To Snow or Not To Snow

I'm okay with snow for Christmas.  In fact, I would prefer it.  I will never forget the time in Vegas when I heard "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" on the radio while watching a piece of LITERAL TUMBLEWEED bounce across the road in front of my car.  There's something seriously wrong with that.  There should be snow on Christmas.  It's the perfect picture of families cozied up by the fire while the snow softly falls under the street lights...you get the idea.  You've all seen the movies.

This year, December was confused.  Poor December...it was having an identity crisis where it was trying so hard to be March or April.  Strings of fifty degree days stretched over the entire month, making it difficult to Christmas shop or sing carols because it felt like I should be eating Easter candy.

Dear December,

YOU'RE DECEMBER.  WE LIKE YOU THE WAY YOU ARE.  PLEASE SNOW.

Love,
Michigan

Unfortunately, December's identity crisis did not end before Christmas.  We had a green, fairly warm Christmas (but my sister was home so I didn't care TOO much - please see my previous post).  We ate Christmas dinner and then went outside to open presents by a bonfire (so then it felt like September...so many months in one...).

Then a few days after Christmas, just in time for the Christmas hubbub to calm down to the point where I could actually spend some time outside...  winter finally woke up, looked at his alarm clock, and realized, "CRAP!  I'm LATE!"  So he didn't even properly get ready for the season and just dumped a ton of ice on us, like, "Sorry guys...I didn't have time to whip up some nice fluffy snow...you know how it is when you only have five minutes to get ready..."  So we had this crazy ice storm where everything was coated in ice.  My friends across the country even heard about it:  "Southern Michigan Covered in Ice."  Airports couldn't send out planes.  Tons of cars were crashing.  I stayed inside my house and listened to the hail plink against my roof and windows.  The dogs went outside, took one look at the sky, and ran back inside.  It wasn't great.

When the storm finally ended, I decided to go for a run the next day.  I'd been cooped up in my house with nothing to do and, well, I don't do well with that.  I put on my new running clothes, stepped outside, and realized that it was still ice raining.  I shivered in the cold. Also, the roads and sidewalks were total slush piles spread out around ice patches.  There was no place to run except through slush and ice.  I was about to head back inside when I saw a man across the street walking his dog while wearing shorts.  SHORTS, I tell you.  I simultaneously thought two things:

1. Michigan is a very weird state.

2. I'm not about to get beat by THAT guy.

So, in the end, I went on what was probably the slowest run ever.  I did run my full two mile loop, but it was like running in sand - I couldn't go fast at all.  Running in sand is fun because you're at the beach and the sun is shining and you're listening to the waves and all is generally right with the world.  Running through slush up to your shins is cold and miserable and makes your toes go numb while more ice falls from the sky onto your head.  Not great.  I probably shouldn't have gone, but then I would have been beat by Mr. "I don't care that it's 30 degrees and raining ice.  I'm wearing shorts!"  I don't do well with getting beat by...well...anyone.  Maybe I should work on this in 2016.

It's December 30, almost time for the new year, and NOW - for the first time all season - snow is softly falling outside my window.

Welcome, winter.  I hope your late arrival doesn't mean you're going to be staying late as well.  White Christmas, green Easter - not the other way around, okay?  Okay.  So be gone by Easter, and I'll forgive you for missing Christmas.  Do we have a deal?

I'll Be Home For Christmas

"It's totally dead," my dad said sadly.  "We're in trouble now."

We had just attempted to jump our car battery using Uncle Craig's car.  It hadn't worked.  We were in Chicago visiting family, and I was in the backseat of the car eager to get home to see my husband on Christmas Eve.  I was supposed to go to Christmas Eve dinner with his family and then spend Christmas morning with them as well.  I furrowed my brow in concern.  What were we going to do?  What place would be open to fix our car on Christmas Eve?

My family trudged back inside.  My dad called around but couldn't find anywhere that would fix our car.  He called his insurance company and found out that we could get a rental car, but they wouldn't be available until tomorrow (Christmas Day).  I said, "Absolutely not.  I am not missing Christmas morning.  Two things matter in the world to my in-laws: college football and Christmas morning.  Our Christmas lists are due in SEPTEMBER, for goodness' sake!  I can't miss it!"  I told my dad that I'd call Rex and that Rex would drive to Chicago and get us.  There was no way he would let me miss Christmas.  My dad said to stop freaking out.  I told him to try calling the airport, because of course the airport would have rental cars!  He said he would try.

I quickly sent a facebook message to my sister Cara that said, "Wish you were here!  Not-so-fun fact: Mom and Dad's car broke, so we're stuck in Chicago.  So help me, if I don't get to see you OR Rex for Christmas, imma freak out."

Cara was in Albania teaching for the semester, so this year was my first Christmas without her.  She'd been gone since August, and this was the longest I'd gone without seeing her since she was born.  The Christmas season had been harder than I expected.  I only have one sister, and I couldn't imagine Christmas without her.  Now to look at a Christmas with no sister AND no husband?  It was shaping up to be the worst Christmas ever.

My dad called the airport, and they said they could have a car available for us to rent by midnight. It wasn't ideal, but it would have me home in time for Christmas morning.  I called Rex and broke the news that I would miss Christmas Eve dinner and that I would hopefully be home for Christmas morning, but everyone knows how reliable airports are (*ahem* NOT AT ALL).  I was nervous about getting the car they promised us.  I told Rex to please apologize to his family, and he promised he would. I prayed that I would make it home for Christmas.

I was supposed to cook an apple pie and some deviled eggs for Christmas dinner, so I figured I would get as much done at my aunt and uncle's house as possible.  I could hard boil the eggs, and I could bake the pie and freeze it.  I ran out to an open-late-on-Christmas-Eve grocery store and gathered my ingredients.  I put them on Aunt Jackie's counter and sighed sadly, feeling totally stressed.  Aunt Jackie asked what else I needed for my recipe.  I said, "Well, for starters...I'm going to need an apron and a glass of wine."  Check.

I did my best to enjoy a night of cooking and and family.  Earlier in the day we'd had a great time playing laser tag and eating Chicago deep-dish pizza.  I really do love these people.  If I had to be stranded on Christmas Eve, I was glad it was with them.

At around 8:00 I decided to take a nap.  I knew I would have to help my dad drive through the night once we got our car.  I lounged on my aunt and uncle's couch and stared sadly at the Christmas lights on their tree. I thought nostalgically about how my sister and I used to always go to bed excitedly on Christmas Eve, then would wake up early on Christmas morning and bang pots and pans to wake up our parents and terrify the cat.  "IT'S CHRISTMAS!" we'd scream happily.  No pots and pans this year.  No Cara, no Rex...I tried to find some shreds of Christmas cheer, but it was tough.   I decided to be thankful to be with family at all, as so many people don't have any people at all with whom they can celebrate.  I shouldn't be mopey about the people I was missing.  With those thoughts in my head, I drifted off to sleep.

I think the physical and emotional stress of the day must have gotten to me, because I didn't wake up until 10:30.  I couldn't believe I had slept so long.  When I walked into the living room, only Aunt Jackie was there.  My cousins and my mom were sleeping, and my dad and other aunts and uncles had run out to get a couple of last minute things.  My dad always does his Christmas shopping Christmas Eve night...he's basically the worst planner ever.  Around 11:15 I started to get nervous.  We needed to leave soon for the airport to get our car.  I texted my dad and asked him to please hurry.  A few minutes later, they arrived back at the house.  I sighed in relief.  I asked how their shopping went, and they said it was good.  Suddenly, somewhere in the kitchen, I heard someone banging tentatively on a pot with a spoon.  It took a moment to register - what was going on?  Was someone trying to bring back my old Christmas tradition?  I turned to the kitchen and saw MY SISTER standing there.  "Merry Christmas!" she said.

SHE WAS HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I screamed and ran to hug her.  In my enthusiasm I actually tackled her to the ground.  I was so happy I started crying.  I couldn't believe she'd made it home for Christmas.  "I knew it!" I said through tears. "I knew you wouldn't miss Christmas!"

