Have you ever been so desperate for someone to play with you that you were willing to do practically anything? I remember once when I was little (maybe seven years old??) my parents tried to make me eat liver. It started out as a big slab of liver, at least it seemed like a big slab to me, in reality it was probably no bigger than a deck of playing cards. But it didn’t matter what size it was, it was not going in my mouth. The funny part is, I didn’t even know what liver was – I just knew it must be disgusting by the way my parents were so insistent that I eat it and wouldn’t be getting up from the table until I did. And unfortunately for them, I am stubborn. At age seven, I had the stubbornness to wear down the patience of Mother Theresa. So I sat at the table during the meal, then while everyone else cleared the table (except for my plate of liver, of course), and while they went about their days without me. I was prepared to sit there until the second coming of Jesus, if need be.
My mother must have known what I was thinking, because eventually she cut the liver into pieces and fed them all to the dog except for four pieces. And she insisted that I eat those last four little pieces. God bless her for trying, but there was still no way I was eating that liver. Hours passed and I was still sitting there at the kitchen table, not eating the liver. My parents were wearing down. They had a little conference and came to me with the decision: they would give the dog three pieces of liver, I would eat the remaining piece. To them, it was a great solution. To me, it was never going to happen.
Since the rest of the family left the table, my younger brother who was probably four at the time, was in the living room waiting for me to play. He kept peeking around the corner, telling me to just eat the liver so we could play. Finally when no one was around, he ran into the kitchen, came over to my plate, and without saying anything, he ate my piece of liver. I was free and there was nothing my parents could do because the dog had eaten all the rest! My brother had turned from bratty little brother to coolest kid on the planet in ten seconds!
So this weekend, I wanted Bryan to hang out with me and watch TV or a movie. But he couldn’t because he had forty-five reports to grade. They were reports by seventh graders and they were on the differences and similarities of plant and animal cells. Blah blah blah. I could see the night ticking away while he read the reports with the speed of a sloth on benedryl. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I took some of the reports and started reading them myself. I am, after all, certified to teach kindergarten through eighth grade. I didn’t technically grade anything but I read each report and handed it to Bryan with a synopsis of which parts had been included or left out. My purpose was to speed things up a little so that we could watch some TV.
Unfortunately for those seventh graders, I actually read their reports. I doubt they were counting on anyone actually reading something as dry as Plant Cells vs. Animal Cells. But I did. And after reading a handful, several of them started sounding familiar. In fact, a little too familiar. I thumbed back through the pile and found two that matched pretty much exactly. I pointed it out to Bryan. He groaned, as this isn’t a fun thing to deal with for a teacher. I left him with those matching papers and kept reading. My plan was backfiring in a big way. The more I read, the more I realized I was reading a lot of the exact same thing over and over again. In the end, there were 13 papers that were the exact same, except for the names at the top. This didn’t lead to Bryan and I relaxing and watching TV as I had planned. It led to Bryan in despair at the kitchen table until late that night, trying to figure out what to do with them all on Monday. We did figure out that they had all used the same website and just “copied and pasted” from the website to their reports. Ugh.
So much for my plan to help and get things done faster so Bryan could play. I should have learned from my little brother all those years ago. I shouldn’t have read those dumb reports – I should have EATEN them.
Showing posts with label bryan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bryan. Show all posts
Monday, October 12, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
time for a little cold turkey
I’m embarrassed to admit that Wesley, who just turned three, still has a pacifier. We try to only let him have it at night time and at nap time but he would prefer to have it all day long. I know, I know, we should have taken it away a long time ago. I tried, believe me. For a while we were doing really well. I think we also tried to convince ourselves that eventually he would just give it up on his own. Which was about as realistic as expecting a car to change its own oil.
It’s been really bothering me lately. I hate the daily fights when I try to take it away from him repeatedly. I don’t like waking up in the night because someone lost their pacifier and needs help finding it in the dark. And I probably spend, on average, 20 minutes a day looking for someone’s paci (pronounced passy) – 20 minutes that I want to reclaim and spend doing something more useful – like watching Dr. Phil. I know that the easy solution is to just take it away and go “cold turkey” for him and for Wyatt. If we don’t do something soon, Bryan will have to teach Wesley to shave with a pacifier in his mouth. It is going to be painful for all of us but I think in the end, will be so much easier.
So last night I was trying to think of some psychological trick to use and make Wesley want to give up his pacifiers. I want it to be his idea. I just don’t think the “pacifier fairy” is going to work at our house. I was watching him be nice to his baby brother and it hit me.
“Wesley, maybe it’s time to gather up all your pacifiers and Wyatt’s pacifiers and take them to the hospital. That way the nurses can give them to the brand new babies since you and Wyatt are getting to be such big boys,” I said, sure that I could convince him that tiny newborn babies in need were worthy of his pacifiers. And for a second, I can see that he is thinking about this.
Then, from the kitchen I hear Bryan shout, “Are you kidding? There is no way the nurses are going to give their old pacifiers to new babies.”
Sometimes Bryan and I are so in sync that it feels like we share a brain. And sometimes not. Perhaps we’d better discuss our stance on Santa Clause before Christmas comes along.
