I know what you're probably thinking. You're probably thinking:
Hey genius, chickens live in a 'coop', not a 'coup'.
And my response would be:
Stop being so condescending. And I know that chickens live in a coop, but these chickens are literally TRYING TO TAKE OVER MY LIFE! I'm caught in the midst of a chicken COUP!
Oh wait? You thought I was joking when I said that Rach wanted to get chickens, didn't you? Why on earth would I joke about Rach wanting to get a bunch of chickens and build a chicken coop for them in the back of our garage? Why would I joke about that?
So yes, Rach went out and bought 4 baby chickens. And yes, they sleep in our room. And yes, they really do chirp all night long. And yes, I wake up 400 times throughout the middle of the night thinking that it's morning time on a farm. And yes, I think all of this is crazy. And yes, this is a recent photo of Rach and I.
People who know and love my wife often ask me how I can stay calm in the face of one of Rach's ridiculous plans. It's quite simple, actually. As soon as Rach starts telling me about one of her hair-brain schemes (For example, I want to raise chickens in our garage so we don't have to buy eggs anymore......), I just start looking around for cameras. No, seriously. I start checking the walls, the lights, the air-conditioning vents; any place that has a good vantage point that you would be able to hide a tiny camera. Because it is hard for me to believe that Rach is unilaterally coming up with some of these hijinks. I'm convinced that I'm the subject of something along the lines of The Truman Show. I'm not even joking. Rach starts diving into her plan to raise chickens, and I immediately think of Ed Harris sitting up in his moon studio, coming up with ridiculous plot arcs just to get ratings. Rach is describing how she's going to cut a hole in the back wall of the garage, and I'm mentally retracing my childhood to make sure that none of my friends were actually actors.
Anyway, just to stay engaged in the conversation, I ask Rach, "Well what are these chickens going to eat?"
And she responds in a I-can't-believe-you-don't-know-this kind of way, "Pffft, I mean, there's more stuff that they can eat than stuff that they can't eat."
Wait? What? What does that even mean? Does that mean that these free-loading chickens are going to start digging in my refrigerator? Am I going to have to start competing with the chickens for the last piece of......steak? (Ooops, I almost said chicken). Do we just feed them hot dogs and macaroni and cheese every night like we do to the other kids? There's so many questions.
So then Rach starts telling me how she is going to--correction-- how she already cut a hole in the back of the garage so that she can build an indoor/outdoor chicken coop for LuLu, Lola, Lyla, and Sassafrass. (Yes, those are the chicken's names. There's no end to this ridiculousness. Jax wanted to name one of them Uncle B-Lo, but I'm not sure if my brother would've gotten offended or not.) Anyway, as Rach is telling me about the indoor/outdoor chicken coop, I am looking at her the same way that I would be looking at a unicorn that was telling me this same story; just utter disbelief. She senses my disbelief, so she says, "No really, I talked to your dad about it already. He thinks it's a great idea. He's going to help me build the chicken coop!"
I hear this, and the first thought that pops into my head was, "Oh, great. There are exactly TWO people on planet Earth that do NOT think this is crazy; I'm married to one of them, and I share 50% of my DNA with the other. What chance do I have to be sane? I should just give up."
But in all seriousness, she really does love these chickens (okay, maybe not in 'all seriousness'). I know she loves the chickens, because she tells me all the time. She'll say things like, "I love these chickens. Look at how cute they are. Look. Seriously, look at them. Look at them! I mean, really, have you ever seen anything so cute?" And I want to say, "Actually, YES! Yes, I have!" But I don't. I just smile, and stare at it the way that I would stare at pictures of a stranger's baby. Maybe they're a little cute right now because they're so small, but chickens don't stay cute. You don't ever see paintings of chickens playing poker. Nobody makes full calendars of cute little chickens playing with balls of yarn. They're not traditionally adorable animals.
And it throws me off when she asks me questions like, "What do you think they're thinking about right now?" And of course, my response is, "Well, if I had to guess, I'd say HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY THIRSTY I HAVE TO POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY!"
That's probably what they're thinking, but this is what we humans hear: CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHEEP CHIRP CHIRP!
Then, the other night, when I actually started typing up this blog, Rach was on the internet trying to figure out why LuLu has indigestion (I swear, I couldn't make this stuff up). So Mrs. Old McDonald and I had this exchange:
Rach: Oh, look, here's a lady that is having problems with her chicks too.
Me: What website is that?
Rach: It's, umm, www.backyardchickens.com
Me: Oh, really? Someone at backyardchickens.com is having problems with their chickens? How silly of me to think that this whole chicken fiasco is ludicrous.....
So there's an entire website devoted to raising chickens in your backyard. Something tells me that this is not what Al Gore had in mind when he invented the internet. But it got me to thinking: What if Rach is on to something? What if the whole world really has gone crazy? What if our economic system DOES collapse in the next five years and we're forced to live off of the land? Maybe we SHOULD take steps to be prepared. Maybe owning chickens in our backyard is the LEAST crazy thing that I could do. Now if you'll excuse me, Rach and I are going to look at a goat that we found on craigslist. Isn't she the cutest thing you've ever seen?
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
A King-Sized Salvation.........
About two and a half years ago, Rach started dragging me to church. And when I say dragging, I mean dragging. Most of the time, I would stop short of kicking the dirt; whining and crying and throwing a tantrum like a 2 year old who just got told he can't ride the merry-go-round outside of Wal-Mart because he's too young to understand that you don't touch anything at Wal-Mart that you don't have to. MOST of the time I wouldn't react like that, but I would try to sabotage the church outing. It was easy at first. I just wouldn't wake Rach up. I would 'accidentally' sleep past my alarm (even though I wake up at 4:45 every morning with or without an alarm). But Rach wouldn't buy it. She'd get mad at me. And if there's one thing in life that I try to avoid, it's Rach getting mad at me (if there's two things, it's Rach getting mad at me.......and cockroaches), which made my life miserable. So then I started to wake her up, but I would use her sleepiness against her. In my quietest, sweetest voice imaginable, I'd whisper, "Rach, Rach, It's 7:30. Do you want to wake up? Or keep sleeping?" And she'd let out a bear-like grunt. Then I'd say, "Grunt one more time if you want to keep sleeping." She'd let out another grunt, and I'd go to the gym. But she would still get mad at me. And my life would still be miserable.
So then I figured, Eh, it's probably just a phase. Rach goes through crazy phases like this all the time. For instance, lately she's been convinced that the entire world economic system is going down in flames. And she's probably right about that. But the crazy part is that she wants to convert our garage into a chicken coup, and hide goats in our backyard so that way we can have eggs and milk after the apocalypse. For mine and my neighbors' sake, I'm hoping this is just a phase. Because I can foresee myself three years from now, sitting in my backyard, trying to milk my goat, wondering where my life went wrong, and then my neighbor comes over to tell me to stop letting my chickens crap in his yard.
So anyway, we went to a couple of different churches, but just couldn't find one that we liked.....or that could keep me awake. After about 5 different snore-fest churches, we found one that was more my speed. The first thing I noticed when I walked through the front door was a full service coffee shop style cafe with homemade muffins. HOMEMADE MUFFINS! And it must've been around Thanksgiving time, because there was a sign on the wall advertising for the new Pumpkin Spice Smoothie. So at first, I didn't look at it so much as 'going to church' as I did 'eating a banana nut muffin and drinking a pumpkin spice smoothie'. So every Sunday, I'd get my muffin and my smoothie, and we'd go up to the balcony to watch the service. And apart from the deliciousness of this church, the production value was astounding. Week after week, the pastor would make me laugh, there would be something like a 70 person musical act, some kind of dramatic performance, and a message at the end that tied it all together.
And more and more I started to relate to the message; the relationship building, the marriage tips, the importance of family, the roles of parenting, the community involvement. It turned into a weekly life-coaching session. A sort of guide to help me be a role model to my kids. I've never been a religious person. I didn't grow up in the church. And I've read all the stories about corrupt churches and morally questionable church leaders. I'vve had a hard time fully immersing myself into the idea that Jesus was anything but just a great man. But this church; this church was helping me become a better person. And for a long time, I was able to separate the 'good deeds' message from the Jesus message. I didn't have to believe EVERYTHING, did I?
And I went on feeling this way up until about 2 weeks ago, when Rach was in Israel. (Read more about that here) During the Sunday service while she was gone, they showed a video message from Israel of our head pastor. As I was watching, I kept hoping they'd pan out and show Rach, just so I could see her, but they didn't. But I remember thinking that seeing that video, and being in the church made me feel a lot closer to her. She had dragged me to that church for so long, that it felt like she was there with me. The service ended, and we left, and I didn't really think about it much after that. But the following Wednesday, I got a strange call from one of the pastors at the church, Luke. It was weird, I had never spoken to him directly, but I immediately recognized his voice over the phone from all of the speeches that he's given over the past few years. He proceeded to tell me that they were putting together the Easter production, and one of the other pastors said that I would be a perfect fit for one of the parts. He said,
"Hey, uh, I was talking with Dave, and we feel, with your physique, and your look, that you would would make a great, umm, Satan."
I quickly responded with, "So Dave thinks I look like Satan, huh?" But only kidding.
Anyway, we talked for a minute about the role, and what it involved, and we decided to meet up at the church later that night to meet with he and his wife, Megan. And I immediately began to think of that past Sunday, and how I felt being at the church. This couldn't be an accident, could it? Then I started thinking of ways that this could all be part of one of Rach's mastermind schemes, and that she was just tugging on her puppet strings from halfway around the earth. But either way, what are the chances that they call me NOW, when I seemingly needed it the most?
And so I start thinking to myself: there has got to be a reason for this. Just like there's a reason for everything else that has happened in my life up to this point. There's a reason that I'm not dead or in jail for some of the stuff that I used to do. There's a reason that Rach decided to take a chance on a smart, lazy guy with no car or no job that lived with his parents (well, maybe there's not a reason for that. That still seems like a bad decision to me). But there is a reason that we've been blessed with so much. I refuse to believe that I'm just really lucky.
And so I get to the church that night, and everyone I meet seems unbelievably welcoming, and warm, and positive. And I felt that same feeling wash over me that I had felt on Sunday. That feeling of comfort, and of closeness. That comfort level allowed me to talk to Megan and Luke as if I had known them for years, even though we had just met. I told them about our family, and about my struggles with my faith, and how I was just starting to 'get it'. Even though I don't fully know what 'it' is.
