The Things We Do For Wheels

Would you take your grandmother-in-law to her foot doctor appointment in order to be allowed to borrow her car?

I would.

Well, actually, I did.

Rex and I are visiting family in Kalamazoo, but we have no car.  I had fun lunch/coffee dates lined up with some of my girlfriends, but I found myself in the unfortunate position of being without any sort of transportation to get to those meetings.  When we took Rex's grandma out to lunch, she suggested the proposition.  I could borrow her car as long as I'd drive her around to the places she needed to go.  Awesome!

I didn't doubt my decision at all until I found myself sitting in the foot doctor's office at 9 AM the next morning staring at a sign that said "GOT FUNGUS?"  There was a slew of informational pamphlets under the sign I could pick up to read about various foot problems.  The waiting room was boring, but I decided that it wasn't quite boring enough to read informational pamphlets about foot fungus.  Grandma assured me that she "wouldn't be long," so I decided to do some people watching.

Most of the people in the waiting room were quite unremarkable, which made for boring people watching.  The average age of the people in there was probably hovering around 90.  It was as if time had stopped...no one was moving.  Every once in a while I checked around to make sure everyone in the room was still breathing.  The occasional ring of the telephone behind the check-in desk reminded me that time was progressing and I would be free soon.  I thought about reading a magazine, but have you ever looked at the magazines in a doctor's office waiting room?  Where do they order these subscriptions?  I don't remember the titles, but they're all weird.  Things like Clarinetists Weekly, Turtle Lovers, and Quilting Quarterly (although that one would probably be quite popular among the crippled geriatrics).  I decided that I would pass on the magazines.

Suddenly a perfect vision of foot-doctory glided out of the examination rooms and into the waiting room.  When I say "glided," I don't mean that metaphorically.  I mean that this chick literally glided out on a custom made scooter that had a special stand for her injured knee to rest on.  Her hot pink cast was the kind of cast I dreamed about having when I was in first grade and everyone cool had some sort of broken bone.  I was always too cautious, and it was never my turn to have the cast.  Dang.  Anyway, this girl was a teenager, and you could tell that she felt super cool gliding along in her custom-made scooter.  No fair - she gets to scooter around in school, in stores, even in church!  I wanted to stop her in order to ask how she got that injury so that I could try to get a similar one, but that seemed a little too weird.  I later asked Rex was her injury was, but he didn't have enough information to tell me.  I'm never going to get that scooter.

Finally Grandma was finished with her appointment.  Apparently all the doctor did was cut her toenails.  She went to a foot doctor to have her toenails cut?!  I could have taken her to the mall to have those nice Vietnamese people do it for $5.99!  Oh well.  As we were leaving she said, "I really should have been a foot doctor.  All they have to do all day is sit around and cut toenails!"  I smiled and nodded...but she was serious.  She really thinks that all they do is cut toenails.  No surgery, no therapy, no other foot-related medical issues?  I guess not.  She made another appointment to have her toenails cut again in September. I'm not taking her to that appointment.  I hope to never go to a foot doctor ever again (unless of course I am going to pick up my super cool scooter to compliment my pink leg cast).

I Love My Sister. I Hate Twitter.

I only have one sister, and she lives over 2,000 miles away from me.  I hate it.  I try so hard to keep in contact with her, but it's tough.  She's busy with her friends and with being in high school, so she doesn't have a lot of time to keep in contact with me.  I try my hardest to write, text, message, e-mail, etc., but I feel really lucky if I ever get anything back.  It kind of stinks sometimes.  I know she's busy.  I KNOW.  I just love her a lot and want to talk to her.  So sue me.

Anyway, even though she doesn't keep up with me too often, I try to figure out what's going on in her life by watching her facebook profile, talking to my parents about what she's been doing, etc.  It really makes me feel like a creepy stalker sometimes, but she's my SISTER.  I want to know how she's doing.

Today I texted her about something I saw on facebook, and she scoffed at me and said, "Facebook?  Who checks facebook any more?  It's all about Twitter now."