It’s been really bothering me lately. I hate the daily fights when I try to take it away from him repeatedly. I don’t like waking up in the night because someone lost their pacifier and needs help finding it in the dark. And I probably spend, on average, 20 minutes a day looking for someone’s paci (pronounced passy) – 20 minutes that I want to reclaim and spend doing something more useful – like watching Dr. Phil. I know that the easy solution is to just take it away and go “cold turkey” for him and for Wyatt. If we don’t do something soon, Bryan will have to teach Wesley to shave with a pacifier in his mouth. It is going to be painful for all of us but I think in the end, will be so much easier.
So last night I was trying to think of some psychological trick to use and make Wesley want to give up his pacifiers. I want it to be his idea. I just don’t think the “pacifier fairy” is going to work at our house. I was watching him be nice to his baby brother and it hit me.
“Wesley, maybe it’s time to gather up all your pacifiers and Wyatt’s pacifiers and take them to the hospital. That way the nurses can give them to the brand new babies since you and Wyatt are getting to be such big boys,” I said, sure that I could convince him that tiny newborn babies in need were worthy of his pacifiers. And for a second, I can see that he is thinking about this.
Then, from the kitchen I hear Bryan shout, “Are you kidding? There is no way the nurses are going to give their old pacifiers to new babies.”
Sometimes Bryan and I are so in sync that it feels like we share a brain. And sometimes not. Perhaps we’d better discuss our stance on Santa Clause before Christmas comes along.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
red alert! red alert!
This morning I woke up and went into the kitchen for my nutritious morning pick-me-up - Diet Dr. Pepper. As I drank my lukewarm breakfast right out of the can, I realized in a moment of terror that someone had been in our house last night. I guess that means it was broken into, but I couldn’t find any signs of forced entry. I also looked all around and couldn’t find anything missing.
But I know that someone, some stranger, had been in our kitchen. Because yesterday I noticed that the last paper towel had been used and the empty roll was still on the holder. And I thought, “I’m not going to change it right now.” And then this morning, there was a brand new roll on the holder! And since I’m the only one who knows where we keep the paper towels…well, it doesn’t take a detective to realize that someone must have broken into our house. I’ve seen enough C.S.I. to know that I had better not touch anything that might be evidence, especially the dirty dishes in the sink or the sticky spots on the counter!
The police are never going to believe this!
But I know that someone, some stranger, had been in our kitchen. Because yesterday I noticed that the last paper towel had been used and the empty roll was still on the holder. And I thought, “I’m not going to change it right now.” And then this morning, there was a brand new roll on the holder! And since I’m the only one who knows where we keep the paper towels…well, it doesn’t take a detective to realize that someone must have broken into our house. I’ve seen enough C.S.I. to know that I had better not touch anything that might be evidence, especially the dirty dishes in the sink or the sticky spots on the counter!
The police are never going to believe this!
Saturday, May 23, 2009
scientists say the cutest things
Yesterday Bryan took Wyatt to the doctor for his second of three shots this week – shots for a recurring ear infection. The doctor says Wyatt has a double ear infection which is really a nice way of saying “your baby has been crying for two weeks” and for some reason antibiotics aren’t touching it.
I was holding Wyatt, trying to comfort him, having no luck. Bryan commented, “Didn’t we just go through this same stuff with Wesley? I thought we were done with this stuff.”
And I said, “Bryan, this is just part of having kids. If we have another one, it will probably happen again. That’s life.”
Bryan, ever the scientist, said completely seriously, “Laura, having another kid is like taking organic chemistry again for fun. We could do it, but WHY would we?”
I think it’s time to take away his Einstein and Friends action figures for a few days.
I was holding Wyatt, trying to comfort him, having no luck. Bryan commented, “Didn’t we just go through this same stuff with Wesley? I thought we were done with this stuff.”
And I said, “Bryan, this is just part of having kids. If we have another one, it will probably happen again. That’s life.”
Bryan, ever the scientist, said completely seriously, “Laura, having another kid is like taking organic chemistry again for fun. We could do it, but WHY would we?”
I think it’s time to take away his Einstein and Friends action figures for a few days.
Monday, May 18, 2009
and it's always the cart with the broken wheel, too.
When you own a home daycare, there is a lot of shopping that goes along with it – and not the fun kind of shopping. In a typical week, I go through three gallons of milk, probably the same amount of juice, three bunches of bananas, a bag of grapes, a carton of strawberries, two containers of baby wipes, two dozen eggs, and many, many other things. I am the reason Sam’s Club and Costco were invented. But since we have neither a Sam’s Club nor a Costco or even a SuperWalmart within an hour’s driving distance, I am stuck making weekly trips to the only alternative – plain old Walmart.
I consider going to Wal-mart a form of torture. Like one step above water boarding although I’ve never been water boarded so maybe Wal-mart is worse – I don’t know. It used to not be so bad until I needed so many things every time I go there. I remember the days when Bryan and I would walk around Wal-mart leisurely, looking at all the things we didn’t really need but suddenly wanted anyway, occasionally tossing a completely useless item into the cart because it was shiny and cool and we “needed” it.
Those days are over. Now I have entered another phase of my life: the phase of needing two carts. It is completely embarrassing. I’m not even kidding. When I make my weekly trip to Wal-mart (once is all I can stomach) I need two carts to fit all the stuff I have to buy. TWO CARTS! I feel like a complete idiot pushing one cart and pulling another. I’ve tried to just do one cart but by the time I get to the checkout, things are spilling over the sides, my arms are full of other things, and I’m kicking a few items that fell out along the way.
