Meanwhile...

I should be doing some riding now. Really I should.

So I am going to take out that trusty bicycle and do some riding today. 

Being a Caregiver is a stressful job. Okay, maybe I don't have the stress of some folks, but 'frustrating' might be a better way of explaining it.

Working with my husband's moods and slightly off kilter thought processes can be interesting.

The dehumidifier in the basement quit working. It was a cheapy and lasted about as long as expected. It would run and run and run but the humidity wouldn't change a bit.

I brought it upstairs to see if it would work in a warmer temperature. Some dehumidifiers don't work in cooler places as well.

It was a no go. It ran and ran and collected no water.

Conversation:

Me: It isn't working and the basement is smelling musty.

Him: It isn't summer.

Me [I kind of let that roll around in my head a bit]: Well, it is humid and very musty in the basement. All the clothes stored there will be moldy and smelly if we don't control the moisture.

Him: You just want to buy a new one.

Me: No, I just want to keep things in the basement from getting nasty.

Him: You aren't giving it enough time.

Me: I've given it a week or so. 

Him: Oh go ahead, you are just going to do what you want to anyway.

I returned from the hardware store with a 'cold' room specific basement dehumidifier. He walked into the kitchen where I set it. 

Him: [snarky nasty voice] Oh, I SEE you got one anyway.

Me: [I ignore him and put the groceries away. He feels if I spend any money at all it is a waste somehow.] Well, I'm going to take the old one apart and if I can make it work, I'll take this one back.

Him: [Look of disgust and stomps away] Whatever.

At this point I want to laugh. We'd argued last year about me getting the truck's brakes fixed. He accused me of wasting money. That is until the truck came back fixed of course. Then it was okay.

I think...I know, that part of my husband's reluctance in any sort of change is that he was very OCD'ish in controlling things, fixing things, being the boss. His brain won't let him let me get things fixed without major resistance.

[I'd spoken to the VA CareGiver support just a few days ago and we talked about this very same thing on the phone.]

Pretty soon he is back.

Him: What are you making me for lunch?

Me: Fried Bologna Sandwhich? 

Soon he stomps off to take his midday nap.

I'm curious and take apart the old dehumidifier. I use my Smart Phone to follow instructions as to diagnose the issue. Charlie walks over and looks at all the screws and plastic parts laying on the floor. I identify the compressor, it is still hot. I find the coils and it reminds me of a radiator. Everything is clean and looks okay. I leave it torn apart for when Rich awakens.

Him: Oh look! [He is bending over and looking at the guts of the old dehumidifier] This is not right...he points to the parts that look like a car radiator [the cooling thingies]...this doesn't look right, no wonder it wasn't working!

Me: Oh really?

Him: Let's unpack the one you bought. He gets busy and pulls the new one out of the box and hands me the instructions to read out loud.

He admires the new unit and tells me how nice it is.

Me: Shall I set it up?

Him: Yes! Sure!

And there you have it. Working with a complicated mind...is

well...

sometimes complicated.

But hey, I love the old fart dearly. 

And so it goes.

The Talk

Him: You don't want a pup during this weather you need to wait until spring.
Me: Spring is here. Look at the mud and the weather.
Him: Um. Yeah. Okay. I miss him too.

Me: Too soon?
Him: Big Shrug

I show him some dogs that are up for adoption. He smiles. He knows I can't do without a canine underfoot.

For those who want to tell me that Dixie should come in. Let us recall the size of my cottage and the size of Dixie. Dixie has been an outside dog since she was 4 months old. Let it be my decision.
I've had outside dogs for 20+ years. I've never been without an inside dog. My dog life began the summer we brought home a puppy. I could be wrong, but I think it was about 1967? We added a second dog soon after that.
I think the math puts me as a long time dog owner for what? 51 years?

Maybe I should wait. Maybe I shouldn't. I still listen for that pitter patter on the floor.
I still ache to put my hand down and find a cold wet nose.

I still ache to cuss out Morris for getting me up at 4am to go potty and then insist on eating his breakfast. It was irritating, but it was comforting too.

Me: How about this one?
Him: What is it?
Me: A mixed up dog. Young. 10 weeks?
Him: Well.
Me: Look at that ...
Him: Hmmm, looks like this litter had more than one daddy. [they can you know]

A bit later.
Me: Hey, look at this.
Him: What on earth?
Me: Daschund, beagle, and lab or something?
Him: Odd.
Me: Housebroke.
Him: Ugly, kind of.
Me: Yep. That is cool.