WHAT?!  Geez louise.  I try to stay up on the latest trends...my students generally keep me informed.  I guess I missed the twitter boat.  Is this a whole new way to stalk my sister?  I decided that I must investigate.

Apparently Twitter doesn't let any average Joe look on their website.  You actually have to make an account.  Let me tell you - I am so anti-twitter.  I feel like it's totally pointless.  Why do you need a website to constantly alert people to what you are doing?  It's actually quite creepy.  There are just things you don't need to know.  Example:  "I am eating dinner."  "Now I am pooping."  "Now I am wiping my butt."  "Now I am washing my hands."  "Now I am washing my keyboard because it's dirty from my typing that before I washed my hands."

Sorry to be crass, but you get the idea.  I just think it's really weird.  I've always said that I'm never going to have a Twitter.  This new information from Cara put me in a pickle though: do I go back on my anti-Twitter values in the hopes that I might glean some more information about my little sister's life, or do I stick to my hatred of Twitter and hope that she just decides to start talking to me about what she's doing lately?

Because I am so tricky, I found a way to solve both problems.  I did not make a Twitter for myself, but rather I made one for ELVIS, so that Elvis can follow Cara and then I'll just peek once in a while.  Muahahahahaha!  So technically I am still Twitter-free, but I have a window into Cara's world.

I asked Cara for her username so that I could follow her.  Trying to be hip, I asked for her "hanger," since that's what Twitter usernames are called, right?  No, my friend - it's not.  They're called "handles."  Oops.  I was already feeling dumb because earlier today I tried to text her "Hooray!" about something, but the new phone that I got has autocorrect and my text turned out "Bootstrap!"  Here's what I want to know - in what universe is "bootstrap" more commonly used than "hooray"?!?!  Anyway, Cara says I'm "old."  I say I'M TRYING.  Cut me some slack.

Anyway, back to Twitter.

Do you have a Twitter?  Let me tell you - it's WEIRD.  In order to make a Twitter account, I had to choose five people to follow.  Obviously I chose Cara, but I didn't know anyone else.  I decided to venture a guess that my most technologically hip friend Bri might have an account....and she did!  Bingo!  She hasn't updated since 2009...but at least I had two people to follow.  Unable to find anyone else I knew, my last three choices were Justin Bieber, President Obama, and Governor Mike Huckabee.  WOW.  A very eclectic Top Five.

Anyway, with my five people chosen, my account could be confirmed.  Hooray!  I (I mean...Elvis) has an official Twitter!  I immediately clicked on Cara's profile to see what she's been up to.  When someone posts an update about what they are doing, it is called a "tweet."  CARA HAS TWEETED 57 TIMES IN THE PAST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS!  This is going to be like a whole new world of sister-stalking.

Unfortunately, because I'm unfamiliar with Twitter, I don't understand half of the stuff that's on her page.  Like, who's "Mrfreshindian"?  She certainly talks to him a lot.  Who is this kid?  Can I stalk him?  Why is he talking to my sister?  Oh, she just called him a "whore" in one of her tweets.  Lovely.  Why is my sister using such foul language?  Why does my baby sister even know words like "whore"?  Aaaaaaaah!

Oh, and she mentioned something about Family Guy in one of her tweets.  My baby sister watches Family Guy?  What?!  I don't even watch Family Guy!  That show's inappropriate!  Let's go back to the days when she watched Lamb Chops and Raffi.  I liked those better.

Anyway, just to get my toes wet in the Twitter world, I sent out a tweet from Elvis.  It said, "This is my first ever tweet.  I am a beagle.  If you follow me, I am going to require that you give me a squeaky toy."  A few minutes later, my Twitter home-page-thingy said that I have a new notification.  Cool! So...where do I read it?  I looked all over for the notification, but I still don't know where to access it.  I just got an e-mail that said, "Your post has been retweeted!"  What?!  What's "retweeted"?  Is this an entirely different language?!  What is going on??

