The Magic Touch

Today was one of THOSE days. You know, where nothing goes exactly as you plan, but it isn't exactly a bad day.  Perhaps, aggravating, is a good way to describe it. I enlisted the help of my children in cleaning the kitchen this afternoon.  Their job was to work on the floor while I tackled the stack of dirty dishes in the sink and worked to de-clutter countertops. Somewhere in the process of floor cleaning, my eldest decided to use the vacuum, to remove some of the dirt, and then she was going to follow up with scrubbing the floor.  Seemed a bit like adding an extra step in the process to my way of thinking, but as long as she was helping I didn't care.  At least I didn't care, until the vacuum stopped working.

A year ago, we purchased a Dyson, when it was on big time sale. I can honestly say that I have never seen this model on sale since, for as cheap as we got it. This is to note, we wouldn't own one at all, if it hadn't been for my dumb luck stumbling onto that sale last year. Anyway, I love my vacuum. The suction on that thing is amazing. It is also super lightweight, and really easy to maneuver, unlike its predecessor vacuum cleaner, a Kirby, which we owned for 10 years. Therefore, I am very protective of my vacuum, because I have lived in a world, with much more cumbersome and less effective vacuums.

I heard the vacuum stop, and assumed my eldest had turned it off, especially when she tossed the hose down.  Instead she announced, "It isn't working." Not terribly worried...yet, I assumed the breaker had tripped, as it often does in our kitchen. However, when I looked at the outlet, I noticed the microwave, that was plugged into the same outlet, still had a functioning clock displaying accurate time.  Cue a slight sense of panic.  Hurriedly, I emptied the canister of the vacuum, checked the hose for blockages, plugged it in a different outlet, all to no avail. More panic. I repeated those steps, and added a few more...cleaning areas of the vacuum as I systematically tried to determine what was wrong.

It was during this examination that I have come to the conclusion that wire hangers still serve a purpose.  I desperately needed something I could manipulate and shove into the vacuum hose where it connected to the vacuum.  I searched every closet in hopes of locating a lingering wire hanger from years gone by. Let me just say, Joan Crawford would have never had a reason to go all Mommy Dearest in my house, because we have no wire hangers at all. I finally resorted to using a straw, which wasn't nearly as effective as a wire hanger would have been. I took every bit of my vacuum apart that I could reasonably reassemble again. Yet, it didn't work.  I fought back tears of frustration, mourning the loss of a vacuum that I knew we could not replace. I broke the bad news to my husband in an instant message.

After spending an hour and a half in vacuum surgery, I declared my victim dead, and began dinner preparations.  When my husband walked in the house, he looked at me to ascertain the news of the vacuum. I shook my head solemnly, and he bypassed me and went straight for the vacuum.  He walked around it, studied it, and then asked, "What exactly is wrong with it?" I explained the brush would spin, but it wouldn't suction anything and carry it to the canister. He grabbed the handle, pushed the power button, I walked away.  I didn't want to watch.  But as I stood in the kitchen, I realized it sounded normal.  It was alive! It was fixed!  "What did you do?" I exclaimed. "Um, I turned it on," was his extremely detailed response.

Can I just admit here, that though overjoyed, I was also a wee bit annoyed. How is it that I wrestled with that stupid thing for over an hour, got dirt in my hair, and slightly burned my thumb, and it refused to work?  He walks in and pushes the same button I pushed countless times and it springs to life for him! Not to mention, it makes me look like a moron to him. Though he didn't say it, I strongly suspect he wonders if I had pushed the power button.  I did!  I swear I did!

It doesn't seem quite fair in the end, but I am thankful my vacuum still works. I just wish I had the magic touch too.  It would have saved me a lot of grief this afternoon.