This weekend our family went to the zoo in OKC with a couple who don’t have kids yet. They were talking about the distribution of household workload (in their house it is split evenly and they do many chores together – isn’t that precious?) and I asked about who does the grocery shopping. They do the grocery shopping together. And right then, I had a realization – I had a flashback to our wedding day. Not the one at the courthouse, the one with the big white dress.
Pastor Bob: Do you, Bryan, take Laura to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, and that she will never have to go to Wal-mart alone again, for as long as you both shall live?
Bryan: I do.
And there you have it – I shouldn’t have to suffer the torture alone. So yesterday I made Bryan and the kids go with me to Wal-mart. The least they could do is push the second cart.
It was a bad idea. Wesley is just starting to “get” potty-training and in the middle of the trip screamed, “I need to go pee on the potty!” Wyatt was fussy for some unknown reason. Wal-mart was crowded and had run out of many of the things we needed. I sensed that Bryan was about to crack and then he gave me the look that means “This is never going to happen again.”
Whatever, you wedding vow breaker, you!
I consider going to Wal-mart a form of torture. Like one step above water boarding although I’ve never been water boarded so maybe Wal-mart is worse – I don’t know. It used to not be so bad until I needed so many things every time I go there. I remember the days when Bryan and I would walk around Wal-mart leisurely, looking at all the things we didn’t really need but suddenly wanted anyway, occasionally tossing a completely useless item into the cart because it was shiny and cool and we “needed” it.
Those days are over. Now I have entered another phase of my life: the phase of needing two carts. It is completely embarrassing. I’m not even kidding. When I make my weekly trip to Wal-mart (once is all I can stomach) I need two carts to fit all the stuff I have to buy. TWO CARTS! I feel like a complete idiot pushing one cart and pulling another. I’ve tried to just do one cart but by the time I get to the checkout, things are spilling over the sides, my arms are full of other things, and I’m kicking a few items that fell out along the way.
This weekend our family went to the zoo in OKC with a couple who don’t have kids yet. They were talking about the distribution of household workload (in their house it is split evenly and they do many chores together – isn’t that precious?) and I asked about who does the grocery shopping. They do the grocery shopping together. And right then, I had a realization – I had a flashback to our wedding day. Not the one at the courthouse, the one with the big white dress.
Pastor Bob: Do you, Bryan, take Laura to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, and that she will never have to go to Wal-mart alone again, for as long as you both shall live?
Bryan: I do.
And there you have it – I shouldn’t have to suffer the torture alone. So yesterday I made Bryan and the kids go with me to Wal-mart. The least they could do is push the second cart.
It was a bad idea. Wesley is just starting to “get” potty-training and in the middle of the trip screamed, “I need to go pee on the potty!” Wyatt was fussy for some unknown reason. Wal-mart was crowded and had run out of many of the things we needed. I sensed that Bryan was about to crack and then he gave me the look that means “This is never going to happen again.”
Whatever, you wedding vow breaker, you!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
it's JUST like us!
I was visiting with Bryan's family today and I overheard someone speaking of how their teenage daughter and her boyfriend interact. Apparently, the boy is head-over-heels for her. The phrase that I heard was, "When she says, 'Jump!' he says, 'How high?' " And it struck me how much that couple is just like Bryan and me.
Like when I say, "Jump!" Bryan always says, "Did you say something? And why are you out of the kitchen anyway?"
Uncanny, isn't it?
Like when I say, "Jump!" Bryan always says, "Did you say something? And why are you out of the kitchen anyway?"
Uncanny, isn't it?
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
technology is my friend
A conversation via text message between husband and wife:
Laura to Bryan: Is there something wrong with the vacuum? It sounds like it is sucking up gravel…
Bryan to Laura: I haven’t used it. Maybe something is caught in it. I will smash it against the wall when I get home and see if that helps.
Laura to Bryan: Well in that case something is wrong with Winnie too…
Thank heaven for the technology that allows these urgent conversations to go on during the work day!
Laura to Bryan: Is there something wrong with the vacuum? It sounds like it is sucking up gravel…
Bryan to Laura: I haven’t used it. Maybe something is caught in it. I will smash it against the wall when I get home and see if that helps.
Laura to Bryan: Well in that case something is wrong with Winnie too…
Thank heaven for the technology that allows these urgent conversations to go on during the work day!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
dash lights, schmash lights
Last Friday Bryan and I spent the evening doing what all party animals in Elk City do – watching some thrilling high school basketball. Now that he teaches high school, he feels some obligation to make an appearance at some of their games. I go along with him because – I love spending time with my husband. AND those concession stands have good nachos. Okay, it’s really all about the nachos.
So after his school’s team was completely slaughtered, we went home to do the other thing party animals do in Elk City – (get your mind out of the gutter) go to sleep at 10:00 on a Friday night. We were driving home on a sort-of back road when an approaching car flashed its lights at us. Except that the lights were red and blue. Ooops.
The car passed us and then did a U-turn, lights flashing insistently as if we hadn’t seen them before. Bryan pulled over while I looked through the glove compartment for our insurance card that I had a sinking feeling wasn’t there…it wasn’t. The officer came to the window.
“Is there a reason you’re going so fast tonight?” he asked.
“Um, not a good reason,” Bryan told him. Bryan was apparently going for humor as his out in this situation. But hold on – it gets better.
“Do you know how fast you were going tonight?” asked the officer.
