Locked Out

Moving can be stressful.  There are a million things to unpack, and on top of all that there are a bunch of things you have to do such as setting up your water and sewer service, calling for trash pickup, getting internet service, etc.  I called Consumer's Energy to get our energy service set up, and that turned out to be a disaster.

In order for Consumer's to set up gas and electric in my name, I had to get a reading from our current meter.  Luckily I knew right where that was because of the electrical inspection I had done a few weeks ago.  It's on the side of our house by the chimney.  The person on the phone asked me to go read it, and I said sure.  I opened the door to run outside, and at the last second I grabbed my thin fall coat.  It is December, after all, and I didn't want to go outside in just my t-shirt even if it was only for a minute.  I was in my slippers and sweatpants, but I didn't care.  I was only going to be outside for a quick minute...or so I thought.

I read the meter numbers to the Consumer's lady, and after I finished that call I walked back up to my front door to let myself inside.  Well...it wouldn't open.  I was shocked that an older house had automatically locking doors - I definitely hadn't locked the door behind me when I went outside.  I walked over to our breezeway door, and that was locked too.  So was the back door.  Rex was at work and wasn't scheduled to be home for another seven hours.  I walked around the house trying to find a way to get in, but it was fruitless.  Also, we didn't know any of the neighbors yet, so I was definitely worried about one of them calling the police if they saw me trying to break into the house.  I had a vision of myself calling Rex from jail to please come prove to these officers that I do, in fact, own the house into which I was breaking and entering.  That didn't sound very fun, even if it would have made a fantastic blog post.

The wind was blustery and harsh, and my fall coat (which has holes in it, by the way) was not cut out for that type of cold.  I sat down on my front stoop, folded my arms into my chest, and started shivering.  My toes were cold too, as my slippers were getting all wet from the sidewalk.  I pulled out my phone and called Rex, but he was with a patient and wouldn't have a break to come let me in for a few hours.  I tried calling everyone in my family to perhaps go get the key from Rex and bring it to me, but none of them answered.  I sighed, put my phone back in my pocket, and kept shivering and feeling sorry for myself.  I looked warily in my window at the Yankee Candle Company jar candle burning on my table.  I mentally ordered my cat not to get up on the table and knock it over.  I'd be in real trouble if she did.

I looked around at the other houses in the neighborhood and considered walking up to one of them and asking if I could wait in there for someone to rescue me.  I tried to decide which house might have the nicest people inside, but you obviously can't tell that from looking at the outside of houses.  I eventually nixed that plan, because even if the people were nice enough to let me come inside (which was not a sure thing), I didn't want word to spread around the neighborhood that "the new neighbor in the blue house is a complete moron."  After all, I locked myself out of my own house, and I was standing outside in slippers.  It wasn't exactly my finest hour.

Finally I decided to get up and go for a walk, both because walking would warm me up and because feeling sorry for myself was getting boring.  I walked out to West Main St, and I decided to explore my new surroundings.  After all, if I couldn't work on unpacking my house, then at least I could find an adventure, right?  I began by going to the Marathon station about a block down the main road.  I went inside and walked around, but I didn't have money to buy anything.  I was relieved to be in the warmth, but the sinister looking Indian man at the counter was watching me suspiciously.   I tried to look enthralled by a pack of beef jerky and then truly perplexed by which variety of Laffy Taffy I might choose, but there's only so much convenience store food you can look at before you're officially loitering.  I eventually gave up and went back outside into the biting December wind.

Another block down there was a cute restaurant called Nina's Cafe.  I really wanted to go inside and order some hot chocolate, but once again I didn't have any money.  I pictured myself sitting inside the cafe, sipping hot chocolate and people watching in the warmth until someone from my family would come help me.  It sounded great.  Without money, though, it was only a dream.  I considered going inside, describing my plight, and promising that Rex would pay for my cocoa when he came to get me.  I doubted that they would believe me, seeing as I had unbrushed hair, slippered feet, and a ratty old coat.  I didn't look like an upstanding, home-owning citizen.  I looked like a homeless lady.  I was scared that I would be rejected and sent back out into the street like a societal outcast.

I was about to take my chances with Nina's Cafe when I saw a small sign up on a hill off of the main road next to a small building.  It said "Kazoo Books."  I literally gasped aloud when I saw this.  A bookshop?  A bookshop within walking distance of my house?  I had driven this road dozens of times and never noticed this bookshop before.  I wanted to cry for joy - I knew I could wait in a bookshop until rescue came.  I could spend hours in a bookshop.  I ran up the hill towards the shop, mentally willing it to be open.  It was.  I did a little jump of happiness - it was as if I'd been traveling in a foreign country and finally found a group of people who spoke English.  These were my people.  Book people.  I was going to be okay.

I pushed open the door and heard the tinkle of the bell announcing my arrival.  The bookshop was exactly how all bookshops should be: rooms upon rooms of floor to ceiling books.  They even had the ladders to help you reach books on the top shelves.  Antique looking overstuffed chairs and couches were stowed in every available space, allowing book lovers like myself to curl up and read.  A giant cat tree sat in the front window, which allowed the two shop cats to sit and watch the world go by (when they weren't curled up on some reader's lap).  I took a deep breath and inhaled the musty scent of old books.  New books are my number one favorite smell in the world, but old books are definitely in my top five.  I ran my fingertips lovingly along the spines of the books on one of the dozens of shelves - I couldn't believe I had found this oasis.  Now I really didn't care if Rex came to rescue me until the end of his shift.  I would be fine for the whole day.

Of course, as soon as I found a place to settle down, my sister called me back.  She agreed to go get the key from Rex and bring it to me.  While I waited, I chose a book about the history of the English language and settled into a particularly fluffy looking couch to read.  The coffee table in front of the couch was shaped like a giant stack of books.  When I pulled the bookmark of one of the books, a drawer pulled out.  It was the most magnificent coffee table I have ever seen.

By the time my sister arrived, I was completely calm - quite the opposite of the panic I felt when I realized I was locked out of my house  She took me home, I finally blew out that pesky candle that had been worrying me, and all was well.  I'm actually a little bit glad that I got locked out, because now I know about Kazoo Books.  I'm sure I will clock a lot of hours there over the next few years.

Now that I'm finished telling you about my adventure, I have to get back to unpacking.  Step 1 on errands I need to run today: go make a spare key.

Home for the Holidays

It's Christmas Eve, and I have approximately 986,234,726 things to do before tomorrow.  In all the hurry, I have to take a second to pause to tell you some really exciting news:  Rex and I bought a house.

I'm sitting in my new living room watching the dog chase the cat and staring at my absolutely beautiful wall of bookshelves.

I am so thankful for the blessing of this house.  I'm blown away by the fact that all of this is mine, and that God saw fit to provide Rex and I with great jobs AND a beautiful house in the town that we love.  I know we don't deserve it, and I am incredibly thankful.

What I am more thankful for, however, is the fact that we have been blessed by such amazing friends.  There's nothing like moving to show you how many real friends you have.  Let's be honest: moving isn't fun.  It's just not.  So the fact that people were willing to give up their valuable time, especially this close to Christmas, completely blows me away.  And I'm not just talking about one or two friends who showed up and carried a box or two.  We had a veritable army of people helping us.  I am so humbled and grateful for their generosity.  If we didn't have them, I'd still be moving in the cold instead of sitting here watching Elvis give up on chasing Elsie because he wants to settle down to chew a bone by the Christmas tree.

At the risk of sounding like an Oscar acceptance speech, I need to give some shout outs to the people who made this move so amazingly easy:

1. My mom and dad.  My mom probably put in more hours than anyone else,  She came over two evenings last week to help me pack, and then she came over for a good chunk of the day on Saturday to help us move stuff.  I realize you're probably thinking, "Yeah, well that's your mom - she had to help."  Actually, she didn't.  She and my dad just moved into a new house themselves, so they had plenty of stuff they had to do.  Instead, they helped me.  Whoa.  My dad has a bad back, and he still came for a few hours and helped as much as he could.  He kept joking that he needed "girly" jobs.  He ended up doing a lot of work!

2. Sarah and Will - My friend Sarah is one of those friends who will be there for you no matter what.  You can just count on her, you know?  So even though she blew out her knee a few hours before she was supposed to come help move, she came anyway.  She carried light stuff, and she commissioned her ex-military husband Will to carry the heavy stuff.  (By the way, I hardly know Will...he just showed up because he's a really good guy).  She also gave up an evening last week to help me pack, even though she's been working mandatory overtime at work for the past two weeks straight.  So, in her few precious hours of relaxation time, she decided to help me.  What?  Who does that?!  Sarah, that's who.