Pain and Zero Gain

Last night, I found myself at the mercy of my youngest child. Our family room couches are being officially retired from this household. Years of enduring "cushion towers" and jumping children have taken their toll. Because of the extreme abuse they have endured, the springs were popping through the thin piece of fabric separating them from the outside world, allowing a collection of things to be lost inside the couch via the tears and holes.  Since the trash service is picking them up today, I cut the remaining pieces of fabric from the couch and emptied the booty from within; combs, pens, pencils, cheerios, a tiny doll, change, etc. The way the couches were made, I had to reach up into the arm of the couch to find any lost items in there.  Secretly, I was hoping to find my missing ipod from over a year ago, but no such luck.  However, I probed every inch of those couches to be sure. During my probe, I drew my hand back in pain.  A large splinter had lodged itself into my index finger. I pulled at the exposed piece of wood, and of course it broke off. The only way to get it out now, was for me to squeeze my finger hard with my other hand, so that the tip of the splinter was exposed. Only problem was, I needed a third hand to pull it out with tweezers.  This is where my youngest comes into play since she was the only one at home with me.  I asked her if she could help mommy with the splinter.  "Sure mom," came the confident reply.  I handed her the tweezers, blocking from my mind that she was not very good at the game Operation, and I squeezed my finger.  "Can you see the splinter?" Again confidence oozed, "Yep, I will get it." She grasped at the splinter, and a quarter inch of skin on my finger.  Wow. Lots of pain.  I had her stop, and redirected, "You really need to try and grab JUST the splinter.  Not all of the skin around it." She studied the splinter intently, "I can do it.  Don't worry mom, this will only hurt a second." I heard her echoing words that I had spoken on many occasions, like when I ripped off band-aids or detangled massive knots in her hair.  When I said those words, 9 times out of 10 I knew I was lying. Ugh.  She attacked the finger again, and I am fairly certain she pushed the splinter further into my finger. "Okay stop!" I hollered. She said, "I almost had it!" Not even close, from where I was standing, but I whimpered "I know, you are doing a really good job." My finger was throbbing now.  The splinter hurt to begin with, but at this point, a much larger area of my finger was in pain. I suggested that we just stop, as it seemed to be the stubborn sort of splinter, but she insisted she could get it. I allowed her one last go. She dug the tweezers into my finger again, this time drawing blood. Yelping, I announced, "I think you got it!" Nope, she didn't get it, but I would rather suffer the pain of the splinter than this.  About 20 minutes later my husband arrived home, and in a hushed voice I beckoned him to the bathroom to attempt the splinter retrieval.  He DID get it, but my finger still hurts today from the attempted extraction from my daughter.   This has caused me to rethink however, my use of pain measurement, when it comes to my kids.

If I Were a Vampire....

I understand that garlic is used as a repellent to ward off evil and spirits filled with evil notions, one such guardian of evil, is apparently the vampire.  However, I think that it is imperative to acknowledge here, that garlic not only possesses the ability to ward off evilness, but also mere mortals, that are usually loving and good.

Today, my husband, kindly ditched me at a dance competition, so that he could go partake of the delicious offerings served up by Benihana. Perhaps, if I were invited to dine with him, the overwhelming scent of garlic wafting from his every pore, would not bother me as much if it were mingled with my own garlic saturated stench.  As it is, I did not join him, therefore, it does bother me. A LOT. In fact, if I were a vampire, I would not only be warded off, but I am certain I would be dead. Who needs a stake in the heart when you have Benihana?

We have discussed ways he could possibly improve his breath, as every word spoken my direction, brings a temporary loss of consciousness. Yes, he brushed his teeth, and now, I am enveloped by a "delightful" mint scented garlic breeze when he speaks. Helpfully, I offered that perhaps it might be improved if he licked the toilet. Trust me when I say, I am not kidding.

It is not safe to stand in front of him when he speaks, nor is it safe to stand behind him, OR to the side of him when he is NOT speaking. The extremely unpleasant surprise of a silent gastric emission is even less agreeable than the wind of his spoken words. So, I am hiding, at the other end of the house, plotting my revenge, by eating at least 5lbs. of onions in the very near future. After all, everything is fair in love and war AND food, right?

