Un-ground Me!

OK, so, I was checking out The Kid's blog on my Google Reader since I'm not allowed to talk to him until Friday.  (I was going through withdrawal!)  ANYWAY, apparently The Kid saw a bunch of llamas loose on campus at his college. (One was even in a building!)

Fortunately he took pictures. You too can see the pictures of the llamas at Cedarville if you go to his blog.  (He's linked on the right.)

I haven't seen anything that cool recently and I am dying to discuss it with him.

Things I need to ask The Kid:

1. Were the llamas part of some exhibit or were they just loose from some llama farm nearby?
2. Did any spit on you?
3. Did any do their business when they were inside the building?
4. Did you pet them?
5. If so, were they soft?
   
6. Which one was your favorite?
7. Did you chase them?

OH MY GOSH UN-GROUND ME RIGHT NOW!  I can't take it anymore!

I Think That Truck Is Alive...

Joey and I went to Target last night to look for a wig for me to wear as part of my costume tonight.  No dice.  Unfortunately, I think all wigs were sold out sometime last week.

As we were walking back out to our car I noticed a large, ugly truck that hadn't been there when we first went into the store.  Just as I walked past the passenger door, the truck began coughing, sputtering and making sounds that could have been mistaken for an engine turning over.

It completely freaked me out.  There was no one in the cab.

I began having flashbacks to that one Strong Bad email where Strong Bad and The Cheat are watching the scary show on TV about the truck that's alive and The Cheat gets so scared he loses it and goes nuts.

"Um.....Joey?"  I asked, "Something's wrong with that truck. It's starting all by itself."

I vaguely remembered hearing ads for remote starting systems last Christmas, but that was back in Iowa and, seriously, who needs to remote start their car to warm it up when it's already 65 degrees outside?  Obviously that was not what was going on.  People don't need remote start systems down here, it never gets that cold.

Joey flipped on the lights and, disturbingly enough, at the same moment the lights from the truck, that I was beginning to think was alive, also turned on.

I whimpered.  "It's alive."  The truck coughed and sputtered again, but still did not turn over.

"No," Joey said half patiently, half not patiently "That is the reflection of our lights in the truck's headlights.  They did not just turn on by themselves."

"Yes they did," I insisted.

We backed out of the parking space (and got further away from the truck that was scaring me) and noticed that the truck's headlights were not dimming as we pulled out.  THEN we noticed some rag-tag individuals walking up to the alive truck and getting in.

"Oh."  Joey said.  "They must have done a remote start with it or something.  You're right, those headlights did turn on."

"That stupid thing scared me a lot."  I said.

Joey just shook his head and drove home. 

And the exciting part was that when we got home we walked, jumped, and rolled up the new pillows we got earlier in the evening.  (We were breaking them in; the guy at the store told us to do it!)  Joey is a serial pillow-killer and had destroyed all of our pillows but one - mine, which I won't let him touch. (We had nine pillows in our house up until I threw three of them out last night, seven of which we've purchased just in the time since we've been married!)  Poor Joey was consistently waking up grouchier and grouchier because his neck was hurting because he was sleeping on a mauled pillow. 

So, we think, we got a Joey-proof pillow this time.  At least it comes with a three-year warranty...

Anyway, it was kind of fun to jump on a pillow.  It burned off all the stress from thinking that truck was alive.

The Kid Detox Is Going Well

So I'm still grounded from The Kid, but I must congratulate myself in that I've done very good job abiding to all the parameters of my grounding .  I haven't called him, emailed him, sent him any IMs, and I've pretty much quit walking around the house muttering "The Kid" and crying.

THE KID, however, is not quite so amazing.

On Sunday night we were mostly asleep when that Kid called Joey's cell phone. (On The Kid's behalf, it was only 9:30.  But we did have to get up disturbingly early so we could both be in our respective offices by 7:00 the next morning.)

I heard muffled sounds coming from Joey's phone.  Then,

"What?  You need her to proofread an outline for you?  And it's due Tuesday?  What did you do, wait until the last minute?"

A pause.

"Oh, youth in Asia?  They have a pretty severe plight; that's pretty depressing, I'd put it off too."

Another pause.

"The Kid, I know you said 'euthanasia' and not 'youth in Asia'. Duh.  But the problem your sister is STILL grounded from you.  I'm not sure she's allowed to proofread your outlines, even if they are due on Tuesday."

I perked up.  Maybe....

"OK, fine.  I'll make an exception.  You can send her the outline and she can proof it for you.  You can even have two chat sessions to discuss the outline.  But she's still grounded until Friday night."

I smiled.  However, I was determined to see this grounding through...there would be no chatting coming from me.

Joey handed the phone to me to say something to The Kid about something I'd mailed him, but I yelled, 'No, no, I'm grounded I can't talk to him!" and buried my head in my pillow.

See how well-behaved I am?  I'm even better at being grounded now than I was when I was in high school.

And when The Kid sent me his paper about euthanasia (which was depressing, he was right), I edited it and sent it back to him with the words, "I'm grounded, man."  And, thus, I have 4 days down and 3 more days of grounding to go.

I hope that Kid is enjoying his birthday present.  GOSH.

Getting Kicked in Kickball

First of all, it's pretty much mom's fault that I don't like games that involve balls. Of any sort. Large, small, flying, rolling...I don't know how to handle them and they generally scare me. (Especially when they're flying through the air at my head.) Mom's the same way only way, way worse; I figure I inherited from her.

Our SF group challenged another SF group to a game of kickball this last Sunday. Unfortunately, 4 of our key people weren't able to make it. That meant there were 6 of us against the formidable 10 from the other SF group. (And I don't really count, so it was really more like 5 on 10.)

Our odds were not good.

I managed to avoid kicking the ball entirely the first time we were up. This was done rather easily because I had made the mistake of bringing Henry to the park. I couldn't very well just leave him while I kicked the ball, because odds were good that he'd jump in my way, make me trip, and then I'd fall and be out.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to leave Henry with the other team when we were in the outfield because we were barely up to kick for 5 minutes together. (We kept getting out.)

So I took him with me.

He sat there and cried as he watched everyone have fun but him. I stood there in the vicinity of 2nd base (but really not on 2nd base because who can hang on to a dog and watch a base at the same time?!) and watched Laura and Luke catch/chase all the balls that came my direction.

Danny kept yelling strange phrases that I didn't understand like "Any face, any base!" and "2 down!"

I'd stand there and try to figure out what in the world he was talking about. Two down? Does that mean there are two outs, or does it mean that there are two runners on base? (Both were true.)

And about that time a ball would go flying past. A ball that, had I been paying attention, I'd have caught. Well, OK, that's maybe a little bit of an exaggeration. I'd have tried to catch it.

I'm still not sure what "any face, any base" means. I'm open to suggestions.

I probably should mention, in all fairness and in a spirit of positiveness (is that a word?) that I did get to 2nd base, even though I couldn't find it. (We didn't have any bases which meant we were all running around like drunks trying to find the little dusty circles on the ground where the bases should have been, had we gotten the bases.) I think 2nd base is further than I've made it in a long time. Stop laughing.

Becca was a complete trooper at 1st base, about a million foul balls got kicked her way and she had to chase them down. I was kind of glad I wasn't at 1st base. (It probably helps that she's a 1st grade teacher and her students probably always kick foul balls.) She gets the Good Sport award.