I do some research, this 'ugly' dog is being fostered somewhere near by. I fill out the on line application so I can be background checked. The only thing they don't ask of me is to give over my first born son.
I inquire if I can visit the dog. I'd like to meet him. Perhaps it is not a good fit. But at least I would be satisfying curiosity.

I find another two dogs. Housebroke, spade, neutered, up to date on all the...yadda yadda...
Medium sized. Hmmm. Smaller than Dixie. Energetic like Dixie. I put a note to self to email the place to see if I can drive up there. 

We go to bed and lay there talking. His mother and her situation is on our minds. Geographically I am the closest person to help her. Rich can't. But at the same time, I have him to take care of.
This winter has been extremely hard on his well being. He is becoming a bit frail. The COPD, throat cancer, and stroke are not kind to him.
He doesn't want me trying to be his caregiver and his mom's caregiver. Not out of selfishness but out of kindness. He knows how hard it is for me when he has 'episodes'.

He also understands the importance of me being able to hike and exercise for my mental and physical health.
I need to take care of the farm too. The animals need tending.

Which reminds me....looks like a good week for fence mending, fixing, and brush piling.

I may take that drive to look and see.
I may look at the 'ugly' dog.

And I may decide to wait.
Only my heart can decide.

What should we do today?

"What do you want to do?" I asked hubby as he sat at the kitchen window and stared out at the cloudy dismal looking day.

"Is it going to clear up?" he asked. I checked the weather. 40% chance of showers on and off during he day. I told him that.

"Is it going to clear up?" he asked again.

I shrugged and then replied, "Well what are you thinking?"

"Well, if it is going to clear up, then we could try Runge Hollow and go fishing." He stated.
Rich had fishing on his mind. Funny how when a thought these days comes into his head, it gets stuck and rumbles around repeatedly over and over. No fault of his though, the though rattles about until we address it in one way or another.

"We have rain gear," I reminded him, "some pretty good rain gear. Why don't we just grab it and go? We can pick up worms on the way through town."

He stared out the window for a bit without seeing anything. Once that look concerned me as he would be having obtrusive PTSD thoughts of combat long ago.
Now after the stroke he had told me, things are just blank. Nothing is there.
He seems more soft and not as harsh around the emotional edges.

I got up from the table and grabbed his rain gear and then directed him step by step on items we needed. On days like this, he needed more than the usual guidance.
In no time at all we were headed towards Runge Hollow.

And it did rain off and on.
You can't see it in these shots, but when we had 6 or more inches in a 24 hour period in July the water rose in this man made lake up at least 5 feet, the leaves on the trees on the opposite edge of the lake had mud on them.

Runge Hollow Dam holds back some of the Bad Axe River and keeps it from flooding out those downstream from it. Our county has a series of man made lakes and dams that are flood control projects.

We fished the rest of the day and enjoyed the peace and quiet of having the place all to ourselves. And yes, we got enough to have a nice supper on Friday night.

The other side of the Dam...

Our fishing spot for most of the afternoon.

If you look hard you can see Rich down next to the intake. There is a vehicle in the upper left driving up County Road Y which is on top of the dam.

A view across from the dam where the boat dock used to be along with the wheel chair access. I believe they were washed away in the flood last September of 2016.

I learned that just because it is raining, it doesn't mean you can't go fishing.
I recall something my Grandfather Fred used to say.

"It's raining outside, let's have a picnic!"

It never really made sense. But now I can say..."It's raining outside! Let's Go Fishing!"

Three Months Later

How have things changed in three months? Well.

Rich is coming along well with his speech and language. We've seemed to hit a road block of sorts or a plateau of gaining ground. Rich sees it as a road block and feels frustrated. I try to keep him encouraged to keep moving and doing things and to keep using his language.

If we have a dreary day he is dreary himself and it is hard to get him motivated to do anything.

Lately I have been leaving part of the chores unfinished in the morning so when I come into the house I can say to him, "Oh by the way, the cattle need water. Or I need your help with getting some hay out."
Anything to keep him involved and engaged.

He still has an issue with memory or processing. We started to work on that in Speech Therapy and I soon realized that Rich always sort of had an issue of being a bit distracted when he went out to do something.