Fortunate

14 years ago today, I thought I was accepting a wedding proposal from the man of my dreams, but I wasn't.  Not really.  In fact, I am going to be so bold as to say, that I didn't even really know what I wanted or needed in a mate at that time of my life. I was young and naive.  The man that I ended up marrying, was not the man I am married to today. That guy couldn't even come close to being what I need in a spouse now. My current husband gets me, and all the crazy that comes with me.  He is my anchor in this world, and knows how to calm me, unlike any other human being. Sure, he has the same name as the guy that I agreed to marry way back when, but he has changed over the years into the spouse that I really needed. Is he perfect?  Far from it.  There are days, when I would love to send him to a class titled, "How To Find Things That Are Right In Front Of Your Face" or "The Top Ten Signs From Your Wife That Scream It Is Time To Shut Your Laptop". Usually, however, the positives outweigh the negatives, and when they don't, I generally let him know. For me, Valentine's Day allows me to reflect on the good fortune that I can claim, but can take very little credit in bringing it about. Before my husband, I never really had a great Valentine's Day, except maybe in elementary school when I received a lot of cards from classmates and prior to it mattering if there was someone special with which to share it.  So for me, this day has always belonged to us, and only us, which makes it even more special.

Excited!

Today our entire family was baptized by immersion.  I am thankful that I was able to share this experience with my family, as we publicly declared our faith and dedication to Christ.

The experience presented itself, because we were interested in joining the church that we had been attending for the last 9 months.  We could have easily joined by simply transferring membership from our previous church to this church, but my husband and I had been talking on and off for a couple of years that we wanted to be baptized by immersion.  The fact that our children were also ready to make the same statement at this time was coincidental.

Last week, we videotaped our testimonies in preparation for today.  That was the most stressful part of the experience.  Getting my kids to string together coherent sentences about their faith in front of a camera that was filming them was nearly impossible, and required many takes. Many takes. After an hour and a half of coaxing, prodding, and nice mommy nearly turning into psycho frantic mommy, I was not above begging, pleading, and bribery just to get my shyest child to speak at all. I was sweating as though I were doing aerobics by the time filming was over.  My husband had three takes involved with his testimony.  One was interrupted by my youngest swinging her foot and banging a metal chair while I was holding her.  Oops!  My husband in a rather frustrated voice accused, "Are you kidding me?" He started again. The second time, my eldest backed into the aforementioned metal chair, making a another loud noise. He lifted his hands in the air and said, "Come on!" Guiltily we stepped further away from the chair, determined not to interrupt again, though it did have its funny side.  The third time he filmed his testimony, I noticed something slightly amiss, but I didn't dare speak a word of it. I did not want to make him self-conscious or even worse yet, have him give up in exasperation himself.  So, I listened quietly and let my commentary go.

Today, was the big day.  We were able to watch and listen to our own videos and then we were baptized.  My husband went first out of our family, and then was able to stay in the water with the pastor for the rest of us.  It was kind of neat, that as the head of our household my husband was able to partake in the individual baptism moments for each of us.  I was pleased and surprised at the smoothness and the ease I felt with the ceremony.  On the way to lunch however, my husband said to me, "Well, it seems possible that I could have started a new drinking game today." At first I was a bit puzzled, but he continued, "Could I have said I was 'excited' just one more time in my testimony?" I burst out laughing, and said, "I lost count after 6!" It was true. I noticed it during his taping, but there was no way I was going to interrupt him and point it out. Good thing it wasn't a drinking game! In his defense, his use of excited was very much our fault, because during his first two tapings he didn't even come close to using the word that often.

I think that we will always look back on this day with both fond memories and a little bit of humor.

The Talk

Well, I have to blog about something as monumental as "the talk".  As a parent, it looms in the distant future, knowing that eventually you will have to truthfully explain how babies are made. But until your children are savvy enough to realize you are being evasive, you all live in blissful oblivion of the havoc that "the talk" will wreak on your lives.