I discovered that Cara copied my tweet onto her twitter nest/wall/message board/whatever the heck you call it, and that's what a "retweet" is.  So now who will see Elvis's post?  All of Cara's friends?  I decided to take a look at Cara's friends to see who would be reading the retweet.  I've known one of them since she was literally in church nursery, so I thought, "Cool!  I'll follow her!"  I shouldn't have.  I started looking at her page, and she follows things such as "sexology."  What the.............?!?!?!?!  When did Cara and all of her friends turn weird??

Maybe I don't want to stalk my sister any more.  It's freaking me out.  Plus, Twitter is confusing.  The site is now telling me that I have another notification, and I still don't know where to find them.  GAH!  I think I'll just settle for assuming that Cara spends all of her free time reading the Bible and helping the homeless, and perhaps it's time for me to give up on stalking her.  It's getting too complicated.

Last Day of School

I've had my eyes on June 7 since about mid-September, but there are days that I thought it was NEVER going to get here.  Still, time marched on as it always does, and I finally arrived at the last day of school.  Wooooot!

I woke up so excited to get to school.  We only had a half day, and I had fun activities planned for the entire morning.  I had even roped Rex into coming with me.  He seemed less than thrilled, but I didn't really care.  I figured he would have fun once he got to school and realized how awesome my kids are.

When we got to school, the middle school girls fell in love with Rex.  It was actually kind of creepy.  I don't think middle schoolers know how to express their attraction in an appropriate way, because here are some quotes that were said to me throughout the morning:
"Mrs. Webb, I'm going to steal your husband when you're not looking."
"No offense to your wedding or anything, but your husband is waaaay more attractive in person than he is in that picture on your desk."
"I want to take your husband home and keep him in my basement."

And this is my personal favorite, said TO REX:
"I just really like you.  You make me want to kidnap you, take you home, and lock you in my freezer or something."

What the?!?!?!?!  Middle schoolers are weird.  This brings me to my next point:  even though I'm not going to teach middle school next year, I did not feel sad at all in embarking on my nine weeks of paid vacation.  I was really ready to be finished.  Apparently that was not the case for my kids, though.  I projected a "Countdown to Summer" countdown on my wall that counted down the time left in the school day.  When there was about one hour left, the entire middle school completely fell apart.

I've never seen anything like this in my life.  The students were sobbing.  SOBBING.  I don't use the word "crying" here because it's not descriptive enough.  There were less tears at funerals I've been to.  I'm not just talking about a few weirdos, either.  I mean the girls, the guys, all students in grades 6-8 were congregating in the hall to hold onto each other as if the "countdown to summer" was actually "countdown to your brutal execution."  They were holding their friends as if they would never see them again, even though the vast majority of them will be back in the fall. I didn't really know what to do, so I just grabbed a box of Kleenex and ventured into the hall.  All of the Kleenexes were gone in about 20 seconds.  Once my kids saw that I was okay, they said things such as, "Mrs. Webb, aren't you going to miss us?"  I tried to express my deepest remorse at having the school year end, but I'm not sure how genuine it sounded.  One student said, "I bet she's just barely holding herself together because she has to be strong for us."  Yeah, we'll go with that.

Rex looked completely flabbergasted.  He hid in my room and played a board game with the handful of students (probably five or less) who weren't lamenting the coming of summer break.  When I came back into my room, he passed me his phone so I could see the message he'd written to me: "THIS. IS. INSANE."  There's really no better way to describe it.

When 12:00 finally came, the students went outside for dismissal.  Actually, let me rephrase that:  I practically kicked them out.  No one wanted to leave.  Each time a car picked someone up, a whole new wave of sorrow came over the crowd.  I think I will always remember this one particular incident:  Maia's ride arrived, and as she got in the car her friend screamed (SCREAMED)  "Maaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaa!!!!!! Noooooooooooooooo!"   as if she were watching Maia get run over by a car instead of getting into one.  I think the entire school could hear her screams.  It was really, really weird.  It was also kind of scary.

Anyway, when I finally packed up all of my screaming, sniveling middle schoolers into their cars to go home to the horrific fate known as summer vacation, I went back inside to clean out my desk and get everything set for summer.  Rex was a huge help, and we were done in about forty-five minutes.  After that, we went home and took a three hour nap, because that's just how exhausting that half day was!