Laura caught way more than her fair share of balls in the outfield. She was standing in my vicinity and I didn't catch any. So she definitely gets the Good Game award for picking up my slack and being awesome.

Luke and Becca get the award for Good Newlyweds. Between Joey and I, we took 6 pictures of the two of them posing all cute and newlywed-like. Nice job, guys. Additionally, Luke gets an award for having to be in the outfield and look directly in the sun. He gets the Good Eyesight award.

Danny gets the Good Organization award for organizing the entire thing. I was trying to think of some award I could give him that had something to do with using phrases I didn't understand, but I gave up on that.

Joey pitched for us every inning and I was quite impressed that not only could he make the ball get all the way up to the plate, he pitched it straight! (Two things I can't do. I've tried, but really not very hard.) He gets the award for Good Pitching.

And these are some pictures from the event that we took with our new camera! We had lots of fun...even though we lost. Really, really badly.

Like, as in we never even scored badly.

Danny cheering Laura on

Joey pitching

One of the many cute pictures of Luke and Becca that we took...

Our team!

Sad we lost...And a kiss to make us all feel better.

Pumpkin Carving!

Joey and I are pumpkin carvers extraordinare. OK, well, maybe not that good. But our pumpkins are killer sweet this year.

Joey, after much deliberation and painstaking selection, decided he would carve a bear holding shark into his pumpkin.As you can see, it turned out very much like one would think a bear holding a shark carved into a pumpkin would look.

"Joey, is that bear wearing a scarf around his neck? Or are those his teeth," I asked when he showed me his work of art.

He sighed. "Bears holding sharks do not wear scarves. Those are obviously teeth. How can you not tell that?"

I giggled; I could totally tell, I just wanted to rile him up. It always works, too.

My pumpkin design was a little bit more difficult.

"Can I carve The Kid into my pumpkin?" I asked/whined. "I miss him."

"No, you are grounded from The Kid. You cannot carve his face onto your pumpkin; try again." Joey said. I think he was trying not to laugh at me.

I thought. And thought.

If I couldn't annoy one brother, I'd have to annoy the other brother. I tried to think of what would annoy Andrew the most...

We ruled out Henry's tongue because it would be too un-annoying once carved into a pumpkin. I decided to go with Marshie the Marshmallow. (From Homestarrunner.com?!? Come on, guys, seriously. How can you not know this?)

I found a pattern online and traced it onto my pumpkin, then began to carve using these fantastic tools that we got at Target.

Much, much easier than using the butcher knife, Pops.

This is my finished product of Marshie the Marshmallow. It's a real bad picture of me.Take that, Andrew. So annoying, huh?

And these are our pumpkins together. Aren't they quite fantastic?

Elevators Are Lame

This morning I was in the parking garage waiting for the elevator to arrive to take me up out of the dungeon.  I had pushed the "up" button and, quite suddenly, two "up" elevators arrived at the exact same time.

What's a girl to do?  I picked the nearest one and the two other people who had also been waiting for an elevator got on with me.

The doors shut suddenly and I realized I'd made a mistake.  The elevator was malfunctioning and, while it said it was going up, it was really going down.  And stopping at all the other floors between us and the bottom on its way.

"Nuts, the elevator is broken!"  I said, by way of explanation to my two elevator buddies who were looking at me oddly and trying to figure out why I was staring at the row of buttons. 

One of them happened to be an acquaintance of mine.  I looked at him, sighed, and said, "I'm going to have to send in a ticket to Support about this elevator being broken."

He looked at me with a very worried look on his face. I could almost read his mind: Doesn't this girl know that sending a ticket to Support will do her absolutely no good since the elevator we're currently on isn't anywhere near our office?  And even if it was, she'd have to put in a maintenance work order and not a Support ticket...

"Are you serious?"  He asked me gently.

I cracked a smile.  "No," I said.

He sighed a very great sigh of relief.

And the elevator finally stopped going down and began going back up to the ground floor like it was supposed to do the entire time.

Grounded From The Kid

Last night on the way home from youth group I decided I needed to call The Kid to get him to tell Joey to buy me some marshmallows. I left him a voicemail that sounded something like this:

"The Kid. Call Joey and tell him him to buy me some marshies so I can roast them over the fire I want him to make us this evening. He probably won't get any if I ask him for them, so I need you to tell him to do it. OKFINE. Bye."

Joey pulled into Target anyway and we purchased one bag each of big and little marshies (2 bags of the Target brand were the same price as 1 bag of Kraft) and a pumpkin carving kit for Saturday. As we drove out of the parking lot, my phone rang.

"It's The Kid!" I crowed.

Joey snatched it out of my hand. "Give me that!" He said, then flipped the phone open and said to the Kid, "The Kid, you are not allowed to talk to Jenna again until your birthday. She can't call you, email you, IM you, or figure out any other way to contact you between now and then. She is grounded."

"What?!" I wailed. "But....The Kid! I need....The Kid!"

"She obviously needs help on this codependency thing. So you get 9 days off from talking to her," Joey said to The Kid. He sounded rather triumphant.

"Noooooo!" I moaned. "How can I make major life decisions about whether or not to get cookies or soda!"

I heard some muffled noises coming from my phone. I couldn't discern what The Kid was saying, but whatever it was probably wasn't good.

"You're welcome, The Kid. It's my birthday present to you." Joey said into the phone. Then he hung up.

"You can't talk to The Kid until you get to Indiana. He said it was the best birthday present I'd ever given him." Joey said with an evil grin on his face.

I squeezed the bag of marshmallows for comfort. I continued pouting.

"Here's what you have to do. You have to write down every time you want to talk to The Kid between now and November 2 and then give the entire packet to him. I think that'll probably be seriously annoying," Joey pulled the car into the parking lot and we got out.

"But...The Kid..." I said, forlornly.

"You'll be OK. You are obviously addicted to The Kid."

He has a point.

For the next 10 minutes I wandered around the house pathetically asking deep, important questions to no one. Questions like,

"The Kid, how are you doing?"

"The Kid, can I get a Pepsi?"

"The Kid, can I get a cookie?"

"The Kid, is Ernie cooler than me?"

And suchlike.

Joey just laughed his wicked little laugh at me as he started the fire in our fireplace.

Being grounded from The Kid is so shocking! I was totally not expecting it, and I didn't even do anything bad to deserve such a thing! Hmm, I wonder what I can ground Joey from... His lappy? MacGyver? Sleeping? Mt. Dew?

I think sleeping.

Joey, you are grounded from sleeping until November 2, 2007. So go stock up on the No Doze.

In Which Jenna Gets Yelled At By The Dallas Police

Last night was a very nice, cool evening.  While I was on my way home from work I determined that nothing would please me more than to take Henry to the dog park at White Rock Lake after I'd cleaned up dinner and while Joey was working on homework.

This plan did not go over very well with Joey who informed me that he was not going to sit at home and read while I took Henry to a dog park; that was absolutely unfair.

Several minutes later Joey's phone rang.  He talked to his friend for a few minutes and then put the phone down, his eyes gleaming with excitement. 

"Jordan has a free ticket to the Mavs game tonight and he's wondering if I can go."

"But what about all that homework you said you had to do?"  I asked.

"I'll take it with me!"  He said.  He seemed to think this was a good solution.  "Besides, it's not due until Thursday."

Since there was nothing standing in his way, he told Jordan that, yes, he could go to the game with him.   I was very jealous.  I like watching basketball and, since we don't have a TV, it's a very rare occurrence.  (And soccer, which I spent every Sunday afternoon watching with FIL#1 during my Senior year of college, is not the same thing.)