So then I figured, Eh, it's probably just a phase. Rach goes through crazy phases like this all the time. For instance, lately she's been convinced that the entire world economic system is going down in flames. And she's probably right about that. But the crazy part is that she wants to convert our garage into a chicken coup, and hide goats in our backyard so that way we can have eggs and milk after the apocalypse. For mine and my neighbors' sake, I'm hoping this is just a phase. Because I can foresee myself three years from now, sitting in my backyard, trying to milk my goat, wondering where my life went wrong, and then my neighbor comes over to tell me to stop letting my chickens crap in his yard.
So anyway, we went to a couple of different churches, but just couldn't find one that we liked.....or that could keep me awake. After about 5 different snore-fest churches, we found one that was more my speed. The first thing I noticed when I walked through the front door was a full service coffee shop style cafe with homemade muffins. HOMEMADE MUFFINS! And it must've been around Thanksgiving time, because there was a sign on the wall advertising for the new Pumpkin Spice Smoothie. So at first, I didn't look at it so much as 'going to church' as I did 'eating a banana nut muffin and drinking a pumpkin spice smoothie'. So every Sunday, I'd get my muffin and my smoothie, and we'd go up to the balcony to watch the service. And apart from the deliciousness of this church, the production value was astounding. Week after week, the pastor would make me laugh, there would be something like a 70 person musical act, some kind of dramatic performance, and a message at the end that tied it all together.
And more and more I started to relate to the message; the relationship building, the marriage tips, the importance of family, the roles of parenting, the community involvement. It turned into a weekly life-coaching session. A sort of guide to help me be a role model to my kids. I've never been a religious person. I didn't grow up in the church. And I've read all the stories about corrupt churches and morally questionable church leaders. I'vve had a hard time fully immersing myself into the idea that Jesus was anything but just a great man. But this church; this church was helping me become a better person. And for a long time, I was able to separate the 'good deeds' message from the Jesus message. I didn't have to believe EVERYTHING, did I?
And I went on feeling this way up until about 2 weeks ago, when Rach was in Israel. (Read more about that here) During the Sunday service while she was gone, they showed a video message from Israel of our head pastor. As I was watching, I kept hoping they'd pan out and show Rach, just so I could see her, but they didn't. But I remember thinking that seeing that video, and being in the church made me feel a lot closer to her. She had dragged me to that church for so long, that it felt like she was there with me. The service ended, and we left, and I didn't really think about it much after that. But the following Wednesday, I got a strange call from one of the pastors at the church, Luke. It was weird, I had never spoken to him directly, but I immediately recognized his voice over the phone from all of the speeches that he's given over the past few years. He proceeded to tell me that they were putting together the Easter production, and one of the other pastors said that I would be a perfect fit for one of the parts. He said,
"Hey, uh, I was talking with Dave, and we feel, with your physique, and your look, that you would would make a great, umm, Satan."
I quickly responded with, "So Dave thinks I look like Satan, huh?" But only kidding.
Anyway, we talked for a minute about the role, and what it involved, and we decided to meet up at the church later that night to meet with he and his wife, Megan. And I immediately began to think of that past Sunday, and how I felt being at the church. This couldn't be an accident, could it? Then I started thinking of ways that this could all be part of one of Rach's mastermind schemes, and that she was just tugging on her puppet strings from halfway around the earth. But either way, what are the chances that they call me NOW, when I seemingly needed it the most?
And so I start thinking to myself: there has got to be a reason for this. Just like there's a reason for everything else that has happened in my life up to this point. There's a reason that I'm not dead or in jail for some of the stuff that I used to do. There's a reason that Rach decided to take a chance on a smart, lazy guy with no car or no job that lived with his parents (well, maybe there's not a reason for that. That still seems like a bad decision to me). But there is a reason that we've been blessed with so much. I refuse to believe that I'm just really lucky.
And so I get to the church that night, and everyone I meet seems unbelievably welcoming, and warm, and positive. And I felt that same feeling wash over me that I had felt on Sunday. That feeling of comfort, and of closeness. That comfort level allowed me to talk to Megan and Luke as if I had known them for years, even though we had just met. I told them about our family, and about my struggles with my faith, and how I was just starting to 'get it'. Even though I don't fully know what 'it' is.
After the meeting, we decided that I'd go ahead and try to be Satan, but if I didn't feel comfortable, or if they thought I was terrible, that I didn't have to do it, no hard feelings. A few days later, at the first rehearsal, I was amazed at all of the gifted young people that they have at this church. Singers, dancers, musicians; you name it, they got it. It was unbelievable. I figured that even if I was terrible, they had enough talented people in the building that no one would even notice. And it was interesting to peel back the onion a little bit and witness the kind of effort that went into all of those productions that I had been watching over the last few years.
And after the first practice, Luke pulled me aside to talk. He wanted to make sure that I was comfortable being Satan (or acting like Satan, I'm not actually BEING Satan). We talked about the meaning of the play, and the message. And then he asked me, "How long have you been a Christian?" And I really didn't know how to answer. I hadn't really been a Christian. Sure I had been baptized, and I received my first communion, but I had never made a conscious decision as an adult to put God first. But I do know this, for the past six or so years, I've made a concerted effort to be a great father, and a great husband. To put Racheal first. To put my kids first. To put my family first. I've wanted to be the perfect husband. I've wanted to be the perfect dad. But I'm not. I am a failure. I've been trying my absolute best for 6 years, and I've failed. I am not perfect. I make mistakes. I make mistakes all the time. Just ask Rach, she'll tell you. She may even have them alphabetized. But God doesn't care about my mistakes. He just wants me to keep trying. He's got my back, whether I'm aware of it or not. No matter how far away from Him I've gotten, He's been there for me. And that's when I decided, that I would like to thank Him for that. I'd like to honor him for watching out for me.
And so I looked at Luke and said, "I don't know. I don't think I have been a Christian. I think I'm ready to, but I'm not really even sure how I would go about doing it." And he said very matter of fact, "Well are you ready now?"
And without any fanfare, or any ceremony, or any fireworks, Luke put his hand on my shoulder, and he prayed for me. And just like that, I gave my life to God. I accepted Jesus Christ into my heart. I am a Christian. If you knew me ten years ago, you probably won't believe it. But it's true. Rach's 3 year plan has finally come to fruition. (She's like a long-haired Yoda).
And as my first act to honor Jesus, I'm going to be Satan. And I'm excited about it. This production is going to be amazing. I think everyone should come check it out. If you want to see a great Easter service, or if you want to see a great show, or if you just want to come see me dressed as Satan, or if you like Pumpkin Spiced Smoothies, or if you know my wife and you don't want her to be mad at you, I think you should come.
We're doing 4 shows this weekend at Cathedral of Praise on Ashley Phosphate. You can get more info here. I hope to see you there.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The King-Sized Longing......
As most of you already know, Rach is in Israel right now. Yes, that's right, Israel. Trust me, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking,
'Really?! She went to Israel now?! Does she have any idea what is going on over there right now?!'
But don't get confused, Israel was not her first choice for a vacation. But apparently there weren't too many flights going to Libya or Japan right now. Just kidding. I realize that it's not exactly an ideal time to be traveling to the middle east right now, but Rach has been wanting to go for years. And if she waited to go to Israel until there was peace in the middle east; well that would be like postponing your Mardi Gras trip because you're waiting for New Orleans to adopt prohibition. It's just not gonna happen.
Anyway, I'm sure your next question would be,
'How on earth would you let your wife go to Israel by herself?'
And my response would be, If you think that I've ever 'let' Racheal do anything, then you don't really know her too well. I 'let' Racheal do stuff about like the coyote 'let' the roadrunner get away. There's not much I could do about it. Besides, we talked about it back in September when she was thinking about going. In fact, we had this conversation:
Rach: The church is going to Israel in April. I really want to go. Would you want to go?
Me (Using the default high pitch voice that you only use when you're stalling; trying to come up with an excuse, and as you repeat yourself, your voice gets higher and higher. And you end up sounding like a mix between Adam Lambert and Rain Man.): Oh, Israel? Umm yeah. Yeah, absolutely, yeah, definitely. Definitely Israel.
Rach (sniffing out my lie like a drug dog): Really? Would you really want to go?
Me: Umm, no, not really. I don't think I'd like to go.
Rach: You really wouldn't want to go?! Why Not!?!
Me (now just trying to stay above water): Well, you know what? Maybe I do want to go. It could be fun. Yes, I think I would like to go.
Rach (At this point, she's working my brain like a speed bag): Do you want to go because you really want to go? Or do you want to go because you don't want me to go by myself?
Me (waving the white flag): Umm, pretty much because I don't want you to go by yourself.
Rach: Well I don't want you to go if you're just going to ruin my trip...
Ouch. Ruin her trip? At first, that seemed pretty harsh. But it only took me 2 seconds to picture myself in Israel, taking a tour of some ancient temple in the desert; waiting until the end of the tour, then raising my hand, and in my best Pee-Wee Herman voice, saying, "Where's the basement? Aren't we going to see the basement?" And then Rach looking at me in disgust. And then I thought to myself how many Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome references I'd make. Or how many times I'd quote History of the World: Part III. And then I realized that, yes, I would definitely ruin her trip.
Besides, logistically, it made sense. If I didn't go, we didn't have to find babysitters for the kids. And it cut the trip expenses in half. So that was that. It was decided. Rach was going to Israel. For ten days. Which is an incredibly long time for us. It's the longest amount of time that we've been apart since we got married. So this whole week, it's just been me, the kids, and my parents; who moved up here last week. Well, by 'moved up here', I mean they have their camper parked in my driveway, Eddie Griswold style. My dad and I could've had this conversation.
Clark: So, when did you get the tenament on wheels?
Eddie: Oh, that uh, that there's an RV. Yeah, yeah, I borrowed it off a buddy of mine. He took my house, I took the RV. It's a good looking vehicle, ain't it?
Clark: Yeah, it looks so nice parked in the driveway.
[Raises glass to his mouth]
Eddie: Yeah, it sure does. But, don't you go falling in love with it now, because, we're taking it with us when we leave here next month.
I'm just kidding. Actually, my parents have been great. My dad gets up and brings the kids to school and picks them up. My mom brings Scarlett to dance practice. I've got it made. I haven't had to cook dinner one time since they got here. It's like I'm on my own mini vacation (without the 16 hour flight). Sadly, though, most of my vacation has been spent thinking about my wife. All day long, I look at the clock and add 7 hours, just to see what she might be doing. When I wake up, I think, 'Oh, I bet she's eating lunch.' When I'm eating lunch, I think 'She must be getting to her hotel right about now.' And I've even been waking up at night at around 11 or 12 just because that's around the time she'd be waking up in the morning. I know, it's sad. But don't laugh, I think this is probably what dogs do when their humans go on vacation. Just pacing around the house; going from one couch to another; getting water, making long, pathetic sighs, "HHhhhhhhhhhhggggmmmmm". The only difference between me and a lonely dog is that I have a job.....and a gym membership. Seriously, I've never gotten so much work done, or played so much basketball as I have this week. It's the only thing that I can do to keep my mind off of her.
