tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37730288808249926402024-02-19T06:08:22.171-06:00Weekly Jules(Mostly) true tales from the 'burbs posted weekly plus a little extra fun to help bring levity to your day. You will not find useful information of any kind here. Just laughs, often at my own expense. So relax and enjoy. I know you deserve it!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-40834420227392362132011-05-23T13:27:00.000-05:002011-05-23T13:27:13.052-05:00Location, Location, Location...Find all weekly stories by clicking Julie's photo (top of the right sidebar), and find even more by visiting Julie's current site, <a href="http://JulieDunlap.blogspot.com/">JulieDunlap.blogspot.com</a>.<br />
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And Happy Summer!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-47633388194943238832011-02-24T15:03:00.000-06:002011-02-24T15:03:53.296-06:00Like me, really, really Like me!I like you, you like me,<br />
Facebook "like" me if you please...<br />
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Thank you to all Weekly Jules Likers, for liking me even though I was anonymous to just over half of you. I am trying now to build <a href="http://JulieDunlap.blogspot.com/">http://JulieDunlap.blogspot.com</a> up to the same level WJ is/was so when potential clients view the JD page they will see how many dozens of people find me to be so freaking witty that I will not have to explain "well, I was really liked at WJ, much more than JD" like some sort of foreign sports star.<br />
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So please check out my Facebook author page when you get the chance (since I know most of you are sitting online waiting for winter to pass like I am) and "like" what you see. It's free and won't hurt or itch.<br />
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<a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Julie-Dunlap/166165643405561">http://www.facebook.com/pages/Julie-Dunlap/166165643405561</a><br />
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In return, I promise you will never receive a status update regarding things like what I had for lunch.<br />
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(Protein shake)<br />
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xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-87266252081615107662010-11-12T10:35:00.000-06:002010-11-12T10:35:41.758-06:00She's Baaaaaaack!Back and on the move!<br />
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I hope you all had a great summer. And then a nice fall. And that your Thanksgiving dreams are all on the brink of coming true.<br />
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The extended vaycay was a fantastic period of personal introspection, relaxation, and Facebooking. But I am regrouped and recharged and relocating...<br />
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Check out my new site, including new contact material, my <i>Lawrence Journal-World</i> column, and a few fun links. WeeklyJules.com will redirect to the new site as soon as I figure out how to do that. In the meantime, click on:<br />
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<a href="http://JulieDunlap.blogspot.com/">JulieDunlap.blogspot.com</a><br />
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Hope to see you there!<br />
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-JulesUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-51701039459934584432010-05-19T09:28:00.000-05:002010-05-19T09:28:28.717-05:00Vay-Cay<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Weekly Jules is going to spend some time under re-construction. Botox? Implants? No, nothing that exciting. Just re-evaluating the direction for the blog while a few irons heat up in the fire.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the meantime, I want to wish my blogger friends a very happy summer (school's out in 90 minutes, my party-of-one clock is ticking) and promise to check in as much as I can...</span></span><br />
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<ul><li><a href="http://www.knuckleheadhumor.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Chris at Knucklehead</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">: With every post, you prove The Onion should be begging you to drop out of school and work for them.</span></span></li>
<li><a href="http://lovelettersbycora.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Cora</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> and </span></span><a href="http://scope-tech.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Scope</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">: Best Wishes for happiness always and forever! (Check them out, they met RIGHT HERE in blog world and are getting MARRIED this summer!)</span></span></li>
<li><a href="http://mrandmrseyecansee.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Eye Can See</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">: I hope to be back before baby boy bounces out, which I hope is quick and painless. He will re-define "worth the squeeze!"</span></span></li>
<li><a href="http://skylersdad.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Skylar's Dad</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">: You embody two of my favorite things. Parenting special-needs and a twisted loved of tattoos.</span></span></li>
<li><a href="http://bedifferentlyonline.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ron</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">: Everyone needs a friend like you to entertain, inform and give us the Hollywood down-low. Always remember and never forget, you can go as fast as you want!</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And check out newbie blogger, </span></span><a href="http://connealyquips.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Eddie C</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, for insight and humor as he navigates his way around our ever-changing world and prepares for marriage this fall!</span></span></li>
</ul><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And be sure to check out the </span></span><a href="http://www2.ljworld.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Lawrence Journal-World</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> (search Julie Dunlap) for River City Jules, appearing every Monday.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Have a great summer, see you again soon!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">-Jules</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-48492639053294905142010-05-05T15:21:00.002-05:002010-05-05T15:23:43.481-05:00She's Only 12-and-a-half...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I have this "friend" who happens to have a daughter in 7th grade, just like me. Her daughter is going out with a boy (and, by "going out," we mean they only text each other and have an understanding of only dancing with each other at the few school dances each year.)</span></span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> All year long my "friend" has wondered if her daughter and this boy would ever move from exclusive texting to first base. Not hoping, just wondering.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Any plan for it to happen at the Valentine dance was squashed when the boyfriend came down ill the week before. Not wanting to see her daughter home from school sick like the boyfriend was, my "friend" suggested to her daughter that she keep a healthy distance from the boy.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> No moves were made at the next dance, thanks to some very close chaperoning by my "friend's" friends.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> So it came down the final dance of the year. The daughter looked fresh, innocent and so happy to bop about the dance floor to the Black Eyed Peas. The boy seemed to be a bit pale. Their friends hoped this would be their night to move into new territory, making lip-to-lip contact for the very first time.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> The daughter was nervous. The boy was irritated. Neither of them knew exactly how to handle the pressure as their friends continued to push the two into lip-locking. And then the boy spoke up:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> "Knock it off, guys," he told the posse, "We're only in 7th grade, we're not going to do that!"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Upon hearing of this, my "friend" was most relieved.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> And hopeful that next year they all remember they are only in 8th...</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-52385409924537843332010-04-28T09:32:00.005-05:002010-04-28T09:43:06.486-05:00Fetch<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> "Fetch" is about as simple as a game could be.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> I throw the ball into the backyard. Dog runs to the ball. Dog picks it up with his mouth and returns the ball to me. Repeat.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Dog gets all hot and panting, I do not.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Dog wags his tail, scampering about in nature, I sit under the shade of our pergola and maintain a resting heart rate.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Easy, right?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Not yesterday...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> I throw the ball into the backyard. Dog runs to the ball. Dog picks it up with his mouth and puts it back down. Dog pees on it. Dog runs away.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> And I abandon my resting heart rate in favor of wagging my tail, scampering about the neighborhood looking for Dog, who appears on our driveway only after I resort to driving a two-mile loop at a child-predator pace in search of him.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> At this rate he will never learn to play chess.