Happy Birthday to George, the 15 year old beagle OR How to tell when it's really a party

George (photo by Robert)

Our neighbors know how to do it up right. Robert and India have a 15 year old beagle named George who has the absolute sweetest smile I have ever seen on a pooch. He is a true southern gentleman with a great doginality and delightful demeanor. He's a little hard of hearing, but when you're that advanced in age I think you can be forgiven such things.

For his 15th birthday, Robert & India decided to throw sweet George a birthday party. Like a lot of kid parties, it really was a gathering of pet parents and their dogs. We brought our Rat Terrier Holly to the festivities. There was a silky Dachshund who spent most of her time in her owners' arms because of a severe dislike of dogs who are larger than she which pretty much meant all the other dogs at the party. Life can be tough when you're little.  There was a personable ~45 pound Cocker Spaniel and an older Benji looking dog who simply kind of felt like he "ain't got time for that," regarding the silliness of the other dogs. There was the year old Wren, a Great Dane. I love that this ~170 pound dog was named after a tiny fragile song bird, but Wren couldn't have had a more gentle demeanor. She was inquisitive and loving. She spent a good portion of the evening trying to engage other dogs with a play stance. That really is something to see!

Wren with John for scale
(photo by India)

India had put a lot of thought to refreshments for the canine and human attendees to the party. She grilled beef burgers which had nothing but beef in them so that they would be dog safe. She washed low sodium bacon in water so that she could decrease the amount of salt in them and grilled them up. The trail mix she set out had peanut butter chips and Reese's pieces in lieu of raisins and chocolate. There were Bugles, corn chips and bean dip for the humans. We pulled beer bottles from a large tub of ice water which turned into an impromptu water bowl for some of the dogs, particularly Wren who could reach the bowl the easiest.

At some point in the evening, I had to leave to pick up my older daughter from her friend's house. I was gone perhaps a total of 20 minutes doing this errand. It was one of those cases of perfect timing.

I returned to the party to the scene of our hosts and party guests with mops and disinfectant. The merits of no-rinse wood floor cleaner were being debated for this bio-hazard type situation. I walked through the house to see that the pressure washer was being used on the deck. I'm pretty sure that wasn't a planned thing.

Like a reporter coming to the state only after a tornado has ripped all the homes off to Oz, I started asking around.

"Ah, you missed it..." just about every story started. The following is taken from first person accounts of the Event.

Miss Wren the Great Dane had eaten before she came to the party. Amounts of the kibble she was given varies according to some accounts. She had been fed upwards of 4 cups of kibble to a metric ton. This reporter is not entirely certain of these facts as she did not see the remains of the Event.

Sweet Wren, delicate thing that she is, started feeling a little off near the front door of the house. A witness claimed that he could see her neck muscles tense and an ungodly plunger like sound alerted all the party attendees that something was amiss. By all accounts, Wren never slowed her stride as she went from the entryway, through the living room, swiped by the kitchen, went through the dining room and out on the back deck. All the while, she spewed, nay splattered the floor and all surrounding areas with the tonnage of kibble, water, and lovely dog treats from the party like nearly full pieces of low sodium bacon and little hamburger patties.

The disbelief of the humans was only second to the disbelief of the other dog party go-ers at their good fortune. There was a literal buffet of dog food on the floor. The humans quickly called on their dogs to "leave it," in regards to the partially digested hamburger patties and bacon. In the dogs' defense, it was the first time they could have gotten their paws on those high level treats without the help of their humans. I hope each one of those dogs got a piece of bacon that hadn't already been inside of another dog as a reward for good behavior.

To give you an idea of the scale of the vomitus that dainty Wren made, Robert wisely got his snow shovel out of the garage to aid in clean up. India said that she couldn't believe that there was still any vomit capacity left in Wren after she left the house and yet there seemed to be exactly the same amount of vomitus on the back deck. My husband said it was as if somebody had a huge sack of wet dog kibble over his shoulder and opened a corner of it while running through the house.

Turns out that sometimes swallowing ice can make dogs throw up. Also, Great Danes have to be careful with having too much water at a sitting. For Wren in particular, she cannot drink unregulated because it does make her vomit. Add to that, she's only a year old and as such is still very much a puppy.