It was only 6:50, so I decided now was a good time to leave for the dog park before it got too dark outside.  I bundled up, made myself some tea, grabbed my copy of Mansfield Park, and harnessed Henry.  Joey was sitting in the study doing homework mostly, I think, to convince me that he was actually going to get something done tonight.

I pretty much knew better.

I gave Joey a kiss and Henry and I headed out the door. Henry was all giddy as we went to the car, he loves going places.  When we got to the dog park, the sign read "CLOSED".  There were about 20 people and as many dogs in the fenced in area, though, so I figured I might as well join them.

The gate was locked, but there were two plastic lawn chairs next to the fence that people were using to climb over.  I figured I might as well be a joiner as not, so I did the same.

I unclipped Henry's leash and left him to sniff around with the other dogs.  He was real traumatized at first, but shortly decided he would have more fun if he chased the larger dogs.  I found a vacant chair in the middle of the park and sat down with my tea and my book.  Henry ran about and played very nicely, something that pleased me quite a bit.  (He's rather socially awkward.)

About 10 minutes passed before I heard, "HEY!  IT IS ILLEGAL TO JUMP THE FENCE; IS THAT HOW YOU ALL GOT IN?"

I whipped my head around and there, in the parking lot standing next to a Dallas Police car stood a policeman.  A very angry policeman.

"ALL OF YOU GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW.  WHAT YOU ARE DOING IS ILLEGAL!  THE DOG PARK IS CLOSED." He continued to yell.

Oh great, "Dallas Seminary Student wife gets busted at the dog park for being an illegal ," I thought to myself.  I can see the headlines now.

I grabbed Henry, my book and my tea and waited in line to climb over the fence to get back out. 

"Do you think he'll give us all citations?"  People whispered worriedly as they passed me.

I certainly hoped not.

We made it out without incident and the policeman didn't seem like he was handing out tickets.  I slunk back to my car.  With all the excitement, Henry was completely keyed up and going crazy.  He still needed exercise, which had been the entire point of going to the dog park in the first place.

So I decided to take him running.  He didn't really like it.

Like Parents Like Daughter

Whenever I'm at my parents' house I wake up really early.  Usually it's because I'm excited that I'm home and figure that Pops' cow sprayer has broken again and he needs help fixing it. (It conveniently breaks a lot whenever us kids are home, there are rumors floating around that it might be rigged).

So I usually go find a pair of Mom's old jeans and one of her t-shirts and make my way to the kitchen where, inevitably, I find my parents sitting at the kitchen table having their devotions and eating their breakfast.

"Want to join us?"  Pops will ask.  I'll look at his breakfast, a bowl of plain yogurt mixed with strawberries All Bran Buds and maybe, if I'm really unlucky, there will be some bananas cut up on the top.

"Sure! But I am not eating that,"  I'll say.

"Come on, it's good."  Mom will try to convince me, and then take a nice big bite.

"No way; it's positively disgusting.  I tried it once,"  I maintain.

I hate everything about bananas (but mostly the smell) so I usually sit as far away as possible from whichever of them has bananas in their yogurt mixture.  And I'm sunk if they both have bananas.

I'll get myself a granola bar or munch on dry cereal while Pops reads out of Our Daily Bread and we pray together.  (Usually the bananas are all consumed by this point.) 

Then I go tag along with Pops and "help" him fix things.  If I'm very lucky (and usually I am) we have to stop for Pepsi and sustenance sometime in the course of me helping do whatever it needs to get done.

The problem with this whole otherwise idyllic scenario is the yogurt thing my parents eat for breakfast.  (It's even worse when mom dumps in a quarter cup of wheat germ...)  For about 10 years now I have been giving them a hard time about their disgusting breakfast of choice.

I'm not sure what happened when I turned 25, but shortly thereafter I began looking in the dairy fridge in the morning thinking "I should have some yogurt."

Two weeks ago, I finally did it.

I poured half a container of plain organic yogurt into a bowl and cut up a whole bunch of strawberries and raspberries. I mixed them in until they were throughly coated and then....then I went to the cupboard and dug out a bran-type cereal and dumped it on top of the yogurt covered fruit.

Realizing what I had done, I stepped back and stared at my bowl.  This can't be happening.

One of my associates came up beside me and looked at my breakfast.  "That looks really...different," he said diplomatically.  "I would never have thought to add the cereal."

I surprised myself when I replied, "Well, it's actually pretty good." And took a nice big bite.

And I have eaten yogurt, fruit and cereal almost every morning since then.  Not only do I look exactly like my mother, but I eat breakfast like her now too!  (And follow around poor Joey picking up the things he's currently using and putting them away just like her.)

I might as well not fight it any more.

Suddenly I notice that my hair is getting really long.  (Well, OK, it's getting really long for me.)

It touches my shoulders when I wear it down and, sometimes, I like to think that it even passes my shoulders.

But I know that's not true.

Goal: To grow some seriously long hair
Current Status: Getting there.  Slowly.

The State Fair of Texas

On Saturday Joey and I went to the State Fair of Texas with our youth group.  Thanks to Kati Kauffman, we scored free tickets and, since we drove some people in our (albeit small) car, we also scored free parking.

This made it financially possible for us to actually go to the fair because, under normal circumstances, just getting in the door would have set us back $34.  (In Iowa we could have gotten in the door for $16, I might add.)

At the State Fair in Iowa, I always like to look at every single cow, sheep, pig and goat I can get my eyes on.  Joey only likes to look at the prize winning bull and maybe, if he feels like it, the prize winning boar.

I like to look at them, talk to them, and poke them.

We walked in the door and I grabbed a map.  "Here's the livestock barns," I pointed.

"OK.  We'll go see those later."  Joey said.  (Read: Maybe if I stall long enough you'll forget about them.)

So we went to the auto show.  I had been expecting concept cars, but they were all just 2008 models of your average Honda, Toyota and BMW.  While we were standing around waiting for someone, can't remember who, I got fingerprints all over a CRV (it was soft!) and some lackey came over immediately to spray and wipe down the car's hood. 

I sort of felt bad, but really not all that bad at the same time.

We then tried to go find Mike's picture of a cute little Peruvian pig that won Honorable Mention but were misdirected to the Women's Museum.

At this point we girls split off from the boys and left them to fend for themselves and get money from an ATM, once they found one.

We girls all headed to the L'Oreal tent where we got makeovers.  I was informed that, while I do have some sun damage, it's not nearly as bad as some of the high schoolers and junior highers I was with.  This was reassuring.

I exited the L'Oreal tent with a lot of makeup on.  A lot.

"Wow.  You look...different."  Joey said when he saw me.  Later he confessed that he thought I looked like a raccoon.  And, unfortunately, by the time I saw myself in the mirror I had to agree that he was right.  (For some reason the makeup artist had put gray glitter-shadow under my eyes.  Why...)

Even though he said I looked like a raccoon, I I took him to a place where I'd found really cheap, really tasty peanut butter fudge.  Joey really likes peanut butter and chocolate mixed together so this was good for morale.  We were getting tired.

"We can go see the animals now," Joey kindly said to me.

"Wow, really?!"  I gasped.

And so we did.  We found the big bull, who was satisfactorily huge, and watched some Longhorn judging.  We looked over most of the cows and were disappointed to find that almost all of them were the exact same breed.  I'm not sure what it was, but they were all short, stocky, dark and cute.