"Did you really know?" asked Uncle Craig,

"Absolutely not!" I said, laughing.  "I'm totally surprised!"  And I was.  I had no idea she was coming home, but I also hadn't been able to let go of the hope that MAYBE she would be home for Christmas.  I'd said multiple times over the past few weeks, "I can't imagine Christmas without Cara.  She'll find a way.  She'll make it back."  My parents and Rex would always say, "Christine.  She's not coming back.  You have to come to terms with this."  They would look at each other, concerned, as if I was some paranoid delusional crazy person who actually believed something when it obviously wasn't true.  I'd told Rex through teary eyes a few days prior, "Listen, I know she's not coming home.  I know.  I just....there's a part of me that won't 100% believe it until I get to my parents' house Christmas morning and she's not there.  Then I'm probably going to cry.  Just warning you.  I miss her so much, and there is this tiny part of me that still hopes she'll make it back.  I know she's not coming, but I can't let it go totally until it's over."

Maybe I am a crazy person, but every once in a while crazy people are right.  I've never been so happy to be right - EVER.  My dad was the only one who knew about the surprise.  Look at my mom's reaction:

My dad had disabled his car battery and made up everything about the car trouble to keep us in Chicago until her flight came in.  He'd told Rex that the plan was for us to come back Christmas afternoon, but after he saw how sad I was to miss Christmas with Rex, he decided that we'd drive through the night on Christmas Eve after all.  I called Rex and told him we were coming home, and he was so surprised.  "Your dad said you were going to miss it," he said, "but I thought you'd be so happy to see Cara that I didn't want to complain about it.  Are you really coming home?  REALLY?  You're not joking?"  I could hear how happy he was, and I almost started crying again (dang, holidays are emotional).  I'd received this text earlier in the evening from his brother: "Can you please text Rex or come home soon?  He's acting all depressed and being a party pooper.  It's like his dog died or something."  I had been glad to hear he missed me, but it had made me feel even worse about not being able to make it back.  Now I would!

We got in the car and headed home.  When we were almost back, a swarm of police cars pulled us over.  Seriously, at least four and maybe five police cars.  I turned to Cara and said, "Um, WHAT DID YOU DO IN ALBANIA?!"   Ha ha.  Apparently my dad's car matched a description of a car that had been robbing a bunch of places in the area.  And really, how many cars are out at 4:30 AM on Christmas Eve?  Not many.  The police officer took all of our IDs and did whatever policey things they do with those before finally deciding we were innocent.  Phew!

The policeman let us go after about fifteen minutes, and we finally got back to my parents' house.  I hopped in my car and drove groggily back to my own house, where all of the lights were off except the Christmas lights in our bedroom window.  It made me smile to see them.  I quietly went inside, put down my luggage, and sneaked upstairs.  My handsome husband was sleeping, and the Christmas lights cast a cheerful glow around the room.  It was hard to think that just a few hours ago I thought this was going to be the worst Christmas, and now it was the best.  I walked over to my husband and gave him a kiss to wake him up.  "Merry Christmas," I whispered.  He smiled in a way that reached all the way to his eyes, kissed me back, and wished me a Merry Christmas as well.  It was 5:00 AM, but I was home.  Cara was home.  The world was perfect just in time for Christmas.

Proud

I'm not a mom.

I know.

Still, when someone asks me, "Do you have kids?"  I'm always tempted to say, "Yes. Twenty-three of them."  I have twenty-three students who I see more hours per week than their parents do.  I see them more than I see my husband.  Some of them I'm teaching for the third year in a row.  So when I say that they are my kids, I really mean it.  I love them.  Only a fellow teacher can understand this love, and even then I'd say that only a fellow teacher who's looped with a class for three years can really get it.  They're my babies.  I've helped raise them.  I've watched them grow up.  And yesterday?  Yesterday I was really, really proud of them.

My top class has ten students in it, aged 13-15.  This year they all participated in NaNoWriMo ("National Novel Writing Month" for those of you who don't know what that is).  It's a challenge to write an entire novel in the month of November.  I told my students they could try to write full novels if they wished, but I teamed up with each of them to set a novella word count goal.  We're compiling all of their novellas into a self-published anthology once the edits are made.  Four of my students told me that they wanted to go for the full novel challenge, which is 30,000 words in a month.  That's an average of FOUR PAGES A DAY, EVERY DAY, ALL MONTH LONG.  I told them absolutely, that they should go for it, but we set their "official" word count goals as lower, something I saw as more attainable.

I am blown away by these kids.  All four who set out to write the full novels accomplished that goal.  We're going out for lunch on Friday to celebrate.  According to the NaNoWriMo conditions, these four students now get their novels formatted and published for free, so look for them on Amazon.com in the next few months.  Even the students who didn't do the full novels wrote fantastic novellas, and the shortest one was thirty pages (no ten-page college paper will look daunting now!).  Not only did they hit these word count goals, but they wrote GREAT stories.  We had so much fun doing lessons on effective plot diagrams, building believable characters, how to write snappy dialogue, etc.  The students had fun, and I obviously love this stuff.  Writing is my life. One day I offered to stay after school until six to have a "writing party" with whomever wanted to stay, and nine out of ten decided to stay and write.  We conferenced with each other, bounced ideas off of each other, and overall had a great and productive time.  It was like we were a writing team and I was the coach.  These kids learned so much, accomplished so much, and I could not possibly be prouder of them.

Yesterday, December 1, we decided to have a party because November (and therefore NaNoWriMo) was finally over.  The kids brought in some delicious food, we played games, and I kicked off the whole thing with a speech about how I've never felt prouder of a class and how I was blown away by how dedicated and disciplined they were to accomplish these huge things with each other's help and encouragement.  Every time I heard someone say, "I don't know if I'm going to make this full goal..." there would be at least five kids saying, "You can do it!  You've come this far!  I know you can make it to the end!"  I mean, it was amazing.  A couple of them had tears in their eyes (and I'm not saying I did...but I'm not saying I didn't).  After my speech, one of the girls said, "Well...we have something for you too..."

What?

She said, "We wanted to thank you for pushing us and believing in us, so we made you this card."  The card below was signed by all of my students (but I'm not posting that part because I can't put their names online).  I was so touched.  Have YOU ever thanked a teacher for making you write a thirty page paper?  Ha ha... me neither.  I've got an amazing group of students.

Did I mention how much I love these kids?  And how stinking proud I am to have four more published authors to add to the list of students I've taught?  Yep. Pretty proud.

Sparkles (or "Why I Am Not a Grown-Up")

Here are some phases that many girls go through while they are toddlers or in early elementary school:

1. An affinity for sparkly things
2. A love of playing dress-up
3. Believing that they are a princess

Most girls grow out of these things by middle school, when they start down that long, difficult road called "maturity."  Except I think I missed a sign somewhere for that road, because I took a wrong turn and missed it.  Like, whoa - totally missed it.  I've grown up in a lot of ways this year, but in some ways I think I just never will.  The aforementioned three are among those that I'm never going to give up.  Just the other day I said to Rex, "One of the things I love about you is that you recognize, acknowledge, and revere the fact that I am always wearing an invisible tiara."  And really, we can all blame Rex for that one because if he didn't treat me like such a princess, I probably wouldn't act like one.  He buys me flowers so often that sometimes the old ones aren't even dead before I have new ones.  Last year he asked me what kind of gemstone he hasn't already bought for me, and I couldn't think of one because he has bought me at least one of every gemstone.  A few weeks ago I casually mentioned that I had been feeling stressed out, and the next day - boom - spa gift card waiting for me on the dining room table when I got home.  The other day he left a note in our refrigerator on the milk - THE MILK - to tell me that he hoped I would have a great day.  This guy is nuts.  He acts like I'm a princess.  SO.  My princess complex I'm blaming on him.  The other ones are probably just my fault.

This weekend I got to go to Chicago with my mom, My Aunt Chris, and my cousin Erin.  We had a great time Black Friday shopping, but my favorite part was trying on all of the fun clothes that I couldn't afford (playing dress-ups, remember?).  Look at this gorgeous sparkly blue dress.  Erin's was awesome too.  And sparkly.  See why we're related?  But except ERIN - why didn't you take off your socks?  You look like a weirdo.  Do you see anyone on the red carpet wearing socks??  We're clearly going to have to prep you more thoroughly before the Oscars.  Or, as Nana would say, "I'm only telling you this so that you're ready when you have tea with the queen."  The queen wants you to take of your socks, Erin.  Don't make her think that is some kind of weird American fashion.