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-77255084896553299182010-04-21T09:02:00.000-05:002010-04-21T09:03:42.918-05:00Unexpected Love Story<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Christmas finally arrived for our two oldest daughters when we took them to the Taylor Swift concert last weekend.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My husband (a metalhead) and I (anything but country) knew Taylor was a talented singer and songwriter with fabulous hair and a tremendous following.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But we did not know that at 20 years old, Taylor Swift can not only take command of a stage, but of an entire arena. And not just the pre-teen to sorority girl demographic. She had their parents too, many of whom I recognized from the Bon Jovi concert three weeks earlier.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The show opened with the curtain rising to reveal a multi-leveled set constructed entirely of LCD screen that spanned the stage, depicting a high school hallway with bright blue lockers with the cheer captain and her squad practicing their routine in front.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Taylor rose from a platform on the highest set piece dressed as a drum majorette, her mane tucked up high in her hat while singing “You Belong with Me,” standing perfectly still, to balance her massive hat full of hair, I imagine. She whipped off the hat after the first verse, revealing her signature golden locks, and made her way down from alone in the bleachers to the cheerleaders.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not to be outdone by the girls in short skirts, Taylor ripped off the marching band uniform and finished the number in a glittery mini-dress.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At this point, my Metallica-loving husband, who is pushing 40 years old, was ready to hop in a time machine and take this country girl to prom. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I watched the rest of the show trying to decide if I would rather *be* her or *adopt* her.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She sang, strutted and swung her hair for over two hours, rotating through sets and costumes like a Broadway show, from a school library to a Renaissance castle to a Bellagio-style waterfall. One song, featuring Taylor playing a baby grand, ended with a backbend over her piano bench.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(I offered my fifth-grader $100 to end her recital piece the same way. We’ll see if she takes me up on it.)</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But while she inspired young girls to dream big - and me to grow out my hair - her most-illustrated lesson of the night was the liberating effect of singing about old flames. We would probably all be better balanced if we could record songs about the Drews and Stephens in our lives too.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">With every number, she more than redeemed herself after her shaky Grammy performance, proving beyond doubt that Kanye West had behaved like an absolute donkey at the VMA’s. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And by the end of the show I realized Taylor Swift set the bar so high, she had effectively ruined every concert my daughters (and their love-story-stricken dad) will ever attend for a very long time. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Or, as Taylor would put it, the night “was a fairytale.” And I have no idea how to top that when Christmas rolls around again.</span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-5532482655907913452010-04-14T20:22:00.003-05:002010-04-15T13:39:59.081-05:00FriendsDay<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I got nothing.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Children have behaved appropriately, husband has not planted any </span></span><a href="http://weeklyjules.blogspot.com/2009/07/tree-grows-in-college-town.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Japanese maples of note</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, and I have gone an entire week or so without embarrassing myself.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But I've got friends... funny ones.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So please enjoy riding out the rest of the week with a visit to a few of my favorite places to drop in for a chuckle. Tell them Weekly Jules sent you.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And come back next week for some fresh, new fun...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><a href="http://www.knuckleheadhumor.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Chris at KnuckleheadHumor</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> (featuring a Q&A with yours truly)</span></span></div><div><a href="http://yellow-trash-diaries.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Kim at Yellow Trash Diaries</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> (I always feel more culturally enriched after a visit)</span></span></div><div><a href="http://www.ishouldabeenastripper.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Chrissy at I Should a Been a Stripper</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> (love the blog renovation)</span></span></div><div><a href="http://bedifferentlyonline.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Ron at Be. Differently</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. (#1 stop for all things pop culture)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(I tried and tried to create an award featuring sangrias, but alas, I am not smart enough to post it. I will continue my work on it!)</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-36100660356332524872010-04-08T10:08:00.002-05:002010-04-08T10:18:12.961-05:00How to Handle a Telemarketer<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Our friend, Stan, was enjoying a family dinner with his wife and two children when the phone rang.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Hello, sir," the voice on the other line began, "I'm calling to talk to you about an exciting opportunity for term life insurance."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Oh yeah?" Stan said, stealthily moving out of earshot of his wife and kids. "Well I want to talk about pu$$y."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Clearly this was not in the telemarketer's script.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Um, I'm sorry?" she stammered.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"You heard me," Stan continued with gusto, "I want to talk about pu$$y!"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Let me get my manager," she said, probably right before bursting into tears and resigning.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Stan, who could have simply hung up and resumed eating meatloaf with his family at this point, decided to wait for the manager and see this to the end.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Sir, is there a problem here?" the manager asked over the phone.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Nope," Stan assured him, "no problem here, I just want to talk about pu$$y."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Sir!" the manager exclaimed, "You cannot talk like that to us!"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Listen, you called me," Stan replied calmly. "If you don't want to talk about pu$$y, then don't call!"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And Stan enjoyed the rest of his meal, and every meal thereafter, without interruption.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-37768087024795811962010-03-25T11:10:00.005-05:002010-03-25T11:34:38.617-05:00Paging Dr. Luke<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Unlike his father, my 8-year-old son, Luke, has never expressed interest in the medical profession. He actually hopes to be a pilot in the Air Force someday.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But over spring break, Luke performed his first operation, leading me to wonder what, exactly, the future holds for my boy.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Mom," he told me Monday morning, "I'm going to do an operation today."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Wow," I said as I helped him make his bed, "What kind?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He held up his recently-acquired blue duck. While at his end-of-the-season basketball party at the local pizza joint, Luke won (and I use that word loosely) a stuffed animal from the claw-grabber game in the arcade. A blue duck:</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmOjaG1WIwudaP8n_5M2DIYUWCZFEqEyNTXkfGWWyZKxoWXOX1S_GJGeji5t6gZrwgl7CDwZ9JIxvPyO1HzFquiM7trturHmnVkK5rqor4DTiIbIEYGq97rCZrC2-_dis8Bb5kOWHi9cr/s1600/0314101306-00.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmOjaG1WIwudaP8n_5M2DIYUWCZFEqEyNTXkfGWWyZKxoWXOX1S_GJGeji5t6gZrwgl7CDwZ9JIxvPyO1HzFquiM7trturHmnVkK5rqor4DTiIbIEYGq97rCZrC2-_dis8Bb5kOWHi9cr/s400/0314101306-00.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452606753388788338" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Obviously winning a toy meant for a 3-year-old girl in front of a flock third grade boys does not do much for an ego. And Luke aimed to remedy the situation as easily as possible while still maintaining his prize.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm turning the duck into a boy," Luke declared.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">My boy was about to perform our home's first sex-change operation using nothing but a pair of fingernail scissors.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">"I'm going to name him Todd when I'm done," he added.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Not wanting to break his confidence, I offered to assist. He took me up on it, and within minutes Todd was a new man - er - duck:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><br /></span></div><div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3CxjIM9oyX44MRAwwK_hfGJDEePSCGGd-DYgrZ3FP0j9Ctka0oePS4cyGwp_OfEZPap_69OCdFqLSJjxIWfMsgcYiG9U9lt49eav6-u9U2c4LIY4R6RZ71ILOlRDPZo4LHCTcTmPHvMj8/s1600/0315101117-00.