Once we woke up, we decided to kick off summer by going to Olive Garden.  Yum!  On the way home, Rex pulled into Barnes and Noble because "What better way is there to start off summer than by getting a new book?"  I knew I loved him.  So the first part of my day was completely nuts, but it ended up okay.

And now......SCHOOOOOOOOL'S OUT FOR SUMMER!  Life is good.

In Rex We Trust

It's no secret that I love my husband Rex.  It's also pretty obvious that I think he's super smart, totally amazing, and I have a lot of faith in him.  The problem comes when I have a little TOO much faith in him....such as the time I put his intelligence to the test in front of my entire advanced English class.

It was an average vocabulary lesson.  I was teaching my students their Greek and Latin root words for the week (it's really important to have a basic understanding of Greek and Latin in order to better understand English).  One of our words for this week is "brevis."  It is Latin for "short."  I asked my students who in the class wanted to be doctors.  Many raised their hands.  I then said, "Well, you'd better learn this word then, because everyone in any sort of medical field will know what 'brevis' means.  You just have to know it if you want to be a doctor."  I was 99% sure I'd heard Rex say that word while studying with his friends....so I was pretty sure my assurance of its medical importance was true.

The students looked at me skeptically.  I'm not sure they realize the importance of Greek and Latin vocabulary words.  To reinforce my point, I boldly declared, "My husband's in school to be a doctor.  I guarantee you that he knows what it means!"  I then PULLED OUT MY PHONE to call him and prove my point (at this point you should be thinking, "Really, Christine?!  REALLY?!").  The students were obviously totally into this.  They love when I improvise, and especially when I call people during class for some educational reason (who says I  can't have a guest speaker via speakerphone?). Plus, who doesn't jump at the chance that their teacher might end up proving themselves wrong?

Anyway, I blasted the speaker phone so that the whole class could hear.  As soon as the phone started ringing, my brain caught up with me and I thought, "Oh crap.  What if he doesn't know what brevis means?!?"  Surely my intelligent husband would know a sixth grade Latin vocabulary word....right?  Rex answered the phone by asking nervously, "Are you okay?!"  Oops...I guess it's weird for me to call him in the middle of when I'm supposed to be teaching.  Oh well.  I soldiered on:  "Hey Rex, I'm fine. I'm just here with my English class.  We're studying Greek and Latin root words, and I told them that 'brevis' is an important word for anyone going into the medical field to know.  I figured since you were going into the medical field...perhaps you would know it?"

I held my breath and mentally crossed my fingers for good luck.  I didn't have to wait long, though, because my super-intelligent husband didn't even skip a beat before answering, "Of course.  It means 'short.'"  I mentally sighed a huge sigh of relief, but outwardly I just gave my students a smug look that clearly said, "See?  I TOLD you anyone in the medical field would know it!"  I pressed my luck even further: "So Rex, where in your field would you say that you have used the word 'brevis'?"  He started rattling off lots of medical terminology that none of my students or I understood.  I just mouthed "He's really smart," while pointing to my head so that the students would know what I was saying.  I finally asked him to narrow down the brevis topics to just one so that we could have a bonus word on the vocab test.  He told me to use "abductor pollicus brevis."  It's a muscle in your thumb, and you can remember that brevis means "short" because any muscle in your thumb is short.  Brilliant.

My students obviously loved this.  They have started using "abductor pollicus brevis" instead of the word "thumb."  If you go to the lunchroom in Quest Academy, you may hear a couple of students challenging each other to an "abductor pollicus brevis war."  If someone does something really cool, one of their friends might say, "Two abductus pollicus brevi up, yo!"  It sounds really nerdy, but it's funny and I love it.

We were doing a vocab review today, and no one forgot what brevis meant.  Perhaps it's not such a bad thing for me to trust in Rex after all.  He's smart, and he's got my back.  I would have looked pretty idiotic if he didn't know the word, but oh well.  All's well that ends well, right?