And I'm not just saying this because I know that she'll read it. I really do mean it. I really do miss her. It IS somewhat comforting to think, though, that after 5 years of marriage, I want nothing more than to be with my wife. I know it sounds hokey. But a lot of people don't get there. A lot of people don't get to say that. And then I start to think to myself, 'Maybe I should've gone with her. Maybe I should've just sucked it up and pretend to enjoy myself just to be with her.' But then, just as I'm second guessing my decision to stay on American soil, Rach sends me this text message:
"I can't wait to bring you back here next year"
And I immediately think to myself, "Noooooooooooooo!!!!"
And then I think, "Well, at least I have a year to think up an excuse this time."
And then I think, "And maybe I'll just be able to copy and paste this blog post."
And then I think, "Or maybe she'll change her mind."
And then I think back on this past week and think, "Or maybe I should just go get my passport".
'Really?! She went to Israel now?! Does she have any idea what is going on over there right now?!'
But don't get confused, Israel was not her first choice for a vacation. But apparently there weren't too many flights going to Libya or Japan right now. Just kidding. I realize that it's not exactly an ideal time to be traveling to the middle east right now, but Rach has been wanting to go for years. And if she waited to go to Israel until there was peace in the middle east; well that would be like postponing your Mardi Gras trip because you're waiting for New Orleans to adopt prohibition. It's just not gonna happen.
Anyway, I'm sure your next question would be,
'How on earth would you let your wife go to Israel by herself?'
And my response would be, If you think that I've ever 'let' Racheal do anything, then you don't really know her too well. I 'let' Racheal do stuff about like the coyote 'let' the roadrunner get away. There's not much I could do about it. Besides, we talked about it back in September when she was thinking about going. In fact, we had this conversation:
Rach: The church is going to Israel in April. I really want to go. Would you want to go?
Me (Using the default high pitch voice that you only use when you're stalling; trying to come up with an excuse, and as you repeat yourself, your voice gets higher and higher. And you end up sounding like a mix between Adam Lambert and Rain Man.): Oh, Israel? Umm yeah. Yeah, absolutely, yeah, definitely. Definitely Israel.
Rach (sniffing out my lie like a drug dog): Really? Would you really want to go?
Me: Umm, no, not really. I don't think I'd like to go.
Rach: You really wouldn't want to go?! Why Not!?!
Me (now just trying to stay above water): Well, you know what? Maybe I do want to go. It could be fun. Yes, I think I would like to go.
Rach (At this point, she's working my brain like a speed bag): Do you want to go because you really want to go? Or do you want to go because you don't want me to go by myself?
Me (waving the white flag): Umm, pretty much because I don't want you to go by yourself.
Rach: Well I don't want you to go if you're just going to ruin my trip...
Ouch. Ruin her trip? At first, that seemed pretty harsh. But it only took me 2 seconds to picture myself in Israel, taking a tour of some ancient temple in the desert; waiting until the end of the tour, then raising my hand, and in my best Pee-Wee Herman voice, saying, "Where's the basement? Aren't we going to see the basement?" And then Rach looking at me in disgust. And then I thought to myself how many Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome references I'd make. Or how many times I'd quote History of the World: Part III. And then I realized that, yes, I would definitely ruin her trip.
Besides, logistically, it made sense. If I didn't go, we didn't have to find babysitters for the kids. And it cut the trip expenses in half. So that was that. It was decided. Rach was going to Israel. For ten days. Which is an incredibly long time for us. It's the longest amount of time that we've been apart since we got married. So this whole week, it's just been me, the kids, and my parents; who moved up here last week. Well, by 'moved up here', I mean they have their camper parked in my driveway, Eddie Griswold style. My dad and I could've had this conversation.
Clark: So, when did you get the tenament on wheels?
Eddie: Oh, that uh, that there's an RV. Yeah, yeah, I borrowed it off a buddy of mine. He took my house, I took the RV. It's a good looking vehicle, ain't it?
Clark: Yeah, it looks so nice parked in the driveway.
[Raises glass to his mouth]
Eddie: Yeah, it sure does. But, don't you go falling in love with it now, because, we're taking it with us when we leave here next month.
I'm just kidding. Actually, my parents have been great. My dad gets up and brings the kids to school and picks them up. My mom brings Scarlett to dance practice. I've got it made. I haven't had to cook dinner one time since they got here. It's like I'm on my own mini vacation (without the 16 hour flight). Sadly, though, most of my vacation has been spent thinking about my wife. All day long, I look at the clock and add 7 hours, just to see what she might be doing. When I wake up, I think, 'Oh, I bet she's eating lunch.' When I'm eating lunch, I think 'She must be getting to her hotel right about now.' And I've even been waking up at night at around 11 or 12 just because that's around the time she'd be waking up in the morning. I know, it's sad. But don't laugh, I think this is probably what dogs do when their humans go on vacation. Just pacing around the house; going from one couch to another; getting water, making long, pathetic sighs, "HHhhhhhhhhhhggggmmmmm". The only difference between me and a lonely dog is that I have a job.....and a gym membership. Seriously, I've never gotten so much work done, or played so much basketball as I have this week. It's the only thing that I can do to keep my mind off of her.
And I'm not just saying this because I know that she'll read it. I really do mean it. I really do miss her. It IS somewhat comforting to think, though, that after 5 years of marriage, I want nothing more than to be with my wife. I know it sounds hokey. But a lot of people don't get there. A lot of people don't get to say that. And then I start to think to myself, 'Maybe I should've gone with her. Maybe I should've just sucked it up and pretend to enjoy myself just to be with her.' But then, just as I'm second guessing my decision to stay on American soil, Rach sends me this text message:
"I can't wait to bring you back here next year"
And I immediately think to myself, "Noooooooooooooo!!!!"
And then I think, "Well, at least I have a year to think up an excuse this time."
And then I think, "And maybe I'll just be able to copy and paste this blog post."
And then I think, "Or maybe she'll change her mind."
And then I think back on this past week and think, "Or maybe I should just go get my passport".
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The King-Sized Alarm Clock.....
I don't really require a whole lot of sleep. I usually try to go to bed between 10 and 10:30, and Rach usually lets me go to sleep by at least 11:30. What are we doing for that hour, you ask? It usually goes something like this:
10:15 pm - I fall asleep.
10:16 pm - After just coming out of the bathroom, Rach says, "Hey babe, can you go turn off the bathroom light?"
10:17 pm - I return from the bathroom and get back into bed.
10:18 pm - I fall asleep again.
10:19 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, have you seen the cat? I think she's outside. Can you go let her in?"
10:24 pm - After finding the cat, I return to bed.
10:25 pm - I fall asleep.
10:26 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, can you go put Jaxon back in his bed?"
10:28 pm - I carry Jax to his room, and return to bed.
10:30 pm - I fall asleep.
10:37 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, would you rather have another baby? Or a new house?"
10:57 pm - We wrap up that gem of a conversation, and I fall asleep.
10:58 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, can you rub my back until I fall asleep?"
11:14 pm - Fingers cramped, Rach falls asleep.
11:15 pm - I fall asleep.
You see, if there's one thing that Rach hates about me, it's my uncanny ability to fall asleep at a moments notice. She hates it. She hates it more than she hates when I quote Joe Dirt. Dang. She hates it so much that sometimes, when she runs out of creative ways to wake me up, she'll just kick me.
So anyway, last night, I got to sleep at about 11:45. It actually took me about 2 minutes to fall asleep, though, because it was so hot in the house. It was about 75 degrees and balmy outside last night, and I think it was about 80 degrees inside. Why no air conditioner, you ask? I'll explain. In November, we had a $400+ electric bill, so we cut the circuit breaker to the AC off. When it's cold, get a blanket. When it's hot, turn the fan on. Rach and I decided that we're not flipping the breaker back on until we all look like the cast from A Time To Kill. Remember how sweaty everybody was in that movie? I can't watch that movie without taking a shower after. But we're not turning the AC back on until I look like this.
So at some point in the middle of the night, I'm laying in a puddle of my own sweat, and I hear a phone ringing downstairs. But it doesn't sound like a cell phone, it sounds like an old rotary phone like the ones from the '60s. It takes me a second for me to realize what it is, but then I remember that Scarlett had told me she was going to set her alarm to wake up early. I roll over to look at the clock....4:00 am....4:00 am? Really? So I went in to her room and woke her up, "Scarlett...Scarlett...Doonie....wake up. Wake up, baby." She started to slowly, confusedly open her eyes, "What daddy?" I said, "Scarlett, your alarm is going off downstairs. I wasn't sure if you had an important appointment at 4 in the morning that I didn't know about. Maybe you should get up and go turn your alarm off." And she stumbled downstairs to turn off her alarm. So I go get back in bed, and at this point, it's about 4:15. I usually wake up at 4:35. Oh well, twenty minutes of sleep is better than nothing. 20 minutes of sleep is also better than 14 minutes of sleep, because at 4:29 am, I get abruptly woken up by the extreme loudness of "CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKA CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKA!" So I think to myself, some inconsiderate shmuck turned on their sprinklers at 4:30 in the morning? Who on earth would be crazy enough to do that? Then I realized that the sprinklers were hitting OUR windows, and remembered that Rach was working out in the yard yesterday. And I realized that I was married to the inconsiderate shmuck. Did I say schmuck? I meant lovable, eccentric queen. So I get up and run downstairs, because in between the CHITs and the CHICKAs, I can hear the water hitting the neighbors' car. And in an effort to keep them from hating us any more than they already do, I went outside to turn off the water. It was still pitch black outside, so I could barely see, but I though I could make out the trajectory of the sprinkler. But keep in mind, it's 4:30 in the morning, and I don't think I had all of my wits about me. I made it to the side of the house without getting wet, but just as I got to the spicket, I got smacked in the face with about 4 CHITs, "CHIT! CHIT! CHIT! CHIT!" And I'm soaked. From head to toe. I walked back inside, wet and deflated, ready to start my day. I had to go back upstairs first, so I could get dressed like a ninja in the dark. You know, because I wouldn't want to wake Rach up. And as I'm walking up the stairs, I hear a bell tower clanging in my room. Bell tower? What the...why? Apparently, Rach set her alarm for 4:45 for some reason. I don't think she had any intentions of getting up, because she was still sound asleep. No, I think she was just making sure I wasn't getting any sleep. Out of spite. But I just gotta keep on keepin on. Because......