I found the most beautiful and so, so sparkly silver dress, but it was $289.  WHAAAAAAAT?  I have  no money to buy it and nowhere to wear said beautiful dress (the queen has not yet invited me for tea, despite all of my Nana's insistent preparations), so I sadly put it back.  BUT LOOK AT HOW SPARKLY IT IS!  I was a little bit in love.  My heart is a little bit broken to have left this dress in Chicago.  Someone pass me some chocolate.

There was a fab teal dress at New York and Company, but my Aunt Chris couldn't get it off of the mannequin.  I was laughing so hard at this that I almost peed my pants.  I wish you could have seen how awkward this looked in real life (but look at the way the mannequin's arms are positioned - there is no shot that she could get this off.  I don't know how they even got that on in the first place).  We all tried on dresses at that store, and it was fun to peek out of the dressing room and see some of my favorite people looking back at me.  I love these women.

Aunt Chris perfectly matched this rug at IKEA, so she had to sit on it.  She could have been an IKEA model (sadly, no sparkles involved at IKEA.  Let's just move on from that topic because, hello, it's boring without sparkles).

I rounded out the weekend setting up for Christmas with Rex.  We set up the Christmas lights, and I got to hang my favorite ornaments.  Can you guess which ones are my favorites?  The sparkly ones, of course.  The Christmas lights hit them just right and send showers of cheer throughout the whole room. We even put lights on Elsie's cat tree, hoping to inspire some Christmas cheer in her usually Grinchy self, but we're not too hopeful about that one.

Who cares if I never totally grow up?  Maybe being me is all I can do, and maybe that's okay.  Bring on the glitter.

Macaroni and Failure

I'm not a mom, but I wonder if moms ever look at something their kids do wrong and think, "Wow, I have failed you somewhere along the way."  That's how I felt about Rex last night.  He's my best friend and my hero, but I think I may have spoiled him a bit too much.  I do 95% of the cooking at our house, and clearly that has to change.  Exhibit A:

I came home from Calculus class, and I was dead tired.  It had been another looooong day in the semester-from-somewhere-not-very-nice.  I wanted nothing more than to go to bed.  Rex mentioned that he hadn't eaten dinner yet (which was a little ridiculous, as it was after 9 PM.  Go to Taco Bell or something, you nurkle).  He said, "You know what sounds really good right now?  Macaroni and cheese."  The old Christine would have said, "Okay, no problem.  Go put up your feet while I make some for you."  But...I was really tired, and the new edging-on-a-somewhat-feminist side of me said, "Okay, cool.  Then make some macaroni and cheese."  He looked surprised, but then looked at the blue box in his hand as if he were seeing it for the first time.  It's only macaroni and cheese.  He has a doctorate.  He can probably do this himself.  It's as if I watched this thought occur to him, which was kind of funny.  He finally said, "Yeah, okay.  I think I will make this."

This is the part where I've failed him: my brilliant, highly educated husband absolutely CANNOT cook macaroni and cheese.

First, he didn't look at how much water to put in the pan.  He"ballparked" it.  It was at this point that I decided to stay awake long enough to see how this ended.  I figured it could potentially get interesting.  I went upstairs to change out of my work clothes, though, and after a few minutes Rex followed me upstairs.  We spent about fifteen minutes talking about our days, what happened at work, what happened at class, etc.  Suddenly, Rex said, "Oh no!  My noodles!"  I said, "You already put them in?"  I had thought he was waiting for the water to boil.  He called back "yes" as he hurried down the stairs to rescue his completely overcooked macaroni.

I came down to find him rinsing the mushy macaroni in a strainer.  "Ummm...you're not supposed to rinse that," I told him. "The starch on the noodles is what makes the macaroni sticky."

"WHAT?" he looked a little panicked.  He picked up the box and read the side.  There it said in bold and italicized print, "DRAIN THE WATER BUT DO NOT RINSE."  He looked incredulous.  "It really does say that.  Why didn't you tell me?!"

Um, because I thought a twenty-seven year old might have done this before?  Silly me.  I only started making macaroni independently at age SIX.  I guess I'm a Kraft prodigy or something.

So he put his rinsed-clean noodle mush back into the pan, and he read the side of the box to see how much milk and butter to add.  I noticed that he did not add enough butter (which is fine...butter is bad for you anyway), and when he measured the milk he poured way too fast,  The milk splashed over the side of the tablespoon, adding at least twice as much milk as he was supposed to.  By this time I was laughing and thinking, "Ah ha.  Blog post."  When he finally finished his creation, the completed project was a sad looking pile of orange mush that may have dreamed of being macaroni somewhere in a past life.  He looked at it, sighed, and said, "Maybe I should start over..."  I told him that he was not wasting an entire box of macaroni.  That's irresponsible.  Then he sighed again and said, "Okay, fine.  Anything will taste good if I add enough pepper!"  There's that Rex optimism that I love.  So he put about two tablespoons of pepper on his orange gruel and proceeded to eat the whole bowl of it.  Eeeeeeew.

 I laughed while he ate it and asked how on earth he got through two years of college without a meal plan.  He said, "Well, I mostly ate a lot of hot dogs."  Poor guy - he can fix the delicate, complicated nerves of your spine, but he can't make his own dinner.  I'm going to fix this.  Team Webb cooking together starts next week.  He's up for it.  I am too.  No more macaroni mush.

Adulting

Kids talk about how they can't wait to grow up and how being an adult will be "so much fun" because they can "do whatever they want."  Then real life happens, and those kids grow up to be adults who have real responsibilities, bills to pay, and not nearly the free time for which they were hoping.

But then - every once in a while - being an adult turns out to be exactly how kids dreamed it would be.

After a really long day on Thursday night, I finally got home at around 9:30.  By about 10:00, Rex and I were upstairs in bed, getting ready to go to sleep.  I sighed and said, "I'm thirsty.  I would really love some juice right now."  Rex said, "I was just thinking how I wish we had some ice cream."  We were quiet for a minute, then he sat up and said, "Well, come on!  Let's go get ice cream and juice!"

I looked at him as if he were nuts.  "Um, Rex.  It's 10:00. On a school night. We're already ready for bed.  We don't need ice cream and juice that badly.  We should really just go to sleep."  He sighed dejectedly because he knew I was right, and he sank back into his pillow.  After another beat of silence, he got the boyish glint in his eye that I fell in love with when I was seventeen.  He said, "You know what?  I don't care about any of that.  WE'RE GOING."  Then he got out of bed, threw on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and really didn't leave me any choice but to get up and follow.

We drove out to Walgreens looking like disheveled weirdos, and Rex whooped with joy when he found the ice cream he wanted.  They also had my favorite kind of juice (score!).  As we were getting ready to walk out, Rex stopped by one of the refrigerated displays and exclaimed, "Whoa...ROOT BEER?!  Do you realize what this MEANS?"  I looked confused, clearly not sharing his epiphany.  He held up his ice cream and said entirely too loudly, "ROOT BEER FLOATS!  YESSSS!!!"  The guy in the aisle with us looked at us like we were nuts.  You know what?  Maybe we are.  But I like it.

So obviously the root beer floats were a genius idea, we talked to the cashier lady about how awesome it would be if teachers could turn their eyes on "glitter mode" and look suddenly terrifying if kids were being bad, and then we got in the car to head home.

Basically, that's how I ended up eating ice cream at 10:30 on a school night, and I realized that my eight-year-old self would be very satisfied with how I turned out.

The Game - A Spartan Saga

Saturday was the day of the annual, intense rivalry game between Michigan and Michigan State's football teams, and I had a major problem: I had nowhere to watch the game.

I was visiting my friends Katie and Chris in Ohio, and their TV was broken.  This was obviously an issue, since such a big game wasn't streaming online from any station.  Katie and Chris are fellow Spartans, so they also realized the dire straits of this dilemma.  Apparently they'd been talking about getting a new TV anyway, so we decided to go to Best Buy, buy a new TV, and get it set up in time to watch the Spartans smash through the Wolverines to victory.  No problem, right?  Well...

