Scoop: Originally journalistic lingo, it means someone else “dug up” a story before you did.

We stumbled into the porch, our arms laden with bags. John was carrying his big work satchel/computer and a million little things he’d needed at work that day. I was sporting my own giant bag with purse and lunch kit plus a plastic bag full of fresh corn that we’d just picked. We were tired and hungry, the stop at the garden pushing us past our dinner time limit. And there, blocking the door, was a large box from the mailman.

“Oh no,” John mumbled.

“What?” I asked, misunderstanding. “We’ll just walk around it and make another trip.”

I didn’t know what the package contained, but I knew its intent: my birthday is this weekend.

“No, I forgot to get ice. Your mother specifically texted me today and told me to buy ice. I’ve just been so busy lately, it slipped my mind.”

I looked at the box, then back at my husband. “It can’t need ice immediately or it wouldn’t be something that goes through the mail.”

“Let’s just take it inside and open it so I know how much ice we need before I bother going to buy some,” he decided.

And then, in an impressive shuffle of bags that hadn’t been an option when I’d needed a hand with the corn, John shifted the weight of his current burden and picked up the box right then and there. He’s not really a “make two trips” kind of guy.

In the box was a canvas bag and attached to the bag was a typed card that read something to the effect of “enjoy delicious smoothies and lots of healthy foods.”

“Oh no,” John said again. “She did, didn’t she.” What he mumbled under his breath next may have been a swear word or just unintelligible nonsense. I’m really not sure. “She stole my idea. I know she did.”

When I saw what it was I laughed, immediately knowing what he presumed was true.

It was a Ninja blender. And not the big, hulk of one that is sold in Target, whose giant display has been my reason for avoiding the entire brand. My mom had found a normal sized Ninja that I won’t have to wrestle into a cupboard spot, as well as an accompanying small food processor.

Last week I became the humus queen. I found an awesome recipe (See here if you’d like to try it). Everyone knew that I was in love with this recipe. My coworkers. My mother. And John. And they all knew my only complaint was my blender. I never use the thing. Mostly because it scares me. When making the humus, I made John man the blender. I was sure the thing would explode and if so, I would rather he be the one to lose an eye.

Back when we were engaged and registering for wedding gifts, we thought we were being kind when asking for a cheaper-end blender. We didn’t want to be presumptuous. That was a mistake. There’s nothing kind about waking up your neighbor’s children every time you make yourself a late night snack.

But now, all my blender problems disappeared. I was thrilled. John was not.

“I googled a specialty kitchen store in Albany today,” John moaned. “The directions are in my pocket. I was going to run out there on my day off tomorrow.”

He never went to get the suggested ice because I forewent the recommended smoothies and made my humus instead. John was pretty game, despite the constant muttering of “I truly have no idea what I’m going to do now.” He has one day to come up with something else.

In the past five days, John’s had five A1 [front page of entire paper] and two B1 [front page of Local section] stories. These included breaking information no other reporter knew about and interviews at places that shut out all other media behind John’s exit. It has possibly been the best week of his career.

Until, of course, he arrived home after his last workday only to find out he’d been scooped by his mother-in-law.