Last night when I picked my eldest up from dance, she announced that two of the twelve year old girls had talked about S-E-X during health at school that day. Color me alarmed to hear my child spell that word. Yikes! She said they were all giggling about it during dance class.  So let me say here, that I am extremely thankful that my child does not feel the need to censor her conversations with me about what she talks about with her girlfriends. However, I was not ready for this, not on a random Tuesday night approaching 8:30 in the evening. I casually inquired, "Okay, can you tell me what you THINK S-E-X is?" To which my child answers, "Why don't you tell ME what it is, and I will tell YOU if that is what I thought." Nice try, kiddo, but mommy wasn't biting.  I wanted to have a good idea of what I was dealing with before I revealed more than was necessary, and quite probably scarred my child for life. I prodded further. Finally this was the explanation I received, she holds up both hands and says, "Well, it is when a boy and a girl (each gender was represented by a hand) do this!" And she smacks both hands together. Oh dear. I mulled over in my head how to handle the situation best, and immediately came to the conclusion that I couldn't have the talk right then in the car.  I had to mentally prepare myself! I had to warn my husband!  I had to research the right words! I had to practice not stammering and blushing! I had to avoid scarring her for life! This last one by the way, is impossible.  I was scarred for life by my mother's explanation, and I guarantee you, that there is no way to explain the deed to a kid without them being scarred.  It is like telling them that Santa Claus isn't real...only worse.

My mother, she took the "kill two birds with one stone approach".  She plopped my brother and I down on the couch together, and read a book to us. First, learning about IT with your brother is just wrong on too many levels. And then hearing you have to do WHAT with WHAT?! Let's just say, I crawled under an afghan on the couch, and was resolute that I was NEVER going to come out from under that blanket again.  I remember saying things like "Ew!" and "Please Stop!" I was convinced at that age that it was a) a horrible mistake or misunderstanding b) a form of parental torture to spread such heinous lies. and c) the most disgusting thing that could ever be concocted. I think I was around 8ish at the time.

Today, it took me two hours to give myself the "I can do this" pep talk. I figured my kid was at least halfway in the know based on her explanation, so it wouldn't be nearly as earth-shattering to hear the facts. Apparently, that assumption was based on sheer delusion. My child, also covered her head with a blanket, begged me to stop talking, and declared vehemently, "I am NEVER getting married! EVER!" Well, that went well.  A complete and total reproduction of my childhood experience, minus the book. I made sure we had the facts as straight as possible, when the shrieks of horror subsided, and told her that she would probably have questions for me later, and she could come to me anytime with any questions.  It is something you say, so your kid feels free to talk to you.  You don't really mean for them to come back with questions. At least, you really REALLY don't want them too.  Trust me on this.

Fast forward to midnight. My child has apparently been mulling over this new disturbing information all day, and decides now is the time to take me up on answering questions, which is why I am awake at 12:54 a.m. First question out of her mouth: "So how many times do you HAVE to do IT?" I tried to find a loophole in her words.  "Well you don't HAVE to do it at all." I guess I should explain here that we talked about IT happening within the context of a marriage relationship.  She then astutely retorted, "Well say you wanted TWO kids.  How many times?"  Easy answer. "Two". This was followed by, "Aw Man! I wanted 5 kids.  I don't think I could EVER do that 5 TIMES!" I remained silent, hoping that would be all.  She paused briefly then said to herself,"I suppose I could always adopt." Then another realization hit her, "GROSS! Does that mean you did IT again when I was like 2?!!!" "Well, yes, yes it does." I was really really hoping the conversation would end there.  Really. But then she said, "You can be honest Mom. Did it completely gross you out?" Okay, so I really wanted to laugh here, but I managed to keep it together.  I promised her that when you love someone, and marry them, and choose to spend your life with them, you really don't think it is gross at all, and it is an expression of your love. She definitely did not think that was even a remote possibility.  Finally, I had to ban her from speaking to me any further tonight, because after midnight I cannot be held responsible for wording things appropriately, and I needed a breather between the inquisitions.  I know when I had the talk given to me, I never wanted to ask questions, I wanted to forget about it as quickly as possible, never to revisit it again.  Not so with my kid.  Geesh.  I can only await tomorrow with bated breath! What new and exciting questions will she have then? Wish me luck.  I am going to need it.

Are There Really Happy Endings?