Many of the human party go-ers seemed a little frazzled but for me, I left directly before the Event and returned after all the drama had happened. The clean-up was efficient and effective. India had owned a Great Dane in the past so she's experienced. I can only enjoy the humor.

But hey, how many of us have been to a party where one of the celebrants had a little too much to drink and threw up all over the place?

It might, however, be the first time a snow shovel was used to clean it up.

Hugs

I'm your average American woman. Not a twiggy French lady. I'm a curvy, fluffy, Botticelli-like goddess.

This past Easter, I spent time with some friends who are not your average American woman. They're sisters who are cursed with the opposite of most American women. Can't keep an ounce of fat on their bodies, you know? They're great people, lovely friends. And they give great long hugs. They give those kind of hugs that really make you feel hugged, pulled in and then they hold the hug long enough for at least 30 heartbeats. And because their metabolic rates are so low, those 30 heartbeats are a long time.

But I've always been a squishy kind of person. When they hug me, they're warm hugs, but I can practically reach my arms around back again on myself reaching around their bodies.

Which makes me wonder, not unkindly, what it must be like for them to hug me. Is it weird to be up against all that squishy? Or what is it like for them to hug each other? Because I imagine that's almost like bone on bone.

How's that for completely random?

LIFE85 mini reunion

Initially, I was calling it, "Hey, Melanie and I are going for drinks. Wanna join us?" But no, I had to label it as a reunion and that was, well, awkward. Especially because only 3 of us made it.

For those of you not in the know, when I was 15 years old my high school Sacred Hearts Academy asked me to go on a retreat for student leaders. There was a mix of us -- the athletes, the student officers, the best students, and the ones they hoped against hope would become nuns and priests. I kind of think I was in the last category for them. I'm not really sure why they asked me to go. Most kids applied for their rising senior summer, not their rising junior summer. That had been my intention. But my best friend got in for our rising junior summer and I thought it might be fun to share that experience with her so I applied against my initial plan.

Looking back, it was a transformative camp. It's called, "Living In Faith Experience," and has been given by the Marianist order for years. There was an intimacy and vulnerability that we allowed ourselves -- so different from the usual high school experience of just trying to fit in. I suppose kids who went to summer camps could have similar experiences.

Anyway, this thing that should have been kept as, "Drinks with Mel & me," was in itself a transformative experience. The retreat happened in the bay area and a few of the people that were important to me then still live there. Ernesto was my "journey partner," my dyad buddy -- that's retreat speak for the person you got to process things one on one with. We found each other on Classmates years ago and exchanged emails -- caught up on each other's lives. It was so wonderful to renew that friendship. Melanie was a friend who became closer even after the retreat. She was a prolific writer of letters; I think I got one every week or two. She and Ernesto even came to meet me at the airport when I flew through on my way to Seattle from Hawaii during college. Both of them visited me in Hawaii after graduation. Jolyn was a fellow delegate from Sacred Hearts. Like with Mel, after the retreat she became an even closer friend. She was so nurturing; I remember her scolding me for using my teeth to bite stray thread off of my shirt because it would damage my teeth. Greg was a delegate from Ernesto's school. I was madly infatuated with Greg and on a moonlit night in the middle of a field at the camp, he gave me my first kiss. *le sigh*

So when I got a hold of Melanie and we decided to go out for drinks when I was in town last week, she thought it would be a hoot to invite  our fellow LIFErs. And I did. All except Greg.

I will freely admit that the fifteen year old girl inside of me was terrified to see him again. Not because I hold any residual attraction for him, but because I was so sloppily infatuated with him as a teen. I didn't know how I'd react. I hadn't had  a proper conversation with him I think ever; not a single conversation that was unclouded by a terrifying and confusing hormonal storm.

But last week, I decided not to be the jerk who would exclude one person from the invitation list. I invited him. And he said he could make it.

Crap.

I did the thing that any irrational middle aged woman would do -- I got physical therapy on my sprained ankle so I could wear the high heeled shoes that make my legs look longer and more shapely. I brought 3 different outfits so I would have options. I brought both the curling iron and the hair straightener because of obvious reasons. I went so far as to bring liquid eyeliner. Liquid. Eyeliner. I get points for that.