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3CxjIM9oyX44MRAwwK_hfGJDEePSCGGd-DYgrZ3FP0j9Ctka0oePS4cyGwp_OfEZPap_69OCdFqLSJjxIWfMsgcYiG9U9lt49eav6-u9U2c4LIY4R6RZ71ILOlRDPZo4LHCTcTmPHvMj8/s400/0315101117-00.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452606761599905554" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">This little procedure beat out trekking to Oklahoma in a the snow to watch the Jayhawks go down in the 2nd round of the NCAA Tourney as the most unexpected thing to occur over spring break. And certainly far less painful.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">(Patient is recovering well and is fully-integrated as a male duck with Luke's menagerie of animals that occupy space on his closet floor.]</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-1778346097960431942010-03-17T16:50:00.001-05:002010-03-17T16:54:12.880-05:00A Poop in the Night<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>The following was first published in the Lawrence paper and ended up being the #1 emailed article from the paper for the week. (We are a disgusting group of people.) Somehow, that still did not make up for the incident....</i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Like the minutemen of old, parents are conditioned to react to noise in the night. Whether stirred by a hungry newborn’s midnight cry or a child standing over our pillows uttering the words, “my tummy hurts” (nothing propels me out of bed faster than the threat of being spontaneously covered in rotavirus), we are always ready to respond when we hear a call for help.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rarely, however, is it the sense of smell that stirs us to action, which was one of the many thoughts that crossed my mind when an unpleasant aroma filled my nasal passage, waking me in the dark of night.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At first I assumed the odor had escaped from my dear, though often flatulent, husband, though I quickly realized as I came to consciousness the smell was not human, but animal.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Assuming our dog had let a gas bomb fly in the night, I waved the bedspread up and down to air out the room.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Like a tsunami, the stench rolled mercilessly from its unknown source directly to me, swallowing my head, flooding my nose and throat, and rendering me unable to breathe.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This was no ordinary dog fart.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Just like days of late-night potty runs with our toddlers, this animal had business to tend to, and it was going to be up to me to escort him.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I slowly removed the covers and tumbled stealthily out of bed, so as not to wake my husband, who, by the way, was the only one out of the two of us in favor of owning a dog in the first place.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Quietly, carefully, and completely barefoot, I crossed our dark bedroom to take the dog (I had not wanted) outside (in the cold) to finish the job he had started (at 4:30 in the morning).</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I had just rounded the corner of our bed when I my right foot settled deep into what felt like a heaping serving of warm mashed potatoes, yet smelled like canine colon.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“CRAP!” I yelled, paralyzed in the mother of all fecal landmines.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In one seamless movement, my husband shot up in bed, turning on his bedside light, something I wished he had done about three minutes earlier.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“What happened?!?” he cried before choking on the stench.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I surveyed the floor in the light. Piles-o-poo were strewn about the carpet like a toxic constellation. Our furriest child was ill, and I was ankle-deep in it.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Two 32-ounce cups, one heavy-duty trash bag and forty-five minutes of scrubbing later, the carpet and I were clean, but the scars remain. For there are things that cannot be unseen and, apparently, things that cannot be un-smelled, and this one, I am afraid, has been forever burned in my memory no matter what we do to erase it.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Although if you happen to run into my man or his best friend, please let them know a night at a nice (no-pets-allowed) hotel (with room service and a whirlpool) would be worth a try.</span></span><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-85403514477174136032010-03-10T10:03:00.002-06:002010-03-10T10:09:50.625-06:00My Name is Jules, and I am a Cookie-holic<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I should have listened to </span></span><a href="http://www.boomergirl.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Boomer Girl</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Remember back in November when </span></span><a href="http://www2.ljworld.com/news/2009/nov/15/boomer-girl-diary-girl-scouts-could-steer-us-out-f/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">she warned us the Girl Scouts were making their way around town</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, suckering people into purchasing what she called “legal heroin” with their cute, semi-toothless smiles?</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rather than heed her warning and avoid eye contact with the brown-sashed cookie pushers, I ordered four boxes from one. And four more from my niece. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">What can I say? I got hooked on them long ago, when a neighborhood girl came by selling cookies. And, boy, did she hit the jackpot, I was eight months pregnant and ripe for the sale. Six weeks later the girl showed up with a truckload of Thin Mints that I, in my pregnant state, had apparently ordered. I looked at them in horror as I stood in the doorway holding my new baby girl in my arms – and about 20 extra pounds around my middle. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">No longer sporting the metabolism of a breastfeeding twentysomething, I placed my order this time around with the belief that eight boxes (and a pair of Spanx) would hold me until next winter. Unfortunately I failed to consider the autonomy of my four cookie-hungry children, and all eight boxes vanished before I could sink my teeth into any of them.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Feeling empty inside, I shared this sad tale with my bunko group. The hostess announced that she, being the Cookie Keeper for her daughter’s troop, had in her possession a stash of leftover cookies for sale, and I returned home six boxes happier. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">They lasted through the weekend, and not one of them landed on my lips. My kids had become cookie Ninjas.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Just when I had resigned myself to a long and cookieless winter, I overheard a mom at school discussing her troop’s plans to sell cookies at the grocery store that afternoon.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I casually sidled up next to her and muttered, “Caramel deLites?” under my breath like a junkie.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Two cases,” she replied, “Should I hold them?”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Scanning the room, I whispered, “Three boxes, I’ll be there at 4:00.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I arrived at 4:15 (so as not to appear desperate) and secured ten assorted boxes of cookies. The girls manning the table watched in awe as I walked out with 5% of their inventory, which I should have taken straight to my closet for personal emergency use. But that is something only an addict would do. Instead, I left them out in the open, unprotected.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Big mistake.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Five days later, I pulled the plastic tray out of the last box of Caramel deLites to find it empty, leaving me $84 down (don’t tell my husband) and destitute. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Alone and weeping over a barren purple box in the kitchen, I realized my cookie obsession had spiraled out of control.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And now, after some serious soul-searching, I am ready to admit I am powerless. However, I am not sure if I am powerless over the cookies themselves, or my family, who will not let me have one. </span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-13519878851176086862010-02-26T18:10:00.001-06:002010-02-26T18:13:09.764-06:00Dancing with Myself<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A number flashed on my scale after a holiday season (apparently) heavy on edible cheer, a number not seen since my postpartum days.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Fearing the looming 4-0 was already wreaking havoc on my metabolism, I called my friend, Paula, for support.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“You should try Jazzercise,” she said.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I laughed. “My last dance class was when I was four,” I told her, “and my coordination has not improved much since then.” (True story, </span></span><a href="http://weeklyjules.blogspot.com/2009/02/honey-did-i-ever-tell-you-about-my.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I once fell down a flight of stairs. On a date.</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">)</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But Paula had faith in me. So, powered by her confidence and my six-week holiday eating binge, I ventured into the studio to dance away the pounds that had landed on my backside.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Several other women were already there when I entered, ranging from grandmothers to a pair of snack-sized sorority girls.