At Best Buy, we encountered problem #1: Katie and Chris couldn't afford the TV they wanted.  Well, technically they could afford it.  They had the money.  They just didn't have the money with them, and their credit cards didn't have enough balance to buy the $1,700 monstrosity with high def and all sorts of bells and whistles that would basically make us feel like we were sucked into the game.  Best Buy wouldn't accept checks. Obviously I wanted them to have the TV, both because I'm a good friend and also I REALLY WANTED TO WATCH THE GAME, so I offered to put the charge on my card.  After all, think of all of the rewards points!  So Katie and Chris wrote me a check, and I put the TV on my card, which is where we encountered...

Problem #2:  My card got declined.  Twice.  I started to panic for a minute, because really I should have had a large balance on my card.  I couldn't think why it got declined.  Now we had no way to buy the TV, and Pete at Best Buy felt sorry for us, but there wasn't much he could do.  Suddenly Chris had an epiphany: "I know why you got declined!" he said,  "It's because you're out of town and your card company suspects fraud!"  Almost as if on cue, my phone pinged with an e-mail from Chase saying that they suspected my card may have been stolen.  Hooray!  A solution!  So I called Chase, provided them with the answers to all of my security questions, and they told me I could go ahead and buy the TV.  Success!  Problems were over!  Let's go home and watch State!

Problem #3: Chris had to set up the TV, which was quite complicated (see below).  Katie and I ran out to get some lunch (Skyline Chili!  I was more excited than Katie.) while we waited for Chris to work his techie magic.  By the time the TV was set up, the first quarter of the game was almost over. Urrrrg!  Finally, though, the TV was set up, and we were ready to watch the game.

Problem #4: AT&T Uverse wouldn't let us watch the game!  Apparently Katie and Chris didn't have the appropriate cable plan to watch the game, and their usual plan of watching it through the ESPN app on their xbox wouldn't work for this game.  Katie called AT&T customer service (always a treat), and that person definitely wasn't a Spartan because they were no help at all.  They basically just told us, "You can't watch the game. #sorrynotsorry."

Problem #5: As I previously mentioned, nowhere in America was streaming the game online.  Nowhere.  We looked.  Luckily, Katie's husband is a hacker extraordinaire, so he hacked into a British station that was playing the game!  All of the commercials were for British products and advertised with British accents, but we didn't care.  We could finally watch our beloved Spartans!  Chris couldn't plug his computer into the new TV because he didn't have the right cords, so after all of our work and $1,700 spent on a TV we couldn't use, we were watching the game on a small computer with an extremely pixelated screen.  But we were watching the game.  I could live with this.  I graded papers and drank a hard cider while watching my team.  Fall had officially arrived.

Problem #6: The game was a very exciting, tense game, but after the third quarter Katie and Chris said we had to leave to go to a youth group event with their church.  They were going to a haunted hayride.  I didn't want to go to a haunted hayride; I wanted to watch the game, but the problem with staying with friends for the weekend is that you basically have to do what they want.   For the forty minute drive to the house where we were eating pizza before the hayride, I obsessively updated my phone for score updates.  I announced them periodically when something changed.  I was glad to know what was going on, but I wished I was watching the game.

Solution #1:  When we arrived at the youth group person's house for pizza, I was amazed.  The house was huge and straight out of a magazine.  I secretly think it's the Better Homes and Gardens headquarters.  They probably have an office in the basement with all of the writers who periodically come upstairs to take pictures of the rooms for their spreads.  My mouth dropped open when I saw the kitchen.  The only thing that could possibly look more beautiful than the kitchen at that moment was when I walked into the living room and saw a huge, flat-screen, high-def television playing THE game!  HOORAY!!!!  For the first time that day, something went right!  The only thing that could numb my joy was the fact that Michigan was winning, but at least I was there to watch.  I tried to sneakily take pictures of their beautiful house without people thinking I was a creeper, but I was largely unsuccessful.

As the seconds ticked down, it looked like Michigan had clinched the victory.  A few kids suggested maybe we should head over to the hayride, as the game was "practically over."  Katie, Chris, and I asked if we could stay to watch the ending, because we stand by our team from kickoff until the final buzzer (well, except for all of the parts we missed due to the aforementioned problems, but really...we tried).

THEN.  With TEN SECONDS left in the game, the most improbable thing I have ever seen in college football happened:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-kD_8QZM9k

We stared in open-mouth disbelief as the punter fumbled the ball right into our player's hands.  We screamed at him to run as if he could hear us.  We watched the buzzer hit zero, and we knew this one play was all we had.  If he was tackled, if he was pushed out of bounds, if ANYTHING went wrong, the game was over and Michigan would win.  Still, somehow, literally against all odds...he made it by inches into the endzone.  The living room of the Better Homes and Gardens mansion erupted into screams.  Even the youth group kids were excited, because what a crazy ending to a game!  We hugged, we jumped, we spontaneously started singing the MSU fight song...it was awesome.  I would have started jumping on the couch in happiness if that couch didn't probably cost more than my house.

All in all, it was quite the saga to try to watch the game, but the saga had a very happy ending because we got to watch the craziest ending in football history on a TV that showed that play in crystal clear detail.  I felt like I was there, and it felt GOOD.

Go Green.  Go White.  Go State!

The Dark (Blue) Secret

Everyone has secrets.  I have secrets, you have secrets.  Every once in a while, though, when a secret gets revealed, you think, "WHOA!  I did not see that one coming."

This happened with my husband this weekend.

My sister-in-law bought her family season tickets to University of Michigan football this year (Yippee!  Go Michelle!).  Rex and I are OBVIOUSLY State fans, not U of M ones, but Big 10 football is awesome no matter how you slice it.  We got the tickets to go to this weekend's game against UNLV, and we were very grateful for the opportunity.  I wanted to wear a Las Vegas shirt, but I realized that I have no UNLV shirts or even any that say Las Vegas on them.  Strange!  Then again, do you have a shirt with your town's name on it?  I guess when you live there it's weird to buy touristy shirts.  Hmmm.  Plus, Michelle told us that the tickets were in the alumni section and that we needed to please not embarrass her.  Therefore I couldn't go wearing an MSU shirt or anything, which would look ridiculous anyway since we weren't playing them.  I begrudgingly agreed to wear a U of M shirt, since we did get the tickets for free and all.  I wanted to be nice.

I CLEARLY do not own and U of M shirts (ew, gross, the thought of it gives me the willies).  I asked a friend at work if I could borrow one of hers because I know that she goes to U of M games sometimes.  Unfortunately, she couldn't find hers the night before the game.  She suggested I go buy one.  "They're only like, $10," she said.  I steadfastly refused.  I am not paying my hard-earned money to support maize and blue.  No siree.  Not even if it's only $10.  I told Rex that I was disappointed to not be supporting either team, but that I would just end up wearing some non-descript outfit to the game.  It felt wrong, like showing up to a Halloween party without a costume or singing in a choir but forgetting your robe.  Everyone else would be wearing team apparel, and I'd be a loser.  Suddenly, Rex comes up with this:

"I think I have a U of M shirt you can borrow."

Huh?  I mean, I knew he had a sordid past of being a U of M fan in high school, but this was almost a decade ago.  We'd long since worked through that issue and moved past it (lol).  He'd been since enlightened.  Why would a U of M shirt still be lurking in our house?  I told Rex, "Well...if you can find the shirt, that might be nice..."  I was figuring that, if such a shirt did exist, it would be buried in a forgotten box somewhere in a dusty corner.  Preferably one with spiders and mice ruining the clothes inside.

To my surprise and slight horror, Rex came back upstairs a few minutes later with a box.

"Which shirt would you like?" he asked.  "I have this one..." he pulled out a standard maize-and-blue Michigan shirt, "or this one..." he pulled out a Rose Bowl 2004 shirt, "...or this one..." he pulled out a maize-and-blue jersey.  He then started on the sweatshirts, other T-shirts, and this veritable COLLECTION of University of Michigan attire.  My mouth dropped open.  Who is this man?!  Why does he have so many enemy clothes?!  How have these clothes made it through SIX moves since we've been married without me discovering them?!

It was as if he was showing me a secret porn stash or something.  WHY DO WE HAVE THESE DISGUSTING THINGS IN OUR HOUSE?!  And how did he find them so quickly?!  Is he a secret U of M fan?  How can I be married to a stealth wolverine?