Dog Mania

Usually when I come home from school, I'm greeted by an adorable beagle named Elvis who bounds up to the door and gives me a "welcome home" kiss.  Yesterday, I walked through the door and was bombarded by FOUR dogs.  FOUR.  I was almost knocked over.  Allow me to introduce them:

This is Elvis.  You know him.  He's cute; he's lovable.  He likes to play and to sniff things.

This is Chewy.  His cuteness and lovableness is debatable.  I happen to think he's awesome, but Rex hates him.  We're fostering him for the Southern Nevada Pug Rescue.  I have to make a description of him to go on the SNPR website, and Rex wants him to get adopted NOW so this is the description he wrote: "This pug poops out money, loves to clean your house, and will do your taxes."  Ha ha ha!  Anyway, Rex hates him because he says he's "whiny."  I say that this pug has been through a lot in his tiny life, and we should just be thankful that he's friendly with our other dogs and hasn't pooped or peed in the house once!  What more can you ask for in a dog?  Anyway, I love him.  I hope he doesn't get adopted for a while.

These are Danny and Annie.  They're little wiener dogs that we're taking care of while our friends JB and Amy are out of town.  They are the most chill dogs you will ever meet.  They pretty much sit on the couch all day and watch Elvis and Chewy run around like crazy psycho dogs.  Danny has a special blanket that he curls up in on the couch, and he buries himself so deeply into the blanket that you wouldn't even know he was there.  I'm a little terrified that I am going to forget about him and just plop down on the couch one day and squish him.

This is Elsie.  She's not a dog.  She hates all dogs.  I think she's wondering why Rex and I are torturing her with all of these canines. I'm pretty sure she's trying to ship herself away to a new family in this picture. Sorry, Els!  We love you!

And THIS, my friends, is the layout of our apartment:

I bet you're thinking to yourself, "Gee willakers, Christine, how do you fit four dogs and a cat into that tiny apartment?!"  Well, I'll tell you:  It's not easy.  There's fur everywhere!  I'm always stepping on something alive!  This is even worse than two summers ago when we had eight rats (http://www.webbnewlyweds.blogspot.com/2010/07/day-66.html), because at least rats are little.  I mean, if I got really sick of them I could have thrown all eight of them in the dishwasher and let them crawl around for a while so that I could have some peace.  (I didn't do that, by the way, but the point is that I COULD have.)  I can't do that with these crazy animals.  There are TOO MANY OF THEM.  I'm going nuts.  Rex tried to sit down to watch a movie today, and this is what instantly happened:

Please notice that Rex is not smiling.  That's mostly because guess which dog loves him the most??  CHEWY. Chewy is always crawling on Rex and falling asleep on his chest.   Then he snores his adorable pug snore right in Rex's face, and Rex starts looking more and more annoyed.....but he doesn't have the heart to shove the little sleeping thing off of him.  Awwww...

Every once in a while I come across a situation in life that makes me take a step back and think, "Whoa, how did I get myself into this?!"  This is definitely one of those situations.  It's fun, but it's craziness.  Have you ever tried to walk four dogs at once?  In the movies, they make it look like this:

That's really funny, lady.  Are those dogs even REAL?  I bet they're dead and you just set them up for the picture so you look like a good dog owner.  Let me tell you the real story, reader:  when you try to walk four dogs at once, they try to go in four different directions.  Somehow, while they're going in four different directions, they get their leashes tied up in intricate knots that would take an experienced boyscout to untangle.  All the while, they're tugging at your arms with all their tiny strengths as if to say, "Come this way!" "No, come THIS way!"  It's exhausting.  And then heaven forbid one of them poops - try to hold four leashes AND pick up poop.  Go ahead - try it.  Tell me how that works out for you.  Walking these dogs is definitely a two person job, which is fun because I get time with Rex.....but we had plenty of fun just walking our one dog.  This is getting a little nuts.

Oh, and Rex's friend Steven needs us to watch his Labradoodle on Tuesday.  For the past few years I've thought about volunteering at a dog shelter, but I never wanted to run one out of my one bedroom apartment!!  Our neighbors are going to hate us.  Maybe we should just move out and leave the apartment to the dogs.