Changing what he was like before stroke can't really be fixed now. I have to ask him often if he recalls what it is he went to do. He stops for a moment and sometimes he does remember.
Those times he will give me a sly grin and say, "Oh I think I am supposed to water Thor!" He will wink at me and then tell me that he thought of something else first.
Those other moments he will stand and stare at me while he thinks. He'll frown and then say, "Nope. It is gone."

Do I miss work? Well I hadn't really thought about it. But one of my old supervisors called on Thursday to see how things were going. I told her things were working out well and I didn't miss the crazy shift hours or being called in the middle of the night because someone had called off.

I do miss the conversations I had with co-workers.
Do I miss the income?
Well. Yes and no.
I find that we have saved money by me not working. No more 60 mile round trips in the car up to four times a week. I find that I don't have to fill up the gas tank very often. Our grocery bill has dropped. I am not getting off from a 12 hour shift and driving through town and picking up take out for our supper any more.
Meals are planned and are much more healthy. I'm not exhausted all of time either!

The garden is producing a great variety of summer food and I am freezing food for the winter as well as drying herbs for winter stews.

Three months have flown by. We have been busy with visiting kids and friends, mule riding, fishing, and just keeping things going with the animals we have left.
I find myself doing more now than when I was working.

I have time to get up in the middle of the night to watch the stars, or to watch the moon set from the comfort of our porch.

How are things now?
Pretty darned good I'd say.

Three months later and Rich still improves a small bit. Our routines have changed. How we do things has changed.
But all in all, things are working out rather smoothly.

Who knew, right?

Conversations on the Porch

Yesterday was designated as "Quiet Rest Day". We'd had a busy Saturday visiting with our Farrier pals for graduation.
We ended up being the last guests to leave. The guys sat in one of the rooms and conversed, telling stories and laughing a lot.

My stepdaughter Stephanie called to let us know that they would not be able to visit and do fencing. Dennis may have gotten a flu bug so they were staying home.

There was somewhat of a chain reaction to that. Rich called his mom and I could hear her through the phone. She decided that she was going to go get "The Flowers and put them in the cemeteries herself, but she didn't know how."

I'd forgotten about that 'tradition' since in my family we don't know where most of us are buried and some of the family are just ashes spread hither and thither. In death I want to be a free spirit myself, spread to the whims of the winds.

I volunteered to help do that, but not until Tuesday. Rich seemed to be still bummed over the phone conversation so I checked the weather and said we'd go fishing on Wednesday.

Then I checked my paperwork. I wanted to smack my head again. I had VA and Gunderson Lutheran phone calls to make and arrange. I had to change GLHP appts and confirm that they are authorized by the VA. That meant phone messages and people getting back to me. If I made the calls and was absent from home I couldn't deal with them. [Later I smacked my head. Cell phone!]

I told Rich that we were having a rest day. He went back after breakfast to lay down. Speech and language comprehension was foggy for him. I told him the brain needed a rest.

But the fencing I'd put off still had to get done. I texted my neighbor and per our previous conversations,...Justin had volunteered to pound posts. He is young and strong and likes to pound the posts. He also volunteered to mow our yard at some point. I checked those worries off my list.  Fencing to commence today after the chores are done. Mowing ... I was off the hook!
Then Justin offered to help me figure out how to start our little tiller.

I sat down on the porch and felt slightly guilty about not working on something. So I got out my paints and grabbed an old skull that had been sitting out and was badly weathered.

I didn't intend to make it a piece of 'art'. I just kept messing around with it while my mind wandered and I listened for Rich to wake up.

When he did come out on the porch he sat down and stared out across the winter pasture.
"How am I...going to." He waved his arm at the donkeys and mules basking in the sun.
I leaned over to listen to him. I wanted him to be able to finish his conversation.
"How can I?" He made a motion with his hand and then dropped it.
"The animals? Selling them?" I prompted.
"Yes. I can't talk good. I can't...find...the words."
"I can make the phone calls or we can use speaker phone to do it." I offered.
He sighed and nodded. He looked out again and asked, "What happened to me? What did they do to me?"

