for him.  The flakey stuff in the pan after scrambling eggs?  Delicious.  Past the expiration date? No problem.   

I am convinced that in Bilbical times he would have made it as a professional “gleaner”.