It was quite shocking.  I didn't know what to do with the fact that we have all of these clothes.  Unfortunately, I had agreed to wear a shirt to the game.  I chose one that mostly fit, but I felt dirty wearing it.  We has a great time at the game, but now that it's over I'm trying to figure out what to do with this box of nasty Michigan clothes.  Knowing Rex, he's probably already hidden it back wherever it was before so I can't find it and burn it.

Go Green.
Go White.

Forever.

Ripped Shorts

Want me to let you in on a little secret?

Come closer to the computer...I don't want anyone else to hear it...

Marriage isn't always fun.

*GASP!*  I know you're gasping right now.  I'm sorry to have to rock your world like this.  It's not.  Sometimes it's work.  Sometime's it's compromise.  Oh, you want an example?  Sure.  I've got one.  Sometimes I have to let Rex dress himself when we go to parties, even though he might look ridiculous.  You know, because I have to respect his individuality or whatever.

A good example of this is when we went to a dinner party for a lady at his work.  I had just gone to a wedding with Rex the evening prior, where he had worn a shirt and tie and looked very nice (because I told him he had to and picked out his clothes).  Therefore I felt that I needed to back off and not tell him what to wear to this dinner party.  When he came downstairs in ripped shorts, a blue collared beer shirt with "Rex" embroidered on the front, black socks, and a camouflage hat, I shook my head but stayed quiet.  I'm his wife, not his mom.  If he wants to look like a weirdo, that's on him.

When we got to the party, he got a couple weird looks (duh), but my absolute favorite moment of the night came when Lindy, the hostess's eighteen-year-old daughter, said, "Okay Rex.  Um...explain your outfit to me."  He acted surprised and said, "What?  What's wrong with my outfit?"  I almost spit my lemonade out from laughing.  Lindy continued, "No!  It's just that...I want to be laughing with you, not at you, so you need to explain the ripped shorts and why you look like a mechanic mixed with a lumberjack."

THANK YOU, LINDY!!!

I seriously could have hugged her.  These are the things I can't say to Rex.  Rex, suddenly (possibly?) realizing that he looked ridiculous, tried to defend himself:  "I love these shorts!  I've had them since I was sixteen!  See, these shorts are really a metaphor for life: once I find something I love, I never let it go.  So maybe they have a few rips in them, maybe they're not as great as they once were, but do I stop wearing them?  No!  I am loyal!  This should be comforting to Christine.  If she ever gets old and fat or stops being all awesome like she is now, she knows that I'll never let her go because I never let anything go once I really love it.  Like these shorts."

Which, you know, was a little bit sweet in it's own weird, Rexish way...but I still want to burn those dumb shorts.  Lindy tried to make sense of the rest of the outfit, but eventually gave up because...come on...the outfit made no sense.  At least it was Rex's work party and not mine.  I have my school picnic on Friday, and I'm already trying to figure out a way to dress him while letting him think he came up with the outfit himself...hmmm...  Maybe I'll call Lindy for help.

The Things We Do for Love

Rex has picked up a new hobby: grouse hunting.

This is kind of like saying, "Michael Jordan picked up a new hobby...it's called basketball."  Or "Italy picked up a new hobby...it's called pasta."  Rex is SO into grouse hunting.  He eats/sleeps/breathes grouse hunting.  He doesn't even go on facebook anymore because he found a new social media site that's "way better" and only for grouse hunters.  Because if you're not a grouse hunter, why on earth would he want to keep up on anything going on in your life?  He wouldn't.  Duh.

We've put well over $1,000 into our (his) ridiculously crazy hunting dog, Ruby.  There's buying the puppy itself, then vet appointments, shots, special collars, etc. etc. etc.  This is an expensive hobby.  I wish my hobby (writing) would start making some money so that we could afford his!

Anyway, this weekend Rex was running Ruby through the woods at his grandparents' farm (it's not hunting season yet, so she wasn't hunting anything).  I asked if I could go with him for two reasons: 1. I am a supportive wife, and 2. I wanted to see what all of the fuss is about.  He said sure, so we went together.

It's not that I don't LIKE grouse hunting...

...I mean, it's pretty fun when you really think about it...

...sort of...

...if you think about it in a certain way...

Okay here's the thing: I was completely unprepared.  I had no idea what I was doing.  I wore jeans and a t-shirt.  Rex wore a hunting vest with hiking boots and literal chaps (like a cowboy - CHAPS).  I thought he looked stupid until I got all sorts of briars and prickers in my legs.  Then I wished that I was wearing chaps too.  Ruby looked like something off of a sci-fi show with her millions of collars and antennae and bells strapped on her before we left ("This one's the GPS collar, this one's the e-collar, this antenna tracks her..." etc.  I tuned him out but nodded appreciatively and pretended I knew what he was saying).

We started walking through the woods, and I whispered something to Rex.  He answered back in a totally normal voice and said, "Why are you whispering?"  Umm...I don't know, because we are HUNTING!??!  I thought you always had to be quiet during hunting.  Apparently birds don't care about that, which I didn't know.  Oops.

Hunting with a dog (even when we're not actually hunting) means that you follow the dog through all sorts of thick brush and thickly wooded areas.  Our dumb dog doesn't know how to use her nose yet, so we were literally just following her around while she frolicked through the forest.  I put my hand on a tree to steady myself at one point, and a slug fell on my arm.  I didn't want Rex to think I was a weenie, so I obviously couldn't be all, "Ewwwww!!! A SLUG!" but I'm sorry: ewwwww...a slug.  It slimed me.

I got all kinds of scratches and bug bites, I got dirt all over, and I couldn't help thinking, "Ummm...why does Rex think this is fun?"  Then I looked at Ruby, and I got a little idea of why.  I have never seen a dog so happy.  She was bounding through the woods with the biggest smile on her face, her tongue lolling out to the side, and her eyes round and bright as if to say, "THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!!!!!"  Then I looked at my husband, and I realized he looked basically the same way (minus the tongue lolling out of his mouth, because that would be weird and somewhat concerning).  So even though I made the mistake of putting my hand on another tree and accidentally touching a giant spider (again: EW), I decided that maybe this isn't so bad after all.  If it makes my family happy, it makes me happy.  I just need to get some chaps and bug spray.  Also maybe some gloves so I don't have to touch any more nasties crawling on the trees.

*sigh*  Why can't he pick up an easy/cheap hobby like stargazing or reading Shakespeare?

Airport Blogging (again)

I always blog in airports.  Next time someone asks me what my hobbies are, I’m going to say, “Mostly blogging in airports.”  It’s a good hobby, because it combines my love of travel and my love of writing.  It’s a 2-for-1 hobby.  If there’s something else I love besides blogging in airports, it’s getting a good deal.  Therefore this is the hobby for me.

I’m in the Baltimore airport this time.  I’m with my mom, and we’re headed to Vermont by way of Boston.  I have a doctor’s appointment in New Hampshire tomorrow, but tonight we’re headed to Vermont solely so that I can cross Vermont off of my “50 by 30” bucket list (I want to see all 50 states by the time I turn 30…it seemed like a silly goal a while ago, but when I realized I only have five left to go, I figured why not give it a shot?  After today, I’ll only have four more to go, and I’m only 26.  Maybe I can actually do this!).  I didn’t participate much in planning this trip, as I’ve been simultaneously winding down from my international trips and gearing up for the new school year.  My mom planned the whole thing…which is already turning out to be interesting.

First of all, we almost drove to Detroit when we were flying out of Grand Rapids.  That would have been bad.  Now that we’re chilling in Baltimore, I took the opportunity to ask my mom where we were going in Vermont.  After all, it’s a small state, but there are still a lot of options.  I figured maybe we’d go to the capitol or one of the scenic New England trail locations or something.  She told me that we were going to a little town called “Brattleborough.”  She chose it because it’s right across the border into Vermont from New Hampshire.  Okay Mom, no prob.  I bet there’s lot’s to do there.

There isn’t.  I looked up Brattleborough on my phone, and I am telling you – this town is WEIRD.  I went to the town’s website, and it is vastly boring.  I went to the special events page to see what’s going on this weekend.  Nothing is.  If you wait until September 13, you could be there for “Town Caring Day.”  WHAT?!  We’re missing Town Caring Day?!  Send me back to Michigan.  If I’m not in Brattleborough for Town Caring Day, I see no point in going.  My mom loved the idea of Caring Day.  I said it's dumb because now everyone in the town can be rude jerks to us, and we can't even complain.  They'll just say, "Sorry, you should have come on Town Caring Day.  Today we don't care."