“Well, we don’t have any dash lights so I’m not really sure but my wife just asked me how fast I was going right before you pulled me over…” I wondered why Bryan didn’t just tell him that we also had an illegal handgun and dead body in the trunk while he was at it. It’s true – our dash lights went out about 10,000 miles ago. We haven’t gotten them fixed because they only allow you to see information that isn’t really that important – like how fast you are going, what gear you are in, how much gas you have left, stuff like that.
“You were going 46 and the posted limit here is 35. Do you have your license and insurance?” And the answer to that question was no. We had a card but it had expired a month ago. Guess I dropped the ball on that one since I open the mail.
The officer finally asked, “When was the last time you had a ticket?”
I really didn’t want Bryan to answer this question because I knew the answer - a few months ago. And a few months before that, and possibly a warning just last month. So I answered for him. I put my head down so that I could see the officer and said, “I haven’t had a ticket in over a decade, officer.”
He looked at me and then looked at Bryan again. He handed back our expired insurance card and said “You two slow it down and have a good night.” Maybe he thought Bryan having to go home with me was punishment enough – I don’t know.
But we were both very thankful.
(SEE, BRYAN – I WROTE ABOUT SOMETHING POSITIVE!)
So after his school’s team was completely slaughtered, we went home to do the other thing party animals do in Elk City – (get your mind out of the gutter) go to sleep at 10:00 on a Friday night. We were driving home on a sort-of back road when an approaching car flashed its lights at us. Except that the lights were red and blue. Ooops.
The car passed us and then did a U-turn, lights flashing insistently as if we hadn’t seen them before. Bryan pulled over while I looked through the glove compartment for our insurance card that I had a sinking feeling wasn’t there…it wasn’t. The officer came to the window.
“Is there a reason you’re going so fast tonight?” he asked.
“Um, not a good reason,” Bryan told him. Bryan was apparently going for humor as his out in this situation. But hold on – it gets better.
“Do you know how fast you were going tonight?” asked the officer.
“Well, we don’t have any dash lights so I’m not really sure but my wife just asked me how fast I was going right before you pulled me over…” I wondered why Bryan didn’t just tell him that we also had an illegal handgun and dead body in the trunk while he was at it. It’s true – our dash lights went out about 10,000 miles ago. We haven’t gotten them fixed because they only allow you to see information that isn’t really that important – like how fast you are going, what gear you are in, how much gas you have left, stuff like that.
“You were going 46 and the posted limit here is 35. Do you have your license and insurance?” And the answer to that question was no. We had a card but it had expired a month ago. Guess I dropped the ball on that one since I open the mail.
The officer finally asked, “When was the last time you had a ticket?”
I really didn’t want Bryan to answer this question because I knew the answer - a few months ago. And a few months before that, and possibly a warning just last month. So I answered for him. I put my head down so that I could see the officer and said, “I haven’t had a ticket in over a decade, officer.”
He looked at me and then looked at Bryan again. He handed back our expired insurance card and said “You two slow it down and have a good night.” Maybe he thought Bryan having to go home with me was punishment enough – I don’t know.
But we were both very thankful.
(SEE, BRYAN – I WROTE ABOUT SOMETHING POSITIVE!)
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
now, about that resolution...
Okay, I really only made one resolution for the new year. It was, in case you don’t remember, to put a quarter into a jar every time we “knock boots”. And at the end of the year, we are going to use the money to go out and have a really nice dinner. I need to tell you that this was all my idea and Bryan was merely the silent victim. (Bryan would want me to mention that.)
I guess when I made the resolution, I envisioned us, at the end of the year, pouring a mountain of quarters out of the jar, changing them in at the bank, and eating at the Cheesecake Factory. That’s where I really want to go. Unfortunately, I hadn’t done the math when I envisioned this. I think it’s a little early to throw in the towel. But as I look into the jar and see, well, let’s just say January has been a slow month, I know that it is time to revise. A little revision for my resolution – and I’ll call it my revisolution. Because without a revisolution, we will be lucky to share a Grand Slam at Denny’s.
So from this point on for each instance of red hot righteous monogamy I will be depositing a dollar instead of a quarter. I think it’s our only hope towards eating at a restaurant that doesn’t serve beverages in Styrofoam cups.
Heck, with that kind of money we should even be able to leave a tip!
I guess when I made the resolution, I envisioned us, at the end of the year, pouring a mountain of quarters out of the jar, changing them in at the bank, and eating at the Cheesecake Factory. That’s where I really want to go. Unfortunately, I hadn’t done the math when I envisioned this. I think it’s a little early to throw in the towel. But as I look into the jar and see, well, let’s just say January has been a slow month, I know that it is time to revise. A little revision for my resolution – and I’ll call it my revisolution. Because without a revisolution, we will be lucky to share a Grand Slam at Denny’s.
So from this point on for each instance of red hot righteous monogamy I will be depositing a dollar instead of a quarter. I think it’s our only hope towards eating at a restaurant that doesn’t serve beverages in Styrofoam cups.
Heck, with that kind of money we should even be able to leave a tip!
Sunday, January 4, 2009
my take on resolutions
I have a secret – other people talk about how making new year’s resolutions is so stupid, but I love making resolutions. There is just something so hopeful about pretending a new year will make it easier to have some self discipline. It wasn’t until last year that I realized that I never keep my resolutions. Or at least hardly ever. A few years ago I gave up soda and potato chips for my resolutions. I kept them for six months and then I let myself have them both again. I was pretty proud that I made it that long. But I love me some potato chips.
