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?