Another special event this month is that some lady is showing an “exhibition” of some pictures she took on her trip to India.  Don’t get me wrong – I love travel pictures.  But is a lady showing pictures from her trip really importnat enough to put on the city events page?!  I feel like striding into the town square (because let’s be honest here, there’s probably a town square) and yelling, “Hear ye, hear ye!  Residents of Brattleborough!  I too have ventured beyond the city limits!  Gather round while I regale you with tales of adventure and suspense!”  Then they can add me to their city events page.

I decided to go to Trip Advisor to see what to do in Brattleborough because the town’s page wasn’t too helpful.  Unfortunately, Trip Advisor wasn’t too helpful either.  Looks like Brattleborough’s bustling tourist industry includes a bowling alley, a thrift shop, and an organ museum (organ the instrument, not the body parts...though the body parts one would have been infinitely more interesting).  My mom and I are in for a weird day.

As I was doing this research, I got a facebook message from my little sister.  She’s setting up her classroom in Albania, and she wanted to know if my mom and I were available to Skype.  Because we were sitting in an airport with nothing to do but dream of bowling in Brattleborough, we said yes.  My mom tried to get Skype on her tablet, and she…well…had issues.  I tried to help, but eventually I said, “okay, just give me that” and did it myself.  We finally got Cara called on Skype, and I handed the tablet back to my mom.  Our connection wasn’t great because of the slow WiFi, so it was difficult to see/hear Cara at first.  My mom talked right into the microphone (because this is what parents always seem to do on facetime/skype), and suddenly I heard Cara yelling, “MOM!  Back up!  MOM!  I CAN ONLY SEE YOUR TOOTH!  I can’t see Christine!”  I showed my mom how it was supposed to work, and she backed up.  Then Cara demonstrated to us what she had seen on her end (essentially just one tooth), and I was laughing so hard I was crying.  Parents and technology don’t mix.  

(For the record, I am laughing out loud as I am writing this because it was seriously that funny.  The people sitting next to me on the plane think I’m a wackadoo.  Oh by the way, writing this blog post has moved from the airport to the plane.  I hope you’re enjoying my journey).

We skyped with Cara for a few minutes, but the connection finally died for real.  Perhaps we’ll try again when we get to our hotel in Brattleborough (if, you know, that town has heard of WiFi, which I am not taking for granted).  Right as the connection died, we heard some clapping a couple of gates over from us.  It turns out a few World War II veterans had just gotten off of a plane, and some people were holding small flags and wheeling their wheelchairs through the airport.  All the people at that gate stood and clapped in respect for the men.  As they were wheeled closer to us, the people at the next gate stood too.  Then our gate did.  As the men were wheeled through the airport, the people at every gate stood up and clapped in respect for the men who had served our country.  It was so beautiful.  Then one of the old men started to cry, and I just about lost it.  Some Navy officers walked behind, accompanying the veterans to wherever they were going, and we clapped for them too.  America is cool sometimes.

Now I’m zipping through the air enjoying this view, and waiting for what adventures (or not) await in Vermont.

***UPDATE***  I couldn’t write this on the plane, but the lady who sat next to me on the flight was a TOTAL NUTTER.  She was an older lady with gray-blonde hair put up in a loose bun, she was wearing a denim shirt with mom jeans, and she had those huge bug eye glasses with very clearly striated trifocal lenses.  Okay, can you picture her?  Great.  When the plane started accelerating to take off, she started mumbling and counting quietly on her fingers.  When the plane finally left the ground, she stopped counting, looked at me, and said, “Good. It must be full of fuel.”  Ummm…okay.  Then, later, she said, “Look!” excitedly and pointed to the cloud picture I posted above.  I, being a mostly normal and sane person, thought she meant, “Look at those beautiful clouds!”  Indeed they were beautiful.  Instead, she said, “Look!  I think that’s Danny’s remains!”  Then she started frantically snapping pictures of Danny’s remains before they could dissipate again.  I almost asked…but I really didn’t want to know.  I smiled and tried to get really focused on my blog so she wouldn’t talk to me again.

Whew.  What a day.  And it’s not even over yet.

Fake Diamonds

Getting fake engaged isn't as easy as it used to be.

Prior to yesterday, I'd forgotten all about the April Fool's Joke that Rex and I played back when we were eighteen.  I was leaving for a senior year spring break trip with my girlfriends, and Rex bought me a fake engagement ring from Meijer.  While sitting in the airport with my girls, I made the "happy announcement" that Rex and I were engaged.  They were shocked and horrified, as another girl in our class really was engaged at the time, and we'd all discussed how the idea of being engaged while still in high school was completely insane.  They tried to act happy-ish to not make me mad, but also said things such as, "I mean...are you absolutely sure this is what you want?"  They were extremely relieved when they found out it was only a joke.

I thought about this yesterday because it would have been really handy if I still had that fake engagement ring.

My wedding ring is the most beautiful one I've ever seen (I know all y'all have beautiful wedding rings, but mine's my favorite.)  I love it, and I would be extremely sad if anything ever happened to it.  The center stone in the ring was a little wobbly yesterday, and this made me nervous.  It would be very expensive to replace that diamond if it fell out.  I took the ring to our jeweler, and he agreed to send the ring out to have the diamond reset (for free, because Rex has a lifetime warranty on that ring.  Phewf!  Go Rex!).  Unfortunately, that means I'm wedding ring-less for the next week and a half.

I feel really weird when I don't wear my wedding ring, and I knew it would be especially weird this weekend because Rex and I are going to a family wedding where lots of out-of-town relatives will be there.  His family is really close, and rumors spread fast.  I didn't want anyone to see that neither Rex nor I were wearing our wedding rings and start rumors that our marriage is on the rocks.  Rex has his ring on his keychain because it gets in his way when working on patients.  I'm fine with that, but I do think it would be a little weird for neither of us to be wearing a ring, especially to a large family wedding (where everyone inevitably looks at wedding rings).

I needed a new ring.  I had no idea where the fake one from high school was, so I decided to go shopping and get a new one.  After all, how often do I have the excuse, "Sorry Rex, I HAD to go buy new jewelry?  No way around it."  I was instantly excited by this idea.  I love rings, even fake ones.  What cut did I want?  Princess?  Emerald?  Marquis?  Fake white gold or fake yellow gold?  Did I want one with side stones or a solitaire?  So many choices...  I wished I would have had some warning on this.  I should have planned ahead.  Every girl should have a gorgeous fake wedding ring waiting in the wings for such a time as this.  I can't believe I didn't think of that before.  Really, this sounds like an I idea I would have come up with prior to yesterday.  Alas.  I was unprepared.

I went to a few different stores in the mall looking for cheap rings, but nothing was really exciting to me.  I found a pretty fake sapphire ring reminiscent of Princess Diana/Duchess Kate's ring, but I decided I couldn't buy that one because then Rex would say, "Why didn't you just wear the sapphire ring I already bought you?"  (He's bought me a ring in every gemstone because...well...I think he might actually believe I'm a princess.  Shhh...no one tell him I'm not).  I only have one diamond ring, though (well, two...but the other one's in the shape of a bow so it's OBVIOUSLY not wedding ring material).  I needed a fake diamond.  I wanted it to look semi-realistic, too, not like a five-carat monstrosity that could only be afforded by a Kardashian if it was real.  Apparently realistic fake wedding rings are not as easy to find as they were back in 2007.

Eventually I settled on one from JC Penny.  I don't love it, but it was only $10.  I guess it will make me that much happier when I finally get my real ring back.

Oh, hi there

Hello, you!  You're still following this blog?  The one I've abandoned all summer?  How kind of you!

This summer has easily been the most life-changing summer I've ever had.  That includes the summer that I lived at the Crookston farm.  That also includes the summer that I graduated from college and got married.  That should show you how significant it was. I mean, I'm currently sitting at my desk at school (not supposed to be working - don't worry.  I'm still on summer break).  I'm looking at the date on my whiteboard: "June 1, 2015."  I feel like I don't even recognize the woman who wrote that date almost three months ago.  To dig into the complexities of these differences would fill pages of blog that you don't have time to read and I don't have time to write.  Just know that I came out of this summer stronger, smarter, more globally-minded, and way less naive.  I feel like I'm going to look back at the summer of 2015 as "the summer when I grew up."  Seriously.  This is strange, as I'm twenty-six, married, a homeowner, and five years into a stable career.  By all appearances, I should have already been grown up.  I think I thought I was.  Newsflash: I wasn't.