No Holsteins or Herefords save one Holstein we found.  I was quite homesick for the Iowa State Fair and, when I saw the Holstein, I must admit that I got a little teary eyed.

As we walked out of the cattle barn we were pleasantly surprised to happen upon the big boar.  He was pretty fat and pretty bored looking.  I wanted to poke him so bad, but there was a dumb girl standing in my way and I couldn't get her to move.  Besides, I think the prize winning boar down here really wasn't all that big compared to the ones I've seen up in Iowa.

That done we were on to our next stop: pig races.

I had never seen such a thing.  They have 4 teenager pigs each wearing a different colored bandana all lined up in a starting gate.  They open the gate and the pigs go tearing out of it and around this track.  Whoever wins gets an Oreo cookie and the rest just get pig feed.

Our pig lost every single time.  Lame piglet.

But it was still fun.

Joey, because he's sweet and knows how much I like animals, took me into the children's petting zoo.  (Nobody make any comments.)  He bought me a Dixie cup full of seed and we went from pen to pen.  I can't remember all the animals I fed, but my favorite was probably the ostrich because he'd throw his neck over the fence and peck a beakfull of seed out of my hand.  He was making a huge mess.

We also got to see a kangaroo!  There was a mama and her joey there, so of course we had to find them for Joey.  The mama was sleeping with her joey in her pouch, but we did get to see the joey's tail.  Joey was real pleased.

That done, it was time to find Mike's photo that won honorable mention. But first we needed a Fletcher's Corny Dog because we were both starving and getting grouchy.  I got regular and Joey got jalapeño and cheese.  His was a whole lot better than mine, but at least we know for next year.

Fortunately Joey had seen Mike's picture already, so he knew right where it was.

Our last task of the evening was to find me some fried Oreos (just for kicks) so we walked along the midway with Joey, my fearless leader, looking frantically this way and that to try to spot the one booth that sold them.

"We can go back now, I really don't need them." I said after we'd been searching for 20 minutes.

"No way.  We can't come all this way and not find them!"  He said, appalled.

Almost immediately I shrieked, "There it is!  You found it!"

Joey charged ahead, bought the appropriate number of coupons to get the fried Oreos and slapped them down on the counter.  "One order of fried Oreos," he said.

"Two for you and two for me," I said, handing Joey a fried Oreo.

"No, I only want one, you can have the rest,"  Joey said.

We ate our fried Oreos and wandered back along the pond with the paddle boat Swans.  We were exhausted, it was 8:00 and all the museums were closed, so we decided to call it a night.

"I think the Iowa State Fair was way better."  I said to Joey on our way out.

"Why?"  He's kind of ambivalent about all state fairs since he's not real excited about looking at cows or watching cattle judging.

"Well, I think the Iowa State Fair is cooler because all food is on a stick.  And they have more amazing breeds of cattle.  And they have a lot more displays of prize winning food, photography, etc.  Everything's supposed to be bigger in Texas, but I think the Iowa State Fair is better."

"Yeah, last year in Iowa they had a beer on a stick," Joey said absently.

We enjoyed the State Fair of Texas but, all told, we were exhausted.  Our feet, knees, legs and backs were killing us; are we getting old?!

"Can we go buy root beer and make root beer floats and watch the last MacGuyver episode in Season 2?"  Joey asked as we got into our car.

"Good idea, babe."  I said.  I took my shoes off and sighed.  "That was a fun day."

Next year I am totally poking that boar.

My Space Heater

"I can't handle it anymore!"  I said to Joey last night at dinner.  "My fingers were freezing all day; like little ice cubes attached to my hands."

"Ooh, that's no fun at all.  We'll go to Target tonight and find you a space heater," he said, twirling his green spinach-spaghetti noodle on his fork.  (Mom, I take back all that stuff I used to say about you and the green pasta you used to feed us when we were kids.  It's, um, tasty.)

After playing Frisbee for 20 minutes (turns out it works a lot better with this lame brace on my left wrist, I can catch it really hard without hurting the palm of my hand) and walking to PetSmart to look into a bark collar for Henry, we found ourselves in the space heater aisle of Target.

There were many, many options.  We were also pleasantly surprised to discover they were all on sale, about $5/model off.

Joey picked up a very fancy $25 (down to $20) model but, after reviewing its many features, I decided I didn't need it to tell me what the general surrounding temperature was (I already know it's freezing and it might lower morale if I knew just how cold it was) or any particularly fancy temperature-changing knobs.

So after talking Joey out of the fancy model, we left the store with the cheapest one on the shelf: one that cost a whopping $7.99.  All it does is blow 3 different temperatures of warm air and that's all I really need it to do.  Oh, it has a little "on" indicator light, too.

I can already tell today is going to be a good day.  My toes are so warm!

When all you really want to do is have kids and stay home with them, it's kind of necessary to get excited about little things. But, someday, when I get to stay home with my kids I can wear warm, cuddly socks whenever I want.  (And leave the 4 inch heels in the closet!)

For now, though, I'm thankful for my space heater.  I'd probably be in a really bad mood if I was sitting here shivering with cold like yesterday. (And the day before, and the day before and the day before...) 

And I've only got it on the medium setting.

Geico the Gecko

Joey and I walked to NorthPark last night to make use of my $25 off card at Ann Taylor Loft before it expires on Friday. (And today I'm wearing a very lovely red cardigan set that Joey picked out. Good job!)

It was kind of dark as we were walking home about 7:45 and Joey was talking to The Kid about some new fancy "Leopard" thing for their computers. This left me with nothing to do but watch cars drive by and stare at the sidewalk.

Suddenly, I saw a brown flash skitter across the concrete.

"A baby toad!" I whispered, tugging on Joey's sleeve. Since all baby toads are cute and, subsequently, require that all native Lairds (which I am) pick them up, I stooped down to snatch up the baby toad.

It was not a baby toad.

It was a baby gecko. And I love geckos.

"JOEY! LOOK!" I shrieked, pointing frantically at the baby gecko that was now looking at me with its small, beady black eyes.

"Very cool!" He whispered enthusiastically.

"I'm taking him home. Can I take him home?" I began trying to trap the gecko. This was easier said than done as it was very nearly dark outside and the gecko was brown and gray, blending in almost perfectly with the concrete.

"If you can catch him, you can keep him," Joey said.

It took about 5 minutes of hopping around on the sidewalk, but I finally succeeded in trapping the gecko. He ran around on my hand, suctioning his little toes to my palm.

"I like him!" I giggled, "He's got funny little feet."

The gecko decided he didn't like me as well as I liked him and tried to run off my hand. So I held him in "I'm Bringing Home A Baby Bumblebee" fashion and we were on our way.

It is hard to walk for 10 minutes with your hands clasped together, but I succeeded. When we arrived at home Joey had to fetch a container for my gecko, who we/he named Geico, and we dropped the little guy in.

He was so very cute. We still don't have a camera, but I found this picture on Wikipedia.I watched him for a few minutes before I started to feel sorry for him.

"I'm going to let him go," I said. I carried Geico over to Joey. "You'd better say your goodbyes."

I dumped him out on the patio chair on the balcony and, before I knew it, he'd scurried away into the darkness.

"Are you sad?" Joey asked me.

"Nope," I said. " I caught a gecko."

In fact, I was quite proud of myself.