He offered to be our designated driver so Melanie parked at my brother's house and got to spend time with me and my family before Greg arrived. She helped me choose the right outfit and watched as I franticly freshened up my makeup. Parking is a hassle at my brother's so when Greg texted that he had arrived, Mel and I went outside to meet him. It is the modern day equivalent of honking the horn in front of a girl's house.

Conversation was surprisingly easy and comfortable.

Well, except for one thing.  I was asked when I was going back to Hawaii next. I told them it was next month. The usual murmurs of, "oh, how lucky..." and "wish I could go to Hawaii," followed. I told them that it was for my uncle's funeral. Said that my father and my uncles had conspired to ruin the two most joyous holidays in our faith -- Christmas and Easter. Then Greg, now a firefighter, talked about the bombing in Boston & the fertilizer plant fire at West Texas. He talked about his work in peer support for PTSD for first responders. That he's emboldened his faith in part because of what he's had to see in the line of duty.

Seriously, I had to stop Greg at that point. Because if we continued talking about such sad things, I was certain that I was going to start sobbing and be deep in my cups later. Drinking for solace versus drinking for celebration is an entirely different thing. The former is usually accomplished by high octane rot gut because why would you need to taste it?

I thought maybe I would tell a funny light hearted story. Talk about how my husband thinks I'm a cat person trapped in a dog owner's body. I love my dog to the point of madness. I have hundreds of pictures of my dog on my phone -- this despite having human offspring.

Then Melanie said, "You're going to feel like sh*t if I tell you this, but... I had to put my dog down today. I begged my dog to die naturally, but it didn't happen."

Crap.

But at that point, it was actually pretty funny.

I was surprised with the ease we spoke to each other. And it wasn't the booze (which was AMAZING -- Bar Agricole, seriously go check it out). I think it was LIFE. Something like that leaves an indelible mark on your psyche. We caught up on each others lives, talked about our families & kids, even our faith. We steered clear of politics on Greg's request but I'm pretty sure we all were fairly liberal, at least that's what I'd like to think. I hate it when I have friends who are wrong about their politics, and by wrong I mean don't agree with me. I didn't revert to fifteen year old me and that was a relief. But I did allow myself to care about these people again and acknowledge that our shared experience was an important part of the people we are today.

Maybe next time I'm in town, I'm thinking 2015, I'll throw another, "Drinks with Mel & me."

I'm never calling anything a mini-reunion again.

Cookies

I don't know why cookies are such a popular fund raiser. What a terrible thing to fling at middle aged parents! I'm trying my best to get ready for my high school reunion this coming fall and I've got to wade through a fund raising mine field.

Shoot, the Girl Scout cookie sale is in March. That shouldn't be too terrible considering that the cookies are all in sealed boxes so I never have to actually be confronted with their delicious yumminess. Cookies are one thing, but cookies with a good cause thereby making you feel like you're doing the world a favor -- well, that's just hard to resist. Both of the girls are taking cookie orders right now so if you're looking for cookies, they can hook you up.

Last fall, my hubby ordered 3 tubs of cookie dough from my friend's kid for his soccer club. It keeps well in the freezer so despite them telling us that the dough was ready, we've avoided having it in our house by never picking it up. It's been a good arrangement. We pay for the cookie dough and we don't have to actually eat it.

But... two things happened at the same time this past week. 1. I was at my friend's house. 2. She remembered about the cookie dough that has been taking up freezer real estate.

Shucks.

My husband had ordered peanut butter, chocolate chip, and snickerdoodles. I'm not really much of a cookie eater. None of this really phased me at all. My hubby's real Achilles' heel is the snickerdoodle. He just can't get enough.

As far as I can tell, it is a sugar cookie with a slight tartness from cream of tartar, and covered in cinnamon before it is baked so you can see the fissures in the surface as the dough spreads from the heat of the oven. Kind of like skin on the aliens from the movie Alien Nation.