Over the years I have tried to taper down the list of shows that I watch on television.  It seems like all the good shows get canceled, and I would rather not get hooked on a show only to have it get the axe. Not to mention, when I do faithfully invite a show into my home year after year, I have a vested interest in the characters and stories.  That way, when it ends, I am bawling like a baby because I feel like I have lost actual friends.  In a weird sort of way, I mourn the loss...of a television show!  That right there is just wrong, but nonetheless, I do it, and I strongly suspect that anyone else that has gotten roped in by a great storyline and likable characters has found themselves in the exact same situation.  Don't try and deny it. And every time I watch another one of my favorites go, I vow that I will never be bamboozled into adding another enticing show into my already existing repertoire.  Eventually, I should be down to zero, and perfectly content never to say goodbye to another show.

This plan works of course, until I am goaded by friends and family to watch "the best show ever" or a show that "is SO hilarious" or one that everyone knows that I will "LOVE"! And then I eventually cave.  The thing is, my friends and family know me.  They know what appeals to this humor of mine, and they effortlessly lead me to the wolf's den to get swallowed up. I resist.  I really do. But week after week, I am worn down, and then it happens. I am completely sucked in.

Last week marked the end of one of my all time favorite shows, Chuck.  I resisted it for two seasons. And followed faithfully the last three. And now it is gone.  Not having a DVR anymore I had to wait until I could view the finale at my parents' house, which I did tonight, with some trepidation.  The reviews I heard and read regarding the end were very distinct; either people loved it or they hated it.  But really, I mostly loved it. There was closure for each and every character in a really great way, except for the two main characters.  Their fate was a bit murkier, but was laced with the hope of a happy ending. But I hated it, because it ended in a way that I WANTED to continue with their story.  I wanted to SEE what happened next! Their ending had all the promise of an entertaining future, the kind that made us diehard fans fall in love the show in the first place.  I know it was left open, so that we viewers could decide the end for ourselves, but I don't want to be the one to decide their end, good or bad.

I feel a little guilty to be so bummed over television. Truly, I do. But feeling guilty, and knowing I shouldn't care so much about television doesn't change the fact, that I will miss these characters and their stories. Though it will strengthen my mantra, "I will not get sucked into any new television shows, I will not get sucked into any new television shows." So do me a favor, if you watch a show, and it is great and you love it, just keep it to yourself.  I will be much happier in the end if you just don't tell me, so I don't know what I am missing.  Because with Chuck, I know what I am missing, and it makes me sad.

The Dark Ages

We have re-entered the dark ages. After a $65 hike in our cable/internet/phone bill, simply because we were just getting "too good of a deal", our family had to re-evaluate what was necessity and what was a luxury.  We switched our internet to a plan for $15 a month with a different company, yes it is slightly slower, but overall, I have not noticed a glaring difference between the services. And we moved our phone service to a different digital phone company as well.  That just leaves television.  Let me just say here, that it is hard not having a DVR anymore.  And when it seemed that there was nothing ever on television with several hundred channels, you can be assured that there is even less with only a handful. We have kicked around the possibility of adding television back in with another service provider, but have decided to wait for awhile. What does this look like for our family?  Well, I can honestly say, that the television is hardly ever on now.  If anything, it goes on for a little bit at 8 or 9 in the evening, but aside from that, we rarely watch it. The biggest hiccup that has occurred in our television detox is that I missed a series finale of one of my favorite shows, because I was not home when it aired. Just my luck, I can't even view it on the internet.  And I refuse to revert far enough back into the dark ages to resurrect our VCR. However, my parents do still have a DVR, so sometime very soon I need to get over and see the finale since they have saved it for me. 

My husband and I often talk about getting rid of television all together, but I am not sure I could actually do that just yet, but I think we are moving the right direction.  If we hadn't had such a ridiculous hike in our billing I am not sure we would have ever taken this leap willingly. It forced us to re-evaluate where our money is spent and in turn where our time is often spent.  Sometimes I relish the mindless activity of just kicking back and watching a show, but for $80 a month, which is now what we are saving by letting tv go and switching our other providers, I am not sure that luxury is as necessary as it once seemed.  For the most part, our children have taken the deprivation in stride as well, which forces me to consider that maybe they really don't miss it that much either. I am constantly struck by what we consider "need".  We have gotten so used to having things, that simply because we have them, we think we NEED them. It is so easy to measure ourselves by others, and accept that was is common to most, is also necessary for most.