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I like to stand away from the mirror,” another mom offered as I stared at the young coeds, secretly wishing breach births upon each of them someday.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Heeding her advice, I grabbed a spot away from my reflection as the instructor took the stage. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Let’s warm up!” the instructor cheered as the music started, “Look right; now left; now right… “</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The room started swaying. I searched for a focal point, determined to not pass out three minutes in. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Are you ready to move?” she asked.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Before I could answer, the music pumped faster, “… step-ball-change and now chasse… ” My two left feet tried to stay out of each other’s way while my heart rate blew right past its target.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“How’s everyone doing?” she smiled, looking right at me.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I did not know. I could not see the mirror. I had, however, decided that “Hip Hop” music would more accurately be called “Hip POP,” as that is what mine seemed to do with every swing to the beat. But I could not tell her this. I could not tell her anything. I could only pant.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I glanced back at the coeds, who had yet to break a sweat, and the grandmas, who were kicking it high and having a ball. I was being schooled.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Song after hip-popping song played on, and I had not performed a single combination correctly since the neck warm-ups. But then the familiar sound of Billy Idol, from my own (pre-hip-pop) era, filled my ears, and I knew I had this one in the bag…</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">However, the instructor’s moves were nothing like those from the ‘80’s, not a single Robot in the whole routine. Just like in high school, I was dancing with myself.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Triceps on fire, I was ready to throw in the towel - had I been able to lift it - when, as if from heaven, the cool-down began. Two songs later I was heading home to a warm bath, savoring the taste of victory in my first hour of battle against the holiday bulge.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not surprisingly, that victory tasted a lot like sweat.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-24908424123948436562010-02-17T22:24:00.003-06:002010-02-17T22:30:12.321-06:00All They Were Missing Was Danica<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Until a couple of weeks ago, the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby had remained a suburban legend to me. Sure, I had heard tales of thrilling victory and agonizing defeat, but none of them measured up to experiencing the derby firsthand.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Never in one room had I seen such a competitive, anxious – and TIRED – group of dads. “I finished a car two nights ago,” one dad lamented, “but then I tried to tweak the wheels and broke it. We bought another kit yesterday. I was up past midnight balancing the thing.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Some took it all in stride. “I don’t know why my son chose to decorate his car like a banana,” another dad commented, scratching his head. “I questioned his choice from an aerodynamic standpoint, though admit it has a certain appeal.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">And it turned out I wasn’t the only rookie there. “I didn’t realize we had to actually make it ourselves,” yet another dad said. “I couldn’t believe it when I opened the box and a block of wood fell out.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">But not every dad had fashioned his own (son’s) car.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">“My grandpa cut mine since my dad couldn’t find the saw,” my son told his friends. This is because I hid the saw after the ceiling debacle of ’02, never to be wielded by my husband again.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Luckily my dad had fashioned many a winning derby car for my brothers back in the day and was happy to emerge from retirement for another go at a title.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Over 90 cars raced down four parallel tracks, rotating through each track and timed with Olympic precision to the nearest one-thousandth of a second. Round after round, countless hours of sawing, sanding and sweat were put to the test.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">There were tears, there were cheers and there were boys who did not notice the race going on around them. But it was the dads who saw their reputations speed along the track with each run.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A shaky start on the first run held my son’s car back from placing within his den, but the next three runs were just fast enough to qualify him for the pack finals. My son was relieved. His grandfather was mortified.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">“He didn’t win the den?” he muttered to himself as he shook his head. “My cars always win their dens.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Unable to re-graphite the wheels, the two were forced to sit by and watch as their car raced against the other 30 finalists. Tanks, rockets, and even the banana flew down the ramp, until the checkered flag waved and the results were announced.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">“Papa, I got sixth place!” my son beamed, holding his sixth place trophy.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">“That’s… great!” his grandfather said, forcing a smile while mulling over design changes for next year. Then he turned to me and whispered, “You aren’t going to tell anyone I came in sixth, are you?”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">“Oh, Dad,” I grinned, patting him on the back, “no one would believe it, even if I did.”</span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-71562112950966350422010-02-10T11:50:00.004-06:002010-02-16T22:12:19.592-06:00On the Roof<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Last week's story about our ailing hermit crab included the phrase "on the roof." Because several friends have asked for clarification, I am going to take this week to explain where the phrase originated for me and my husband...</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There once was a man who went on vacation, leaving his cat under the care of a neighbor. When the man returned from vacation he went to his neighbor and asked, "How's my cat?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The neighbor, lacking in social graces, replied, "The cat's dead."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The man was distraught. Not only did he lose his cat, but the news was dropped on him like a bomb.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"You can't just tell me my cat's dead!" he cried. "You have to ease me into it! Say, 'Your cat was on the roof,' and then, 'Your cat fell off,' and then 'Your cat was badly hurt,' and then 'The doctors tried everything they could,' and THEN, 'Your cat passed away.'"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Gosh, I'm really sorry," the neighbor replied.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"That's alright," the man said, regaining his composure. "How was my mom while I was gone?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The neighbor's face became very stoic. He drew a deep breath before starting, "Your mom was on the roof..."</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Have a fabulous week, and stay off the roof!!</span></i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-74410665008135543552010-02-04T23:32:00.005-06:002010-02-04T23:44:12.220-06:00RIP Kermit<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt">(an updated version from the Lawrence Journal-World's River City Jules)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Our family grew by two over the winter break. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We planned to give our two older daughters Taylor Swift concert tickets for Christmas and wanted to get our youngest daughter, Caroline, something equally exciting that would not involve taking a six-year-old to a concert.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Or owning a puppy.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So what does one give a miniature diva that is equally as awesome as a ticket to Taylor Swift? </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And is not a puppy?</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Hermit crabs, of course.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Our plan worked perfectly Christmas morning as Caroline squealed with delight at the tank while her sisters danced around her, waving their tickets and singing “Love Story.” </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(Luke sat oblivious to them all as he dug into his new magic kit.)</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She named them Hermit (the yellow one) and Kermit (the green one, duh) and immediately began playing them on the living room floor. Meanwhile, I studied the crab care book and learned that we needed to create a Florida-Keys-like environment in order to keep the crabs alive.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is not easy to do in the middle of a Kansas winter. The challenge of feeding, warming and watering these seemingly h-i-g-h maintenance sand-dwellers with whom Caroline had so deeply bonded quickly took over my life, and I began to crack under the pressure. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My days soon revolved entirely around keeping these creatures from dying on my watch. My husband grew concerned about this relentless quest for humidity and warmth, concern he finally expresses one evening after work.