3.  My school friends - Two teachers from my school, Beth and Katie, gave up their first morning of Christmas break to help us move.  Their first morning to sleep in, their first morning without whiny kids, and they used it to help ME.  What a gift!  Also, my friend Lauren came at the same time as Beth and Katie.  She's working in retail right now, which is super busy during Christmas, and she gave up one of her few mornings off to come help.

4. Siblings - My sister and Rex's brothers both gave some time to help.  Rex's brother Jake was especially helpful - he stayed until 1 AM helping us get everything over!  His girlfriend Stephanie stayed until 11 PM helping me unpack my new (and awesome) kitchen.  I mean, she didn't have any obligation to be there.  She's not related to me, I hardly ever get to hang out with her, and yet she gave up an entire evening of her Christmas break to help.  What a generous person!  Jake should probably marry her.

5. Jake - Rex's brother is named Jake, but he also has a friend named Jake (that got a bit confusing, ha ha).  Friend Jake helped us move to Nevada and then back from Nevada on two of the most epic road trips of all time, so I told Rex we probably shouldn't ask him to help us this time.  After all, he's done his friend duty in helping us move more than once.  Rex agreed.  Imagine my surprise, then, when there was a knock on the door, and I opened it to see this:

Jake had driven an HOUR to come help us!  He even stayed the night and helped us the next day too!  Apparently he and Rex had concocted a plan where Jake was going to stand by the side of the road with that sign pretending to be a homeless person, then Rex was going to drive by with me and "find" him.  Jake got bored, though, so he came over early.  He was super helpful (as always), and I couldn't believe that he came over to help us move a third time.  His first order of business in the new house was to put this sign on the guest room door:

It's still there, ha ha.  It makes me smile whenever I see it, so I haven't taken it down.


6. Katie and Chris - Katie and Chris live in Ohio, and they too have already helped us move before (we've moved five times in the four years we've been married...hence why I'm so excited to actually own a house now).  They showed up and spent an entire afternoon of their time off to help us.  Katie works in journalism and gets basically no time off - not even Christmas! - so it was pretty crazy that she was willing to drive up to Michigan to help on her time off.

7. Kyle - When Rex and I lived in Lansing, we lived across from a couple named Kyle and Karl   Kyle was an interior design major in college, and she is fabulous at designing things.  She's a complete natural at it.  She somehow made their one bedroom apartment look like it should be on the Parade of Homes.  Now they have a beautiful house, and it actually should be on the Parade of Homes.  Anyway, she drove down FROM LANSING on the day after we moved specifically to help me set up my new place.  She told me where to put my furniture (I had it a certain way, but when she changed it around it looked a thousand times better).  Kyle and I went shopping for some decorative items, and I have gotten so many compliments on the things she picked.  She's an absolute genius, and I am so grateful that she helped me.

Can you even believe all of the friends who helped us?  Our bosses even helped - Rex's boss let us use his trailer, and my boss offered to come help move furniture (we ended up not needing him, but I was so grateful for the offer).  We basically have the best bosses ever.  Again - we're very blessed.  I'm completely blown away.

So now we're getting settled in our new house and getting ready for Christmas, and I'm feeling so loved by all of the people who gave their valuable time to come help.  I don't know how to thank them all!  I hope Santa is extra good to them this year - they definitely deserve it.

As I was leaving the old house yesterday after cleaning it, the sunset over it looked gorgeous.  Almost like beautiful closure to that chapter in our lives (I realize that's too symbolic and mushy, but hey - I'm an English teacher.  Give me a break).  I'm posting the picture here for you to see.  We don't live there any more, but it's still beautiful.  Goodbye, old adventures, hello to the new ones!

Making Friends

How did you meet your friends?

Here are some normal answers:
- We met in school
- We met at work
- We met at church
- We met through mutual friends

Here are some NOT normal answers:
- We met in an online hunting tips forum
- We met while shopping for raspberries in Meijer

Why is my husband such a weirdo?  He spent last weekend in northern Michigan with a guy that he met in an online forum while we were still in Nevada (you can read that story here).  They're now great friends.  If that wasn't weird enough for you, check out this story from around two weeks ago:

Rex and I were grocery shopping at Meijer, having a jolly good time.  Rex noticed that raspberries were on sale 2/$1.00  (can we just pause a moment and realize what an AWESOME deal that is?!  Fifty cents for a container of raspberries!?).  He said, "Hey Christine, look!  Raspberries are on sale!"  I told him to go ahead and grab some, and he said, "I will, as long as this guy doesn't take all of them!"  He was joking with the guy in front of him, who was stocking up on the aggressively-priced raspberries.  The guy turned around to laugh at Rex's joke, and he noticed that Rex was wearing a Kimber hat.

In case you don't get what that means (like 95% of the population wouldn't), Kimber is apparently some fancy brand of gun.  There.  Now you know. Raspberry man commented on it and said, "Cool hat, man.  Do you shoot around here?"  They started talking about guns, and I moseyed off to get some cilantro.  I started to walk back to the raspberries, but they were still talking.  Okay...so I went to get onions.  And then some cereal.  And then some candy, because...well...why not?  They were still talking.  Finally I just joined the conversation, because we had everything on our grocery list and I had already added enough random junk while waiting for Rex to be done talking.

Rex introduced me to Eric (because apparently raspberry man has a name now).  It turns out that Eric's dad has 1,000 acres of hunting land in South Dakota, which makes Eric Rex's new best friend.  Rex was definitely dressed like a hunter with his Kimber hat, Carhartt jacket, camo shirt, and scruffy beard.  This part of the conversation cracked me up:

Eric:  So, what do you do for a living?
Rex: I'm a physical therapist.
Eric: *long pause*  Really?
Rex: Yeah.
Eric: I don't mean to be stereotypical or anything, but that is totally not what I was expecting you to say.

Bwahahahaha!  Yes, my man is a bit redneck and super country, but he is also super smart and has a doctorate.  I get the best of both worlds.  Wife win.  Eric's wife is a teacher, which is pretty cool.  Eric and Mrs. Eric are only a year older than Rex and me, and they've been married almost the exact same amount of time as us.  It turns out that we have a lot in common.  Eric, Rex, and I were having a good time chatting, and suddenly Eric said, "Hey, as a physical therapist, is it hard for you to get time off?"  My ears instantly perked up.  Was he about to ask what I thought he was going to ask?  Was he going to make Rex's day/month/year/life and ask him to go to South Dakota on a hunting trip?  Rex has always wanted to go to South Dakota.  Whenever I ask him, "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?" his answer is, "On a really cool hunting trip to somewhere awesome, like South Dakota."  I kid you not.  That's what he says. Like South Dakota. And now, right here next to the raspberries, was a guy who could make that dream come true. I mentally willed him to invite Rex on a trip.  Come on, Eric!  Make it happen!

Sure enough, Eric said, "Well, I know this is really short notice, but I'm headed out to visit my dad on the 14th to hunt for a few days.  If you could get the time off, I'd love for you to go so I don't have to drive all that way by myself.  We could hunt deer in the morning and and night, and then hunt pheasants during the day.  We could stay with my dad, so really you would just need to pay for half of the gas and your licenses and that's it."  Let me put this in perspective for everyone who isn't like my weird-yet-awesome husband:  this is the equivalent of someone coming up to you and saying, "Hey, I have this extra ticket for a cruise around the world that I'm not using - do you want it?"

I literally almost gasped when he invited Rex on the trip.  I may have actually gasped... I can't be quite sure.  I couldn't believe this was actually happening.  Neither could Rex, really.  He and that guy exchanged numbers, set up some preliminary plans, and then we went to check out.  Rex had this shell-shocked look on his face like, "What just happened?  Is this real life?"

As I type these words, Rex is having the time of his life in South Dakota.  He's texted me pictures of the hunting grounds, and he says he's seen the biggest bucks he's seen in his whole life.  He hasn't gotten one in close enough to shoot yet, but hey - he's only been there for a day.  The point is, he's having a great time, and it's all because the raspberries were on sale.

And also because he steadfastly refuses to make any friends in any normal ways.

Work Party

Tonight was Rex's first work party since he started working at Spine PT.  I was...well...nervous, to say the least.  I was afraid to go hang out with all of the doctor's wives, because "doctor's wife" just sounds pretentious, doesn't it?  Like I was going to be walking onto the set of The Real Housewives of Kalamazoo or something.  I pictured them all walking around in high heels with glasses of chardonnay, swapping casserole recipes and talking about vacations to the Hamptons.