I'm not the only one who changed this summer.  My pantry did too.  I opened the door today and laughed at the fact that two staples of my current diet had never been in my house prior to this summer:

Nutella was a favorite in Germany, and soba noodles were a favorite in Japan.  To give you an idea: this morning I ate a croissant with jam and nutella for breakfast, then for lunch I ate that box of soba noodles.  Oh, and I ate them with chopsticks.  Rex and I both eat Asian food at least once a week now, and we actually use the nice set of metal chopsticks that I bought in Korea.  Just in case those ones ever get old, I also bought a set in Japan that are on standby.  My one food regret is that I can't get gimbop in the United States.  This was my favorite food in Korea. I'm wondering if I can learn how to cook it.  Maybe I should ask one of the moms at my school.  They can cook anything.

Anyway, I just wanted to check in - let you know I'm back - and promise that this blog will be back to normal as soon as possible.  Even though I'm back in Michigan, I'm sure I'll find some adventures to be had.  I always do.  :-)

World Wide Webb

A conversation with a coworker today:

Coworker: Which class did you teach last week?
Me: I didn't teach last week.  I was in Japan.
Coworker:  Oh, cool.  Which class are you teaching next week?
Me: Ummm...I'm not actually teaching next week either.
Coworker:  Why not?
Me: I'll be in Germany.

WHAT IS MY LIFE RIGHT NOW?!

I'm not usually so globe-trotter-y.  It's a lot of fun, but it's very, very different than my everyday life.  If you haven't been following, you can follow my international adventures at worldwidewebb2015.wordpress.com.  I've been having the time of my life, but I also feel like I've been learning so much (both professionally and personally) that my brain is about to explode.  Bad news: I'm only halfway through the adventures, meaning I still have so much to learn.  Ahhhhh!  I don't know if I can handle more learning!!

I only have six days at home between the two trips, and I'm already halfway through that.  My laundry isn't done, the house is a mess, and I'm absolutely not over jet lag.  Somehow it's all going to pull together by Friday, though, because then I'm off again.

Follow me over on World Wide Webb if you're not already.  I wanted to stop in and say hello to this real life blog for a moment, but I'm off to fantasy land again really soon.  It's a strange summer.  I'll be updating this blog again when I get back, so let's go hang out on Wordpress for a few weeks and I'll meet you back here in August.  Sayonara!  Aufwiederzein!  Goodbye!

Copiers and Octopi

It's like a bad joke: what does a copy machine and an octopus have in common?

Answer: they both spray you with ink in self-defense.

If I told that joke at a party, the people would laugh nervously and look at each other as if to say, "Ummm...I don't get it."  But if someone told ME that joke, I would laugh hysterically because I know how a copy machine reacts when it is threatened.

I'm sitting comfortably in my living room, sipping lemonade and celebrating being on summer vacation.  NOW this story is funny.  At the time, it was kind of stressful.

Ask any teacher about the last week of school, and they'll probably tell you that they don't remember much of it.  That's because it's a blur of final projects, graduation preparations, tearful goodbyes, grading, and cleaning.  It's busy.

It was the third-to-last day of school, and the other two junior high teachers were on a caving field trip with the eighth and ninth graders (perk of a small school - awesome field trips).  I was holding down the fort and getting ready to copy some tests for my sixth and seventh graders when it happened: the copier broke down.  Our junior high science teacher doubles as our tech support guy (downside of a small school: staff members do a bunch of different jobs), and he was gone.  I quickly assessed that this situation was very bad.  If I couldn't fix the copier, we were going to be without copies for three days until he got back.  That was obviously unacceptable.  I don't know how schools in the past functioned without copiers.

I had five minutes until class started: it was on.  Teacher vs Copier, season 1 (I would watch that show).

I punched random buttons on the error screen until the copier told me that it had no toner.  Ah ha!  No toner.  This should be easy to fix.

Except for what, exactly, is toner, and where do I get some?

The kindergarten teacher walked into the room, and she too was wildly dismayed by our deficient copier and the absence of our tech guy.  As all kindergarten teachers are, she was optimistic and upbeat, saying that we could probably find some toner in a cupboard somewhere and figure out how to install it.  She looked for the toner while I tried to find the toner area on the copier.  I opened the belly of the copier, and this is when the copier started feeling threatened.  I found a white box with some black stuff in it, and I asked, "is this the toner?"  The kindergarten teacher said yes, so I took it out.  Now the copier was really mad.  I peeked in a small hole in the top of the box, and I said, "it doesn't look like the toner is empty..."  I gave it a tentative shake to see if I could see toner swishing around (because I thought that maybe toner swishes).  I gave it a SMALL, TENTATIVE shake.  I promise you.  I wasn't waving it around in a toner frolic or anything, even though that's what it looked like I did.

The toner (still not sure what this is, exactly) made a small "poof" noise and exploded ALL OVER THE COPY ROOM.  It's a black powder that is inky and very difficult to clean, let me tell you.  I had toner all over me, on the copier, on the floor, on the wall....everywhere.  You win, copier.  Then the bell rang to start class.  Perfect.  The kindergarten teacher laughed sympathetically and hurried off to class (she wasn't standing next to me at the time of the explosion and therefore was clean), but I couldn't leave the room covered in copier debris.  I had to clean it up.

I poked my head into class and told the kids to get started on their math assignments.  One of them asked why I had black stuff in my hair...and on my arms..and on my skirt...  I told them there was a copier mishap, and I had to go handle it.  (I wanted to say, "there was a battle in the copy room, and I am a casualty," but that sounded a bit dramatic).  They offered to help, and I said the best way they could help would be to work quietly while I handled the situation.  They (mostly) did that, which bought me about ten minutes to try to clean up the mess.

Even with ten minutes, I couldn't get much cleaned up.  Toner mostly just smears around and makes everything inky.  I was grateful that our janitor was gone for the day, because I was pretty sure he would murder me if he saw the state of the copy room.  I finally gave up and went back to class.  One of the other staff members called our office supply company and asked if they could send a tech out to fix our copier.  He said he'd be there by noon.

When the tech guy arrived, he popped his head into my classroom.
Techie: Hey there, are you sure there weren't two toner cartridges dropped in that room?
Me: Yes, I'm quite sure it was only the one.
Techie:  Wow.  That was the worst toner spill I've ever seen.
Me: Yeah... (not sure how to respond to this.  I'm ashamed and also a little proud).
Techie:  Whoever tried to fix that toner cartridge, it would probably be better if they didn't ever try to fix the copy machine ever again.
Me: Yep, I totally agree with you.  Never again.
Techie:  I mean, it was really bad.
Me: Yep.
Techie:  Don't worry - I know it wasn't you who did it.  You're nice and clean.
Me: Actually...it was me.  I looked pretty bad around 8 AM.
Techie: Really?  Oh.  Sorry... (he looks really embarrassed, but I don't think he needs to be.  I know I'm the copier klutz).
Me:  No really, it's okay.  I know it was quite the spill.  Thanks for cleaning it and fixing our copier!  You totally saved the day!
Techie:  No prob.  (hustles out of the awkward situation).

So it was a crazy morning, but the sixth hour test was still given as scheduled!  All's well that ends well.  I bet there's still toner lurking in some of the corners of that room - my legacy at my school.

Bow Ring

When Rex and I first got married, we were both still in school.  We had no money.  We were living off of love, dreams, and ramen noodles.   Really, that was okay with us.  We knew what we were getting ourselves into, we made budget sheets before we got married, and I think we were as ready as we could have been.  Everyone says the first year of marriage is terrible, but ours was honestly pretty great.  I remember getting to our first anniversary and saying, "Wow, if that's supposed to be the worst year of our marriage...we're in for a pretty awesome life."

One of our favorite dates during that first year was to go to Qdoba on $3.99 burrito night.  We would split a burrito for $4 and then go walk around the mall for a while and window shop (we couldn't buy anything, obviously).  One of my favorite places to window shop was Zales jewelry store, because the fun thing about window shopping is that prices don't matter - you can dream as big as you want! We would look at all of the sparkly gems and choose our favorites.  Rex would play along and choose a watch or something (don't worry - I returned the favor and pretended to care about athletic shoes when we went to Finish Line after Zales).