"Life's a Garden, Dig It!" (Joe Dirt, 2001)
10:15 pm - I fall asleep.
10:16 pm - After just coming out of the bathroom, Rach says, "Hey babe, can you go turn off the bathroom light?"
10:17 pm - I return from the bathroom and get back into bed.
10:18 pm - I fall asleep again.
10:19 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, have you seen the cat? I think she's outside. Can you go let her in?"
10:24 pm - After finding the cat, I return to bed.
10:25 pm - I fall asleep.
10:26 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, can you go put Jaxon back in his bed?"
10:28 pm - I carry Jax to his room, and return to bed.
10:30 pm - I fall asleep.
10:37 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, would you rather have another baby? Or a new house?"
10:57 pm - We wrap up that gem of a conversation, and I fall asleep.
10:58 pm - Rach says, "Hey babe, can you rub my back until I fall asleep?"
11:14 pm - Fingers cramped, Rach falls asleep.
11:15 pm - I fall asleep.
You see, if there's one thing that Rach hates about me, it's my uncanny ability to fall asleep at a moments notice. She hates it. She hates it more than she hates when I quote Joe Dirt. Dang. She hates it so much that sometimes, when she runs out of creative ways to wake me up, she'll just kick me.
So anyway, last night, I got to sleep at about 11:45. It actually took me about 2 minutes to fall asleep, though, because it was so hot in the house. It was about 75 degrees and balmy outside last night, and I think it was about 80 degrees inside. Why no air conditioner, you ask? I'll explain. In November, we had a $400+ electric bill, so we cut the circuit breaker to the AC off. When it's cold, get a blanket. When it's hot, turn the fan on. Rach and I decided that we're not flipping the breaker back on until we all look like the cast from A Time To Kill. Remember how sweaty everybody was in that movie? I can't watch that movie without taking a shower after. But we're not turning the AC back on until I look like this.
So at some point in the middle of the night, I'm laying in a puddle of my own sweat, and I hear a phone ringing downstairs. But it doesn't sound like a cell phone, it sounds like an old rotary phone like the ones from the '60s. It takes me a second for me to realize what it is, but then I remember that Scarlett had told me she was going to set her alarm to wake up early. I roll over to look at the clock....4:00 am....4:00 am? Really? So I went in to her room and woke her up, "Scarlett...Scarlett...Doonie....wake up. Wake up, baby." She started to slowly, confusedly open her eyes, "What daddy?" I said, "Scarlett, your alarm is going off downstairs. I wasn't sure if you had an important appointment at 4 in the morning that I didn't know about. Maybe you should get up and go turn your alarm off." And she stumbled downstairs to turn off her alarm. So I go get back in bed, and at this point, it's about 4:15. I usually wake up at 4:35. Oh well, twenty minutes of sleep is better than nothing. 20 minutes of sleep is also better than 14 minutes of sleep, because at 4:29 am, I get abruptly woken up by the extreme loudness of "CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKA CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHIT CHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKACHICKA!" So I think to myself, some inconsiderate shmuck turned on their sprinklers at 4:30 in the morning? Who on earth would be crazy enough to do that? Then I realized that the sprinklers were hitting OUR windows, and remembered that Rach was working out in the yard yesterday. And I realized that I was married to the inconsiderate shmuck. Did I say schmuck? I meant lovable, eccentric queen. So I get up and run downstairs, because in between the CHITs and the CHICKAs, I can hear the water hitting the neighbors' car. And in an effort to keep them from hating us any more than they already do, I went outside to turn off the water. It was still pitch black outside, so I could barely see, but I though I could make out the trajectory of the sprinkler. But keep in mind, it's 4:30 in the morning, and I don't think I had all of my wits about me. I made it to the side of the house without getting wet, but just as I got to the spicket, I got smacked in the face with about 4 CHITs, "CHIT! CHIT! CHIT! CHIT!" And I'm soaked. From head to toe. I walked back inside, wet and deflated, ready to start my day. I had to go back upstairs first, so I could get dressed like a ninja in the dark. You know, because I wouldn't want to wake Rach up. And as I'm walking up the stairs, I hear a bell tower clanging in my room. Bell tower? What the...why? Apparently, Rach set her alarm for 4:45 for some reason. I don't think she had any intentions of getting up, because she was still sound asleep. No, I think she was just making sure I wasn't getting any sleep. Out of spite. But I just gotta keep on keepin on. Because......
"Life's a Garden, Dig It!" (Joe Dirt, 2001)
Thursday, March 3, 2011
The King-Sized Birthday Surprise.....
Last week, Rach asked me, "What do you want to do for your birthday?"
I'm not real big on birthdays, so I said, "Oh, I don't know, maybe take the kids out to eat or something. It doesn't matter."
"Okay, good. Because I made plans already. Do you think you'll be able to leave work by 5?"
Looking back, I realize now that she was just asking me as a 'courtesy question'. You know, when your wife asks you something just to keep up the facade that you actually have any kind of real input to your existence. Things like: "Which shoes should I wear with this dress?" or "Do you think we should rip out all the carpet in the house?" or "Should we sell this house and move to a place called Wassammassaw?" My answers don't really matter. The outcome stays the same.
Anyway, on Monday at five o'clock I texted Rach to tell her I was leaving work. She texted me back and said not to go home, but to go straight to the mall. The mall? Really? Is she taking me to the food court for my birthday? Is she going to treat me to some Chinese food samples? Maybe the arcade? Whatever. If there's one thing I've learned during our marriage, it's that it is pointless for me to try to guess what's going to happen next. When I got to the mall, she texted me, 'Go to Express. Ask for Christi.'
At this point, I'm starting to feel kind of like a secret agent. But the kind of secret agent that can only accept mundane missions from his wife. So maybe not so much secret agent-like. When I walked into Express, I must've had the same blank, lost expression on my face that Obama had when he walked into the White House the first time, "I think I'm supposed to be here, but I have no idea what I'm doing." Luckily, my confusion was tacitly written on my face, because the girl working there came right up to me, and said, "Are you Jeff?" I responded with, "Ummm, yes?", as if I was confused by my name at this point. "Okay, come with me." She took me to the front section of the store and gave me the option of 3 different types of shirts, and 2 different types of pants. Apparently, Rach had called ahead, and explained to the girl that my current wardrobe consisted mainly of colored wifebeaters and camouflage shorts. Limiting my options was a good idea in theory, but unfortunately my fashion ineptitude foiled their efforts. I still picked out pants that were too big and a shirt that didn't match my huge new pants. Even Jaxon has a better fashion sense than I do at this point.
After I mishandled my wardrobe outing, Rach texted me the address of where I needed to go next. The text led me to a nice elegant seafood restaurant where Rach was waiting for me. The restaurant was so nice that Rach and I were less than half the age of the next youngest person there. Seriously, everyone in the restaurant was in their 60s. Even our waiter looked like he had a bad hip. When he read us the specials, he spoke very loudly, complained about the poor lighting, and confused himself. Okay, maybe not, but the whole place was old. The food was good though, but Rach kept looking at her watch because she was worried about not being able to make it to our next "appointment". She kept referring to our appointment. 'We're going to be late for our appointment.' Appointment? What kind of appointment? A movie maybe? What else could it be? A concert? A comedy show? But it's a Monday night? Oh well, I guess I'll find out soon enough.
So when we left, I gotta say, I was pretty anxious about our next 'appointment'. But a happy kind of anxious. It had been a nice relaxing night up to this point, and I had a feeling Rach was going to outdo herself. As she was directing me where to go, it didn't make sense. We were heading back to an area that I knew pretty well, and there wasn't anything exciting going on there. Just a bar, a couple of night clubs, a few restaurants, and a.......oh no........no.......no........can't be.......NOOOOOOO!........It's a.......a.......COUPLES SPA! Awwww CRAP! I didn't see that one coming. I felt like a dog that just realized he was going to the vet.
See, here's the thing. I don't like people touching me. Especially strangers. I'm weird, I know. But it just gives me the heebie jeebies. That's why I've never gotten a massage before. Not to mention that I'm sort of ticklish. Rach knows all of this, but apparently she thought that my dislike for stranger-rubbing was akin to my dislike for coffee. Because she doesn't believe me that I don't like coffee either. She'll ask me to taste her coffee. I'll decline. She'll tell me that I'm gonna like it. I'll decline. She'll tell me that "I'll barely be able to taste the coffee in it". I'll decline. Finally, my distaste of coffee will be trumped by my eagerness to get out of the merry-go-round conversation that I'm stuck in. And I'll taste it. And it'll disgust me. And she won't believe me. We've done this about nine different times with various coffee-containing substances.
But maybe this would be different. Maybe I WOULD enjoy it. Maybe I just needed to give it a chance. Maybe my reluctance to have my body parts kneaded by a complete stranger would go away. Maybe. But I doubt it. After we signed our release forms, they walked us into our dimly lit torture chamber. The lady told us to strip down to whatever we're comfortable with, and then lie down face-down on the table. And that prompted this exchange:
Me: Strip down to whatever you're comfortable with? Does that mean I should leave my socks on?
Rach (already completely naked as if she was wearing breakaway clothes): Just take all your clothes off. Don't be stupid.
Me: Shouldn't I just leave my underwear on?
(But on the inside, I was thinking: Why would I take my underwear off? Are they going to massage any lower than the top of my underwear? Or even worse, any higher than the bottom of my underwear? What kind of place is this? What if there's a fire, and I have to run out of here in my birthday suit. Get it? Birthday suit? I kid.)
Rach: Relax, it's going to be some girl massaging you anyway. You don't want your underwear to get in the way.
Me: Get in the way of what!?!
At this point, I wanted to tell her that the gender of my masseuse wouldn't (at least I thought it wouldn't) matter. I would feel just as skittish (or at least I thought I would feel just as skittish) with a girl masseuse as I would with a dude masseuse. I wanted to tell her that, but I knew that I was running out of time to make my underwear decision. The masseuses (Is that the correct plural form of masseuse?) would be coming in any second. I couldn't decide what to do. Underwear? Or no underwear? I was frozen. Could not decide. I would be a horrible bomb technician, by the way. Finally, in a gut reaction, I threw off my underwear and jumped under the covers. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?
A split second later, two masseuseses walked in; a girl masseuse, and a man-sseuse. And as the man-sseuse walked towards me, I noticed that he wasn't slowing down near Rach's table. And then he passed her up and came closer. Oh, I thought, he must need to grab something from this side of the room. Then he put some lotion on his giant meat-hook man-hands, started rubbing his hands together, looked at me and said, "Well I guess I'll be working on you today."
........Wait.......What??????