And yes, I realize that Rex is a specifically a doctor of physical therapy, which is different than a "regular" doctor.  He is always very particular about that.  He is super paranoid that someone is going to confuse him for a general physician or a surgeon or something.  As if people are going to be sitting in a restaurant when a guy chokes, and someone yells, "Hey!  That guy over there is a doctor!  Quick, Sir, we need you to perform an emergency tracheotomy with only a toothpick and a handful of cilantro!"  Um, not going to happen.  Still, Rex doesn't like being called a doctor.

So, even though they were doctors of physical therapy, they were still doctors.  And that made their wives doctors' wives.  And that made me intimidated.

I chose my outfit carefully.  I wanted to seem sophisticated, but not like I tried too hard.  I settled on some kicky jeans, brown boots (jeans over boots, not under), a brown sweater, and a tan scarf with brown swirls.  I also wore my off-white peacoat.  At the last minute I added some pearl drop earrings, because obviously pearls are sophisticated.  If there was a store called Sophisticated-R-Us, there would be an entire department of pearls.  They're practically the backbone of sophistication.
I had an internal debate about my purse choice.  I had a no-name brand brown purse that I got at a garage sale which would match well, or I had my Vera Bradley bag, which is designer but didn't really match.  I decided on Vera, partially to look like I was stylish and partially because I just really like that purse.  As a final touch, I put on my Ray-Ban knockoffs (they're good knockoffs, though, with the logo and everything.  You totally can't tell they're fake).  I realized I wouldn't wear sunglasses at the indoor party, but maybe someone would see them when I walked in and think, "Ah, yes.  She is one of us."  I am such a poser.  *hangs head in shame*

We arrived at the party, and I gave the hostess my offerings of homemade potato salad and pumpkin cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.  Everyone knows that women judge each other by their cooking.  It's like how guys compare muscles or something.  If you can rock a homemade souffle, you're in.  If you bring store-bought cookies, scoff!  Women are judgmental like that.  It's pretty stupid (yet I still participate in this by trying super hard to make acceptable food...hmmm...).  For the record, if I ever throw a party - you are welcome to bring store-bought cookies.  Or a 2-liter of pop. Or napkins.  Or whatever you want.  I like when people bring anything at all.  Hand on heart - I won't judge you.

So I walked into the kitchen to proffer my gifts of food, and I immediately noticed that the decor was...fancier than my unsophisticated taste properly appreciates, I guess.  The wallpaper had roosters on it, but instead of feathers the roosters had exotic animal furs.  There was a zebra rooster, a leopard rooster, a tiger rooster, etc.  I really wanted to get out my phone and take a picture to show you, but that seemed quite rude.  So I didn't.  Instead, I complemented the hostess on the fact that her kitchen decor seemed "down-home, yet exotic."  True, it did.  It just took a bit of staring at it to get used to it.  She said "Thank you.  Exotic was exactly what I was thinking."  Phew!  Score one for me!

I stayed pretty quiet as Rex made his rounds and said hello to people.  I noticed one of the wives had a Vera Bradley bag (glad I chose that one!), but I also noticed that it was last season.  Then I felt like a TOTAL brat for even noticing that.  Who was acting all Real Housewives of Kalamazoo now?  Me, that's who!  So I mentally chided myself and told myself to stop freaking out about everyone's outfits and food offerings and statuses in the company.  These were real people.  I am a real person.  There is no reason why we can't be friends.  Our spouses all work together, so we all automatically have something in common.  There.  I had talked myself into it.  I was going to be social.

Rex introduced me to a few of the ladies there, and they were super nice.  They weren't uppity at all.  We talked about how lots of the hostess's decorations were so fun - she had a lot of Halloween/harvest themed things.  She even had centerpieces for the tables made out of wheat.  WHEAT.  You wouldn't think that would look cool, but it did.  She had yummy scented candles making the house smell great, and she had little pumpkins and ghosts hiding all over the place, so everywhere you looked you saw something else cute and festive.  Her house was basically a Pinterest board for "How to Throw a Harvest Party."

The food was really good (as it was destined to be with that many women trying to impress each other).  I got complimented on my potato salad, so that made me happy.  Rex and I sat with another therapist and his wife at dinner, and they were super cool.  We ended up talking to them for a lot of the night, and we found out we had a ton in common.  After a while some of the guys turned on a football game, some of the women started looking at photo albums, and it was basically a really fun night with really fun, totally normal people.  No wine, stilettos, or vacations to the Hamptons.  I can breathe a sigh of relief.   I was so apprehensive about this party, but now I hope that Rex's work has a Christmas party too, because those people are quite fun.  Now I feel dumb for freaking out so much.  Silly me.  Oh, well.  I will go toast to my successful evening with a leftover cupcake.  Mmmm.

Dateline NBC

Rex and I had a pretty fun Halloween Friday.  We both had the day off, which rarely happens.  He almost always works Saturdays, and on Sundays we're rushing off to church and then spending time with family.  We don't get those lazy mornings we used to have when we were first married and both on "normal" work schedules.  Yesterday morning, we decided to make the most of the opportunity.

One thing you should know about Rex and me - we love food.  LOVE it.  I'm actually surprised that we're not fatties.  We must have good genes or something.  Anyway, yesterday morning we decided to have a "Breakfast Feast."  We had an awesome time cooking together.  I made waffles, Rex made stuffed omelettes, we had yogurt with homemade granola, etc.  It was so delicious!  It made me wish we had mornings off together more often.  After a lazy morning, we ran some errands together, which is always more fun when you're with someone than when you're alone.  Then we had to help my parents move into their new house, and as we were doing that the first snow flurries of the year stared swirling down on us.  Hooray!  That means Christmas is just around the corner!

That evening, Rex and I decided to eat a pizza for dinner and watch "something spooky" on the internet (which we project on our wall to look like a big screen).  We had a bowl of candy for trick-or-treaters, but we may have eaten about as much as we handed out.  Oops.  As we were munching our candy and pizza, we decided to watch Dateline NBC.  Have you seen it?  It's a bunch of true crime mystery stories.  *cue Twighlight Zone music*  If you're into that kind of thing, just google "Dateline NBC full episodes," and kiss the next few hours of your life goodbye.  After a few episodes of that, I'm now pretty sure that everyone's a murderer.  Ha ha.  I even had creepy dreams with the dateline guy narrating them.  Apparently my subconscious isn't very creative, because in my dream the dateline guy said, "Next on Dateline: INSURANCE FRAUD!"  And then I had this whole dream about insurance fraud.  So there's that.  I think it may have been because I had to fill out a bazillion health insurance papers this week, and I was really paranoid that I might accidentally fill in one of the boxes wrong and get accused of fraud (even though I was really trying to fill them out right).  It's not my fault that there are miles of papers all written in legal-ese.

One episode of Dateline really freaked me out, because I'm still convinced the guy didn't even do it!  This girl's husband got accused of killing her, and there was hardly any evidence.  Actually, there was pretty good evidence that she died of a heart condition called Long-QT, which coroners almost never check for.  I have a student with this condition, though, so I know a decent amount about it.  This poor guy ended up getting convicted, which is awful because now he has to deal with losing his new wife (they had only been married three months) AND spending his life in jail.  What's up with that?  I realize that a lot of times the crazy spouse is the culprit, but this time I think they got it wrong.

THEREFORE, I feel compelled to put the following on this public forum:

If I ever turn up dead under suspicious circumstances, REX DIDN'T DO IT!  Don't convict the poor guy - he's probably already bumming about the fact that his wife is gone.  Don't make it worse.  Rex is basically the best husband on earth.  I have been with him for eight years, and he's never shown the slightest bit of violence.  He doesn't even yell at me - ever - even if I'm being really obnoxious and probably deserve it.  SO, you can move along and stop suspecting him...  I don't care what kind of evidence you have.  He didn't do it.  I promise.  I don't really believe in ghosts and haunting and such, but if I die and that stuff turns out to be true, then I will hunt you down and haunt you if you convict my rock star husband.

There - phew! - got that off my chest.  Now no one can convict Rex and put him in the same position as that other dude.

I see you looking incredulously at your screen and thinking that I'm nuts.  Fine.  Maybe I've seen too many Datelines.  Probably true.  The thing is that they ALWAYS say, "I never thought this would happen in our community!  Things like that only happen on TV!"  Clearly they do happen sometimes.  I'm like a girl scout - always prepared.