Jenna On Steroids

I went to the hand specialist this afternoon.  The MRI, apparently, was a complete waste of time (I was so mad) so they snapped three X-rays.  I've got to be radioactive by now; that's my 2nd set of X-rays this year.

After reviewing the films, the doctor said, "Well, your joint is all inflamed and you might have a cyst.  We usually give cortisone shots for that."

No dislocated bone, I guess.  That MRI was a waste of time...

So, not 5 minutes after telling me he was going to shoot me up, the doc came back in with a syringe and an iodine swab.

"This won't hurt very bad, but you might feel some burning."  He told me.  What a relief.

For the record, it hurt, and I did feel burning.

Unfortunately, my wrist swelled up immediately and got very numb. I am now having problems with fine motor skills because I can't feel my wrist moving and it's all stiff.  So I think I'm going to call it a day and go home to my ice pack.

The swelling is supposed to go down shortly and then I'll be all healed.  Let's pray, anyway.

And this is really short and choppy because, surprise!, it hurts to type.

Chicken Nicoise

Have you ever been trying a new recipe for dinner and, the further you got into it the more disgusting it smelled?

That was me last night.

I made this great chicken broth, white wine & garlic sauce that smelled delectable.  The recipe called for fennel and leeks (two veggies I'm not real fond of), but I'd decided to leave them out.  I cut up my cucumber and tomato (which had slightly rotted...but I cut most of that out - come on, we're in Seminary!) and Nicoise olives.  I hate olives.

The recipe then called for me to dump said cucumber, tomato and olives into the wine sauce and sautée them.  It also called for 1/4 cup of fresh basil, which of course I don't have, so I dumped some dried basil atop the cucumbers and put on the lid.

My kitchen began to reek.

I cannot even articulate to you how disappointing it is for a beautiful wine sauce to go from fragrant and flavorful to stenchy and suspicious.  The cucumbers were turning a very unusual shade of yellowy-translucent, reminding me a lot of the kelp that Japanese restaurants give you as part of your salad and you're supposed to like it.

When finally my "healthy," "veggieful" new recipe attempt was finished, I was ashamed to put it before my husband.

"What smells good?"  He asked, in a valiant attempt to make me feel better.

"It doesn't smell good," I moped.  "It smells like..."  I trailed off.  No sense making it any worse than it already was.

We sat down and stared at the Chicken Nicoise in the dish before us.  It looked summarily disgusting and smelled even worse, if that's possible.

Joey put on a brave face and dished himself up some chicken.

"You have to eat one of those cucumbers," I said, gloomily.

"I hate cucumbers."  Joey replied.

"You still have to," I glowered.  And, just to show him how awesome I was, I took one of the yellowy, translucent cucumber spears and put it in my mouth.

It was...there are actually no words for how disgusting it was.  Think slimy, crunchy, chewy (the skin part), and lukewarm all at the same time and that'll at least get you started.

Joey saw the look on my face and smirked.

"It's terrible," I told him, "You don't have to eat it."

"That's why I made sure you tried one first," He said.  "It looked disgusting."

And he was right.

The salvageable part of the meal was the chicken, the remainder of that white wine sauce that hadn't been contaminated by whatever made it smell so bad, and the "Herbed Couscous" which, oddly enough, tasted more like the 1/2 teaspoon of Tabasco sauce the recipe called for than any herbs I've ever experienced.

Joey saved the meal by pulling out the carton of Blue Bell ice cream.  Otherwise I think we'd have gone hungry.

The Greatest Generation

Last night Joey and I were eating dinner (leftover enchilada stuffed shells - very tasty) and listening to NPR when we heard the most amazing story.  I don't normally blog about this kind of thing, but in this case I absolutely could not resist.

I was amazed that during my World War 2 fascination phase I had never heard this particular story of sacrifice.  Maybe that's because it centers around 32 Conscientious Objectors and, well, their stories aren't exactly seen as the most heroic.

Usually.

I'm not really sure where I stand on war and pacifism yet, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately.  This particular story gives me pause, and perhaps it will for you as well.

Back in World War 2, a man who was a Conscientious Objector had 2 options:
1 - dodge the draft and get arrested
2 - register as a Conscientious Objector and serve in a non-combat military position, or remain at home and work on labor crews, in mental hospitals, nursing homes, or several other things I can't remember right now.

Imagine that you have registered as a Conscientious Objector and are hard at work in some manner of public wartime service somewhere in the United States, when you get a letter in the mail from the OSS.  It reads "Would you be willing to starve for a year so that others might live?"

A man by the name of Ancel Keys (inventor of K-rations) was in charge of an experiment to test the affects of starvation on the body, and the way to most carefully rehabilitate the thousands upon thousands of starving Europeans who would soon be liberated from the Nazis.

If you received that letter in the mail...what would you do?

What would I do.

One hundred Conscientious Objectors volunteered for the program.  After a selection process, 32 were chosen to begin the experiment.  Following a control phase, these heroic men were starved for 5 months.  They were required to walk 22 miles a week around the University of Minnesota campus (where the experiment took place) and were screened regularly so the changes in their body could be monitored.

These men weren't confined during the 5 month starvation period - they lived on campus and ate in the dormitories at University of Minnesota.  They'd go to dinner early and just sit and watch the students eat their food.  They'd go out for coffee or tea at a restaurant and watch people eat.  They got so weak they couldn't open doors on campus.  They could stroll through a grocery store at any time...and yet they still starved. 

Voluntarily.

These men really saw the bigger picture - how their suffering would ultimately benefit so many - and they pressed on.  They sacrificed so much more than I think I'd be willing to under similar circumstances, and they didn't give up.  They resisted the temptation to eat and ruin the experiment.

And they saved lives.

But most of all, they sacrificed because of what they believed in.  And that's something that we, Christians especially, can really learn from.  I'm not really sure I can recall the last time I truly sacrificed for what I believe.

Since I am so inadequate at relating their story to you, if you're interested look into the book The Great Starvation Experiment: The Heroic Men Who Starved so That Millions Could Live.  Thirty two wonderful examples of just why our grandparents' generation earned the name "The Greatest Generation".

Joey and I at a RoughRider's game!

Jenna Wakes Up on the Wrong Side of the Bed

Joey had his Nerd Meeting last night and by 11:00 I decided I couldn't stay up any longer and wait for him.  So I put down my copy of Northanger Abbey and Henry and I fell asleep.

I made the mistake of leaving the bedroom door open and not leaving a light on for Joey like I always do.  (I must have been unusually tired.) 

Sometime after midnight I was awoken by terribly loud noises and an astonishingly bright light.  The commotion continued for what seemed to be 10 minutes before Joey, my husband, came barreling into our room.

(In his defense, I don't think he was really all that loud at all.)

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR," I growled and thrashed around in the sheet.

"Hi, I'm home."  Joey said, gently.

"YOU ARE SO LOUD AND YOU TURNED THE LIGHTS ON!  I was sleeping."  I snarled.  I then realized that in my earlier thrashing I had tangled myself up in the sheet.  So I thrashed some more to untangle myself.

"Sorry..." Joey said, timidly.

I tore back the sheet and threw my feet to the ground.  "I'm going to the bathroom," I said and stumbled my way to what I thought was the door but was really the door frame. I ran into it.

Joey tried to follow me into the bathroom to talk rationally with me, but it was not to be.  I don't even remember what he said, but I do remember that my responses varied between "Rar", "I'm sleepy", and "Did you turn all the lights in the entire house on when you got in?"