The most disappointing thing about my resolutions is that they aren’t even original – lose weight, get out of debt, stop hiding dead bodies in the crawl space – the same resolutions everyone else has. So this year I didn’t make any resolutions. Instead, I made a list of resolutions that I’m glad I don’t have to make. Does that make any sense?
Here they are…
Have electrolysis on my back hair.
Have tattoos reading “Mark” and “Will” removed from my left butt cheek.
Find out who my baby daddy is.
Stop pooping on the neighbor’s mailbox and yard decorations. (hopefully the neighbor’s dog WILL make this one.)
But I did make one sort of resolution. Mom, if you are reading this, you might want to stop now. I decided that this year, every time Bryan and I engage in, you know, red hot righteous monogamy, I am going to put a quarter in a container. And at the end of 2009 we will use the money to go out and have a really nice dinner. Like steaks and appetizers and wine at a really fancy place. Or if 2009 is anything like 2008, we will split a cheeseburger at McDonald’s. Here’s to a great 2009!
The most disappointing thing about my resolutions is that they aren’t even original – lose weight, get out of debt, stop hiding dead bodies in the crawl space – the same resolutions everyone else has. So this year I didn’t make any resolutions. Instead, I made a list of resolutions that I’m glad I don’t have to make. Does that make any sense?
Here they are…
Have electrolysis on my back hair.
Have tattoos reading “Mark” and “Will” removed from my left butt cheek.
Find out who my baby daddy is.
Stop pooping on the neighbor’s mailbox and yard decorations. (hopefully the neighbor’s dog WILL make this one.)
But I did make one sort of resolution. Mom, if you are reading this, you might want to stop now. I decided that this year, every time Bryan and I engage in, you know, red hot righteous monogamy, I am going to put a quarter in a container. And at the end of 2009 we will use the money to go out and have a really nice dinner. Like steaks and appetizers and wine at a really fancy place. Or if 2009 is anything like 2008, we will split a cheeseburger at McDonald’s. Here’s to a great 2009!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Just think of all the money we'll save on shampoo!
This evening, I was multi-tasking: making dinner and searching for my lost pedometer. As I headed down the hallway to check the computer desk drawers for about the twentieth time, I got the shock of my life - Bryan was sitting on the bathroom floor holding Wyatt and SHAVING HIS HEAD! I could not believe what I was seeing was really happening. First I screamed and then I had to lay down.
It's true - Wyatt has been developing a bit of a mullet (business in the front, party in the back) as babies sometimes do. And, I had mentioned possibly cutting the back a little. But I couldn't believe Bryan had taken him into the bathroom and shaved it! Bryan said, "I was going to surprise you." Oh, I was surprised all right.
I know it should not have been such a big deal to me. It is just hair. But I am a sentimental person and I would have taken pictures of the process. And I would have CUT it, not shaved it.
People, I love my husband dearly and I like surprises but there are good surprises and bad surprises. Good ones are ,"I gave the dog a bath so you wouldn't have to," or ,"I ordered pizza so you don't have to cook tonight." Bad surprises are, "I invited my mom to come and live with us!" or ," I shaved our baby's head for the first time without telling you."
Thankfully, he only shaved the long bottom part, not the whole head. And, he did pick up some of the hair so I can put it in Wyatt's scrapbook. Also, I just took pictures of Wyatt's little mullet yesterday so at least I have that.
I guess Bryan must like surprises. And being a good wife, I have to think of a surprise for him - a really, really good one. I'm thinking something involving laxatives. LOTS AND LOTS of laxatives.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
and THAT is how I got the keyboard-shaped bruise on my forehead
About a year and a half ago, I noticed that everyone else on the planet had an ipod. Except, of course, me. I wasn't sure what they did besides play songs, but I wanted one. So I began thinking of a way I could justfify spending $130 on something I didn't need and had no clue how to use. Having no job, I immediately started looking for something to sell.
Flashback to my early 20's:
If you live in Boulder, Colorado and you want to fit in, there are a few things you need; a pair of flip flops, a backpack full of granola, and a good sleeping bag. If you are a chick, it also doesn't hurt to have really hairy armpits, but I'm talking about the sleeping bag here. As a youngster, my family camped a lot but it was the kind of camping done from a really nice trailer. The rough part of "roughing it" was that the TV in the trailer was black and white. Now a 20-something, living in Boulder, I had some friends who convinced me that I would enjoy a slightly more rugged version of camping. But first, I would need some equipment - including a $225 sleeping bag that was rated to zero degrees. That means that if I were stupid enough to go camping on a night when the temp would get down to zero, theoretically, I would not freeze to death. The problem was that I don't think I ever camped on a night that got below a blustery 80 degrees. So the few times that I camped, I spent the night on top of my sleeping bag. In a pool of my own sweat.
Flash forward to a year and a half ago: I find myself scanning our home for something to sell and I'm drawn to the beloved sleeping bag which incidentally still has the tags on it. Yes, I used it THAT much. I decided to list it on Ebay (don't worry - I was honest and said it was used but in excellent condition. I didn't mention the pool of sweat part.) A few days later it sold for $137! I now had the money it would take to be cool.
Bryan used the money to buy my shiny new ipod for me. We spent an entire weekend going through all my CD's and Bryan put all the songs I wanted on it for me since I'm technology impaired.
I was finally as cool as everyone else - I, too, could drive around town rocking out to "Brass Monkey" with my tinted windows down. I was no longer bound by the cassette player in my trusty old Buick. It changed my life.