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Why is the tank in front of the fireplace?” he asked.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“The crabs were cold,” I replied.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“So why is the fireplace off?” he asked, reaching for the switch to turn it back on.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“DON’T TOUCH IT!” I screamed. “The tank hit 90, I almost baked the poor guys.” I ran over and poked them to make sure they were still alive, a habit reminiscent of the early days of fretting minute-by-minute over the wellbeing of our firstborn. Post-crab-purchase depression was only one more sleepless night away.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Julie, they’re crabs. They live on beaches,” he said, shaking his head, “without anyone regulating the temperature for them.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I know, it’s a miracle,” I said. “Do you think the vet would take them when we go on vacation? And neuter and vaccinate them too?”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“They’re crabs, Julie, not dogs,” he said, leaving the room.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Alone with the crabs, I began to wonder if my husband was right. Was I taking this whole crustaceous pet ownership thing a bit too seriously? I looked down at Kermit again, wishing we had sucked it up and taken Caroline to the concert instead. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Just then Caroline joined me, skipping over to the tank and giggling with delight as she pulled her two buddies out for a little playtime, and I realized these hermit crabs are a far better love story for her than Taylor Swift. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And a lot easier than a puppy.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Or so I thought...</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Fast forward one month later, when I received the following text from my husband:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Kermit is on the roof" (code for nearly dead)</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After some text debate over whether or not I should call our family priest, I called my beloved to find out the scoop.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"He's dead," he said with about as much fanfare as you might imagine.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"How do you know?" I asked, having never seen a dead crab before, save for those in the seafood case at the grocery store.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I'm a doctor," he said (family practice for humans, btw), "I know what dead looks like. I saw him in the corner staring out into space, so I tried scaring him. He didn't retract like usual. I tried to pull him out of the tank, but he slipped out of his shell, limp and lifeless."</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Caroline is going to freak," we agreed.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I will spare you the details of her reaction and simply say that I hope when my time comes she is even half as sad as she was about the crab.</span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-73375113475936243612010-01-29T08:44:00.001-06:002010-01-29T08:46:48.437-06:00Great Information, How Does It Apply To Me?<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sitting in the junior high auditorium at parent information night listening to school officials outline the expectations for my soon-to-be eighth grader was a piece of cake. I was calm and relaxed, and, unlike at last year’s parent information night for incoming seventh graders, I never once hyperventilated.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Unfortunately, my peaceful state was short-lived as the focus shifted from eighth grade course descriptions to a frightening presentation regarding ninth grade.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“When choosing classes with your future ninth-grader, be sure to read each course description carefully,” I heard the advisors caution, “as failure to select the correct courses will undoubtedly ruin all hope your child has of living up to his or her fullest potential.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At this, I looked up from the eighth grade course catalogue. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Depending on which course you choose, you could either set your child on a track that will guarantee a post-doctorate research grant midway through his or her junior year of high school, OR you could set your child on a track that will guarantee he or she will live at home with you for the rest of your life…”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My pulse quickened.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“… so choose carefully or you will end up spending your golden years doing LAUNDRY for a nest full of 30-somethings...”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My breathing grew shallow. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“… because high school, college and the REST OF YOUR LIFE are right around the corner.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I began to sweat. I had no idea how much pressure was involved with pursuing a junior high education.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">While one parent asked a question about the Fulbright Scholarship, my mind wandered back home to my firstborn, content in seventh grade and far away from frat boys and finals. My dear daughter, who, thanks to unlimited texting, can type 40 wpm using just her thumbs but is nowhere near ready for a dissertation. My little girl, who looks forward to using her new algebra skills someday (in fashion school) but, at that moment, was most likely in her room humming a song by a band I have never heard of before. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">All this talk about college as it related to my daughter seemed a bit premature, given the fact that she still hasn’t grown in all of her permanent teeth yet.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Then I remembered how quickly the time passed from seventh grade to the day my parents moved me into the dorm at KU. I went from navigating my way through puberty to navigating my way through campus in the blink of an eye. And through it all my parents never knew the names of my favorite bands either. In fact, they still don’t get that Bono sings with The Edge and not Cher.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">On the other hand, they do NOT still do my laundry.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Which gives me hope. I may not know who sings “Fireflies,” but I’m sure when ninth grade enrollment comes along next year my daughter will be ready. Even if I am not.</span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-86730131594285365922010-01-20T14:18:00.001-06:002010-01-20T14:19:46.866-06:00The First One was HUGE!<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Hey, Mrs. Dunwap!” yelled little Patrick (not his real name, for reasons that will soon be obvious) from across the grocery store checkout line.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Patrick is my friend’s son, a beautiful, wide-eyed little three-year-old with a fantastic speech impediment I hope he never outgrows.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Hey, Patrick,” I said as I swiped my credit card. “How was Christmas? Did you get lots of presents?”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">His face lit up, “It was gweat! Santa didn’t bwing me a puppy, but I got a wemote contwol twuck. And you know what?” He continued without letting me answer, “I got to go to Wichita fo Chwistmas and wide in my Gwampa’s WHEE-YO-CHAY-YO!”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Wow! A ride in your Grandpa’s wheelchair!” I replied in an effort to both match his enthusiasm and confirm what he had just told me.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Patrick was on a roll. He was so excited he could hardly contain himself. My groceries were bagged and in the cart, so I drove my cart closer to Patrick, who had attracted a small audience by this point.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Yeah! And it’s a AUTOMATIC one!” he yelled with glee, clapping his hands and laughing.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“An automatic one?” I smiled back at him, “How cool!”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Yeah!” He bounced around in the seat of his cart delighted to share his good news. His mother, however, seemed nervous. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“You wanna know why I got to wide in the AUTOMATIC whee-yo-chay-yo?” he asked, about to burst.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Oh, no, here it comes,” she mumbled as she smiled at me, grabbing the cart handle and speeding us along to the exit.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Unfortunately we were not out the door when Patrick shared this next part.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I POOPED IN THE POTTY FO-AH TIMES!” he shouted with pride for all to hear.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Unfazed by the personal nature of his announcement, and knowing how much my friend had hoped this accomplishment would one day be reached, I joined in Patrick’s celebration.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“FOUR TIMES?” I said, dropping my jaw for emphasis.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“FO-AH TIMES!” he squealed. “The fohst one was HUGE!” he exclaimed, holding his hands apart for visual effect.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My friend smiled at me and explained, “It had been almost a week; he had a lot to unload.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But Patrick wasn’t through. “The next one was---“ </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“And now Patrick isn’t afraid of the potty anymore!” she cheerfully interrupted through a tight grin, jumping directly ahead to the end of his play-by-play.