The Wedding Gift Fairy

It's so nice to get thank-you cards in the mail.  Among the bills, election propaganda, and useless credit card applications, it's nice to get a handwritten note from someone telling you that they appreciate you for something.

It's nice, that is, as long as you actually did the thing they're thanking you for.  Otherwise it's just weird.

For the last three weddings I've attended, I've gotten thank you cards for gifts I didn't give.  The first time it was weird, the second time it was a very strange coincidence, and now it's hit the "what on earth is going on??" level.  The card always thanks me for my actual gift, but then there's an "and" that I didn't anticipate:

Wedding 1: "Thank you for the beautiful picture frame and the popcorn."  What?  I didn't give them any popcorn!  I did pick out a beautiful picture frame, but who would randomly put popcorn in a wedding gift? That's just weird.  I wonder what they thought when the opened it.  Maybe "Those Webbs and their weird sense of humor that no one really gets except them..."  Nope, sorry.  Even I don't think popcorn is funny.  Unless you're throwing at someone.  Then it's a little funny.

Wedding 2: "Thank you for the chopper and for the towels."  Ummm... I did buy the chopper, but I did not buy any towels.  Again, what a weird combination.  Gifts should make sense together.  I tried to brainstorm a connection between the two, but the connections were thin at best:  You get covered in vegetable guts from chopping and then you need to go take a shower?  Or you're going to take a snack with you into the bath?  You get a work out from chopping so many vegetables that you have to wash off the sweat?  I don't get it.

Wedding 3:  "Thank you for the champagne glasses and the picture frame."  At least these two kind of go together.  It makes sense that people might drink champagne and reminisce about fun memories.  What doesn't make sense is why this bride thanked me for a picture frame that I didn't buy.  I did buy the champagne glasses - they are crystal and really pretty.  No picture frame, though.  

What is happening??  Do I have an alternate personality that buys random gifts and then blocks them out from my memory?  Is that a psychological condition?  Can I take meds for that?  Is Rex so offended by my gifts that he has to "fix" them before we leave the wedding?  (That's definitely not it, by the way.  He never even asks what we're giving people).  Are all brides in a grand conspiracy to freak me out with their thank-you cards?

Obviously there is a wedding gift fairy messing with my presents.  She probably wanted to be a Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus level magical creature, but she was the intern who never really graduated from picking up Starbucks and answering customer service calls.  Finally, fed up with the fact that she wasn't moving up in the magical corporate world, she set out on her own and decided to start her own gig - adding to wedding gifts.  Unfortunately no one required her services, so she's started forcing them on people.  I can see why she never made it in the biz - adding popcorn is pretty lame.  Now she's just messing up my presents and making my friends think I'm a weirdo for pairing towels with a chopper.  If she's going to do that, she could at least drop off some Starbucks for me on her way.  Actually, she should just be a full-time Starbucks fairy - now THAT'S a good idea.  That might even be better than Santa.

Great, now I've probably offended her.  My next friend who gets married is going to get a dead toad in her gift or something.  Single friends. beware - neither of us knows what I'm getting you for your wedding.

Messing With Texas

I'm very annoyed with a man from Texas.

I don't know him personally.  I don't actually even know his name.  I just know that he's in Texas, and I'm mad at him.

Rex and I are trying to buy a house.  We've been trying to buy a house since the beginning of the summer.  House hunting is really fun for about a month, and then it gets boring...and then it gets frustrating...and then it gets depressing.  There needs to be a support group or something.  Last weekend, when we were looking at our millionth house, Rex found me slowly, psychotically banging my head against the wall while I waited for him to finish looking at the sketchy basement. "We are never going to find a house," I droned mechanically.  "We're not.  It's not going to happen.  We're going to rent for the rest of our lives."  It was a low point in our search.

And then....we found it.

Admittedly I don't know if this is "the one."  It seems like lots of real estate deals fall through.  Even if it's not THE one, it's at least the one that restored my faith in the idea that perhaps we might one day find a house that we both like.  Rex and I both love it.  It wouldn't be a more "Rex" house or a more "Christine" house (like many of the houses we've seen have been).  This one is decidedly a "Webb" house, equal parts of what we both want.  We saw it and made an offer that same night.

*enter evil Texas man*

The Texas man (I mentally named him Lone Star) is selling the house.  He's a real estate investor who bought the house at an auction in May, paid some guys to come in and "flip" it, and is now selling it for three times what he bought it for.  That doesn't really bother me because the flipper guys did a good job on some repairs that I certainly didn't want to make, and the house is still worth more than the price we would be paying.  So Lone Star has never seen the house, he hired a Michigan realtor who he's never met to sell it for him, and he is basically just waiting for said realtor to send him a big fat check so he can buy some more Stetsons.

The house went on the market quite recently, and Lone Star wants to get all of the money he can out of it.  I get you, Lone Star.  You're a business guy.  The thing is, though, that Rex and I made a pretty good offer.  Our realtor says it's good, and even the listing agent has told you to accept it.  Come on, man!  We're cool people!  Rex wears a lot of cowboy clothes, just like you!  Sell us the house, please??

Lone Star said that he would "think about it."  A week ago.  That's a week of me freaking out on whether or not we are going to buy a house.  Obviously Lone Star is just waiting to see if someone will make a better offer, which is really annoying and a bit sadistic.  Don't string people along with maybes until you see if you can find a higher bidder (which, in all honesty, he probably could.  Hence my freaking out).

My realtor said that the Texas guy is being really unprofessional and rude, and even the listing agent has apologized and said that he's being ridiculous.  He (Lone Star) stopped answering the listing agent's calls, so the listing agent couldn't get through to him to talk about the deal.  Here's how I picture this going down:

Lone Star is some real estate mogul floating in his pool on a blue floaty.  He has a gin and tonic in the cup holder (because he's too sophisticated for beer), and he's kind of fat and bald but no one really cares because he's so rich.  People don't notice he's bald most of the time because he always wears a cowboy hat, but when he's in the pool he doesn't (he doesn't want to get the leather wet).  Instead he's just wearing is aviator sunglasses, smoking a cigarette, and wearing designer swimtrunks that his personal shopper picked out.  The trunks are trying vainly to cover his paunchy stomach.

"Mr. Star," says his butler Jones (no one's really sure if "Jones" is his first name or last name.  It's just Jones). "You are receiving another call from," (he checks the phone), " 'Michigan agent guy.'  Shall I answer?"

Lone takes a long drag of his cigarette and taps the ashes into the pool water.  "Nah, I told ya Jones, I'm not taking calls right now.  I'm relaxing."

"I understand, sir, but this is the third time he's called today.  Perhaps it's urgent."

"Jones, you gotta understand something about me.  I do things on my own time.  Everyone else can work around me."  He's quiet for a minute as he floats on the relaxing waves caused by the pool's waterfall.  "That Michigan house isn't even important.  I only did that deal to pay for the new addition."

"You're putting a new addition on the mansion, sir?"

"Heck no.  I meant the new addition to the pool.  I'm installing a water slide encrusted with gemstones because I think the cheerleaders will like it when they come to visit."  Lone takes the last gulp of his gin and tonic, puts his cigarette out on the ice, stretches his arms up and then folds his hands behind his head, clearly settling down for his 2:00 nap.

Jones looks a bit confused and hesitates because he doesn't want to bother Mr. Star during his very important relaxing time, but curiosity overcomes his sense of decorum.  "The cheerleaders, sir?  What cheerleaders?"

"Dagnabbit, Jones!  I told you I'm relaxing!"  He sits up and mutters something to himself that sounds like "You just can find good help these days."  He straightens his sunglasses, rubs his stubbly jaw, and looks at Jones.  "The Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, Jones.  They're coming here for team building camp this summer."

"The whole team?"

"Sure, why not?  My house is huge.  I've always wanted a bunch of young, hot girls running around.  We'll have nightly pool parties out here all week, and I think they would like a gem encrusted slide."

"Definitely, sir.  Very good.  That's in very sophisticated taste."  Jones doesn't think it is in sophisticated taste at all, but then he has never had enough money to even consider buying something so strange.  "So, if Michigan agent guy calls again, you would prefer not to be bothered?"

"No.  Tell them I'm a busy man.  A very, very busy man."  Lone Star puts his hands back behind his head, closes his eyes, and drifts off to sleep.