Now fast forward to a month ago. I plugged my ipod in to the car's outlet and...nothing happened. Blank screen. To my absolute horror all my songs had been somehow erased. You know how horses can smell fear? It was just like that - my ipod smelled my technology impairment and delete my songs just to be a bastard!
So this week I begged Bryan to show me how to put the songs back on. I took him one CD so he could show me, knowing that it was going to take me a while to get all the CD's put back on.
But every time he tried to show me, something went wrong. Bryan, being a little more tech-savvy than I, had to troubleshoot over and over again. Meanwhile, everyone in our house under the age of three was having meltdown - Wesley was jumping on the bed and taking papers out of the file cabinet and Wyatt was crying and wanted to be held and constantly jiggled. By someone in a chicken suit. It was as if every element in the process was against us. And I'm not sure if Bryan is a bad teacher (probably not since he has a teaching degree), I am a slow learner, or my ipod and computer are seriously messed up, but adding five songs should NOT be that hard. I wanted to Slam. My. Head. On. The. Computer. Keyboard.
After about an hour, Bryan announced, "There. That's how you add the songs." Wow, after only an hour and 17,000 steps, there were five whole songs on my ipod!
And so the next time I have about a year of free time and a deep desire to torture myself, I'll add more songs to my ipod. But until then, I might be stuck with the old Peter, Paul, and Mary cassette tape.
Flashback to my early 20's:
If you live in Boulder, Colorado and you want to fit in, there are a few things you need; a pair of flip flops, a backpack full of granola, and a good sleeping bag. If you are a chick, it also doesn't hurt to have really hairy armpits, but I'm talking about the sleeping bag here. As a youngster, my family camped a lot but it was the kind of camping done from a really nice trailer. The rough part of "roughing it" was that the TV in the trailer was black and white. Now a 20-something, living in Boulder, I had some friends who convinced me that I would enjoy a slightly more rugged version of camping. But first, I would need some equipment - including a $225 sleeping bag that was rated to zero degrees. That means that if I were stupid enough to go camping on a night when the temp would get down to zero, theoretically, I would not freeze to death. The problem was that I don't think I ever camped on a night that got below a blustery 80 degrees. So the few times that I camped, I spent the night on top of my sleeping bag. In a pool of my own sweat.
Flash forward to a year and a half ago: I find myself scanning our home for something to sell and I'm drawn to the beloved sleeping bag which incidentally still has the tags on it. Yes, I used it THAT much. I decided to list it on Ebay (don't worry - I was honest and said it was used but in excellent condition. I didn't mention the pool of sweat part.) A few days later it sold for $137! I now had the money it would take to be cool.
Bryan used the money to buy my shiny new ipod for me. We spent an entire weekend going through all my CD's and Bryan put all the songs I wanted on it for me since I'm technology impaired.
I was finally as cool as everyone else - I, too, could drive around town rocking out to "Brass Monkey" with my tinted windows down. I was no longer bound by the cassette player in my trusty old Buick. It changed my life.
Now fast forward to a month ago. I plugged my ipod in to the car's outlet and...nothing happened. Blank screen. To my absolute horror all my songs had been somehow erased. You know how horses can smell fear? It was just like that - my ipod smelled my technology impairment and delete my songs just to be a bastard!
So this week I begged Bryan to show me how to put the songs back on. I took him one CD so he could show me, knowing that it was going to take me a while to get all the CD's put back on.
But every time he tried to show me, something went wrong. Bryan, being a little more tech-savvy than I, had to troubleshoot over and over again. Meanwhile, everyone in our house under the age of three was having meltdown - Wesley was jumping on the bed and taking papers out of the file cabinet and Wyatt was crying and wanted to be held and constantly jiggled. By someone in a chicken suit. It was as if every element in the process was against us. And I'm not sure if Bryan is a bad teacher (probably not since he has a teaching degree), I am a slow learner, or my ipod and computer are seriously messed up, but adding five songs should NOT be that hard. I wanted to Slam. My. Head. On. The. Computer. Keyboard.
After about an hour, Bryan announced, "There. That's how you add the songs." Wow, after only an hour and 17,000 steps, there were five whole songs on my ipod!
And so the next time I have about a year of free time and a deep desire to torture myself, I'll add more songs to my ipod. But until then, I might be stuck with the old Peter, Paul, and Mary cassette tape.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
it was at least the size of a cantaloupe
Last night right before bed I stepped into the hallway to turn off the light and something caught my eye. It was a GIGANTIC spider crawling on the bed in the spare room. I probably could have killed it myself, but I wanted Bryan to see it, to raise his awareness of the spider situation in our home. Now, I am not a squealy girl who screams every time a tiny spider walks by. But 1.) we have been having a little bit of a problem with poisonous spiders called Fiddlebacks in our house lately and 2.) this was no tiny spider - its legs were quite possibly longer than mine.
So I called for Bryan to come in and make sure it wasn't the poisonous kind and to kill it. Bryan was less than thrilled about being called out of bed to smash a spider. He looked at it and made a half-hearted attempt to grab it with a kleenex. But the spider was apparently a seasoned criminal and disappeared under the bed in a flash.
Bryan said, "Well, it's just a harmless wolf spider. Let's go to bed."
Um, was he kidding? I wanted to see some spider carnage before I went back to bed. I mean, this thing was so big we could have strapped a saddle on its hairy back and ridden it into the Grand Canyon. And as Bryan suggested that we just go to bed, a vision flashed through my mind of that big hairy thing crawling over my infant son's head...or my toothbrush.