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It took all I had to stifle the laughter, but as I walked to the car my New Year’s resolution came to me: to celebrate every achievement in 2010, no matter how HUGE or insignificant, with the same enthusiasm Patrick had, though perhaps not always in public.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-41882382755981720742010-01-13T10:20:00.004-06:002010-01-13T10:48:40.567-06:00Best Care in the Air? (continued)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I wrote to </span></span><a href="http://www.foundation3d.com/gallery/data/511/medium/FISK-imaging-Cubicles.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Midwest Airline's Customer Service Department</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. (</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">It was a [mostly] nice and non-flippant letter. Swear it.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">) That was over a week ago. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I even tried writing to </span></span><a href="http://weeklyjules.blogspot.com/2010/01/tuesdays-with-oprah-best-care-in-air.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Oprah</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></span></span></span></span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Unfortunately no one has responded. Not a word. Not even an automated "we got your email" one.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And, while I did not <i>want</i> to do this, I see no other options. So if anyone out there knows how I can reach Chairman, President and CEO of Republic Airways, Bryan Bedford, please send me the contact information so I can forward the following revisions to his letter in the MyMidwest in-air magazine on behalf of myself, my husband, the other 98 people on the plane, the 25 people who were not allowed to fly, and the flight attendants who gave these revisions their blessing (click on photo to enlarge):</span></span></div><div><br /></div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjuuKqZBbeWXX9MPX-tT2MworsuXofjXEzusK6iORfg19L2sm2McjXkceWl3K5zbQ27tOmtjkanpAQhkNpQSztbC4mjkEz1tO1HhBylsKV7PVEJQNgOlrvgw1FjyOGpkUiP7EaUwVCaLEm/s1600-h/midwestairstress.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 301px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjuuKqZBbeWXX9MPX-tT2MworsuXofjXEzusK6iORfg19L2sm2McjXkceWl3K5zbQ27tOmtjkanpAQhkNpQSztbC4mjkEz1tO1HhBylsKV7PVEJQNgOlrvgw1FjyOGpkUiP7EaUwVCaLEm/s400/midwestairstress.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426264469119357330" /></a><br /><br /><div><div><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-53328570960585233262010-01-07T12:01:00.015-06:002010-01-08T09:30:34.564-06:00What I was Doing New Year's Eve...<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;">The following is true. I could not make it up if I tried...</span><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This New Year’s Eve, and Dave and I, along with our friend Michelle, visited our college friend, Ron in Palm Springs for New Year’s weekend.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“Be sure to wear something nice,” Ron told us before we got dressed for the evening. Dave and I had not been out on New Year’s Eve in many, many years, so I was really looking forward to getting dressed up and counting down with people other than Ryan Seacrest and Dick Clark, hours past my actual bedtime to celebrate the new year.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">With people my own age.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And no kids in sight.</span></span></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VFdGo2HDkBzEfZ1NMcabfCrdjYuvZhG1ZCWIG7lNzGye958lWgJc3LHONz5SyjG5BujnmLTsbfOhwYIPcqi5_AhjyfM__-5019rBdVvwP3TscRkSATceYTPrzvM48b4zUq0ZtmM-o3QN/s1600-h/get-attachment.aspx.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VFdGo2HDkBzEfZ1NMcabfCrdjYuvZhG1ZCWIG7lNzGye958lWgJc3LHONz5SyjG5BujnmLTsbfOhwYIPcqi5_AhjyfM__-5019rBdVvwP3TscRkSATceYTPrzvM48b4zUq0ZtmM-o3QN/s320/get-attachment.aspx.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424387386373745602" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Dave wore black pants and a nice shirt. I wore a short patterned dress with black boots. I even did my hair. Michelle looked stunning in a one-shouldered black dress. Ron wore a plaid vest and matching jacket. </span></span><a href="http://www.kathykhoo.com/images/murse.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And his murse</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Unable to get tickets to the Rolling Stones cover band at Agua Caliente Casino, we opted for a party at </span></span><a href="http://www.rancholaspalmas.com/about/default.asp"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">a nearby resort</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> that featured a DJ, followed by a classic rock cover band.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Our first clue should have been that this venue did not charge a cover.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Our second clue should have been the elderly woman exiting the very upscale resort entrance wearing polka-dot Capri pants and an oxygen tank.</span></span></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNstmx-dmvlhu5Y-xikgi4tbOd6KLvcWq-h9-J2ccnlhNahcX_K46niPP4mtzgxsvfQr6T_Gz8-sQGF5svMv-6yAdZyCCA-FPlCjQBzVid2SVv2TnLu2vlKgVdqB6PHHfY_Noz9XgP3aNz/s1600-h/get-attachment.aspx.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNstmx-dmvlhu5Y-xikgi4tbOd6KLvcWq-h9-J2ccnlhNahcX_K46niPP4mtzgxsvfQr6T_Gz8-sQGF5svMv-6yAdZyCCA-FPlCjQBzVid2SVv2TnLu2vlKgVdqB6PHHfY_Noz9XgP3aNz/s320/get-attachment.aspx.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424385913399795522" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Still, Dave, Michelle and I made our way through the exterior entrance while Ron parked the car, excited about ringing in the new year with dear friends and maybe making some new ones on the dance floor.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We could hear loud music coming from the lobby behind the resort’s front doors.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">With one last primp of the hair and straightening of the dress, we flung open the heavy doors to find…</span></span></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFPWnr7il_0KdR6G-IKGNrkmXoIK5lFlAW_uTCKdzE2Mp-n15dJtc0mu11YlCPovzTudKWo3pS6_RKrsWPRf1jD2HSgJec9gMxFfJOLlBYUx0IEO-IbxltNUKKEZQGVHEL9IQ4G01juZX/s1600-h/get-attachment.aspx.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFPWnr7il_0KdR6G-IKGNrkmXoIK5lFlAW_uTCKdzE2Mp-n15dJtc0mu11YlCPovzTudKWo3pS6_RKrsWPRf1jD2HSgJec9gMxFfJOLlBYUx0IEO-IbxltNUKKEZQGVHEL9IQ4G01juZX/s320/get-attachment.aspx.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424387389950467778" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A bunch of families on vacation filling</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> the lobby floor, surrounded by elderly couples in velvet, sequins and lame` watching everyone cut loose to "Celebration" on the dance floor.</span></span></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgit40DPubqd0d5wkLwNURtZpKV_HkVQxZUWggUUttQaY_KdxFBSxVdDKgwcPUK8Q4ussYzLDvAyz4Vs3qRIKJBXaNvH2Vjsvq_LgrjV_Q34RJ3dqYTaIHh3v_-65ihDKPyW-fLkJgI7j_h/s1600-h/get-attachment.aspx.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgit40DPubqd0d5wkLwNURtZpKV_HkVQxZUWggUUttQaY_KdxFBSxVdDKgwcPUK8Q4ussYzLDvAyz4Vs3qRIKJBXaNvH2Vjsvq_LgrjV_Q34RJ3dqYTaIHh3v_-65ihDKPyW-fLkJgI7j_h/s320/get-attachment.aspx.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424388292280261266" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"It looks like a wedding,” Dave said, as a flock of pre-pubescent boys wearing flannel shirts and sideways baseball caps came tearing through us, sliding on their knees to the dance floor.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Michelle and I couldn’t speak. As dressed up as we were, we looked like 30-something hookers next to the clean-cut all-American families cutting a rug to, at this point, “Hey, Mickey!”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We laughed so hard I not only lost all of my mascara, I nearly lost all of my bladder control too. I made a quick dash to the restroom where I overheard two </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://www.stlstrutters.com/images/military_group2.jpg">elderly women in sequins</a> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">remarking to each other, “This is just the happening place to be!”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Thinking the party for grownups who did not have their kids or their AARP cards with them must be in another part of the resort, we explored the ballrooms (empty) and the back patio (where the 13-17 year olds apparently escaped their parents to go make out while a band covered Beatles songs in Spanish). </span></span><a href="http://fearlessblogger.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/punkd.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We looked around for Ashton Kutcher, thinking we surely were being punk’d</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, but he was nowhere in sight.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Just then, Ron finally showed and rescued us from the Griswold Family Reunion and took us to the casino with an hour to go before midnight, where things were bound to be better...</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Fast-forward to 11:55 pm:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Dave sat in the poker room trying to take pension money from old people (apparently they are mass-produced in Palm Springs) and unable to receive any texts, while Michelle, Ron and I sat at the one bar on the property open to the public, wondering where the poker room was.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This bar faced the main entrance. It was dimly lit with light blue tones. Beyond the bar was a restaurant resembling a Denny’s. There were a couple of drunk businessmen to our left and a couple of gigantic hooters trying to escape some poor girl’s push-up bra to our right, with a throng of young men around her, ready to come to their rescue.