(Now that I am fully awake and sane again I think he only turned on the entry way light on.)

I stomped back into the bedroom and dug a blanket out.

"Are you cold?"  Joey asked.

"YES."  I replied.

I threw the blanket on the floor and got back into bed.

"Do you want me to put the blanket on you?"  He was really being very nice to me, all things considered.

"NO.  I'm sleepy."  I reiterated, and immediately fell back to sleep.

I woke up at 4:30 freezing cold.  But, as I was too sleepy to figure out how to put the blanket on, poor Joey (who woke up at the exact same time) wound up helping me.

So I can't remember the last time I freaked out about getting woken up, but I obviously have some issues I didn't realize I had.  Poor Joey, now he'll probably have PTSD and flashbacks every time he comes home late from his Nerd Meetings. Next time I'll be sure to leave the entry light on and shut the bedroom door.

Oh, and for the record this morning I did apologize for my terrible behavior.

Pump-a-kins

The best part about Fall is those mellowcreme pump-a-kins. You know, the kind that taste like candy corns? Ohhhhh, man. I am completely addicted. I think they're even tastier because they're only available for 2 months out of the year. This puts the Urgency Factor quite high since one has to eat an entire year's worth of pump-a-kins in just two short months. But I am equal to the task.

Last year I confessed my pump-a-kin addiction to Joey. He, in turn, bought me one of those 2 lb bags of them from Target. I tried very, very hard not to eat the entire bag in one day (you know, sense of urgency and all) but was becoming unsuccessful.

Joey, therefore, put me on a rationing system. I was only allowed to have 8 pump-a-kins a day and the rest were kept in the freezer. Quite disappointing, but altogether better for me.

Fast forward one entire year. Several weeks ago Joey and I were in Central Market getting groceries as we always do on a Saturday mornings. (They have fantastic samples.) We were making our way through the bulk candy section to the dairy case when....

"Ohhhhhhh....." I said, stopping short.

Joey walked a few steps, realized I wasn't with him anymore and had to double back to see what, exactly, had detained me.

It was an huge bin of loose bulk pump-a-kins. And I was standing there coveting every single one of them.

"You can't have all of those," He said. (Mind reader.) "Holy cow, $5 per pound? That's expensive!"

"Can I have some of them?" I asked?

"Sure," he grabbed a plastic bag and put about 10 pump-a-kins in it for me. He weighed it, made a label and handed it back to me.

I eyed the pump-a-kins in the bin. "I need to sample one first to make sure they're tasty enough to purchase."

Joey rolled his eyes and tried to pretend like he was not associated with me as I dashed my right hand into the bin and whipped out a plump, ripe pump-a-kin. I bit off half of it and, very generously I might add, offered to share the rest with Joey.

"OH MY GOSH, this is the best pump-a-kin I have ever eaten." I sighed. Joey took the other half of the pump-a-kin and ate it.

"Yeah, it is pretty good..." he had to admit.

I ate all 10 of those pump-a-kins on the way home from the grocery store. They were unbelievably tasty.

The next Friday I said to Joey, "I'm going to make pumpkin bars tomorrow. I need to buy some of those pump-a-kins to put on top of them for decoration." We counted out how many I'd need and the next day purchased what Joey believed to be the correct amount of pump-a-kins.

I was pleasantly surprised when we got them home and I discovered that he'd bought about 30 pump-a-kins too many.

So I ate 20 of them while I made the pumpkin bars. Twenty. My stomach was starting to not feel so good.

Joey happened over to talk to me as I was baking and noticed that the sack of pump-a-kins was much depleted. "Where did all the pump-a-kins go?!" he demanded.

"Um, I ate 20 of them..." I admitted. "But there's still enough left for the bars." I finished, quickly. I had been Very Deceitful Indeed by eating 20 of those pump-a-kins and I was probably in for it.

Joey made some very belligerent noises and snatched the bag of pump-a-kins off the counter. "You are in big trouble! These pump-a-kins are expensive and I thought we'd agreed on the number. And you say you've eaten 20?! I am confiscating these until you can prove to me they're going on the pumpkin bars."

Busted.

An hour later the pumpkin bars were cooled, frosted and ready to go.

"Can I have my pump-a-kins back now? I need them for the bars." Joey came over, observed that I was telling the truth and produced the bag of pump-a-kins.

He watched as a plopped a pump-a-kin on each of the bars. To my great surprise and astonishment...I had 6 pump-a-kins left over.

"Want this one?" I asked, holding one out for Joey.

He took it from me and popped it in his mouth.

"We didn't count very well." He said.

"Nope," I said with a grin.

And it's a good thing I ate all those pump-a-kins when I could, because Central Market has been sold out since then. I've been trying and trying to go buy some...but to no avail. So if you ever want to win me over and it's in the Fall, just bring me some mellowcreme pump-a-kins and I'll probably be your best friend ever.

Why No One Takes Me Seriously

Today's lunch is Swedish Meatballs which, apparently, everyone loves but me.  I was upstairs telling this to the caterer's delivery guy (who is really hilarious and I like to tease a lot) but the only sympathy I got from him was, "There is obviously something wrong with you.  Everyone likes these meatballs but you, so obviously you are the problem."

Nuts.

Our delivery guy is pretty cool.  I'm not sure where he's from but he's got a real thick accent that took me a couple of weeks to decipher, but now he and I communicate just fine.  I like to take leftovers home, so he usually holds things until I've picked through it.  It's good to have friends in high places like that.

That's totally off topic, though.  Where was I?  Oh yes, the telling me that I was the problem. He walked over to the door where I was standing and looked at me very, very carefully.  Then, turning, he said to the other person in the kitchen, "She looks like one of those ceramic dolls."

The other person in the kitchen's eyes got real wide and it was obvious that Can he say that at work without getting a lawsuit filed against him? was running through his mind.

"Don't you think so?"  The delivery guy asked the other guy in the kitchen, "She looks exactly like one of those ceramic dolls."

The situation was now beyond Slightly Uncomfortable and had moved to Very Awkward.

The other guy shuffled around and hesitated before he said, "You mean porcelain doll, and I'm definitely not getting involved in this."

Poor delivery guy.  I determined that the best "out" for all parties involved was for me to laugh really, really loud and say something witty.

Unfortunately, I left all my witty phrases at home and the best I could come up with was, "Well, I guess that's why no one takes me seriously!" 

I sidled out of the kitchen as the delivery guy called after me, "Because you look like a doll!"

And that, folks, is why I have problems.  Not because I don't like Swedish Meatballs, but because I look like a ceramic doll and everyone thinks I'm 12.  Although I have been finding a few more gray hairs lately, so I'm sure my days as a ceramic doll are numbered.

Introduction to The Kidology (TK 101)

Several people have expressed curiosity about who The Kid is. And, thus, it is time for my bi-yearly explanation of just who, exactly, he is.

There I stood at Target in front of the gummy snacks trying to make a Very Important Decision: which particular variety to get for Joey this next week. Everyone knows they all basically taste the same, the key is which cartoon character or superhero to pick. And this week, I was feeling mischievous and trying to decide between Disney Princesses, Hello Kitty, My Little Pony and Barbie.

Obviously this was not a decision I could make on my own. But fortunately I had my cell phone on me.

I whipped it out, hit 8 on speed-dial and was almost instantly connected to...The Kid!

