November 12, 2007
Mrs. Rousseau's Famous Bye Week Column
BY: Kevin Rousseau
Editorial note: As a public service to the regular readers of Kevin's column, once a year during the Patriots' bye week, his wife gets to say her peace. The lovely and talented Mrs. Rousseau somehow manages to put up with him and this is her only outlet. So please, lend her your ear once again.
Tis the season to be jolly. The Red Sox have won another World Series, the Patriots are on a winning streak, the smell of fall is in the air and soon it will be time to celebrate Christmas in our home. Personally, I am hoping Santa has a limited stock on Red Sox and Patriots apparel. Those of you who have been my loyal readers know how I feel about excessive… well… everything. BUT, here we go again. Another year has past and there has been a wonderful accumulation of goodies to share.
The biggest news…I FINALLY went to a home game! Now the last time this rare occurrence happened, was 2 years ago while I was 7 months pregnant and the Pats lost by some unGodly score. That had been my first introduction to the new stadium and I was hoping to bring good karma with me that day--nope, didn't happen. Soooo needless to say, I took a little pre-game ribbing before I graced the stadium with my presence again. They won by a landslide- ho-hum goes the season so far. Tailgating was fun and as always a little interesting. Who lights a gas stove with a cigarette in their mouth? Well I am not naming any names but please don't anyone try that at home and don't get any ideas with an Oxygen tank either just in case you decide to have a little fun.
By now you have heard all about this year's class trip to Dallas. You have heard one side. Six months ago: "Steve did you say you were moving to Texas? OK I am inviting myself down, and you KNOW Mark and Matt and so on and so on and so on…. will come down. Fundraising? Permission slips? You may not be home that weekend?" OK everyone, now the hamster on the wheel inside his head is really turning. Well, you all know how it turned out. Fundraising- he just squeaked by. Permission slip -- signed with a sarcastic glance and away the Three Musketeers went.
Though this year's Patriots fashion runway show has been cancelled, there still remains an occasional fashion faux paux. ( Mind you I am always blindsided by this at 6am after a rough night's sleep with two toddlers up at different times during the night who enjoy invading our bed). So here we have casual black dockers, tright red short sleeved collard shirt with the Red Sox or Patriots logo on the left breast, bright blue base ball cap with the other team's logo that is not on the shirt , sneakers, and mix in a Maine DOT ID tag. I am met with this sight as he quickly tries to get out of the bedroom door- " I am off to work-I will leave my cell phone on." I think to myself "Why in case the fashion police call and put an APB out for you?" I am able to just barely catch him to say "Ah, just WHERE are you going to work? The DOT or some fantasy football/ baseball /athletic trainer/ waterboy lovefest?
Update on the bobbleheads- abandoned. Collecting dust. Some of them are now looking like an idea for a Stephen King novel. I am wating for Kevin to say to me "Ya know I haven't bought any new bobbleheads for a while. I think maybe the kids might like to have a few new ones". OK, now that we have our wonderful children, they seem to become the excuse for buying things- you know the must-haves that I have referred to in past years. I think to myself, yeah right, Evie and Jake each need a 19-something-or-other throwback-something-or-other because it will someday be worth something.
Here is another scene- late night after a big win, when after all the whooping and hollering from the party-for-one has stopped in the living room, the dog is snoozing with me on the bed, kids are nestled in their little beds, I hear a loud forced whisper yeaaah, all right. I roll over and pull the covers over my head only to hear a loud , unusual crunching sound. The dog stirs, thinks about jumping off the bed to investigate, but doesn't. This crunching continues. I think to myself- just come to bed. The game is over. Several more minutes go by and finally the crunching stops, the toilet flushes and in comes my beloved to bed. The following morning, the investigation starts. Orange crumbs. Orange fingerprints. I open the cabinet door and there it is. The bright orange bag with one and a half remaining pieces with a cheetah with sun glasses pouncing out at me. Who invited Chester Cheeto to his party-for-one anyway?
Like Pavlov's dog, he has our son trained to say "First Down!" everytime he prompts him with "That's good enough for another Patriots'…."
Finally, I was thinking about buying a nice art print for a couple hundred dollars the other day when he says "Don't you think that's quite a bit for some art?" My response was "And just how much is that season ticket of yours?"
Well, that's it for another year. Thanks for letting me say my peace.
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