Oops...I need to snap back to reality.  Sorry for taking you on a crazy trip into my imagination.  That is just what my mind does when I'm super stressed out and don't want to think about the fact that our beautiful house hangs in the balance because some guy in Texas can't make up his mind.  Our fabulous realtor had a brilliant idea today.  He called the listing agent and told him that for every day they wait to respond, our offer goes down $500.  The listing agent said that he understood and that he would definitely try to get an answer out of the seller tonight.  I initially felt a little sorry for him because I figured that Jones would never put the call through to Lone Star and then the realtor would lose his commission money, but then I remembered that actually I made that whole thing up and that Lone Star and Jones aren't real.  The house is real, though.  It's very real, and it's very awesome.  Prayers would be appreciated - I really hope we get it!

Google+

Technology keeps moving on and evolving whether or not you're on board with it, and that's not good for a junior high teacher.  It means that my kids are more computer savvy than I am because I'm too busy planning lessons about prepositions while they're at home surfing the net.

Lately I've gotten a couple of Google+ e-mail invitations from students, but I'm not on Google+. I found this rather confusing.  I pulled the principal's kid aside after school (he's pretty fab; he's in one of my lit classes), and I asked him what's up with this.  He got onto Google+ and showed me his account.  If someone is in your "circle," you can see everything they post (links, pictures, statuses, etc.).  You can "like" things and comment on them...  does this sound familiar?  Yes.  It's sneaky facebook for kids who can't have facebook.  So basically all of my junior high kids are this Google+ thingy and have made their own covert-ops secret social network.

I asked principal-kid to show me what kids can see when they search me.  I've never accepted any of them into my circles (which I never even set up).  So he google-stalked me on this Google+ account that I have literally never been on...and it was the FREAKIEST THING EVER!

Google+ came up with a bunch of pictures of me from Facebook.  Creepy!  It also came up with a link to my YouTube channel (which has a bunch of videos from my cross-country road trips).  They aren't bad videos per-se, but also not super professional types that I would want to share with all of my kids.  There was also a link to my YOUTUBE HISTORY, which shows all of the videos I've viewed on YouTube.  WHAT?!?!?!  I mean, when you click on it you see that I've spent the last two weeks watching nothing but a lot of expositions on Puritan literature, but still.  It's the principle of the thing.  There were also links to both of my blogs (HEY KID!  GET OFF MY BLOG!  GO DO YOUR HOMEWORK!).   Creepy, creepier, creepiest.

I basically freaked out and spent the next half hour trying to block all of my Google+ stuff.  I almost deleted my entire gmail account by accident, but luckily I realized what I was doing before I hit the final "confirm" button.  Still,  it's so weird that my kids had access to all of that stuff without me knowing about it.  I don't think any of them really stalked me that extensively (I hope), but the fact that they could have is eerie.  It's also ironic that their parents are so anti-facebook, but the kids are essentially doing the same thing through a different technological vehicle.  Those sneaky little buggers.  Watch out for kids and technology - they're quickly outsmarting us.  And when a bunch of pre-teens end up taking over the world, that's going to be a scary place to live. 

Car Ride

If you’ve ever sat in the back seat of a car and watched your father-in-law pick out his ear hair with tweezers, then you know exactly how I’m feeling right now – intrigued, but also a little weirded out.

It’s not like I have to watch him. To my right I can look out the window and see a beautiful river snaking its way through the Appalachian foothills.  I can see the nearby city and a billboard for the West Virginia lottery.  There are plenty of things to see.  It’s just that I’ve seen all those things before, and I’ve never seen someone pick their ear-hair while driving…so that’s why I’m telling you about it.  Also, I’m telling you because we’ve been in the car for ten hours now, and I’m going a bit batty so I need to confide in someone.  You, dear reader, are my confidant.

You may wonder how I ended up in West Virginia with my parents-in-law.  You would probably be even more curious when I tell you that my husband isn’t with me, and neither are any of his siblings.  It’s just me and the in-laws, out on the open road.  The reason I’m here has mostly to do with the fact that I have a slightly irrational love of weddings.  It also has to do with the fact that I set a really dumb goal for myself a while ago, and…oh, also because my in-laws are pretty cool.

Rex’s cousin Peter (who I’ve only met once…to be honest, I had to think for a minute before I typed his name because I forgot it) is getting married.  He’s getting married in North Carolina, and we are en route to his wedding.  I love weddings (LOVE), and he is having an earthy hippie wedding at an outdoor nature preserve.  I've never been to one of those, so clearly I had to go to this one. Also, the wedding is in NC, and that is one of the eight states in the USA that I haven't visited.  I see this as a great opportunity to get one of those eight crossed off my list.  After tonight, I'll only have seven to go!  I don't know why I feel the need to go to all fifty states when really the states are just arbitrary political lines that have no bearing on the land itself, but for some reason I want to do it.  So yes, I did take a day off of work to cross the country in order to go to a wedding where I hardly know either the bride or the groom...but I still think it's going to be fun.  I've been to weddings of complete strangers before and had a blast (but that's really another story).

So I've been chilling with my in-laws all day, but they're cool people so it's all good.  I mean, I can type this to you right now because my father-in-law has a wifi hotspot on his phone.  In-car wifi?  SWEET!  Also, since I'm the only kid on this trip, I get the entire back seat to myself.  That makes naps super comfy.  I did question my decision a bit when the two of them started a spontaneous sing-along to "I like big butts and I cannot lie," but parents will be parents.  My own parents have done way more embarrassing things.  We pulled over at a Gander Mountain earlier, and my father-in-law was so excited to be there that he said, "Christine!  Can you do one of those selfie things?"  Yes, I can do a selfie, but I also think it's a general rule that people who are eligible to belong to AARP do not make a habit of taking selfies.  It's not like I was going to turn him down, though (the guy is being nice enough to tote me across the nation!), so I stood outside of Gander Mountain and taught them how to take selfies.  After we went inside, he was in the fishing department and my mother-in-law said to him, "Hey!  Smile!  I'm going to take another selfie of you!"  I had to explain that the nature of the "selfie" is that you're taking a picture of your "self," not someone else.  Hence the name.  Otherwise it's just taking a picture.  I'm still not quite sure they get it.

So here we are, curving around through the mountains, and I'm reflecting back on our lunch today and how I realized that there are are good reasons for the stereotypes about people in West Virginia.  All I'll say about that is that my sister-in-law is a dentist, and I'm going to ask her to go on a mission trip to this state.  All in all it's been a good day, but we have four hours left to go.  Then we get to do this whole shenanigans again the day after tomorrow.  Almost thirty hours of driving for around twelve hours of family time with some family members I don't even know.  I hope it's worth it!

Elvis the Wonder Dog

Elvis is my adorable, lovable, cute, and fairly dumb beagle.  Think Odie from the comic strip Garfield and you've got the right idea (in this comparison my cat Elsie would be Garfield, which makes the whole thing work even better because she's fat and cranky).  Here's Elvis:

Here is what he likes to do for most of the day:

He likes to sleep, eat, and run around our back yard howling at random things (and nothings).  He has to chip in and do his part like every other family member, though, so usually when I'm cleaning he will follow around and "help."  He mostly follows me from room to room and then silently sits and stares at me, but I interpret that as a sign of solidarity and support.  "Go mom!" he's saying.  "Do those dishes!  I'll lick them for you if you need help!"  We support each other in the Webb family.

Today I found a job where Elvis could be helpful for real.  I accidentally mixed a pile of washed socks with a pile of dirty socks, and they all sat on my bedroom floor in a pathetic heap.  I didn't know which socks were which.  The thing about socks is that they're pretty smelly after one use, so I figured I could distinguish the dirty from the clean by smelling them.  This seemed to be a fairly good plan, except it meant that I had to smell a bunch of dirty socks.  Ew.  After approximately three socks, I decided that I needed a new plan.  Elvis was doing his usual sit-and-stare support method, but when I looked at him the idea hit me like a lightning bolt: his nose is way better than mine!  He could for sure tell which socks are dirty and which were clean!  I just had to come up with a way for him to tell me.

I thought back to Elvis's puppyhood when he used to try to steal our dirty socks.  Dogs love smelly things, and dirty socks are the smelliest.  Rex made me stop letting him play with socks because dogs can die from getting socks caught in their intestines (I thought Rex was being paranoid, but that's actually true.  Google it if you don't believe me).  Elvis hadn't played with socks in years.  Well, today was his lucky day (kind of).  I called him over and tentatively held the first sock up to his nose.  He sniffed it and then turned away, bored.  Clean socks are boring, you see.  They don't have any fun smells.  I held up the next sock and got the same reaction.  I checked it myself to see if it was clean, and indeed it was.  When I held up the third sock, Elvis tentatively bit the end - not to take it away from me, but more to say, "Mmmm...this smells yummy."  I smelled it to check, and yep!  It was dirty.  I had an accurate sock checker!