Every time we went to Zales, I would visit "my ring."  My favorite ring was a white gold ring with a diamond-studded bow on top.  I'm not sure why I loved it so much; it was girly and diamondy and well...very me.  I would try it on literally every time we went to the mall and say, "Rex, promise me that one day, when we're rich, you'll buy me this ring."  He always said yes (we were living off of our dreams, remember?)

Well, Rex got into Physical Therapy school in Nevada, so we moved to Vegas.  Unfortunately, the Zales there didn't have my bow ring.  Rex and I both got busy with school, found new date locations, and I nearly forgot about the whole bow ring promise.  When we moved back to Michigan two years later, I halfheartedly looked in a Zales store one day and noticed that the ring was gone.  Why wouldn't it be?  It's not like they keep the same inventory for four years.  I moved on, got a new job, and Rex finished up his internships and passed his boards.  Life went on.  We stopped eating ramen noodles.  We bought a house.  We became grown-ups.

Last night was Rex and I's fifth wedding anniversary.  We had discussed getting each other smaller gifts this year, as we just bought a new puppy and are still trying to pay off student loans.  But when it came time to exchange gifts, guess what Rex had for me?

I bet you can guess.

THE BOW RING!!  I couldn't believe he remembered.  I seriously have not mentioned this ring since we lived in Lansing.  He said that he knows we're not technically rich, but that he'd been looking for that ring for four years since we left Lansing.  When he finally found it again, he couldn't let it pass him by.  After all, he promised he'd get it for me.

So today I'm wearing it on my finger, watching it sparkle in the sun, and feeling like I have the best husband in the world.

The Rose Room

Rex and I had a great weekend getaway this past weekend to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary (oh, and we were also picking up our NEW PUPPY, but that's really its own separate post).

When planning the weekend, Rex and I wanted different things.  He wanted to stay at a hotel, and I wanted to stay at a bed and breakfast.  He likes hotels because they're predictable and normal and all pretty much the same (unless you're in Las Vegas, of course, in which case they're crazy), and I like bed and breakfasts because they're all different and unique and more adventury than a hotel because you're never quite sure what you're going to get.  Rex offered a compromise: how about we stay at a hotel the first night and a bed and breakfast the second?  Great idea!  See how much we've figured out marriage in the past five years?  It's about compromise, people.

Here's another reason why bed and breakfasts are better - watch how much more interesting the blog write-up is for that one!

HOTEL WRITE-UP:

We went to a hotel.  It was fun.  There was an old queen bed with a thin-ish comforter, two nightstands, cable TV, and a small bathroom.  Continental breakfast - I had a waffle.  Woot.

BED AND BREAKFAST WRITE-UP:

The handwritten paper sign on the door said, "Knock and come in," so we did.  The old house smelled of tea and yellowed books.  The fireplace in front of us was not lit, and the grand piano next to it looked ready to play.  Above us, an indoor balcony was connected to the upstairs level.  The balcony was lined with bookshelves and an old easy chair.  I tentatively called out "Hello?" and then the fun really began.  Daphne, the innkeeper, screeched "Hellooooooooo" from a back room before sweeping in to greet us.  "Hellooo," she cooed in her drawling, melodious voice.  "Hooow wonderful for yoou to share your anniversary with us.  Isn't finding your soul mate just the beeest thing eveeer?!"  Her white hair was sticking out in all directions, and she looked past us into space as if she was deep in her own memories about soul mates.  Her black liquid eyeliner was ringed around her eyes, but not actually lining them - just sort of haphazardly put on in the general vicinity of her eyeballs.  Her lipstick was orange, and it was only in the general vicinity of her mouth.  It reminded me of when I let Rex's six year old cousin give me a makeover.  "Come, come!" she said, clasping her hands and snapping out of her reverie.  "Let's go to the sunrooom!"  She swept past us and into a back porch that overlooked her gardens.  We followed behind her.  I made the mistake of making eye contact with Rex once, and we both dissolved into muted laughter.  WHAT had we gotten ourselves into??   I resolved not to look at Rex again until we were alone.  Daphne seemed really nice.  It wasn't her fault that she was a bit nutty.

Daphne was so excited to celebrate our anniversary with us that she upgraded us to the honeymoon suite, the Rose Room, at no charge.  Hooray for Daphne!  Remind me to delete that disparaging comment about your eyeliner!  She gave us some drinks and homemade cookies in the sunroom while she offered us some recommendations about sights and restaurants to try out around Marquette.  (This is another reason why bed and breakfasts are better.  Do you get welcome drinks and homemade cookies at hotels?  I don't think so!).  After chatting with her for a bit about the area, she gave us a tour of the house and showed us to our room.  I think she reminded us at least three times, "Now, don't forget, it's the honeymoon suite!"  She said it with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, and I wondered if she was going to pull a Betty White and offer us the babymaker blanket from The Proposal.  As soon as she left us alone in our room, Rex and I both burst out laughing.  We tried to be quiet, though, because she was obviously still in the house.
"I don't know what she's expecting," Rex whispered, still laughing, "but I absolutely cannot 'honeymoon' in here with those creepy people watching me."  I looked where he was pointing, and there was an ancient painting of arguably the creepiest people I've ever seen.  I wish I would have taken a close-up picture to show you, but it was too creepy.  I didn't want to get close to it.  Rex also mentioned that there was a 95% chance that those people were haunting our room.  He was probably right.

Our room was called the "Rose Room," and...well...she was serious about that.  There was rose wallpaper, a rose comforter on the bed, roses on the night table, rose patterned carpeting (no, I'm not joking), roses on the pillows, roses on the towels, roses in the artwork.  The toilet, sink, and shower were all bright pink.  Like, Barbie dream house pink, and I'm pretty sure that's only because Daphne couldn't find rose patterned porcelain.  There was a TV and VCR with a stack of VHS tapes (TAPES, PEOPLE! LIKE THE NINETIES!), and out on our balcony there was an easy chair with (what else?) a rose throw over the back of it.  It really was a beautiful room, but the whole thing felt very 1800's secret-garden chic.  The bed was huge.  I don't know what size is bigger than a king bed, but this was it (Side note: I don't get why big beds are supposed to be the romantic ones - I tried to snuggle up to Rex in the night and had to battle through a labyrinth of rose patterned sheets to try to find him.  With so much space, you're basically sleeping alone.  I think honeymoon suites should all have twin beds, because then you're forced to be touching basically the whole night.  You can't get lost in the sheet garden.)  Anyway, the bed was so comfortable.  It also had a big down comforter, so I felt like I was sleeping on a giant, fluffy, rose-colored cloud.

In the morning, Daphne made us a fantastic three-course breakfast served on fine china by candlelight in her dining room (Ha, Econolodge!  I laugh in the face of your paltry continental breakfast!).  She freshly squeezed orange juice from oranges she got off of her property in Arizona.  She made applesauce from the apple trees in her garden.  She served stuffed french toast and blueberry buckle for dessert (It was like a coffee cake - so delicious).  The only other tennant at the bed and breakfast that morning was an unfortunate man named Bud.  I call him "unfortunate" because he seemed quite bowled over by Daphne's ephemeral demeanor, especially when she said, "These two are in love!  I must play them my wedding song!"  So while we ate our breakfast, Daphne floated over to the grand piano and played a song about weddings and how God would see us through our cloudy days to bright skies, and how He would keep us faithful to each other.  "Are you married?"  I asked Bud, trying to make things less awkward.  "I'm divorced," he answered curtly.  Oops, looks like I made them more awkward.  My bad.  We ate our french toast in silence.

Well, not silence, obviously.  Daphne was still crooning about true love and undying devotion.

So it was kind of an awkward breakfast, but the food was really delicious so that made up for it.  Good food can make everything great.  Also, I was still in a rosy mood from all of the roses.  I don't think I'll be able to look at roses without having flashbacks ever again.

It turned out to be a really fun/funny experience - one Rex and I certainly won't forget anytime soon.  See why bed and breakfasts are so fun??  This would have been a very boring post if we stayed in a hotel all weekend.

Stay tuned for a post about our new puppy soon!