The details of his stroke are confusing to him. We went through the process slowly. I went over what happened with him telling me some things. The stroke, the 911 call, the ambulance ride to Vernon Memorial. Slowly and quietly we went through that day again.
He shrugged and looked out. "It isn't all there." He searched for words. "I can't...find things?"
"You can't remember things?" I asked.
"No. I don't remember going to Vernmorial."
"Vernon Memorial?" I prompted.
"Yes." He makes a motion next to his ear. "Then they scrambled it in ... my head. They ruined my head. Broke it."
"The blod clot stopped your brain from getting what it needed and it broke some parts that help with your understanding things," I said carefully.
"No. They broke me." He answered and sighed.

He asks about the surgery and we go over how the surgeon went through his artery and to the brain to bust up the clot. I demonstrate it with a hose and a paint brush.

He seems to understand then asks why he has to go back.
"To see the guy who worked on your brain?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Well he wants to see how you are doing. And prepare to fix your aneurysm."
He doesn't recall the doctor or us talking about that.

He is a guy who wants the truth. I explain that he has an aneurysm in his brain also that should be fixed sometime late this year.
"Will it kill me? Am I dying? I feel like I am dying." He states. "I am no worthless."

His eyes are troubled and I reach out for his hand over my paints.

I want to say we are all dying and hand him cliches, but I don't. We hold hands and I quietly say, "You are not worthless. You are not scrambled. You are my husband that I love very much."

I move my chair next to his and we hug and hold onto each other for a long time. Silence. His hand squeezes mine.  I think, "Yes dear, if the aneurysm goes, you will die instantly and without any pain. It troubled the surgeon, but it is like a sword hanging above your head. However let's take things as they come, day by day." But I stay quiet. He doesn't need to be troubled by something like that when he is struggling each day to comprehend things.

I am reminded of the morning I sat with him in the hospital when we struggled to communicate and he kept asking about being "Alone."
He had been frightened by his brain turning on him and was afraid of being 'Alone'.

No my dear, I will not leave you alone. I will be here for you.

New Beginnings

I have a lot of friends and family who are texting, emailing, and inquiring often about how my husband Rich is doing after his stroke.

I was told that if Rich didn't have someone with him 24/7 that he would have to go to 'rehab' until he was able to function at a certain level. Well that was a no brainer for me. He could go to a rehab center for a small amount of time if it was really necessary, but if I was home for him...

Well, I went to my part time job and told them that I couldn't come back. Of course they wanted to talk me out of that. They wanted me to do FMLA. I reminded them that I didn't qualify when he had cancer and I didn't qualify at the current time.

Besides he'd had a severe TIA 2 years ago and now experienced a very serious stroke. If I had left for a shift at 2:30 in the morning, I would have missed the early signs and his stroke would have left him perhaps on the floor for up to 14 hrs, until I returned from work. I don't care to think about what that scenario may have played out like.

Our days ahead will be full of challenges. 

I can conclude that I am married to a most amazing person. I considered moving the details and stories of this to The Long Road, which was the blog I used to detail our experiences with Throat Cancer. 

However everything that we are now doing effects our farm, the animals, our way of everyday life in a rural area. It has in one moment changed my life for a long time.

I am not complaining.

So I will continue mixing up my blog with whatever interests me for the day.

Currently I am now no longer employed. I had been thinking about leaving that job within the next year anyway. The hours were all over the map which were becoming difficult for me to handle. I was sure that having no patterns of good sleep would begin to affect my health.

Not having bizarre hours has already shown me that I can handle being more patient with MY patient and husband. I don't need to get a large list of things done in a very specific amount of time so that I can rush off to work.
When Rich wanted to have breakfast, or he wanted to go over what day it was, I had to stop what I was doing and sit down with him. Communication on one subject may take us 45 minutes to resolve. 

I can see that I am going to have to pick up a white board today to help with our talks. 
We have worked out that he wants to talk to people on the phone but didn't want to risk sounding stupid because of his language issues.

We came up with a simple solution. Phone calls are made with the handset on speaker phone. When he gets stuck on a word, he can look to me for help. That experiment worked out wonderfully yesterday.

He talked to his mom, his daughter, and in the evening, we called my son Ed and his wife.
Something as simple as a phone conversation helped him immensely with his attitude and self confidence.

Yesterday afternoon he got into his skid steer and drove it around. He stuck to some basic things like offloading some round bales. These are things he has done for years and I think the muscle memory is there. 

I didn't want him to do it, but he was able to get in safely and out safely. His balance seems to be pretty good.

