...and the Oscar goes to...Matt Kenseth

My sweet husband, Brian, grew up in North Carolina. His weekends were spent with his family at the Asheville Speedway. Family road trips took him to Darlington, and Charlotte. NASCAR is in his blood, and he could most likely tell you the winner of the Daytona 500 from the first race to the most recent.
I, on the other hand grew up in Florida, and from the first time I had control of the remote, have been an awards season junkie. I would stand in front of my stuffed animal collection and make my Oscar speeches thanking each and every one of them for their contribution to my fame. I would look forward to awards season as much as I do Girl Scout Cookie season now. The closest I have ever come to being a sports fan was a two year stint as a middle school cheerleader. Rather than discussing the game, we would discuss how unfair it was that our uniform skirts had to reach the top of our knee, while the Catholic girls were allowed much shorter, and more flattering skirts. The church elders didn't seem to understand, or care, that the length of our skirts was unflattering. (What I would give for my seventh grade knees.)
My husband is a fan of the Giants and the Yankees. Rusty Wallace was his man until he retired.
I have, many times tried to understand sports. I thought it would be fun to be a sports wife, but would get caught up in how I looked in my jersey and forget all about the game.
One day, in the beginning of our relationship, I picked my then four year old daughter up from pre-school. As we pulled out of the parking lot, she said emphatically,"I hate Jeff Gordon, he wears pantie hose." I really didn't know where this came from, but I had an idea.
I tried my best not to laugh out loud and replied,"Sweetie we don't hate anyone, we don't even know the man."
Later that evening when Brian came over for dinner, I told him of her earlier announcement. To this day I wish I had a picture of his expression. A sense of pride washed over his face, and I honestly think there was a tear in his eye. He still denies having given her the line, but I hold onto my suspicion.
For a time we had a delightful #2, Rusty Wallace, Miller Light, bar mirror hanging in our bedroom. The look on my sweet man's face when he brought it home was akin to the look the father has in,"A Christmas Story", when he opens the leg lamp. Mine, I am sure, was closer to the mother's. Sadly the mirror didn't match the decor when I redecorated the bedroom while he was out of town, and it ended up under the bed, and now resides in a closet.
When Dale Earnhardt was killed in the 2001 Daytona 500 my beloved mourned. We watched the memorial service together. I think it was one of the first times I saw him cry. His childhood hero, "The Intimidator",was gone.
I knew how he felt, as I had mourned when Michael Landon had passed away. I am not making a joke. I was huge fan of "Little house on the Prairie".
I will never forget the day I came home and asked ,"Hey honey, do you know how NASCAR got it's name?"
He went into the historical overview, almost killing the moment.
"Nope,"I replied,"There were two rednecks watching a race and one turned to the other and said, 'Hey, that's a naaaaiicecaaaarrr'." I broke into hysterics, while he stood stoic, realizing for the first time that he was in love with a woman who might never truly accept his passion.
His love of sports and my love of awards season have coexisted happily for many years now. There was a hiccup during the last Superbowl, which we mistakenly watched together. As he watched happily, I interrupted with,"Why is the grass two different colors?"
"I don't see it," he replied, eyes not deviating from the game.
"Do the winners stay and party in Tampa" I asked innocently.
"Not sure," was his answer, not wanting to encourage this behavior,"I think they hop on a plane and party when they get home."
My final question of the night was this, "Do they have a private plane, or do they fly commercial?"
He reply was short, quick and exasperated,"Honey, I really have no idea, now do you want to go into the living room or shall I?"
Last night, though, the two worlds collided and while, surprisingly, the earth did not stop, something was forever changed.
It just so happened that second race of the year,the Auto Club500, was slated to begin at 5, the exact same time as the red carpet coverage. Feeling that it was slightly unfair to take over the kids t.v. for dresses, I passed and decided that surely the race would be over by the time the actual ceremony began. No such luck.
With the children tucked safely into bed, I settled in, ready to watch the Oscars. The big kahuna. The one we wait all year to see.
My husband had the same idea, sort of. Softly he climbed into bed, and quickly the channel was changed to FOX.
"But, I stammered, it's Oscar night".
"Sorry, it's chair night for you."(he actually said something much nicer, but it hurt just as much.)
He was right after all. Thursday he let me have the bedroom for, what I like to call,"McDreamy night". He had also worked all day on the computer and cooked dinner. I had to let him have the bed. As much as it hurt, it was only fair.
And so it began."Honey it's commercial, can you switch it for me?"
We watched as Penelope Cruz won for something. Remember, we were on the other channel.
"click" and we were back to the races.
"You know," my husband began," In 2010 racing season is going to be year round". He had a glimmer in his eye, which either meant that there was only one more year until his life would be perfect, or that he enjoyed crushing his adoring wife.
"I guess we had better start saving for the out building and a new t.v."I replied.
The t.v. beeped and words began to scroll across the bottom of the set.
"Penelope Cruz wins Best Supporting Actress, Vicki Christina Barcelona."
"OK," I thought to myself, "this could work. Ooh look, another commercial".
We watched as more nominees were announced.
"Honey, I haven't ever heard of any of these movies,"my sweet dumpling spouted.
"They are shorts, I think, that's beside the point."
click
At some point Jr.'s engine was running hot and out of the race he went. At approximately 10:25 p.m. eastern time, Matt Kenseth took the checkered flag, my man tossed the remote my way, rolled over and immediately began snoring.
"It's Oscar time," I yawned,"At least I will get to see the big ones."
I set the timer on the remote for thirty minutes, thinking inaccurately that it wouldn't go on past 11. I rolled over, covered up and got comfy, ready to watch in peace. I watched as the Best Original score and Song were introduced. I watched them dance and sing. I watched as the awards were given and the speeches made. A commercial break came with the announcement that, upon their return, they would announce Best Actor, Actress and finally Best picture. I rolled to my side and closed my eyes as the room went dark and I heard a click. As sure as the world the timer had worked right on schedule.
"It wasn't meant to be,"I thought to myself and calmly began my nightly prayers.
So, next February, if you happen to pass buy the house and see a blue light flickering out of the window of a tiny barn in our yard, come knock on the door. You may find me in a ball gown happily sipping champagne along with the celebrities. As you approach, however, use caution. If the roar of the engines can be heard through the night air, it may be my dear sweet, watching the race in his boxers under his carefully hung Rusty Wallace mirror.