It happened so fast, I didn't really get a chance to think about it. It was probably the same feeling Andy Dufresne had the first time The Sisters cornered him in the shower. And just to recap, in case you weren't paying attention; I'M LAYING BUTT NAKED ON A TABLE WITH SOME STRANGE DUDE ABOUT TO RUB LOTION ON MY BACK!! AND NOTHING BUT A LITTLE BLANKET IN BETWEEN HIM AND MY JUNK!! And this is supposed to be relaxing? Really? He asked me if I was hurting anywhere, and I was so distraught, that for some reason I thought to myself, "Tell him no. You don't want to show him any weakness." Seriously? Show him weakness? I'm pretty sure the only way I could've seemed more vulnerable at that moment is if that Sarah McLaughlin 'Adopt-a-Puppy' commercial would've came on the radio, and I started crying like a little girl. But even so, I blurted out, "No! I'm fine!" Like an idiot.
Much to my chagrin, he started 'working on me'. So in my mind, I had to try to block out my stranger-touching phobias, and also all of my ticklishness. The last thing I wanted was for me to giddily twitch when he was loosening up my hammys. Anyway, the whole thing made me pretty uncomfortable. Rach claims that she heard me snoring at one point. My response to her was that I was just pretending to be sleeping. You know, like when you're being attacked by a bear. A bear with really, really soft hands. And then, out of nowhere, a bell rang and the guy kind of lifted his hands and said, "Alright, your time is up. Make sure you drink a lot of liquids. Good night." And he walked out of the room and out of my life forever. And that was it. Drink a lot of liquids? I don't understand. Did my skin feel extra dry? Do they always say that at the end of a massage? Does he ever switch it up any, and say something like, "Make sure you don't mix your lights and darks in the laundry."? Was this just his catch phrase? Did he do something to me while I was pretend sleeping that would've dehydrated me? Somebody please explain this to me. Why exactly do I need to drink a lot of liquids? I never got that answered, but that was it. No more. We got up, put our clothes back on, and we left.
Rach was uber-relaxed. I was just confused and oily. I guess I can understand why people would enjoy getting a massage, but I'm just not one of those people. I'll just put it up there with all of the other things that other people like but I don't particularly enjoy; like cappuccino, and Glee, and family Christmas cards, and The Notebook, and cats, and plastic toilet seats, and pickles, and Geico commercials, and neck tattoos, and european vacations, and NASCAR, and Meryl Streep, and shopping sprees, and tempurpedic mattresses. They're just not for me.
But I will tell you this: the next time Rach asks me if I want to go get a massage, I'm definitely going to say no. But I'm also going to go put on a nice pair of underwear, just in case it's merely a courtesy question.
I'm not real big on birthdays, so I said, "Oh, I don't know, maybe take the kids out to eat or something. It doesn't matter."
"Okay, good. Because I made plans already. Do you think you'll be able to leave work by 5?"
Looking back, I realize now that she was just asking me as a 'courtesy question'. You know, when your wife asks you something just to keep up the facade that you actually have any kind of real input to your existence. Things like: "Which shoes should I wear with this dress?" or "Do you think we should rip out all the carpet in the house?" or "Should we sell this house and move to a place called Wassammassaw?" My answers don't really matter. The outcome stays the same.
Anyway, on Monday at five o'clock I texted Rach to tell her I was leaving work. She texted me back and said not to go home, but to go straight to the mall. The mall? Really? Is she taking me to the food court for my birthday? Is she going to treat me to some Chinese food samples? Maybe the arcade? Whatever. If there's one thing I've learned during our marriage, it's that it is pointless for me to try to guess what's going to happen next. When I got to the mall, she texted me, 'Go to Express. Ask for Christi.'
At this point, I'm starting to feel kind of like a secret agent. But the kind of secret agent that can only accept mundane missions from his wife. So maybe not so much secret agent-like. When I walked into Express, I must've had the same blank, lost expression on my face that Obama had when he walked into the White House the first time, "I think I'm supposed to be here, but I have no idea what I'm doing." Luckily, my confusion was tacitly written on my face, because the girl working there came right up to me, and said, "Are you Jeff?" I responded with, "Ummm, yes?", as if I was confused by my name at this point. "Okay, come with me." She took me to the front section of the store and gave me the option of 3 different types of shirts, and 2 different types of pants. Apparently, Rach had called ahead, and explained to the girl that my current wardrobe consisted mainly of colored wifebeaters and camouflage shorts. Limiting my options was a good idea in theory, but unfortunately my fashion ineptitude foiled their efforts. I still picked out pants that were too big and a shirt that didn't match my huge new pants. Even Jaxon has a better fashion sense than I do at this point.
After I mishandled my wardrobe outing, Rach texted me the address of where I needed to go next. The text led me to a nice elegant seafood restaurant where Rach was waiting for me. The restaurant was so nice that Rach and I were less than half the age of the next youngest person there. Seriously, everyone in the restaurant was in their 60s. Even our waiter looked like he had a bad hip. When he read us the specials, he spoke very loudly, complained about the poor lighting, and confused himself. Okay, maybe not, but the whole place was old. The food was good though, but Rach kept looking at her watch because she was worried about not being able to make it to our next "appointment". She kept referring to our appointment. 'We're going to be late for our appointment.' Appointment? What kind of appointment? A movie maybe? What else could it be? A concert? A comedy show? But it's a Monday night? Oh well, I guess I'll find out soon enough.
So when we left, I gotta say, I was pretty anxious about our next 'appointment'. But a happy kind of anxious. It had been a nice relaxing night up to this point, and I had a feeling Rach was going to outdo herself. As she was directing me where to go, it didn't make sense. We were heading back to an area that I knew pretty well, and there wasn't anything exciting going on there. Just a bar, a couple of night clubs, a few restaurants, and a.......oh no........no.......no........can't be.......NOOOOOOO!........It's a.......a.......COUPLES SPA! Awwww CRAP! I didn't see that one coming. I felt like a dog that just realized he was going to the vet.
See, here's the thing. I don't like people touching me. Especially strangers. I'm weird, I know. But it just gives me the heebie jeebies. That's why I've never gotten a massage before. Not to mention that I'm sort of ticklish. Rach knows all of this, but apparently she thought that my dislike for stranger-rubbing was akin to my dislike for coffee. Because she doesn't believe me that I don't like coffee either. She'll ask me to taste her coffee. I'll decline. She'll tell me that I'm gonna like it. I'll decline. She'll tell me that "I'll barely be able to taste the coffee in it". I'll decline. Finally, my distaste of coffee will be trumped by my eagerness to get out of the merry-go-round conversation that I'm stuck in. And I'll taste it. And it'll disgust me. And she won't believe me. We've done this about nine different times with various coffee-containing substances.
But maybe this would be different. Maybe I WOULD enjoy it. Maybe I just needed to give it a chance. Maybe my reluctance to have my body parts kneaded by a complete stranger would go away. Maybe. But I doubt it. After we signed our release forms, they walked us into our dimly lit torture chamber. The lady told us to strip down to whatever we're comfortable with, and then lie down face-down on the table. And that prompted this exchange:
Me: Strip down to whatever you're comfortable with? Does that mean I should leave my socks on?
Rach (already completely naked as if she was wearing breakaway clothes): Just take all your clothes off. Don't be stupid.
Me: Shouldn't I just leave my underwear on?
(But on the inside, I was thinking: Why would I take my underwear off? Are they going to massage any lower than the top of my underwear? Or even worse, any higher than the bottom of my underwear? What kind of place is this? What if there's a fire, and I have to run out of here in my birthday suit. Get it? Birthday suit? I kid.)
Rach: Relax, it's going to be some girl massaging you anyway. You don't want your underwear to get in the way.
Me: Get in the way of what!?!
At this point, I wanted to tell her that the gender of my masseuse wouldn't (at least I thought it wouldn't) matter. I would feel just as skittish (or at least I thought I would feel just as skittish) with a girl masseuse as I would with a dude masseuse. I wanted to tell her that, but I knew that I was running out of time to make my underwear decision. The masseuses (Is that the correct plural form of masseuse?) would be coming in any second. I couldn't decide what to do. Underwear? Or no underwear? I was frozen. Could not decide. I would be a horrible bomb technician, by the way. Finally, in a gut reaction, I threw off my underwear and jumped under the covers. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?
A split second later, two masseuseses walked in; a girl masseuse, and a man-sseuse. And as the man-sseuse walked towards me, I noticed that he wasn't slowing down near Rach's table. And then he passed her up and came closer. Oh, I thought, he must need to grab something from this side of the room. Then he put some lotion on his giant meat-hook man-hands, started rubbing his hands together, looked at me and said, "Well I guess I'll be working on you today."
........Wait.......What??????
It happened so fast, I didn't really get a chance to think about it. It was probably the same feeling Andy Dufresne had the first time The Sisters cornered him in the shower. And just to recap, in case you weren't paying attention; I'M LAYING BUTT NAKED ON A TABLE WITH SOME STRANGE DUDE ABOUT TO RUB LOTION ON MY BACK!! AND NOTHING BUT A LITTLE BLANKET IN BETWEEN HIM AND MY JUNK!! And this is supposed to be relaxing? Really? He asked me if I was hurting anywhere, and I was so distraught, that for some reason I thought to myself, "Tell him no. You don't want to show him any weakness." Seriously? Show him weakness? I'm pretty sure the only way I could've seemed more vulnerable at that moment is if that Sarah McLaughlin 'Adopt-a-Puppy' commercial would've came on the radio, and I started crying like a little girl. But even so, I blurted out, "No! I'm fine!" Like an idiot.
Much to my chagrin, he started 'working on me'. So in my mind, I had to try to block out my stranger-touching phobias, and also all of my ticklishness. The last thing I wanted was for me to giddily twitch when he was loosening up my hammys. Anyway, the whole thing made me pretty uncomfortable. Rach claims that she heard me snoring at one point. My response to her was that I was just pretending to be sleeping. You know, like when you're being attacked by a bear. A bear with really, really soft hands. And then, out of nowhere, a bell rang and the guy kind of lifted his hands and said, "Alright, your time is up. Make sure you drink a lot of liquids. Good night." And he walked out of the room and out of my life forever. And that was it. Drink a lot of liquids? I don't understand. Did my skin feel extra dry? Do they always say that at the end of a massage? Does he ever switch it up any, and say something like, "Make sure you don't mix your lights and darks in the laundry."? Was this just his catch phrase? Did he do something to me while I was pretend sleeping that would've dehydrated me? Somebody please explain this to me. Why exactly do I need to drink a lot of liquids? I never got that answered, but that was it. No more. We got up, put our clothes back on, and we left.