I held up every sock to Elvis's nose, and he would bite the dirty ones and look away at the clean ones.  He never tried to run away with the dirty socks, but sat right next to me and checked every sock until the whole pile was gone.  What a good boy!  I wish I could have rewarded him with a particularly smelly sock, but I don't want him to die so he just got a bone and a treat instead.  I don't think he cared too much.  :-)

Baking Fail

Some recipes should come with warnings written right at the top of the page: WARNING: DO NOT ATTEMPT UNLESS YOU HAVE ATTENDED CULINARY SCHOOL!  Or maybe in order to be less exclusive, they could put in small print beneath that warning: "You may also attempt if you have sufficient life experience commensurate to a culinary degree - e.g., you have six kids and have clocked over 10,000 hours in your kitchen.  Otherwise, put down this recipe, back away slowly, and reach for the easy mac."

Because my recipe book doesn't have those handy warnings, I attempted to bake "Raspberry Glazed Lemon Mousse Cake" today.  *hangs head in shame*  I know.  Even the title sounds fancy.  I should have known better.  I was just telling someone how I've been getting better at cooking, though, so I think I was puffed up with false pride.  I thought, "Raspberry Glazed Lemon Mousse Cake?  I can do that!"  I was so naive.

The reason I decided to attempt this recipe in the first place was threefold: 1. I got a new recipe book and wanted to try a recipe from it. 2. The recipe called for a stand mixer, which I recently got at a garage sale and had not yet used.  3. It called for raspberries, which are on sale for $1 this week at Meijer.

Can we talk about stand mixers for a second?  Every housewife I look up to says that they're a "must have," but they're upwards of $300.  Why do I need something to mix for me?  I can mix with my arm and a spoon.  In the event that I need something a little more intense, I can use my hand mixer with the little metal doopies that spin around.  Why do I need a mixer that goes on my counter?  I have yet to figure this out.  When I found an extremely well-priced stand mixer at a garage sale, though, I decided to give it a try.

Well, I still don't get it.  My mixer works well, but it took a bit of the fun out of baking.  I put in my ingredients...hit a button...and then the bowl started spinning and the machine started mixing.  I just stood there and watched it.  What fun is that?  I had nothing to do...until the recipe said to turn the level from "low" to "high" after two minutes of mixing.  Let me tell you - turning a mixer on level "high" is a bad idea.  I hereby vow to never do it again.  Globs of lemon mousse flew everywhere!  It was like turning on a blender with no lid!  How dare those mean people tell me to turn the mixer on high?  I looked to see if the next direction in the book was, "Did you actually turn the mixer on high?  Ha ha SUCKER!" but it wasn't.  So I'm still not sure about why they wanted me to do that.

After I turned off my psycho mixer, the book told me to "fold the whipped cream into the mousse."  Um.  How does one "fold" whipped cream?  Do they want it folded hot dog or hamburger style?  Do they want me to get fancy and make a crane?  YOU CAN'T FOLD CREAM, RECIPE BOOK!  IT'S CREAM!  In the end, I decided that "fold" was just a fancy kind of mixing.  Sort of like how name brand shirts are fancy, but at the end of the day it's really just a shirt and no one would know the difference if you wore one from New York and Company or from Wal-Mart.  So "folding" sounds fancier, but no one would really care if I just mixed it up, right? Therefore I put the whipped cream in the mixer and turned the mixer back on (on low, obviously).  Well...  I think folding is actually kind of important, because my mousse ended up all lumpy.  I repented, turned off the mixer, and tried to "fold," but the damage was done.  It was time to cut my losses and move on to the next step.

I was supposed to set up the vanilla wafer crust (see how yummy this sounds?) in my springform pan.  I definitely do have a springform pan.  I got it for our wedding and thought, "Wow!  I can make all sorts of fancy wifely things with this fancy pan!"  Amazingly, though, I've come across a shockingly low number of recipes that require one.  When I finally needed it...the springform pan's moment of glory...it was nowhere to be found.  It's like the kid that's been benched the whole game is finally called in...and he's at the concession stand.  Where was my pan??  I couldn't find it, and I had to improvise with this weird cake carrier stand thing that vaguely resembled a circular shape. I knew I wouldn't be able to get my cake out and display it nicely like I would be able to with a springform pan, though.  What a shame.

The raspberry glaze on top is made partially from fresh raspberries and partially from raspberry gelatin.  This part of the recipe looked deceptively easy - how could I mess up jello?  Well, mostly because I wasn't making jello.  I was making "raspberry glaze," which is apparently a lot more complicated.  You have to mix the gelatin with boiling water, then immediately dip it an ice bath to initiate rapid cooling.  Then you have to wait the exact right amount of time until your gelatin is "slightly thickened."  If you wait too long, it comes out like a jello jiggler, which doesn't look nice.  If you don't wait long enough (like I didn't), then it just spills all over your entire creation and makes your carefully crafted crust a soggy mess.  In my defense, though - the gelatin started out the consistency of water, and I stirred it until it was the consistency of corn syrup or molasses.  I think that qualifies as "slightly thickened," don't you?  The recipe book should have been more specific.  I hold them accountable.

In the end, the cake wasn't pretty.  It was pretty horrible looking, if I'm being honest.  I was going to just throw the whole thing away, but I felt bad throwing away all of the good ingredients I had purchased to make it.  I decided to try a little slice.  The taste was actually pretty good!  Sure the mousse was a bit lumpy and the crust a tad soggy, but it definitely wasn't as bad as it looked.  Rex even had two slices.  So really maybe the whole thing was't a total fail, but I think I'm sticking to boxed brownies for a while after this.

Zazio's

When I was a little kid, my dad used to take me on "date night" each week.  I would get $1 to go anywhere I wanted, which was a lot of money when I was seven.  I mean, there are dollar menus at almost every fast food place, and do you know how many different candy bars you can get for $1?  Or you could get one of my favorite combinations - two zebra cakes AND a mini-donuts package!  (It was the nineties...a dollar went a bit further than it does now). It doesn't seem like a lot of money, but when I was growing up I was positively RICH every Tuesday night.

After a while, I grew up and went to high school.  I started going on real dates, and dates with my dad dwindled.  Then I went to college, and I wasn't even ever home.  After college I got married and moved to Nevada, so then I was separated from my family by over 2,000 miles.  I hardly ever saw them.

After I moved back to Michigan, I had the opportunity to start hanging out with my family more often.  While downtown with my family one day, I passed the fanciest restaurant in town: Zazio's.  I offhandedly mentioned that it was on my bucket list to go there one day, and my dad said, "Really?  That's an easy one to cross off.  I'll take you there."  He said we could eat at the chef's table, where the chef cooks the food right in front of you.  It is so awesome!  I asked if he was sure, positive that he hadn't seen the price ($70 per person!), and he said no problem - that he "owed" me lots of dollars from years of missed date nights.  This was coming from the guy who wouldn't let me get something for $1.19 when I was a kid because it was "way too expensive" for my $1 limit.  Alas.  I guess a decade or two can change people.

I definitely took him up on the offer, and a few days ago we had a FANTASTIC five course meal at Zazio's. I was happy, he was happy, and Rex was super happy that now he doesn't ever have to take me there.  :-) Here are some pics from the dinner:

This was the bread with two kids of dip - an olive one and a garlic one. Both were delicious.

Here is a picture of our chef and our waitress.  They were both fun.

Course 1: "Mozzarella in Carozza"  Mozzerella in a carriage of crumbs and spices, summer greens, lemon-anchovy sauce

Course 2: "Suppli alla Romana"  Crisp baked risotto filled dome, capers, crisp country acres cherry tomatoes (This course was my dad's favorite)

Course 3: "Maccheroni all' Amatriciana" Housemade rigatoni pasta, guanciale, onions, tomatoes, peperancino, pecorino Romano (This course was my favorite)

Course 4: "Agnello con fritti" Roasted Buckham farm lamb, crisp fried summer vegetables

Course 6: "Ricotta"  Sweet ricotta mousse, savoiardi, Schultz's farm sweet cherries

Me and the best dad ever.  :-)  Bon apetit!

Snapshot

People say that life is like a roller coaster.  There are ups and downs, and sometimes all you can do is just hang on for dear life.  That's pretty true, I guess.  I wish that the metaphor extended one part further, though: I wish that right when something really exciting happened, a hidden camera would snap a picture of your face and then you could go over to a little booth and buy prints for $14.99 plus tax.  I would absolutely buy an overpriced print of the moment when Rex found out that he passed his physical therapy boards.