"Man, I can't decide which gummy snacks to get for Joey. Pick one for me."

"OKFINE," he said, all irritated-like. (I call him for "advice" all the time.) "What are my options."

I listed them and as soon as I was done he immediately said, "Disney Princesses. All the way."

"Thanks, man." I said.

"No problem."

"OKFINEBYE," we said to each other and, just like that, my decision was made. All it took was an 8 second conversation with The Kid.

Vital Statistics

Relationship to me: Youngest and most problematic brother
Relative age: 18
Date of Birth: November 2, no clue what year
Most annoying habit: Couldn't say, he's got tons
College: Cedarville University
Current major: Something about Engineering and Software, I think
Current location : Ohio
Number of Sisters: Two. And we're both awesome
Number of Brothers: One
Number of pets : Ernie, of course
Number of Wanna-be siblings: Three (one for each sibling who is married)
Childhood imaginary friends: Chad and Delock
Overall co-dependency on me (Jenna): Barely any at all
My overall co-dependency on The Kid: Probably a lot more than necessary
Current Aliases: The Kid, Majesty, My Liege, Coolguy, Little Man
Favorite color: Royal Blue (because of all his Majesty)
Favorite candy: milk chocolate, nerds or peppermint patties (but all those things hurt his teeth)
Favorite snack: string cheese
Favorite birthday meal: Tenderloin steak with honey sweet rolls made by Mom
Favorite coloring picture: The Little Mermaid one I sent him a couple weeks ago with me as the mermaid and him as the lobster
He's got mad skills at: Ultimate Frisbee, Ping Pong, kicking bum and being awesome
Most annoying thing I've mailed him since he's been in college: A Mr. Bump bath mitt which he staunchly refuses to use. Loser.

See, the thing about The Kid is that he was pretty much my scourge until I got old enough to realize that he was probably the coolest member of the family, Pops notwithstanding. The primary reason for my annoyance at The Kid was this little hand game that he and Andrew made up called "Nutkin". (For some reason I never despised Andrew as much for Nutkin as I did The Kid, not really sure why not.) I hate Nutkin, it was these little squeaky finger characters that all three other siblings would play ad nauseum on long car trips. They had a whole collection of them. There was Nutkin and Squeakers and Bouncers, etc. So imagine being 12 years old and listening to...well, I can't even type it out, but listening to three other younger people making high-pitched squeaking sounds and slamming their little hand characters into each other for hours and hours in a van...it was enough to drive anyone crazy.

I tried to be a joiner a couple of times and play Nutkin, but I never could squeak quite right and, frankly, I thought it was boring. Plus The Kid was a total dictator and made up the story as they went along. Since I hate to be told what to do, especially by pipsqueaks 6 years younger than myself, I never took to it.

I think that an epiphany regarding The Kid's Coolness Potential occurred somewhere around my 17th year when I purchased the J2K (my first car; so named because it was $2,000, I purchased it in Y2K and my first initial happens to be "J"). I could now drive him places and we could listen to the radio really loud and sing along with songs that Mom probably does not appreciate me exposing the poor innocent Kid to. (He's making me a CD of the old J2K Jams right now, actually.)

In any case, I was still 25% uncool to The Kid up until my sophomore year of college. After that it's been pretty uphill for The Kid. He gets whatever he wants and I color him pictures in my spare time. We go on Krispy Kreme raids when there's one nearby and Mom's close enough to be "disappointed" in our sugar consumption.

Fortunately for me, The Kid has an affinity for Joey. So what used to be just The Kid and I running around making mischief has turned into The Kid, Joey and I running around making mischief. It is infinitely more dangeresque.

Unfortunately for The Kid, I have developed a certain affinity for calling him:
a.) whenever I do something bad
b.) whenever I'm about to do something bad
c.) whenever something bad happens to me
d.) when I need advice on whether to get a soda or candy
e.) when I need advice about what kind of present to buy for Joey
This means that The Kid gets a lot of phone calls from me. Probably more than is healthy.

So that, in a nutshell, is who The Kid is: he's my baby brother who is abnormally cool.

JW <3 TK

Henry Is An Outdoorsman

This is Henry.

He is cute and fairly harmless and he seems to know it very well, indeed.

In recent weeks Joey and I have been going back and forth over the possibility of packing Henry into the Boundary Waters with us (and, subsequently, with the entire family) when we go in August of next year.

Henry is thrilled at the prospect of chasing humans, and maybe even an otter or two, for an entire week.

My mother, however, is less than thrilled. Her main concerns are:
1. Henry will drown.
2. Henry will capsize a canoe.
3. Henry and Alex sharing a tent will put the total number of tents up to 5, thereby making it difficult to get a campsite.
4. Henry is too high energy and will probably be annoying.

Poor mom.

I shall, therefore, attempt to assuage any concerns related to Henry's potential back-to-nature adventure.

1. Henry can swim. And, even if he forgets how, they make doggie life preservers which we will purchase for Henry and force him to wear at all times when he's in a canoe. I know he will hate it.
2. Henry is only 12 libs, so the chances of him capsizing a 60 lib canoe holding probably 100 libs of gear and 250 libs of human seems to be physically impossible.
3. The Kid can sleep in a canoe tied that we have tied to the shore (we'll throw a tarp over it in case of rain) and that eliminates the need for an additional tent site. And we can stake Henry out by the latrine so he can keep bears away.
4. Yes, Henry is high energy and annoying. I can't refute this one at all so I'm not even going to try.

However. Additional positive elements for Henry coming to the Boundary Waters are:

1. He's pretty hilarious and almost always provides comic relief.
2. He actually seems to generate energy by expending energy so he's kind of like a walking nuclear power plant. We can use him as a power source if need by. (Andrew, get to work on plans for that one.)
3. All that back to nature stuff will probably wear him out, so he'll be pretty low-toned and lay around expecting rubs a lot. This will be an advantage to anyone who happens to get bored because instead of working or throwing rocks in the lake they can scratch Henry's tummy.

Thus, I rest my case.

God: Not a Department Store

Joey and I were talking the other day about how sometimes when God gives us something (a blessing or otherwise!), we whine about it! If you listen carefully, you can almost hear Christmas morning...

"It's too big."

"It's not the right color."

"I didn't ask for that."

"Does this come with any accessories?"

Fortunately, God doesn't have a return policy. I can't tell you how many times we've complained about something God has given us...only to realize that - woah! - God was blessing us the entire time and we were too dense to notice it.

And sometimes when God's gift is not quite the right size, He's given us something to grow into. (One instance where, yes, it really is better to go up a size or two.)

Being a clearance-rack shopper myself, I think it's encouraging that His "items" never have to go on sale. They're always worth the original purchase price.

That's my two cents worth.

Dear Gramps,

Knowing that you can fix almost anything, I thought I would bring a recently realized problem to your attention.  The Kid and I were discussing Krispy Kremes and how tasty they are, and we decided to go on a Krispy Kreme raid when were were terrorizing your house in Indiana.  ALAS!  Have a look at this here Google Map of Krispy Kreme locations in your area, and you will see our problem.

Problem:  There are none
Solution:  Build one before November 2

So...I know you're in Florida and all that, but you probably have a lot of extra time on your hands.  If I were you, I'd get on the phone with the franchise people and get the ball rolling.

Um, I mean "please".

Love,
Jenna

Last night I had a profound thought.

"You know, if we didn't have to wear clothes, life would be a lot less expensive,"  I said to Joey.