Rach was uber-relaxed. I was just confused and oily. I guess I can understand why people would enjoy getting a massage, but I'm just not one of those people. I'll just put it up there with all of the other things that other people like but I don't particularly enjoy; like cappuccino, and Glee, and family Christmas cards, and The Notebook, and cats, and plastic toilet seats, and pickles, and Geico commercials, and neck tattoos, and european vacations, and NASCAR, and Meryl Streep, and shopping sprees, and tempurpedic mattresses. They're just not for me.
But I will tell you this: the next time Rach asks me if I want to go get a massage, I'm definitely going to say no. But I'm also going to go put on a nice pair of underwear, just in case it's merely a courtesy question.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The King-Sized Anticipation......
In the words of Lou Brown, "It's starting to come together, Pepper...Starting to come together." (If you don't know who Lou Brown is, watch this.) You see, Lou Brown knew that something big was about to happen with his Indians team. Lou Brown could feel it. Lou Brown was giddy with excitement.
(And don't make fun of me for referencing a ridiculous 1980's baseball movie. Major League pretty much shaped my childhood. To me, it represents a better time. A simpler time. A time before Corbin Bernsen was doing guest spots on The Young and the Restless. A time before Rene Russo's face was made out of play-doh. A time when Wesley Snipes still paid his taxes. A time before Charlie Sheen's were so upsetting. And when I say 'upsetting actions', I don't mean falsely imprisoning hookers and keeping his cocaine in a giant briefcase. No, by 'upsetting actions', I mean being the star of a really crappy television show that every non-funny person will swear up and down is a good show. I don't see the appeal. And that show is ruining his Hot Shots! Part Deux legacy.)
Okay, by now you're probably asking, "What does the movie, Major League, or more specifically, Lou Brown's quote, have to with anything?" Well let me tell you. Up until a couple of months ago, all we had was a pipe dream; an idea that, sure it might happen eventually, but it's too far away from reality to really sink our teeth into. We could only talk about it in hypotheticals, like, "It'll be great when this happens." Or "Some day, we'll be able to do this or have the freedom to do that." But now we have a date. An actual, finalized date that we can plan around. It's not often that you can look ahead to a specific date and say, "That's the day that our lives are going to change." And we're not looking back. March 26th. That's the date my parents are moving to Charleston. March 26th. That's the date we get access to unlimited free babysitters. March 26th. That's the date Rach and I can go on weekend getaways (or even weeknight getaways!). March 26th. That's the date that we'll have someone to cook real food for us. (Anyone who has eaten my dad's food knows what I'm talking about here.) March 26th. That's the date that Rach will finally have someone to go on marathon shopping trips with. (Anyone who has gone shopping with either Rach, or my mom, knows what I'm talking about here.) March 26th. That's the date.
And like I said, up until a couple of months ago, it was just something that my parents eventually wanted to do. But then things just started rolling into motion. Around Christmas time, my mom decided to put her house up for sale. But that's not really anything for us to get our hopes up about. Trying to sell a house in the New Orleans area is like trying to sell birth control pills to the cast of Basketball Wives. It's not easy. I mean, my parents' next door neighbor has had their house up for sale for over two years. But within the first week of being on the market, my parents had two offers. And after a short negotiation and a few appraisal hiccups, they are set to close on the house next week.
But where are they going to live when they get here? Well, a couple of weeks ago they came up to South Carolina to look for a house. But before they even got here, Rach hooked them up with a real estate friend of hers, Chip, to help them research what areas they were interested in. Well, at least I thought Chip was a friend of hers. I'm starting to question their friendship, because no true friend would recommend my parents as clients. Chip sent my mom about 80 different listings. My mom then whittled the list down to 32 and organized it into a spreadsheet of houses to visit. Chip would've been better off being Goldilocks' Realtor, "This house is too small!" "This house is too big!" "There's not enough closets!" " There's not enough landscaping!" "There's too many stairs" "The laundry room is too far away from the bathroom!" Nothing was good enough. But at the same time, they didn't really know what they were looking for, so they couldn't rule anything out, either. I met Chip and my parents for lunch when they were halfway through their first 9 hour house-hunting session. Chip's demeanor was that of a parent whose kid keeps wetting the bed. As frustrated as he was, he knew he had to be patient. His face stayed calm, but deep down, I got the sense that he wanted to scream at my parents, "Just pick a damn house!....And stop pissing in the bed!"
Anyway, on Sunday night, after close to 30 hours of looking at houses, my parents found the perfect house. It was EXACTLY what they had been looking for. They wanted a house that was about 1800 square feet. This house was almost 3000. They wanted a 1-story house. This house was a 2-story. They wanted a place that they could keep their 5th wheel camper. This house didn't have anything like that, in fact, the 5th wheel could barely fit in the driveway. This house was everything that they didn't know they wanted in a house....and it had a pool. So they put in an offer. And it got rejected. So they put in another offer. And it got rejected. So they put in a third offer. And it got rejected. So they put in another offer. And it got accepted. So now they're under contract, and are scheduled to close at the end of next month.
So now the only thing left to complete the move is for my mom to find a job up here. And it's going to happen, too. Soon. I have no doubt in my mind. I can feel it. Because it's starting to come together, Pepper....Starting to come together.
(And don't make fun of me for referencing a ridiculous 1980's baseball movie. Major League pretty much shaped my childhood. To me, it represents a better time. A simpler time. A time before Corbin Bernsen was doing guest spots on The Young and the Restless. A time before Rene Russo's face was made out of play-doh. A time when Wesley Snipes still paid his taxes. A time before Charlie Sheen's were so upsetting. And when I say 'upsetting actions', I don't mean falsely imprisoning hookers and keeping his cocaine in a giant briefcase. No, by 'upsetting actions', I mean being the star of a really crappy television show that every non-funny person will swear up and down is a good show. I don't see the appeal. And that show is ruining his Hot Shots! Part Deux legacy.)
Okay, by now you're probably asking, "What does the movie, Major League, or more specifically, Lou Brown's quote, have to with anything?" Well let me tell you. Up until a couple of months ago, all we had was a pipe dream; an idea that, sure it might happen eventually, but it's too far away from reality to really sink our teeth into. We could only talk about it in hypotheticals, like, "It'll be great when this happens." Or "Some day, we'll be able to do this or have the freedom to do that." But now we have a date. An actual, finalized date that we can plan around. It's not often that you can look ahead to a specific date and say, "That's the day that our lives are going to change." And we're not looking back. March 26th. That's the date my parents are moving to Charleston. March 26th. That's the date we get access to unlimited free babysitters. March 26th. That's the date Rach and I can go on weekend getaways (or even weeknight getaways!). March 26th. That's the date that we'll have someone to cook real food for us. (Anyone who has eaten my dad's food knows what I'm talking about here.) March 26th. That's the date that Rach will finally have someone to go on marathon shopping trips with. (Anyone who has gone shopping with either Rach, or my mom, knows what I'm talking about here.) March 26th. That's the date.
And like I said, up until a couple of months ago, it was just something that my parents eventually wanted to do. But then things just started rolling into motion. Around Christmas time, my mom decided to put her house up for sale. But that's not really anything for us to get our hopes up about. Trying to sell a house in the New Orleans area is like trying to sell birth control pills to the cast of Basketball Wives. It's not easy. I mean, my parents' next door neighbor has had their house up for sale for over two years. But within the first week of being on the market, my parents had two offers. And after a short negotiation and a few appraisal hiccups, they are set to close on the house next week.
But where are they going to live when they get here? Well, a couple of weeks ago they came up to South Carolina to look for a house. But before they even got here, Rach hooked them up with a real estate friend of hers, Chip, to help them research what areas they were interested in. Well, at least I thought Chip was a friend of hers. I'm starting to question their friendship, because no true friend would recommend my parents as clients. Chip sent my mom about 80 different listings. My mom then whittled the list down to 32 and organized it into a spreadsheet of houses to visit. Chip would've been better off being Goldilocks' Realtor, "This house is too small!" "This house is too big!" "There's not enough closets!" " There's not enough landscaping!" "There's too many stairs" "The laundry room is too far away from the bathroom!" Nothing was good enough. But at the same time, they didn't really know what they were looking for, so they couldn't rule anything out, either. I met Chip and my parents for lunch when they were halfway through their first 9 hour house-hunting session. Chip's demeanor was that of a parent whose kid keeps wetting the bed. As frustrated as he was, he knew he had to be patient. His face stayed calm, but deep down, I got the sense that he wanted to scream at my parents, "Just pick a damn house!....And stop pissing in the bed!"
Anyway, on Sunday night, after close to 30 hours of looking at houses, my parents found the perfect house. It was EXACTLY what they had been looking for. They wanted a house that was about 1800 square feet. This house was almost 3000. They wanted a 1-story house. This house was a 2-story. They wanted a place that they could keep their 5th wheel camper. This house didn't have anything like that, in fact, the 5th wheel could barely fit in the driveway. This house was everything that they didn't know they wanted in a house....and it had a pool. So they put in an offer. And it got rejected. So they put in another offer. And it got rejected. So they put in a third offer. And it got rejected. So they put in another offer. And it got accepted. So now they're under contract, and are scheduled to close at the end of next month.
So now the only thing left to complete the move is for my mom to find a job up here. And it's going to happen, too. Soon. I have no doubt in my mind. I can feel it. Because it's starting to come together, Pepper....Starting to come together.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
My Non-King-Sized Non-Problems......
Apparently, Rach thinks I'm a loner. A rebel. And there's things about me that you wouldn't understand. Things you couldn't understand. Things you SHOULDN'T understand. Oh, wait. That was Pee-Wee Herman. Alright, but still. Rach must think I'm a loner. Why else would she be constantly trying to set me up with other dudes? Sometimes it's a guy she met at work. Sometimes it's one of her friends' husband or boyfriend. Sometimes it's a random stranger in Publix. But there's one common denominator: I would LOVE them. No, I'm serious. Every time she starts telling me about some guy, she says, "Oh my god, you would just LOVE him!"
Really? I would love him? What exactly, in our 5 years together, have I done that would make you think that I'd get excited about meeting some guy? Do I walk up and down the street, kicking a can, because nobody will play with me? When someone knocks at the front door, do I scurry up to see who it is, hoping that it's someone who will be my friend? Do you get some sort of DirecTV-type referral bonus for signing people up to be my friend? Is there some sort of friend-quota that I have to meet? I don't understand.
And it's not as if I start jumping up and down giddily clapping when you tell me that you're setting me up on a dude-date. I get just as excited about a potential buddy as I get when you tell me we're getting a new bed-skirt. I mean, it's nice and everything, but is it really necessary? And then Rach always says, "Well, I just think yall would get along. That's all." Of course we would get along! I get along with everybody. I wonder when the last time she thought to herself, 'Oh geez, this guy would HATE Jeff.' Because THAT's actually a person that I'd like to hang out with.