We were sitting on the couch, clicking "refresh" on the page that was supposed to show his scores.  No exaggeration - I think Rex had refreshed that page literally thousands of times.  We had a lot riding on this test: he had already accepted a job that he would lose if he didn't pass, and he wouldn't have another chance to take the test until October.  Oh, and that would cost us another $1,000, plus the lost wages from not working for these months.  No pressure, right?

His PT class facebook page was blowing up with people receiving their scores (not all of the scores were received at the same time, so we just kept hitting "refresh").  Some people passed; some didn't.  The people who passed all posted a screenshot that looked like this:

Please notice the part that says "Score received from Prometric - Passed."  That's the really, really important part.  You need to see that beautiful word:  PASSED.

Well, after we refreshed for the 1,876,567th time, finally the screen changed.  Guess what it said, though?  It said "Score received from Prometric."  No "passed."  Just "Score received."  At first we were both confused.  Why didn't it say "passed"?  Then the only logical conclusion hit both of us simultaneously:  maybe he didn't pass.  It felt like someone punched me in the stomach and poured ice water over my head at the same time.  I couldn't believe that could be true.  Rex was top of his class in PT school - how could he not pass?  It didn't make any sense.  I told him to refresh again, and he did.  And again.  And again.  Still no "passed."  We were both freaking out by this time.  WHY DIDN'T IT SAY HE PASSED?  There was another part of the page where you could buy a detailed score report for $56.  Rex's new job had said they'd pay for the detailed score report so that he could get his license processed faster, but now he didn't know if he wanted to buy it.  They probably wouldn't reimburse him if he didn't pass.  I told him to buy it anyway, simply because we HAD to know what happened.  

He paid the $56, and the report was delivered almost immediately (a relief, because it said it could take up to 24 hours).  He opened the report, and we both held our breath.  The report was very convoluted and detailed.  I think they should make it really simple:  they should put a giant neon "YOU PASSED!!"  or "TOO BAD, YOU FAILED!"  at the top of the page, but I guess no one asked me.  So we started reading all of these numbers and medical jargon, and about halfway down the page I saw something awesome in about ten point font: "Status: PASS."  

I screamed. "REX! YOU PASSED!  RIGHT THERE!  YOU PASSED!"  He looked where I was pointing, and then he pumped both fists in the air and yelled as loud as he could.  "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!  HAHAHAHA!  AHHHHH!  I PASSED!!! I DID IT!!!"  His eyes were huge, he almost dropped his computer because he jumped up so fast, and it was basically the most jubilant I'd ever seen him. That's the part where I needed the hidden camera.  After celebrating with me, he instantly called JB (his best friend for PT school with whom he had spent weeks studying for this thing.  At this point, JB had already found out his score - the screenshot earlier in this post was from him).  JB answered the phone and was just as excited.  "WE DID IT, BROTHER!  WE'RE LICENSED PT'S!"  It was the most touching bromance moment ever.  I actually teared up.  They worked together for three years for this, and they got it.  It was so awesome.

As he celebrated with JB, I went back and read the whole individual score report.  Rex needed a 601/800 on the test to pass (that's a 75%), and guess what he got?  A 718/800.  That's a 90%.  He got an A.  Go Rex!  See why I was so incredulous about him not passing?  It's just not possible.  He's too smart.  Still today, though, if you go to the Prometric front page, it just says "score received" instead of "score received - pass."  We don't know why.  He's got his licence and starts work in three days, though, so it all worked out. Thanks for the heart attack, Prometric.  

Iowa Adventures

When life hands you lemons...blog about them.  That's what I say, anyway.  When I'm feeling very bored or very frustrated, I frequently think, "Okay, how could I turn this into a blog post?"  Then I end up with posts like THIS ONE or THIS ONE or THIS ONE.  Some of my favorite posts, actually, came from junky situations.

I was trying to use this same philosophy in the car today as I drove eleven hours to Middle of Nowhere, Iowa.  I have to be here for an education conference, and I rode down with two middle-aged male teachers.  I was thankful for the ride, but it was still really boring.  I decided that maybe I could blog about it, but even the blog post would be boring.  This would be it:

Look - some corn!
More corn
More corn
More corn
Ew, someone farted
More corn
"Wow, they must be using some fertilizer here," says one of the teachers.
I know the smell of fertilizer, Farty McFarter, and that's not it.  But I'll nod in agreement to make you think you tricked me.
More corn
More corn
More corn

See?  Not much to say.  I wasn't even going to blog about it, but then my evening turned into a bit of an adventure so I decided to blog about it after all.  The teachers dropped me off at my hotel (15 minutes away from their hotel...not sure why).   It is in a tiny Iowa town on the outskirts of...well...thousands of acres of corn.  The nearest city is over an hour away.  Great place for a conference.  Good planning, team.

I was waiting for my friend Trish to get into town (she flew in from Washington state), and we were going to get dinner together.  She had a car, which was a great plus, and the school was going to pay for dinner so we could go somewhere fancy (though I realized "fancy" was going to be a relative term in this town).  By eight o'clock, I was getting pretty hungry.  Finally Trish texted me, but instead of saying she was on her way to pick me up, she bailed out and said she was too tired to come get me and get dinner!  Junk!  I was pretty disappointed, especially since I had been waiting for her and hadn't seen her in a few months.  I called the front desk and asked if there were any restaurants within walking distance of the hotel, and the receptionist sounded genuinely surprised: "Walking distance?  Oh... No, I don't think so.  There is a convenience store a few blocks down...they have chips and stuff...  Other than that, not really."

Great.  I was alone in the middle of a cornfield with only chips as a dinner option.  At least they would probably be corn chips, which are infinitely better than potato.  So there's a silver lining.

I was frustrated and hungry, so I decided to at least go for a walk and see what I could find.  It was better than being cooped up in my lonely hotel room for the rest of the evening.  I walked down the street and almost immediately saw a place called "Lighthouse Bar and Grill."  What luck!  A beacon for my hungry stomach!  I hurried over to the restaurant and saw, to my dismay, that it was closed.  Actually, it looked like it had been closed for the majority of the twenty-first century.  What a shame.

I walked a few blocks farther, and I didn't see much of anything.  I was starting to get very frustrated, and then it started to rain.  I literally glared at the sky as if to say "Really right now?  Really?"  Ugh.  I found the convenience store, but everything looked gross.  I decided to keep hunting and then save the chips as my back-up plan.

I walked along the line of mostly closed stores for a few blocks (I even took a picture just to show you!), and I finally came to a Taco Bell wannabe store called Taco John's.  It was open, so I decided to go inside and investigate the dinner options.  There was no one at the counter, and finally a girl came out and said, "Oh!  Someone will be right with you."  Then she yelled into the back at someone, and a pimply blonde teenage boy came out to take my order.  I started by saying, "I saw your ad for the Santa Fe burrito...it looks pretty good.  Is it good?  Have you had it?"  Pimples stared at me for a second and then said, "No."  Okay, no problem.  I tried again: "Okay, well I've never been here before.  What  have you tried that you would suggest?"  Pimples looked at me as if I were an alien, then shrugged and said, "I've tried a lot of things.  A lot of things are good."  Great customer service, friend.  You are well on your way to making it out of this tiny corn town.  I decided to go with the Santa Fe burrito just to get this ordering experience over with, and I went to fill up my water cup.

When I got my burrito, I must admit that it wasn't bad.  That could be because I was starving, but I guess we will never know.  The problem wasn't the flavor, it was that our local Taco John's team could not wrap a burrito if their corn fields depended on it.  The burrito was so messy that it was falling apart in my hands.  I got up to grab some napkins, and I had to hold my hands up in front of me so that they wouldn't drip.  I looked like a burrito surgeon just coming out of the operating room.  "Sorry doc...the Santa Fe didn't make it."  I grabbed the napkins and finally resorted to eating the burrito with a spoon (not even a fork - a SPOON), but the flavor was good so I wasn't too cranky about it.  It was better than a dinner of chips.

After eating at Taco John's, I started the trek through the rain back to my hotel.  I noticed that a cute place called Olivia's Bakery was open across the street, and I decided to check it out.  A yummy cupcake from a tiny family-run bakery was just what I needed for a pick-me-up after my horrible day.  Picture "Olivia's Bakery" in your head for me a second.  What do you think it looks like?  Who's Olivia?  I was picturing a little old lady who loves to bake, and maybe her granddaughters run the cute pastel-colored shop as their summer job or something.