When he went into the sloppy muddy calf pen and decided to climb out of the skid steer and move the hay feeder, I about lost my mind. The doctors and nurses had said NO heavy lifting, and to TAKE it easy for at least a week or so...
I climbed the gates and slopped through the muck which tried to pull of my boots and lost my temper. He looked straight at me and waved me off like a pest.

Last night we had a discussion about what he had done. He still forgets that he had brain surgery. 

However. Let me say that our quiet moments sitting together on the porch were nice. He called Morris over and petted him and fussed over him. We watched the sun begin to set and held hands.

And so ended our first day home together.

If you want it done...do it yourself.

I showed him my Buckmaster .22 pistol in April. I had been target shooting and poof, something didn't sound right. The screw on the back of the pistol had loosened and flown away.
Right. This screw was probably the size of a large bug and there was a lock washer that disappeared into the dirt and pasture...never to been seen again.

I was crestfallen. I love my .22 pistol. My husband bought it for me in 2004 as a Christmas gift.
Now isn't that sweet? 
He said, "Love is giving your wife a pistol." And the salesman replied, "And...You sleep with one eye open right?"

So my dearest husband said, "Well remind me on Monday to call..." and he said a name of somebody who knew somebody who could maybe get the part.

April. May, June, July, August, September...
Me: It is Monday!
Him: Yup!

Me: Going to call?
Him: Well I got to get hay today.

I carefully cleaned my gun and put it in its padded case. I left it on his seat where he has coffee.
The next morning he moved it to the table. I moved it so that it would be in his way when he ate supper.
He moved it to the little phone table and stacked stuff on it.

Me: It is Monday again.
Him: I've got a doctor's appointment.

Me: Okay.
November.

Sigh...It ... is ... Monday.

Him [his hearing must have gotten really bad]. What about Monday?

I'm not one to complain. One more sigh. He brought some ammo and brought it home. 
Him: Look what I got for you!
Me: How nice, .22 ammo... for my broken pistol...

So off to town I go. I stop at a Gun Pawn Shop. I've never been in one and this one is pretty new in our small town. I look around and a lady asks if she can help me.
I am not selling but have a question. She informs me: "We don't do repairs any more."
"Okay, I just need to find out how to order a screw for my pistol."

Soon enough the gunsmith/salesman comes to me. He takes a look at my pistol and comes back in a bit. 
"I ordered the part and I'll have it in 3 days. I'll call, you come in and I'll put it in for you."

As I walk out to my car in the lot I hear choruses of Hallelujah in the sunshine.

Giving Directions in the car: Married Life

I'd convinced my husband to take a short side trip out to a State Natural Area the other day when he had to go to the VA Clinic in Baraboo.
He was reluctant and almost petulant. I offered to drive and got a curt "NO!"

So he asked me how to get to Baxter's Hollow.
I directed him rather easily for a 10 mile detour on back roads.
However.
When we left Baxter's Hollow, he insisted on not backtracking but that I guide him through the backroads to home.
There is no straight good route from Baxter's Hollow towards home. It does not exist.

I like paper maps, but didn't have one in the car. However I did have the Garmin so I turned it on and examined the roads shown. My last trip home from Baxter's Hollow was by Miss Garmin, and I didn't like 'her' directions one bit.

Me: Turn right off from this road onto County C.
Him: County C? We came in on County C. 
Me: Yes. We can go west on C. Or if you'd like, backtrack.
Him: NO! I thought you knew how to get out of here!
Me: Yes. Drive!

County C is a twisty up and down around type of road. It is rural and surrounded by woods and cropland. It sometimes twists back on itself.

Him: We keep turning around and making loops.
Me: County C is twisted, yes, I agree.
Him: Got a shorter route?
Me: Nope.

I grip the door handle as he bullets through a long curve. 
Me: Want me to drive?

Him: NO, you drive too slow.
Me [thinking...I drive so we can survive the trip]: Okay, we watch for County PF.
Him: P S?
Me: No, P as in Pony and F as in... [the only word I can think of that starts with F is a cuss word so I pause.]

Him: Well what is it P what?
Me: P as in Pony, F as in Fred, Frank, Fruitless, Fudge...
Him: Oh, PF.
Me: Yes.
Him: Where does that go?
A cornfield whizzes by. I look out the window and at the Garmin. I move my fingers on the map and try to expand and contract the map. It is frustrating.