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Sipping our drinks out of disposable cups – and looking radiant doing so – the three of us counted down the end of 2009 with our bartender who, we discovered, had not only never heard of the </span></span><a href="http://heathsworld.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/3-company.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Regal Beagle</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, but, three minutes into the new year, would shout, “Last call!”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We finished our drinks and set out to find Dave…</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Dave, meanwhile, sat in the poker room </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">beefing</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">up</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> the pensions of the old people who, at the stroke of midnight, looked out into the rest of the casino and grumbled, “Why are they being so loud?... When are they going to quiet down?... What’s with all the noise out there?”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">After checking in with Dave, Michelle and Ron decided to hit the Blackjack table. I tagged along for moral support and to protect Michelle from the Russian man who seemed to be following her.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But as we made our way to the tables, we found ourselves behind a very elderly woman in a wheelchair, scooting along the packed casino by moving her chair a few inches at a time with her foot.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Ron, being the kind-hearted and concerned gentleman that he is, leaned down to her and asked her if she needed any help.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“WHY, YES I DO, YOUNG MAN!” she shouted in a voice that could best be described as a cross between Marge Simpson and Dick Cheney.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“Are you headed back to your room?” Ron asked (because it was after 1:00 in the morning, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">not</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> because he planned to join her there).</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"NO!” she shouted, “PAI GOW! WE'RE GOING TO PAI GOW!” And she nodded to the Pai Gow table 40 feet to her left.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Then, thrusting her arm in that direction she barked at Ron one last time, “AND YOU CAN GO AS FAST AS YOU WANT!”</span></span></p></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjid1npAo7OS5BVKAMSA2EFB997PpuN-RQaJiCtjm62WgPYx7bJyL2j-jKiABelKigHcgSz5TnhO9rgBbujAew4XVJ3Jjd6ZBxtdPpEAjjzowKZ3I43xcTY0oXk-8lNysEpMpUizHfEM2LZ/s1600-h/19580_1291326916228_1021903749_909466_6336344_n.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjid1npAo7OS5BVKAMSA2EFB997PpuN-RQaJiCtjm62WgPYx7bJyL2j-jKiABelKigHcgSz5TnhO9rgBbujAew4XVJ3Jjd6ZBxtdPpEAjjzowKZ3I43xcTY0oXk-8lNysEpMpUizHfEM2LZ/s400/19580_1291326916228_1021903749_909466_6336344_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424060334826517298" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;">Without delay, Ron wheeled his new BFF to the Pai Gow table, where she joined a friend.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Needless to say, she stayed at the casino much longer than we did. I just hope she came out better with Pai Gow than Dave did at the poker table.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And so I leave you all with the first lesson I learned in this new year...</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:6.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PAI GOW! May 2010 bring you everything you need, as fast as you want.</span></span><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-29843030412690655762009-12-30T07:30:00.002-06:002010-01-05T10:24:25.742-06:00Auld Lang Syne (What IS That?)<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It just occurred to me that we are not simply toasting away another year and welcoming a new one this weekend, but we are about to say goodbye to the very first decade of this millennium.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I know this is probably not news to most of you. Perhaps I am late to the party. If that is the case, I hope you will consider me fashionably so and join me in looking back not just on 2009, but all ten of the years that comprised the… um… Do we have a clever name for this decade yet?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The New Millennium’s First Decade (too wordy?) was ushered in around the world with fireworks, fanfare and zero repercussions from the dreaded Y2K bug.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Fearing every computer on the face of the earth would crash, forcing us to live like pioneers, many greeted the new millennium prepared for disaster. I must confess I had a case of water and new blanket on hand, which I realize in hindsight, would have sustained us for five, maybe six hours. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Fortunately those fears were unwarranted, and as the ball dropped in Times Square it seemed the Oh’s (too vague?) were going to be just fine. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And for a while they were. Jennifer and Brad were happily married, Britney was voted Best New Artist and Tom and Nicole celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Of course that was one Angelina, one K-Fed and one too many jumps on Oprah’s couch ago, back when Sopranos sang in choirs, Billy Ray was the only Cyrus and Paris was simply a city in France. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yep, much changed during the Aughts (too retro?), and I’m not just talking about a certain Tiger and his stripes.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Decade 0.0 (too tech-y?) gave birth to texting and tweeting, Survivors and Losers, low-carb diets and High School Musicals. Madonna went British, Demi went cougar and everyone went green.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Thanks to DVRs, YouTube, and TMZ, we witnessed more events first-hand during this decade than any other. We cheered on Lance to jersey after jersey, watched Susan Boyle melt Simon’s cold heart, and elected eight Idols without ever leaving home. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We learned about wardrobe malfunctions, we knew who at any given point had or had not put a ring on what, and, OMG, we spoke in acronyms. (Sorry, BFF’s, TMI?)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But the decade-we-have-yet-to-name wasn’t all Phelps and games. There were disasters ranging from merely Gosselin to downright gruesome in nature.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Someday we will share with our children’s children those deeply etched memories of the decade’s darker hours. Where we were on September 11</span></span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Or the time a storm named Katrina tried to swallow New Orleans. Or the day the Moonwalk died.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not this week, though.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This week is not to be spent worrying about the past. This week is to be spent curled up under our Snuggies with our iPods and Red Bull, looking forward to a new (though likely also nameless) decade, dreaming of all it might hold. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Or, at least, that’s what she said.</span></span><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-76333052396393320872009-12-23T07:45:00.002-06:002009-12-23T07:48:06.315-06:00A Christmas Carol ('09)<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Jolly Old St. Nicholas, lean you ear this way...</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I've been busting my tail to be ready Christmas Day.</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Fighting crowds at Target, hanging lights upon the tree,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Even baking cookies (what has gotten into me?)</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Narrowing the wish list of my diva, Caroline,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Down to just a few things from six-hundred-forty-nine,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Hunting down the presents that my son hopes to receive,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Wishing that my daughter in fifth grade could still believe.</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Trying to decide just what to get for my pre-teen</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Teenage girls are tough, dear Santa, you know what I mean.</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Switching cash and credit to throw Husband off my trail,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Trying to get Christmas cards all stamped and in the mail.</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Eating all the cookies and the candy neighbors make,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Knowing I'll regret each bite that I can't help but take,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Braving freezing wind chills to light up my new fake deer,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Hopefully the head will work this time (unlike last year!)</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Decking all the halls with boughs of something red & green,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Finding Baby Jesus, kidnapped from the manger scene.</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Muppets and John Denver fill the air the whole month long,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">("Noel: Christmas Eve 1913"'s my favorite song)</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Setting up the TiVo to record the season's shows</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Watching Chevy Chase light up his house until it glows,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rooting for the Grinch and hearing Polar bells' sweet rings,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Every time a leg lamp's lit an angel gets his wings.