He pondered this for a minute and replied, "Yes, but we'd have to spend a lot on sunscreen."  A pause; then, "and counseling."

I suppose he has a point.  But I do too.  Clothes cost a ton of money.

Henry Would Not Have Survived Evolution

Henry is one of those dogs that wouldn't have survived Survival of the Fittest.  He'd never have made it past puppyhood were it not for the watchful eyes of his parents, Joey and I.

 

Observe:

Yesterday we put Henry in the kitchen but, since he had started gnawing on the French doors, we put up the baby gate.  We also shut the French doors as an added precaution.

 

When I came home yesterday (nearly an hour early thanks to a very speedy doctor's appointment!) I was surprised to find Henry lying pathetically on the carpet by the front door.  He'd jumped over the gate and slammed his head into the French doors, and somehow got out of the kitchen.

 

Unfortunately, he'd been without his food and water all day and was really dehydrated.  His nose was dry and his eyes had stopped watering (disgusting but apparently necessary) so his cheeks were poofy.  He was also making these strange snorting, heaving motions as he tried to swallow.

 

"Oh, Henry!  You're not very bright.  You're supposed to stay in the kitchen with your water!"  I told him as I picked him up. I mixed up a glass of Gerber LiquiLytes and force-fed him 4 ccs. 

 

He wasn't happy about it.  He coughed and tried to get away but was unsuccessful.

 

About 10 minutes later his nose was wet again and he was starting to become his normal, hyperactive self.  By the time a half hour had passed, he was a total spaz.  I fed him 4 more before bed last night, and 2 more this morning.  For some reason he just forgets to drink his water sometimes and then he makes himself sick.  

 

But then we've always maintained that he's not a very bright dog.  Just a cute one.

MRI Results

The results are in. 

Turns out I dislocated the lunate bone in my left wrist somehow (probably when we were redoing Ken's roof...) and now I have to go see a hand specialist.

LAME.

The Wizard of Oz

When I was a little girl, I was very sensitive and easily frightened by things I saw in movies or on TV.  For this reason, around the time I was 5 my mom decided that I was not allowed to watch The Wizard of Oz until I was a little bit older.

One afternoon I was over playing at a friend's house, and her mom suggested we watch a movie.  "YAY!"  we all yelled, and jumped up and down as 5 year olds tend to do.  But then...her mommy pulled out The Wizard of Oz.

I remembered my mom saying that I couldn't watch that movie, but when I told my friend and her mom they didn't believe me.  So in went The Wizard of Oz and there we sat on pillows in their living room watching the movie my mommy told me not to see.

It was very scary.

My friend sat there, watching happily as the Wicked Witch of the East got squished under the flying house, her stripidy stockinged legs sticking out awkwardly from underneath.  I buried my head in my pillow; it was probably the first time I'd seen someone dead or dying on TV.

I really liked Toto, and the tornado parts really weren't all that scary, and the Munchkins were super cute.

But...

The Wicked Witch of the West and with her black pointy hat, green warty face and scratchy voice absolutely terrified me.  Every time she came onto the screen I ran out of the room, buried my face in their staircase and whispered "my mommy said not to watch this, my mommy said not to watch this..." over and over again, until the Witch was gone.

Needless to say, my mom wasn't very happy when she came to pick me up and found out what I had been watching on TV. 

Children are very impressionable creatures.  I have, for the last 20 years of my life, been afraid of the Wicked Witch of the West.  It doesn't matter that she got melted at the end of the movie, or that she was actually brown sugar.  Her scratchy voice and disgusting, creepy face and spider like fingers are permanently burned into my brain.

Last night as we were falling asleep I confessed, "I used to be afraid of the basement at my parent's house because I thought the Wicked Witch was going to get me."  (And the basement at my grandparent's house; pretty much all basements.)

"Wasn't your room in the basement?"  He asked.

"Yes, only when I was in high school though. I was safe in my room, it was out in the office and on the stairs that she might get me, so I always had to run up the stairs as fast as I could to get away.  And she also couldn't get me on the family room level or the living room level, just the basement-basement."

"That's weird."  Joey said.  Sometimes boys just don't get it.

"I don't even know why I brought it up, now I'm going to have nightmares about her.  And I have really only seen that movie once, too."  I sighed and rolled around so as to dispel any and all images of the Wicked Witch from my mind.

So be careful what you let your children watch or you'll have some chickeny little girl who is still afraid of the Wicked Witch when she's in her early twenties because of a childhood trauma.  But now that I'm all mature and in my mid-twenties, I'm not afraid of her anymore.

Not really, anyways.  Not a lot.  Um, maybe just...a little.

The Best Gift

Due to all the drama with The Neighbor and subsequent emotional turbulence, last evening I found myself doing something I barely ever do: crying.

After 20 minutes of feeling homesick and slightly sorry for myself, I realized I was going to be just fine. I like Texas and I am glad I moved here with Joey, God has blessed us with a lot of friends, plus I get to home for Christmas. But I was still sad that I had to miss The Month Of Birthdays. (Which is November, of course, so I was crying about it a little bit preemptively.)

I went and found Joey, who was studying diligently.

"I was crying," I told him. (He usually can't tell because I cry almost silently.)

He gave me a hug and, after I told him why I had been crying, he said, "I have a surprise for you. Follow me."

He led me over to the kitchen table and pulled the calendar off the wall. He turned the pages to November, and then pointed at November 2. The Kid's birthday.

"This is The Kid's birthday." He said and immediately I began to cry again - I never miss The Kid's birthday. "The Kid is driving to your grandparent's house. Sister and Stephen are driving to your grandparent's. Your parents are driving to your grandparent's. Who knows, maybe even Andrew and Laura will go too."

I was trying valiantly not to cry.

"And...your flight leaves at 5:20." He finished.

"WHAT?!" I wailed. The cause was lost; I was now really, really crying, but this time they were happy tears.

"Yep, I bought your ticket yesterday and I wasn't going to tell you...but you needed something to look forward to."

"I get to go to the birthdays!" I cried, happily. Then, "But I don't have any presents. What will I do?" Either this was very important or I was over-exerted, because now I began crying quite hard.

"I told The Kid that this was his present." Joey told me.

"But...I was going to send him tasty brownies in the mail." I sniffled. I guess I'll have to make them at Grandma's house , I thought. She certainly has a kitchen and probably has most of the ingredients. And oh sweet, and I can totally save postage on Sister's present now. But Pops... what will I take for Pops' birthday?

Suddenly I realized something.

"YOU don't get to go! We'll all be together having fun and you'll be back here all by yourself!" And there I went, crying again.

Joey smiled at me. "It's OK. I know this is important to you, and I wanted you to be able to be there. Besides, I got a really good deal on your tickets."

"Who will make you food? Who will keep you company? You'll be all alone!" I cried.

"It's OK, I want you to be able to go see The Kid and your parents and everybody. The Kid's birthday is basically like a familial holiday, so you should all be together. And, the way the tickets work out, you have almost 48 whole hours with them."

"This is the best surprise I've ever had." I said, giving Joey a slightly teary hug. "Wait, no. When you proposed and gave me my actual engagement ring, that was actually my best surprise. This is the second best."

And that's why I found out about my trip to Indianapolis 33 days early. Joey did a pretty good job of keeping a secret and surprising me at just the right time, wouldn't you say? :)

I love my husband! Thanks, honey!