Me: It goes to County Road D, which goes to County Road W, which takes us to Highway 23 south of Loganville.
Him: [big sigh and grunt, he is not a happy camper]

I look up and we are barreling towards an intersection.
Me: Stop sign.
Him: Oh [applies brakes] Yeah, I see it.

I press my foot through the floor on my side and sigh. Note to self, don't take side trips with husband unless he is more willing next time. And get a paper map for the car.

Him: Now where is this PF road, how far is it?
Me: Um, up ahead, just keep going.
Him: How far?
Me: I don't know.

Him: Why not you have that Garmin thing, doesn't it tell you?
Me: No, I'm not routing through the Garmin, just using the map. Miss Garmin took me on the craziest roads last time through here.

I sigh and hang on for another sweeping curve. The scenery is beautiful and very scenic. The sky is amazing.
We come up on PF.

Him: Which way? 
Me: North
Him: You sure? [he must doubt my navigation skills]
Me: Yes.
Him: North Freedom should be north of here.
Me: It is, north and east of here.
Him: North?
Me [big internal sigh]: Yes.

Him: How far is North Freedom?
Me: Far enough to be out of our way.

He takes off like we are trying to get the pole position at the Indy 500.
Me: What is the big yank?

Him: I want to get home before dark.
Me: It won't get dark for hours.
Him: Grunt.
Me: Enjoy the drive, the scenery is beautiful.
Him: Grunt, sigh.

Me: Here is D, follow D, it takes us to W then it is only 1.5 miles to Highway 23.
Him [Points to a sign]: Why not that road, it says 6 miles to Loganville.
Me: Because I think the better route is this way and it is still 6 miles to Loganville.
Him: Huge Sigh.

Mario Andretti takes off again. I look around looking for some formula cars. I check our hood to see if we have a sponsor. Nope.
We pass an Amish buggy. They don't have a sponsor or a formula buggy. Just one horse power.

We get onto W and as we ride the roller coaster road, I can see the end in sight. I won't have to navigate for him anymore.

Me: See! [I say proudly], there is Highway 23!
Him: Took long enough.
He signals to go north to Loganville. He knows all the backroads from there.

I am exhausted, but keep one foot on my pretend brake and one hand on the door handle.
Maybe our sidetrip wasn't worth it.

Me: Next time I want to go to Baxter Hollow or Pine Hollow, I'm going alone.
Him: Fine. Get a paper map.

I am convinced. Lesson learned. Husband doesn't like getting directions nor does he like last minute changes to anything he has going on.

Dinner Conversation: Married Life

Note, since our last crazy conversation was so popular,... I included our dinner conversation today for your reading pleasure.

I was chopping vegetables from the garden in the kitchen and sauteing them in a pan.
The smells of fresh garlic, kale, kolrabi, onion, and green beans filled the air.

Him: Wow, smells great! What are you making?
Me: Stuff. I don't know, just putting a bunch of stuff together.
Him: What do you call it?
Me: Stuff Cooked and Put Over Noodles.
Him: Spaghetti?
Me: Close enough!

I don't really know what I am making except that I had a bunch of fresh vegetables and thought it would be fun to toss them together in a pan with some olive oil and spices to see what happened.

I continue to cook and saute the items together.

Him: Yum! I can't wait for supper, I am getting hungry!
Me [adding some canned tomatoes because I don't have any fresh yet]: Soon!

Pretty soon the noodles are cooked and I call him in from the porch.
Me: It's ready!
Him: Great!
He comes in and stares at the plates.

Him: What IS that?? 
He is pointing to the Kale that I didn't bother chopping into microscopic pieces. I've done that before with soups and other dishes.

Me: Kale.
Him: ...And what is that? What do you call this?
He is pointing at the pan, and making a face.

Me: I told you, it is called Stuff. Or Veggie Mix Up. Or Stuff Over Noodles.
Him: Oh. Don't give me much of that Stuff.

We sit down to eat and he is tentative about eating the 'Stuff', but samples it along with the noodles.

Me: So?
Him: So? Um, you can keep the Stuff, although it isn't bad. It would have been better with meat though and more sauce."
Me: Duly noted. Next time I'll add more sauce and put some spicy sausage in it.
Him: Lots and lots of sausage. 
He thinks for a moment. Then goes for another plate of noodles without The Stuff.

Him: You aren't trying to make me a vegetarian are you?
Me: Nope.

Him: What are you making tomorrow night?
Me: Meat and 'Tators.

Him [Big Smile]: Good!