Okay, enough ranting. Here's where this is relevant. Rach convinced me to go to a 'Men's Meeting' at the church. Apparently, the husband of one of her friends was going, and I was just gonna LOVE him. I gotta say, I'm still a little confused how she roped me into going. She must've used some sort of Jedi mind trick on me. She said she already had a meeting at the church at the same time, and they had free child care, and it required little to no effort on my part. Wait, on second thought, maybe she didn't have to use a Jedi mind trick on me. Anytime you use the phrases "free childcare" and "little to no effort on your part", I'll pretty much go along with anything. Doesn't matter what we're doing.
"Hey Jeff, I'm gonna go bomb a village of handicapped baby seal orphans. Wanna come?"
"Ehhh, I don't know."
"There's free childcare, and it won't require any effort on your part."
"Alright, I'm in."
So we're pulling up to the church, and Rach is giving me some last minute pointers on how to act on my man-date, "Don't talk about yourself too much. Oh, and act like you know how to fix cars. And make sure you pretend to enjoy hunting - church guys love to hunt. Pull your sleeves up a little bit, show them some biceps--but not too much! You don't want to seem like some workout slut!" Okay, I'm just kidding. She really didn't say any of that. But she did tie a steak around my neck to make sure they'd play with me. Okay, kidding about that too. But I have to say, it was a little strange when I walked in, looking for some random guy I've never met. I didn't know if Rach told the guy what I looked like, or who I was, or anything like that. So as people would walk up to me, I had the same sad, desperate, "please don't be crazy" smile that a thirty-nine year old single lady with five cats would have waiting for her blind date. I waited and waited, but alas, he did not show up. Sniff, sniff. Or even worse, he showed up, saw who I was, and then left. But if he's going to act like that, then he didn't deserve to be my homey anyway.
So the meeting starts, and they start talking about how men have a tendency to bridle up their feelings and avoid any emotionally damaging memories. They discussed the potential damages that bottling up all of those emotions could cause. Then some of the guys up on stage starting sharing their stories and what negative impacts that their issues had on their lives. There were issues with emotionally distant fathers, alcoholic fathers, absent fathers, abusive mothers, paranoid schizophrenic aunts. Guys dealing with depression, anger, alcoholism, estranged children, etc. It was some really powerful stuff. At this point, I could tell that these topics were really tapping into some emotional burdens weighing down a lot of the people in the audience. It was probably comforting for people share this moment with others who were going through some of the same issues. But for me, as I was sitting there trying to relate, all I could keep thinking about was how little I have to complain about. I mean, think about it, what problems do I really have? And I don't mean this in a cocky, braggadocios sort of way. But in more of an appreciative, thankful manner. It made me realize that whatever problems that I may conjure up in my head are just that; conjured up in my head. These people have legitimate beefs. Real issues that they have to contend with. My biggest problem is that my job can be stressful. Or that my healthy, beautiful kids brought home a B on their report card. Or that my hot wife can be a little....umm...eccentric sometimes. These are not problems. These are hardly even 'less than fortunate' situations. These are blogposts. So all of this is running through my head while I'm sitting in this men's meeting, and then it dawned on me. This lack of a serious situation is what enables me enjoy myself wherever I am. This is why that, somewhere, right now, one of Racheal's friends is talking to her husband, and she's saying, "Oh my god, you are just going to LOVE Jeff!"
Really? I would love him? What exactly, in our 5 years together, have I done that would make you think that I'd get excited about meeting some guy? Do I walk up and down the street, kicking a can, because nobody will play with me? When someone knocks at the front door, do I scurry up to see who it is, hoping that it's someone who will be my friend? Do you get some sort of DirecTV-type referral bonus for signing people up to be my friend? Is there some sort of friend-quota that I have to meet? I don't understand.
And it's not as if I start jumping up and down giddily clapping when you tell me that you're setting me up on a dude-date. I get just as excited about a potential buddy as I get when you tell me we're getting a new bed-skirt. I mean, it's nice and everything, but is it really necessary? And then Rach always says, "Well, I just think yall would get along. That's all." Of course we would get along! I get along with everybody. I wonder when the last time she thought to herself, 'Oh geez, this guy would HATE Jeff.' Because THAT's actually a person that I'd like to hang out with.
Okay, enough ranting. Here's where this is relevant. Rach convinced me to go to a 'Men's Meeting' at the church. Apparently, the husband of one of her friends was going, and I was just gonna LOVE him. I gotta say, I'm still a little confused how she roped me into going. She must've used some sort of Jedi mind trick on me. She said she already had a meeting at the church at the same time, and they had free child care, and it required little to no effort on my part. Wait, on second thought, maybe she didn't have to use a Jedi mind trick on me. Anytime you use the phrases "free childcare" and "little to no effort on your part", I'll pretty much go along with anything. Doesn't matter what we're doing.
"Hey Jeff, I'm gonna go bomb a village of handicapped baby seal orphans. Wanna come?"
"Ehhh, I don't know."
"There's free childcare, and it won't require any effort on your part."
"Alright, I'm in."
So we're pulling up to the church, and Rach is giving me some last minute pointers on how to act on my man-date, "Don't talk about yourself too much. Oh, and act like you know how to fix cars. And make sure you pretend to enjoy hunting - church guys love to hunt. Pull your sleeves up a little bit, show them some biceps--but not too much! You don't want to seem like some workout slut!" Okay, I'm just kidding. She really didn't say any of that. But she did tie a steak around my neck to make sure they'd play with me. Okay, kidding about that too. But I have to say, it was a little strange when I walked in, looking for some random guy I've never met. I didn't know if Rach told the guy what I looked like, or who I was, or anything like that. So as people would walk up to me, I had the same sad, desperate, "please don't be crazy" smile that a thirty-nine year old single lady with five cats would have waiting for her blind date. I waited and waited, but alas, he did not show up. Sniff, sniff. Or even worse, he showed up, saw who I was, and then left. But if he's going to act like that, then he didn't deserve to be my homey anyway.
So the meeting starts, and they start talking about how men have a tendency to bridle up their feelings and avoid any emotionally damaging memories. They discussed the potential damages that bottling up all of those emotions could cause. Then some of the guys up on stage starting sharing their stories and what negative impacts that their issues had on their lives. There were issues with emotionally distant fathers, alcoholic fathers, absent fathers, abusive mothers, paranoid schizophrenic aunts. Guys dealing with depression, anger, alcoholism, estranged children, etc. It was some really powerful stuff. At this point, I could tell that these topics were really tapping into some emotional burdens weighing down a lot of the people in the audience. It was probably comforting for people share this moment with others who were going through some of the same issues. But for me, as I was sitting there trying to relate, all I could keep thinking about was how little I have to complain about. I mean, think about it, what problems do I really have? And I don't mean this in a cocky, braggadocios sort of way. But in more of an appreciative, thankful manner. It made me realize that whatever problems that I may conjure up in my head are just that; conjured up in my head. These people have legitimate beefs. Real issues that they have to contend with. My biggest problem is that my job can be stressful. Or that my healthy, beautiful kids brought home a B on their report card. Or that my hot wife can be a little....umm...eccentric sometimes. These are not problems. These are hardly even 'less than fortunate' situations. These are blogposts. So all of this is running through my head while I'm sitting in this men's meeting, and then it dawned on me. This lack of a serious situation is what enables me enjoy myself wherever I am. This is why that, somewhere, right now, one of Racheal's friends is talking to her husband, and she's saying, "Oh my god, you are just going to LOVE Jeff!"
Friday, January 28, 2011
A Queen-Sized Lesson......
As some of you may know, Tuesdays and Wednesdays are Rach's days off. So most of the time for me, the drive home on those days are the scariest 15 minutes that you could possibly imagine. The gamut of possibilities is incredible. Is she renovating something? Is she remodeling something? Is she redecorating something? Is she having boulders installed in the yard that I have to move? Did we get a new pet? Did we get a new kid? It could literally be ANYTHING. So imagine my surprise when I come home from work to............silence. Beautiful silence. Horrifyingly skeptical, I tip-toed further into the house like a ninja. And when I got to the living room, I saw something so shocking that my eyes could barely process the information. I saw no kids in sight, and Rach under a blanket on the couch....reading a book. That's right. A book. I was about to ask her where the kids were, but then she glared at me with one of those 'If you dare ask me about the kids and somehow jinx my quiet time, I will fly over there and Superman punch you in the throat' looks. At least I'm pretty sure that's what 'look' it was. It was either the 'Superman punch in the throat' look, or the 'I velcroed the kids to the ceiling so I could get some peace' look. But I heard footsteps upstairs, so I figured smart money was on the Superman punch.
And of course, if you're walking through the desert, and you come upon someone drinking water out of a puddle, you don't stop and ask that person why they're drinking that water. Or ask them how they found it. No, you shut up and start drinking. And that's what I did. I sat on the other couch and quietly answered emails on my phone. After about a half hour, I got bored. I looked over at Rach, and she was showing no signs of prematurely ending her quiet time. So I got up to make dinner, and noticed some chicken breasts defrosting on the counter.
I said, "Hey Rach, you got anything in particular planned with these chicken breasts?"
And she said, "............................................"
I'll take that as a no.
So I start making dinner. Nothing special, baja chipotle marinated chicken with stovetop stuffing and mac and cheese. That's my signature dinner. Chicken, and boxes of crap. No one makes chicken and/or boxes of crap quite like I do. In fact, I may open up a restaurant where I serve nothing but chicken and boxed macaroni and cheese. Maybe a baseball themed restaurant with fried chicken balls called 'Fowl Ball, and Battered Box'. I'm pretty sure that's genius. Nobody steal that one.
Anyway, about 45 minutes later, I call the kids downstairs to eat. Rach is still reading her book. I fix the kids plates. Rach is still reading her book. I got the kids drinks. Rach is still reading her book. Finally, Rach looks up and says, "Wait--Is it done? Did you cook already? That was fast."
Me (being sarcastic and patronizing as I make her a plate): Would you like for me to make you a plate and bring it to you? I would hate for you to have to get up.
Rach (laughing): Aww, thank you.
Scarlett (From the Peanut Gallery): I can't wait until I get married, so I can have someone to do everything for me too!