WELL.  That's not what it was.  As soon as I walked in, I regretted it.  It was a dirty, grimy establishment run by a twenty-something Mexican who glared at me as soon as I walked in as if to say, "Por que estas aqui, gringa??"  That's right, dude.  I just translated your mean glare.  Into SPANISH.  All of the signs on all of the baked goods and all of the directions written on the displays were in Spanish, and Spanish TV was playing in the background.  No English translations were anywhere to be found.  I speak Spanish (ish), so I could read all of the signs.  It was mostly stuff like, "Don't touch the bread!" and "Don't grab the cookies with your hands!"   While Mr. "Olivia" watched me like a hawk, I tried to find something to buy.  They didn't have cupcakes.  They didn't have anything yummy.  They had jalenpeno doughnuts, which sounds like a horrible idea.  They also had cookies shaped like pigs, which made me wonder if they were pig flavored or simply pig shaped?  They had butter cookies, walnut cookies, and a bunch of varieties of Taquitos.  Ew.  I looked around for a while, but I didn't see anything I wanted.  I had to buy something, though, because this guy was staring daggers into me and I didn't want to make him mad.  That's a good business tactic, actually - frighten your customers into buying things.  Finally I decided to pay fifty cents for a cookie that promised to be "muy delicioso," but it wasn't.

I walked back in the rain, eating just the sprinkles off of my cookie (because it's really hard to ruin sprinkles) and generally feeling pretty sorry for myself.  Then I thought, "Forget that, Christine.  Just go blog about it, and the whole ordeal won't seem so awful."

And you know what?  I was right.  I feel better.  Now I'll kick back in my room and watch some *gasp!* cable TV.  Bring on tomorrow's conference.

Earl, Etc.

Rex and I went on a getaway last weekend to celebrate him being finished with studying for his boards.  He's been studying his butt off all summer, and he really deserved a break.  We went up to my parents' cabin, which is located back in the woods right on a river.  It was awesome.  One of my favorite parts of the trip was our new little friend named Earl.  Rex and I were sitting on an outdoor swing, overlooking the beautiful river, enjoying the peaceful tranquility, when all of a sudden...

FLAP FLAP

FLIP

FLUFFLE FLUFFLE

TWEET!

THUD

We both instantly turned around, trying to discover the source of the weird noise.  We saw a stunned baby robin on the ground, looking around with wide eyes as if to say, "WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!"  He had jumped out of the nest for the first time.  Poor little brave guy!  (That's not Earl, by the way.  That's just some baby robin.)  Anyway, he started hopping around, trying to fly, and it was hilarious.  He couldn't even really walk (he'd never been out of a nest, remember?), so he looked like a drunk little ball of fluff.  Finally he hopped and flapped and landed on a tree, and then I swear I saw him smile triumphantly as if to say, "Look at me!  I FLEW!"  Then he looked down and realized that he was only four inches from the ground, sitting on the side of a tree trunk.  Oh well.  You have to start somewhere, right?

Rex and I walked over to the nest to investigate the situation.  There was one little bird left in the nest, and he looked understandably pretty lonely and scared.  We felt bad for him, but we didn't want to freak him out more by having two humans stare at him, so we walked away.

About twenty minutes later, Rex peeked around the corner and said, "Christine!  The last robin is about to jump!"  I looked around too, and I saw the little guy standing on the side of the nest.  He looked very concerned (I didn't realize that robins had so many facial expressions).  He would briefly look down to the ground, then snap his head back to looking straight ahead as if to say, "Holy CRAP that's a long way down!"  His eyes were wide, and it was easy to see he was scared.  I decided to cheer for him.  "Come on, Earl!  You can do it!"  I said.  Then Rex said that he thought "Earl" was a great name for a robin, so it stuck.  

We cheered for Earl, but I don't think he interpreted human shrieking as the encouragement he needed.  He just kept standing on the edge of the nest, clinging to the twigs for dear life, and staring straight ahead.  We decided to go back about our business.

We kept swinging on the swing for a while.  Earl didn't move.

We read our books for a while.  Earl didn't move.

Rex decided to grill some hamburgers.  Earl didn't move.

We ate the hamburgers (well, kind of...they didn't turn out great so we ended up throwing them away, but that's a different story entirely).  Earl didn't move.

Earl stood on the edge of that nest for FOUR HOURS.  After about two hours, I felt absolutely ridiculous for spending so much time watching a bird.  By then, though, it was a battle of willpower.  Who would last longer - Earl standing on the edge of that nest, or me watching him?  Plus, I named him.  I cheered for him.  I was clearly invested in the situation.

Finally, after four hours, I was about to turn a page in my book when I heard something move.  I snapped my head up to look at Earl, and he did it!  He jumped!  He jumped out of the nest, stretched out his wings...

...and flew directly into the side of our chimney.  Oops.

He hit his head on the chimney and stopped flapping as much as he fell to the rocky ground below.  Aaaaaah!!  I could not believe I had waited four hours to watch a bird kill himself.  I ran over to the ground to see if he was okay (which, in retrospect, was pretty dumb.  What was I going to do if he was injured?  Bird CPR?  Make a wing splint with some toothpicks?).  Robins must be resilient little buggers, because Earl was okay.  He was just cranky (see picture below.  I told you birds have facial expressions).  He stared at me for a long time, then started trying out his new legs in the same hoppy/flappy motions his brother had done hours earlier.  Rex and I watched him drunkenly flop away, and we wished him luck on life's endeavors.  Hooray for Earl!

My PT Husband

As I type these words, Rex is at a testing site in Grand Rapids getting ready to take his board exam.  Eeeeeeek!  One little (okay, major) test is standing between him and his physical therapy license (and also his job offer).  I'm sure he'll be fine, but it's hard not to be nervous for him, especially when he is so nervous.  He thought he was going to puke from nerves this morning, and he looked like it too.  Poor guy.  He's been studying for weeks, and I've never seen him work so hard at anything.

He doesn't need to be nervous, though, because this guy is MADE to be a PT.  If you don't believe me, just look at what happened last night:

Rex and I were sitting on the porch (on his five minute study break), and he said that his nerves were getting to him so he wanted to go for a run.  He asked if I wanted to go too, and I said okay.  We ran about two miles through the neighborhood, and I stuck with him the whole time until he sprinted the last hundred meters and I practically limped it, ha ha.  When we got back inside and I stopped breathing like a gasping fish, I leaned against the entertainment center, sipped my water nonchalantly, and said, "Running is fun, but I've been really wanting work on my upper body strength, specifically my arms.  It's tough without going to the gym, though, which takes a lot of time..."  His face lit up, which was a bad sign.  He said, "No way!  You don't have to go to the gym!  There's a bunch of stuff you can do here!  Okay.  I'm going to need a gallon of milk and some oven mitts..."

A gallon of milk and some oven mitts?  What is he, the workout MacGuyver?  He could write a book: Building Biceps with Stuff in Your Kitchen.  What happened to good old fashioned push-ups?  I suggested that to him, and he said, "Nope. Push ups focus on your pecs, and you said arms.  This will be way more helpful."  He then proceeded to teach me a bunch of ways to work on arm strength with kitchen items.  He had way too much fun with it, ha ha, but I guess it's good that I can support him in his passion.  I hope none of our neighbors were looking in the windows - they would have thought we were freaks.  Here are a few of the exercises, in case you'd like to try them at home:

1. Milk Jug Curls - Hold a full milk jug in your hand, and raise it up to your mouth.  Kiss the top as if you were going to drink the milk.  Then slowly lower the milk jug back down.  Repeat fifteen times, and do three sets on each side.  WARNING:  Keep your wrist firm and unbending throughout the process, or else Rex will tell you that you're going to wreck some random wrist tendon and that you're working the wrong muscles.

2. Oven Mitt Slide -  This one is...special.  Put the oven mitts on your feet in order to decrease friction between your feet and the floor.  Get down into a push-up position, but instead of doing push-ups just walk yourself around the room on your hands, dragging your feet behind you.  It's harder than you think.

3. Coffee Table Reverse Push-ups -  Sit on the coffee table with your hands holding the edge of it and your feet on the couch.  Lift your butt off of the coffee table and lower it into the space between the coffee table and the couch.  Then lift and lower...then lift and lower...  till you have huge muscles.

Those are only three of the exercises.  He had about a zillion.  Looks like I have no excuse to ever get fat.  Blast.  I'd better go eat some brownies before he gets home!