"Uh, I would rather try to find it and kill it first," I told Bryan.
Bryan's response was that he didn't even know where the flashlight was. At that point, I would have driven to Arkansas to get a flashlight if I had to. But, alas, I knew exactly where the flashlight was. So there we were, after 11 at night, laying on the floor with our butts in the air, looking under the bed for Spiderzilla.
In the end, I had to go to bed defeated. All night long, whenever the sheets touched me, I imagined it was my arachnid friend from the other room, coming to poop on me or lay eggs in my ear or just lick the chapstick off my lips.
It is such a curse to have an over-active imagination sometimes.
So I called for Bryan to come in and make sure it wasn't the poisonous kind and to kill it. Bryan was less than thrilled about being called out of bed to smash a spider. He looked at it and made a half-hearted attempt to grab it with a kleenex. But the spider was apparently a seasoned criminal and disappeared under the bed in a flash.
Bryan said, "Well, it's just a harmless wolf spider. Let's go to bed."
Um, was he kidding? I wanted to see some spider carnage before I went back to bed. I mean, this thing was so big we could have strapped a saddle on its hairy back and ridden it into the Grand Canyon. And as Bryan suggested that we just go to bed, a vision flashed through my mind of that big hairy thing crawling over my infant son's head...or my toothbrush.
"Uh, I would rather try to find it and kill it first," I told Bryan.
Bryan's response was that he didn't even know where the flashlight was. At that point, I would have driven to Arkansas to get a flashlight if I had to. But, alas, I knew exactly where the flashlight was. So there we were, after 11 at night, laying on the floor with our butts in the air, looking under the bed for Spiderzilla.
In the end, I had to go to bed defeated. All night long, whenever the sheets touched me, I imagined it was my arachnid friend from the other room, coming to poop on me or lay eggs in my ear or just lick the chapstick off my lips.
It is such a curse to have an over-active imagination sometimes.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Cadillac, here we come
One of the things that we knew we would haver to replace when we became homeowners was the garage door on our house. The seller originally agreed to fix it but in her state of mental breakdown changed her mind. And that's okay because it was truly beyond repair. It was sort of buckling in on itself at the seams and sometimes wouldn't go down. It became a game for Wesley and I - before we could leave to go anywhere, we'd sit at the end of the driveway and chant, "Go down! Go down!" And then lately it developed another quirk - going up by itself. We would come home from being gone all day to find it wide open, inviting the world to come in and steal our watering cans and half used rolls of duct tape.
This week we had finally had enough of the garage door drama. Bryan called to get an estimate but it had really gotten past the point of being optional and had moved into the category of necessary.
I'm just going to be open about all of this - we're friends, right? So we had been planning on spending $700 or so on the new door. Because we just had gutters put on and we still need to put up a fence so the neighbor will stop complaining that Winnie poops in her yard. Bryan talked with the guy outside and when he came in, I immediately knew we were in trouble.
"It's going to be a little more than we thought," Bryan told me. But he was going with the guy back to the door shop to see if there were any on sale that might work.
When he had been gone for over an hour, I knew that we were really, really in trouble. He returned armed with pamphlets and shifty eyes.
Now, I had stupidly thought that buying a new garage door would be simple - you know, pick a color, windows or no windows, and you're done. I was wrong. There are somewhere in the neighborhood of 7 million options available and a good salesman will convince you that if you don't get at least half of them, your children will end up in prison because you didn't love them enough to buy a better quality garage door.
Bryan told me that it was going to be $1300. And that was a screamin' deal for this door. He probably should have told me to sit down first.
"But," he said, "this is the like Cadillac of garage doors." As opposed to the Ford Festiva of garage doors we could have gotten on our budget, apparently. "And it has a lifetime guarantee," he assured me. I didn't ask but my thought was, "Whose lifetime?" Because when Sam's Club first opened, my dad bought a lifetime membership. A few years later, he got a notice in the mail that it was no longer valid. And he wasn't dead...
But that's beside the point I guess. I tried to mourn the financial loss we were about to take by brainstorming what else I could buy with $1300. I could either get a breast augmentation in a third world country or buy about two tanks of gas. Either way, we aren't really giving up much.
Heck, maybe we should have gone for the Ferrari of garage doors. Wesley doesn't need to go to college anyway.
This week we had finally had enough of the garage door drama. Bryan called to get an estimate but it had really gotten past the point of being optional and had moved into the category of necessary.
I'm just going to be open about all of this - we're friends, right? So we had been planning on spending $700 or so on the new door. Because we just had gutters put on and we still need to put up a fence so the neighbor will stop complaining that Winnie poops in her yard. Bryan talked with the guy outside and when he came in, I immediately knew we were in trouble.
"It's going to be a little more than we thought," Bryan told me. But he was going with the guy back to the door shop to see if there were any on sale that might work.
When he had been gone for over an hour, I knew that we were really, really in trouble. He returned armed with pamphlets and shifty eyes.
Now, I had stupidly thought that buying a new garage door would be simple - you know, pick a color, windows or no windows, and you're done. I was wrong. There are somewhere in the neighborhood of 7 million options available and a good salesman will convince you that if you don't get at least half of them, your children will end up in prison because you didn't love them enough to buy a better quality garage door.
Bryan told me that it was going to be $1300. And that was a screamin' deal for this door. He probably should have told me to sit down first.