At this point, we all started busting out laughing, but then we thought about it a little more. And Rach said, "That's right. And you get rid of any man that treats you any different." So then it turned into a 45 minute lesson. We talked to Scarlett about respecting herself enough to not settle for a douche bag. We told her that if she did, in fact, try to settle for someone who is even a little bit douchey, that I would knock his teeth out and Rach would Superman punch him in the throat. We talked for awhile, not just to Scarlett, but also to the boys. We talked to them about the right way to treat women. Taught them about respecting women. Putting them first. Taught them the "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" rule.
It's a life lesson, sure. But did we get through to them? I don't know. Is this one night going to transcend into their adult lives? Probably not. Are they even going to remember this incident a week from now? I doubt it. It is, however, a reminder that they're watching us. They're paying attention. Every step we take. Every move we make. They'll be watching us. Just like Sting. They notice our interactions and how we treat other people. They're copycats, like little Carlos Mencia's. And I guess the hope is that, as parents, if we can string together enough of these little lessons, that maybe, just maybe, we can keep our sons out of jail and our daughters off the pole. Or our daughters out of jail and our sons off the pole. Now I'm confused.
And of course, if you're walking through the desert, and you come upon someone drinking water out of a puddle, you don't stop and ask that person why they're drinking that water. Or ask them how they found it. No, you shut up and start drinking. And that's what I did. I sat on the other couch and quietly answered emails on my phone. After about a half hour, I got bored. I looked over at Rach, and she was showing no signs of prematurely ending her quiet time. So I got up to make dinner, and noticed some chicken breasts defrosting on the counter.
I said, "Hey Rach, you got anything in particular planned with these chicken breasts?"
And she said, "............................................"
I'll take that as a no.
So I start making dinner. Nothing special, baja chipotle marinated chicken with stovetop stuffing and mac and cheese. That's my signature dinner. Chicken, and boxes of crap. No one makes chicken and/or boxes of crap quite like I do. In fact, I may open up a restaurant where I serve nothing but chicken and boxed macaroni and cheese. Maybe a baseball themed restaurant with fried chicken balls called 'Fowl Ball, and Battered Box'. I'm pretty sure that's genius. Nobody steal that one.
Anyway, about 45 minutes later, I call the kids downstairs to eat. Rach is still reading her book. I fix the kids plates. Rach is still reading her book. I got the kids drinks. Rach is still reading her book. Finally, Rach looks up and says, "Wait--Is it done? Did you cook already? That was fast."
Me (being sarcastic and patronizing as I make her a plate): Would you like for me to make you a plate and bring it to you? I would hate for you to have to get up.
Rach (laughing): Aww, thank you.
Scarlett (From the Peanut Gallery): I can't wait until I get married, so I can have someone to do everything for me too!
At this point, we all started busting out laughing, but then we thought about it a little more. And Rach said, "That's right. And you get rid of any man that treats you any different." So then it turned into a 45 minute lesson. We talked to Scarlett about respecting herself enough to not settle for a douche bag. We told her that if she did, in fact, try to settle for someone who is even a little bit douchey, that I would knock his teeth out and Rach would Superman punch him in the throat. We talked for awhile, not just to Scarlett, but also to the boys. We talked to them about the right way to treat women. Taught them about respecting women. Putting them first. Taught them the "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" rule.
It's a life lesson, sure. But did we get through to them? I don't know. Is this one night going to transcend into their adult lives? Probably not. Are they even going to remember this incident a week from now? I doubt it. It is, however, a reminder that they're watching us. They're paying attention. Every step we take. Every move we make. They'll be watching us. Just like Sting. They notice our interactions and how we treat other people. They're copycats, like little Carlos Mencia's. And I guess the hope is that, as parents, if we can string together enough of these little lessons, that maybe, just maybe, we can keep our sons out of jail and our daughters off the pole. Or our daughters out of jail and our sons off the pole. Now I'm confused.
Monday, January 24, 2011
The King-Sized Update......
Okay, deep breath. Aaaannnnnnnddddddd here we go. Today is officially the 4 month anniversary of the last time I blogged. I can't imagine what you could have been doing to fill that void in your life. Let me break it down mathematically for you. Let's say that I averaged 1 post a week when I was actively blogging. And let's also say that it took you an average of 15 minutes to read each post. That means that, over the last 4 months, I've spared you from wasting about 255 minutes of your life. That's over 4 hours! That's almost longer than Avatar. That's longer than it takes to watch a football game that Racheal doesn't understand why you're watching. Rach didn't understand why I was watching the BCS national championship game since LSU wasn't in it. And she may have had a valid argument if my affinity for football was brand new discovery for her. But I've always loved watching football. For crying out loud, WE MET AT A FOOTBALL GAME! I used to watch Division III preseason games! I could watch two guys play Madden online. It's not like I'm suddenly asking her why she has so many pairs of shoes! Or why she talks on the phone for hours at a time. But I digress...What I'm trying to say is that I think I have a lot of catching up to do, but I don't know where to begin.
I could write about how I just shaved my head with a razor about as sharp as a butter knife and know I look like Freddy Kreuger, but I don't think that would hold your attention for that long.
Or I could write about how I'm letting my beard grow out and it is glorious. It may be the greatest beard since Kelly Preston. The fan reactions have been a little strange though, I've had 3 different people tell me that I look just like Carlos Boozer. Which is ridiculous, because if there's a basketball player that I look like, it's probably this guy. But if I started writing about my beard then I'd probably have to mention the gray hair that's growing sporadically on my chin. And then I'd have to mention that I've contemplated just coloring in the gray parts with a sharpie. And that would be weird.
Or I could write about how we no longer have Tori and Gavin. And how we don't speak to Maxine anymore because she's started drinking again and thinks that Racheal is trying to ruin her life by caring. And that we had to just cut ties with them because of all of the drama that it was causing our family. But that would just be too depressing.
Or I could write about how the last month has been the most quiet, calm, drama free month that we've had since Jaxon was born. But that would be way too boring.
Or I could write about how I've been working 60 hours a week for the past few months, and maybe you'd feel a little bit of sympathy, but then I'd also feel compelled to tell you that my 60 hour work weeks are about 50 hours more per week than what I averaged for the previous year and a half.
Or I could write about Cole and Scarlett each came home with 1 B and the rest A's on their report card. But then I'd have to tell you that we grounded them for being slackers. (But then I'd have to admit that I understand why my dad used to ground me for low A's. It was because I was a slacker).
Or I could write about how Izzy and I each gained about 20 pounds over the past year. And that everyone acts surprised when I tell them how much weight I've gained, but no one really acts surprised when I tell them how much weight Izzy has gained. Which is good, I guess. Because that means that I'm carrying my extra 20 pounds better than my 40 pound dog.
Or I could write about how Keith moved out into his own place. And how every time I take the kids to the gym that he works at, as soon as Jax sees Keith, no matter who he's talking to, Jax screams out, "Hey, Uncle Farty Head!". And how I honestly have no idea why he does it.
Or I could write about how my parents decided to move South Carolina. And how they'll be here within the next two months because their house sold within the first week that it was on the market. And how it must be fate because their next door neighbor's house has been up for sale for over two years. And how Jax said that he guesses he'll have to stop picking his nose when his Mimi moves here. And how Mimi and Papa are looking for houses within walking distance of our house. And how awkward it's going to be when I tell them that Rach and I are moving back to Louisiana. (Just kidding, We can't wait for them to get here. You can't put a price on free babysitters. Love you, Mom!)
Or I could write about how big and grown up Cole is getting. That he's becoming such a good big brother. And that he's such a sweet caring person. Or I could write about how smart and gorgeous Scarlett is getting. And that, like it or not, she's becoming as strong and confident as her mother. Or I could write about how funny Jax is becoming. And that he's already using his humor to get himself out of trouble (He must get that from Rach.) Yep, I could write about these things, but I think I'll make you wait for the full stories. Because otherwise I'd owe you your 4 hours again.
I could write about how I just shaved my head with a razor about as sharp as a butter knife and know I look like Freddy Kreuger, but I don't think that would hold your attention for that long.
Or I could write about how I'm letting my beard grow out and it is glorious. It may be the greatest beard since Kelly Preston. The fan reactions have been a little strange though, I've had 3 different people tell me that I look just like Carlos Boozer. Which is ridiculous, because if there's a basketball player that I look like, it's probably this guy. But if I started writing about my beard then I'd probably have to mention the gray hair that's growing sporadically on my chin. And then I'd have to mention that I've contemplated just coloring in the gray parts with a sharpie. And that would be weird.
Or I could write about how we no longer have Tori and Gavin. And how we don't speak to Maxine anymore because she's started drinking again and thinks that Racheal is trying to ruin her life by caring. And that we had to just cut ties with them because of all of the drama that it was causing our family. But that would just be too depressing.
Or I could write about how the last month has been the most quiet, calm, drama free month that we've had since Jaxon was born. But that would be way too boring.
Or I could write about how I've been working 60 hours a week for the past few months, and maybe you'd feel a little bit of sympathy, but then I'd also feel compelled to tell you that my 60 hour work weeks are about 50 hours more per week than what I averaged for the previous year and a half.
Or I could write about Cole and Scarlett each came home with 1 B and the rest A's on their report card. But then I'd have to tell you that we grounded them for being slackers. (But then I'd have to admit that I understand why my dad used to ground me for low A's. It was because I was a slacker).
Or I could write about how Izzy and I each gained about 20 pounds over the past year. And that everyone acts surprised when I tell them how much weight I've gained, but no one really acts surprised when I tell them how much weight Izzy has gained. Which is good, I guess. Because that means that I'm carrying my extra 20 pounds better than my 40 pound dog.
Or I could write about how Keith moved out into his own place. And how every time I take the kids to the gym that he works at, as soon as Jax sees Keith, no matter who he's talking to, Jax screams out, "Hey, Uncle Farty Head!". And how I honestly have no idea why he does it.
Or I could write about how my parents decided to move South Carolina. And how they'll be here within the next two months because their house sold within the first week that it was on the market. And how it must be fate because their next door neighbor's house has been up for sale for over two years. And how Jax said that he guesses he'll have to stop picking his nose when his Mimi moves here. And how Mimi and Papa are looking for houses within walking distance of our house. And how awkward it's going to be when I tell them that Rach and I are moving back to Louisiana. (Just kidding, We can't wait for them to get here. You can't put a price on free babysitters. Love you, Mom!)
Or I could write about how big and grown up Cole is getting. That he's becoming such a good big brother. And that he's such a sweet caring person. Or I could write about how smart and gorgeous Scarlett is getting. And that, like it or not, she's becoming as strong and confident as her mother. Or I could write about how funny Jax is becoming. And that he's already using his humor to get himself out of trouble (He must get that from Rach.) Yep, I could write about these things, but I think I'll make you wait for the full stories. Because otherwise I'd owe you your 4 hours again.
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