Teacher Appreciation Week

During high school, before Rex and I started dating, Rex and I used to play a flirty game where I would steal his assignment notebook and write random holidays in it.  I would take an otherwise boring week and spice it up with "Leave a Cucumber on Your Neighbor's Porch Day" or "Walk Backwards Through Every Doorway Day."  I was running out of ideas by the time I reached November, so I just put a line over an entire week and labeled it "Christine Appreciation Week."  Little did I know how much Rex would actually take that to heart and follow through on it!  Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, did he follow through on all of my made-up holidays?  Did his neighbor end up with a cucumber on their porch?  Hmmm...  Sorry Webb neighbors.

Anyway, Rex spent an entire week appreciating me.  I wasn't even his girlfriend!  I mean, he totally wanted me to be his girlfriend, but I wasn't yet.  Ha ha.  We were just best friends, and every day he did something different to show me how much he appreciated me and my friendship.  He left little notes in my lockers, picked flowers out of the garden in front of the school (hmmm...that was probably illegal).  He even made a pen case for me out of clay.  Come to think of it, that's kind of cheesy and weird, but....I still liked it.  Actually, I think I still have it.

The point of all of this is that I feel like most people don't get an entire week devoted to their appreciation.  I'm lucky enough to have had this done twice now!  Rex did it for me once in high school, and then my class/staff did it again for me this week - the national "Teacher Appreciation Week."

Now, when I was ordering flowers for my mom for Mother's Day last weekend, the flower shop website had a little sign that said, "Don't forget that Teacher Appreciation Week is next week!"  I thought, "Yeah, right.  Who remembers Teacher Appreciation Week?  I've never even HEARD of that.  I will be shocked if even one person mentions it."

WOW was I wrong.  I was dead wrong.  I have felt sooooo appreciated this week.  It started off on Monday morning when my boss called me down to her office to give me a bonus check to "show her appreciation."  Ummm...yes please!  You want to pay next month's rent because you "appreciate me"? No problem - I won't complain.  :-)

The Parent/Teacher Organization (PTO) provided lunch or breakfast for us every day.  We had bagels, smoothies, Buffalo Wild Wings chicken, a burrito bar, a sandwich station, and gourmet desserts.  DELICIOUS!  That must have cost them a lot of money.  Oh well!  Ha ha.  Various parents put treats in the teachers' lounge for us: edible arrangements, cookie cakes, baked goods, etc etc etc.  I think I've gained ten pounds this week (WORTH IT).

Also, today (Friday), they hired a MASSEUSE to be in the teachers' lounge with her massage table to give all of us free massages over our lunch breaks.  Thank you very much, PTO.  I love you.  No really.  I love you.

Even my students remembered to spoil me!  I got at least one present every day. Here's the list of presents that I got this week:  three Starbucks giftcards, one Amazon gift card, one Visa gift card, one In-N-Out Burger gift card, a candle, two dozen cupcakes, a dozen homemade cookies, and a bunch of cards telling me that I'm the best teacher ever.  Not bad for a holiday I didn't even know existed!

Probably the most creative gift was one that one of my eighth grade girls gave me.  She said she wants to do hair when she grows up and wanted to give me a "makeover" for my teacher appreciation gift.  Apparently my daily pony tail or messy bun wasn't really cutting it for her.  Let me tell you - it's a scary thing to put yourself at the mercy of a fourteen year old.  Anyway, she enlisted the help of another fashionista teacher to do my make-up, and what they came up with wasn't that bad!

Anyway, the point is, I had a good week.  It's nice to feel appreciated.  I think everyone should be entitled to an appreciation week.  Just put it in everyone's calendar, and hopefully they'll follow through!

P.S.  For your reading pleasure (and just in case I ever lose them for some reason), here are a couple of my favorite letters:

Dear Mrs. Webb,
I don't think there are any words to describe how amazing you are.  You are my #1 favorite teacher ever!  I'm not just saying that because I want a good grade.  If I'm having a bad day in another class, I can always count on you to lighten up my day.  You are the one teacher who allows kids to let their "freak flag" fly (including me).  I feel that "appreciate" is too small a word to describe the awesomeness that you come to school with every single day.  So I want to give you a HUGE thanks!