"But," he said, "this is the like Cadillac of garage doors." As opposed to the Ford Festiva of garage doors we could have gotten on our budget, apparently. "And it has a lifetime guarantee," he assured me. I didn't ask but my thought was, "Whose lifetime?" Because when Sam's Club first opened, my dad bought a lifetime membership. A few years later, he got a notice in the mail that it was no longer valid. And he wasn't dead...
But that's beside the point I guess. I tried to mourn the financial loss we were about to take by brainstorming what else I could buy with $1300. I could either get a breast augmentation in a third world country or buy about two tanks of gas. Either way, we aren't really giving up much.
Heck, maybe we should have gone for the Ferrari of garage doors. Wesley doesn't need to go to college anyway.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Thank you, Neil Clark Warren
Tuesday marked the day that three years ago, Bryan and I "met" on eharmony. Honestly at that point, I was ready to close down eharmony for good. I had met enough e-dorks and e-creeps to almost make me okay with becoming an old spinster. You know, the aunt who always wears sweatshirts with squirrels on them, knits all the Christmas presents she gives, and reeks of Avon perfume and mothballs. But, just as I was planning on getting a short haircut with a really tight perm (the official haircut of old, unmarried women), I got a new match on eharmony. And he requested communication with me!
I browsed his profile and it looked pretty good. There was just one "red flag" - he was from Oklahoma. My first thought was, "Oklahoma?!? You've GOT to be kidding me!" My old roommate and I had a little agreement that we wouldn't date boys from "vowel states", meaning states whose names begin with vowels. Because, let's face it, aside from my homestate of Illinois, vowel states usually just produce rednecks and Mormons. But, since I hand't gotten my mothballs yet, I decided to respond to his questions.
So, "Oklahoma" and I wrote some emails back and forth. After a few days, he wrote that he wanted to talk on the phone. As far as eharmony goes, that is like skipping first and second bases and running straight for third. I'm usually not that kind of girl but for some reason, I threw caution to the wind and gave him my number. Besides, I figured if he was going to stalk me and kill me, at least he would have to put some effort into it since he lived 11 hours away.
We talked on the phone for the first time and I was not impressed - at all. Our conversation ended with him saying, "Maybe I'll call you tomorrow and maybe I won't. Whatever..." And as you can imagine, a line that smooth put me all aquiver with anticipation. But he did call. Every day for the next couple of weeks and I'll be darned if he didn't start to grow on me.
Within a month, he decided we needed to meet. He flew to Denver for the weekend. Saying that it was a nerve-wracking first meeting would be a vast understatement. To make a long story short, two weeks later I went to Oklahoma to visit him. And a week after that, he drove to Colorado and we got married the next day at the courthouse. Coincidentally, we got married on April 1st, so most people thought we were kidding when we told them we had gotten married. But we were serious - we had know eachother for, like, TWO WHOLE MONTHS.
And what a difference three years makes. I have gone from single Colorado schoolteacher to married mother of 1.5 kids in Oklahoma. I feel very fortunate that we met. So much has changed in both our lives.
But one thing hasn't changed: every morning, I roll out of bed, rub my sleepy eyes, and open the blinds. And as I look out at the flat landscape and see the trees blowing in the wind, I still think, "Oklahoma?!? You've GOT to be kidding me!"
Bryan Phillips, I must REALLY love you.
I browsed his profile and it looked pretty good. There was just one "red flag" - he was from Oklahoma. My first thought was, "Oklahoma?!? You've GOT to be kidding me!" My old roommate and I had a little agreement that we wouldn't date boys from "vowel states", meaning states whose names begin with vowels. Because, let's face it, aside from my homestate of Illinois, vowel states usually just produce rednecks and Mormons. But, since I hand't gotten my mothballs yet, I decided to respond to his questions.
So, "Oklahoma" and I wrote some emails back and forth. After a few days, he wrote that he wanted to talk on the phone. As far as eharmony goes, that is like skipping first and second bases and running straight for third. I'm usually not that kind of girl but for some reason, I threw caution to the wind and gave him my number. Besides, I figured if he was going to stalk me and kill me, at least he would have to put some effort into it since he lived 11 hours away.
We talked on the phone for the first time and I was not impressed - at all. Our conversation ended with him saying, "Maybe I'll call you tomorrow and maybe I won't. Whatever..." And as you can imagine, a line that smooth put me all aquiver with anticipation. But he did call. Every day for the next couple of weeks and I'll be darned if he didn't start to grow on me.
Within a month, he decided we needed to meet. He flew to Denver for the weekend. Saying that it was a nerve-wracking first meeting would be a vast understatement. To make a long story short, two weeks later I went to Oklahoma to visit him. And a week after that, he drove to Colorado and we got married the next day at the courthouse. Coincidentally, we got married on April 1st, so most people thought we were kidding when we told them we had gotten married. But we were serious - we had know eachother for, like, TWO WHOLE MONTHS.
And what a difference three years makes. I have gone from single Colorado schoolteacher to married mother of 1.5 kids in Oklahoma. I feel very fortunate that we met. So much has changed in both our lives.
But one thing hasn't changed: every morning, I roll out of bed, rub my sleepy eyes, and open the blinds. And as I look out at the flat landscape and see the trees blowing in the wind, I still think, "Oklahoma?!? You've GOT to be kidding me!"
Bryan Phillips, I must REALLY love you.
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