</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Going in for flu shots that we haven't gotten yet</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(Don't you worry, Santa, our deductible's been met.)</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">One last task to finish now, before it gets too late:</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Find a New Year's sitter who won't charge a hooker's rate.</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Just a few days left now before you come flying by</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(Would you rather have leftover cookies or some pie?)</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'd just like to tell you, Santa, while I have your ear,</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Have a Merry Christmas and a very Happy Year!</span></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-17874850218814009482009-12-16T08:42:00.003-06:002009-12-21T08:06:06.490-06:00Fun with Holiday Cards<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b>(Scroll down a few inches for this week's story)</b></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Can't get enough of holiday card fun? Neither can I. And neither can my buddy, Sassy Britches, who lays out some valuable rules in her blog. </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><a href="http://wellokaysassybritches.blogspot.com/2009/12/holiday-card-time-is-here-again.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>CLICK HERE for her brilliant analysis!</i></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><i><br /></i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-4277358818178130772009-12-16T08:28:00.003-06:002009-12-16T08:56:19.810-06:00Say Cheese!<div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">It is the most important picture any mother will take of her children all year, the photo that is viewed more than any other, the photo that defines the family:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The Holiday Card Photo</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I vividly remember my dear mom dragging our family to the mall in August of 1982, all six of us decked out in turtlenecks and matching reindeer sweaters, to take advantage of the summer portrait package. Mom thought ahead in every way, taking the picture, saving money, and getting it done early. Every way except the fact that, by the time we trudged across the 115-degree parking lot in full-on winter attire, our summer tans had melted away to a clammy shade of pale.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The photo still sits in her house today.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">While experience wasn’t pleasant, I did learn two valuable lessons. The first, to never wear neck-to-toe polyester in the summer, and the second, to always plan ahead for the holiday card.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">And so year after year, with every new experience and celebration, I shoot away in hopes of taking what will become THE holiday card shot. This year we posed in the snow, at the park, at the Hutchinson Salt Mines, at the beach, and on our front porch, all to no avail.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">It was while tailgating before the KU-OU football game, all of us dressed in crimson and blue and glowing in the beauty of autumn in Lawrence, Kansas, that I decided </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">this</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> would be the setting for the Dunlap Family’s 2009 holiday card photo.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I scouted the hill until I found the perfect spot with Memorial Stadium as our backdrop and Kansas-blue skies above. After carefully arranging my husband and four kids for the photo, I found a young guy who seemed capable of working a camera and asked him to help us.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">“No pressure,” I told him, “but this one is for the holiday card, so make it good!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I jumped in with my crew and smiled for the camera, but the photographer wasn’t satisfied. “Let’s try another,” he smiled. He took another picture. And another. And another, laughing more and more after each one. Apparently he had never seen such a cheerful and photogenic family.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Or so I thought.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">It was not until we got home that I saw what he had seen.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">While the rest of us were looking straight ahead, facing the camera with gleaming smiles,<a href="http://weeklyjules.blogspot.com/2009/04/spring-break-09-part-ii-in-rocks-with.html">Caroline</a>, our six-year-old who is known to march to her own drummer, had her head cocked to the side, her eyes crossed, and her tongue sticking out. Every. Single. Shot.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Not a single photo of our crimson and blue family without Caroline hijacking it in the whole series.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">After a split second of fury I burst out laughing, as I realized I was about to send out our best holiday card ever...</span></p></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjeYjOojHU4lzUTQISYQnmqBjUibhhp9Y37GZK1OtQ8ylM1UtctLSgMQEtDBLvwO00HtbCHohvsmK1maXFiIW2cKuxl95CXfsfvfR3j8bnjXCJzvPSjRpG6A8mTgZryVI-tZGXe98GLokZ/s1600-h/IMG_1803.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjeYjOojHU4lzUTQISYQnmqBjUibhhp9Y37GZK1OtQ8ylM1UtctLSgMQEtDBLvwO00HtbCHohvsmK1maXFiIW2cKuxl95CXfsfvfR3j8bnjXCJzvPSjRpG6A8mTgZryVI-tZGXe98GLokZ/s320/IMG_1803.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415843914950214690" /></a><div><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:10.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><br /></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3773028880824992640.post-42703118654770651862009-12-09T08:53:00.004-06:002009-12-14T09:47:28.933-06:00Some (pre-)Assembly Required<p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">‘Twas the night before Christmas…<?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And while the children were nestled all snug in their beds, Dave and I stealthily pulled out the toys Santa had carefully hidden, unaware of how under qualified we were for the job ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We cruised along, setting up ponies and pet shops and girl toys galore, but the showstopper of the spread was the “some assembly required” Spiderman Tower of Fun for our son, complete with an air-powered zip line and superhero launch pad. We could not wait to see the look on his face the next morning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">By 12:30 a.m. we had freed the last Polly Pocket from her packaging and were ready to tackle the Tower of Fun. Dave searched the house for screwdrivers while I pried open the box. Parts spilled out onto the floor, each securely wrapped and clearly marked --- with a Japanese character. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin">Hmmm</span></i><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin">, I thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">I wonder why these are marked in Japanese?<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My question was answered as I unfolded the poster-sized paper with step-by-step instructions and photos of a person (who, I might add, did not look happy) assembling the Tower of Fun. They were detailed and in order --- and written entirely in Japanese.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I flipped the poster over, expecting to find English, or even Spanish, hoping those three semesters in college where I learned how to find the library, announce my plans to visit a beach with friends, and order a beer would also enable me to assemble a Tower of Fun.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But the only English words on the poster read, “WARNING: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>Failure to properly assemble could result in serious – VERY SERIOUS – injury. Follow ALL directions, EXACTLY as written, or your child will surely lose an appendage. DON’T MESS THIS ONE UP!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dave returned with two screwdrivers to find his pale wife under the tree staring at a pile of miscellaneous parts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“It looks like the blue thing goes on the red thing first,” I said, looking at the picture.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“How can you tell?” Dave said, “The picture is in black-and-white.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">By 1:35 a.m. the tower was nearly halfway complete. We still did not know how to attach the power tube to the launch pad, but we did notice all of our neighbors had shut off their lights.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">By 2:00 a.m. we had considered and ruled out the option of burning the Tower of Fun and wrapping up one of Luke’s toys from the year before instead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">By 2:40 a.m. we had run out of things to say and had stopped speaking to each other.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">By 3:19 a.m. the (expletive) Tower of Fun was upright and mostly functional in spite of the handful of leftover parts. We were the last elves standing, bags like stockings hanging under our eyes, and resolved to never repeat the Tower of ’05…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For I heard Dave exclaim, as we both hit the hay, “We won’t do this next year, no how and no way!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></i></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Dedicated to my parents and parents everywhere; and the “some assembly required” Millennium Falcon of ’84.</span><o:p></o:p></i></p><!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8