(Reader note:  I am copying this next letter EXACTLY as it was written.  I hope the irony of it is not lost on you)

DEAR MRS. WEBB,
I am going to write this letter with the right spelling, grammer, and punctuation.  HI Mrs. Webb!  Happy teacher's appreciation week.  Your the best teacher at this school don't tell the other teachers.  I know I'm your favorite.  Well my brain hurts right now so that's why I'm not writing alot.


Dear Mrs. Webb,
This is my appreciation note to you!  Mrs. Webb, you are the best teacher ever!  (and I've been with some really cool teachers).  You are like a super hero, but better because you teach!  I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you!  Whenever I was upset, you always made me feel better.  You helped me stay out of trouble before I even knew I was getting in it (see?  You're a super hero).  Everything you do is always to benefit someone.  I'm definitely going to miss you when you're not my homeroom teacher any more.  So yeah, just to sum it up:  I love you.



My Interview

Reporter:  Well, Ms. Webb, it's very nice of you to meet with us today.

Me:  No problem, Tim.  (I bet his name is Tim.  I don't know why.  Or if it's a girl it's probably Laurel).  It's the least I could do.

Reporter:  Tell us, what does it mean to you to have your home featured on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens for the tenth time? 

Me: Let me tell you, Tim/Laurel.  It means a lot.  There was a time when I wasn't very domestic.  I never dreamed that I would be featured in your magazine!  I mean, okay - let's be real - I dreamed of it.  I just never thought it would really happen.  And now here I am, featured on my tenth cover.

Reporter:  I think a lot of our readers would find it difficult to believe that you weren't always, as you say, "domestic."  It's obvious by your lush gardens that you were born with a green thumb. 

Me:  (shaking my head vigorously)  No!  It's not true.  I have not always been this way.  Actually, back in my early twenties, I tried for months to grow some flowers and totally failed.

Reporter:  Impossible.

Me:  It's true!  See this picture? (I pull a tattered, sun bleached picture out of my Chanel clutch)  I keep this with me at all times to remember my humble beginnings.  This is a picture of the flowers I tried to grow on the balcony of my apartment when I lived in Las Vegas.

Reporter:  (trying to sound optimistic)  Well...those don't look SO bad...growing flowers from seeds can be quite difficult.

Me:  I know.  That's why I didn't grow the flowers from seeds.  I tried growing flowers from seeds three different times that year, and I never got so much as a sprout of green to pop through the dirt.  I don't get it!  I followed the directions, I used Miracle-Gro plant food, I watered them every day...but nothing would grow.  Finally I decided to buy some already grown flowers and just transplant them into pots for my garden.  I put them in rich soil and spread out the roots just like my mom taught me, but here is a picture of them a week later.  Totally dying.

Reporter:  Wow.  Is that....a mixing bowl that the one plant is in?

Me:  Oh yes.  I ran out of pots for my plants, so I decided to use a mixing bowl for one of them.  I picked that particular one because I had thrown up in it a few times, so using it for cooking was a pretty unappetizing prospect.  Plus, I wasn't a big baker back in my twenties.

Reporter:  (GASP!)  You didn't bake very much!?  But your famous cookbook has sold millions of copies!

Me:  I know, I know.  I've changed since then.

Reporter:  I bet that mixing bowl would sell for a lot of money right now...

Me: Yeah, I'm sure lots of fans would love to have my puke bowl.

Reporter:  It's symbolic.  It shows people that not everyone is born into greatness.  I mean, here you are - a world class gardener featured in the magazine that is the worldwide authority on the subject, and you got your beginnings trying to grow dying plants in a recycled puke bowl.  It's inspiring!

Me:  I guess...

Reporter:  It's amazing.  There is hope for people around the world.  Do you hear that, failing housewives?  Don't give up hope!  Even Christine Webb started off with a less-than-perfect garden, and now look at her.  People come from all over the world to look at her five acres of gorgeous landscaping.

Yeah, I'm sure that's how that interview is going to go.  ;-)