When I discovered that a big snow storm was on its way, I decided to cook up the cookies. It would be good to have prepared food on hand for the kids just in case we lose power. It has happened for over a week for us before.

But I decided to stick the snickerdoodle dough in the freezer.

Lil'T couldn't understand my reason at first.

Me:  I don't like us having cookies around much in the first place because I know your daddy might sneak them. He can probably resist the peanut butter and the chocolate chip, but snickerdoodles are his favorite. I don't want it to easily available for him to eat.

Lil'T:  We'll a-course he's gonna sneak them. They are SNEAKerdoodles!

I'm so totally not making this conversation up. My baby girl is hilarious. She made up a joke all on her own.

Genius.

Forcast

My dear friend Susan is encouraging me to join her on a half marathon in May. Things you should know about me, I am not a runner. I am not a jogger. I am barely a walker. But I like the idea of running. I think maybe this could be good for me. At least I feel glad to go for the walk because my dog needs the exercise anyway.

Then I remembered that I live in the Seattle weather zone. By that I mean, we share the exact same climate as Seattle. Famous for its rain, we get it too. Just not the fame. Nor the traffic. But I think I'm veering off course. I'm trying to stay true to my training schedule so this half marathon thing isn't as daunting a goal.

I wasn't totally unprepared.  Despite it being rainy and awful, I put on my running shoes and an allegedly waterproof coat. I even put a coat on the dog. (A note about clothes on the dog:  Holly barely tolerates wearing her collar. She is joyous when we take it off at night. So when I do put a harness on her, she's already sad. But when I reach for her coat she is positively stricken. She'll stand there, stock still, with her ears pinned so far back that they touch in the back of her head and her eyes look at me pleading. They seem to say, "What did I ever do to you? Why do you torment me so?" But it was raining pigs and cows today, so despite her protests, she wore the coat and was much drier for it.)

I had to pull Holly out of the car when we reached our destination. She knew better than me that this was no weather for walking. But out into it we went and she endured. I tried to do that thing that Susan told me to do, walk for 2 minutes then jog for 10 - 30 seconds, rinse, repeat. But Holly stopped me as soon as we got to the grass, quickly did her business and then looked at me with those pleading eyes again. "Did my thing. Let's go home. Can't you see that it is wet out here?"

But against my dog's better judgement, I started out with my walk/jog training regimen. 7 minutes into it, my feet soaked, my pants soaked, my allegedly waterproof jacket turning out to be a passable sponge, my fingers freezing and my job approval ratings from my dog reaching an all time low, I turned around and headed back.

Later that day I managed to go for a more leisurely walk with another friend. At least I got out. But this time I wore waterproof boots, woolen socks, ski pants, ski gloves, a touk, a properly waterproof coat, poly-pro long johns, and carried an umbrella.

I was still cold.

Days like this have me questioning the life choices I've made that led me to live here instead of where I was born:  Hawaii.

I heard a conversation on the radio today that while meant to be funny, kind of turned a knife in my gut. Some woman called in and asked, "Any idea what the weather will be like tomorrow?" The DJ said, "Well, considering that tomorrow will be a day between September and May in Seattle, I'm going to take a stab at it and say that it's going to be rainy."

I know, I moved here with eyes wide open. Who knew I was such an idiot when I was in my twenties?

Marisa

A couple of years ago, I made a promise to write a letter to all the people who are important to me, who have impacted my life in some way. They were supposed to be a kind of thank-you letter and a kind of testimonial too. How meeting them has changed me life in whatever way it did. But when it came to the actual practice of writing these letters, I was frozen. Maybe the people who are important to my life felt slighted waiting for their letters that never came in the mail. I mean, when you set out a task like that, it really is daunting. I was a fool to ever set that out as a goal. I am an idiot. It is an impossible task and subject to some serious procrastination.

But today I'm going to write one of these letters.

Today is Marisa's birthday.

She and I met years ago when our first kids were both still in diapers. Now that they're teen agers, that is sure to embarrass the heck out of them, and for that I am glad. Her older child is a girl, my eldest a boy. But back then, they were great buddies. Marisa was new to the island as was I. We both had given up our careers to stay home with our babies and were adjusting to being stay-home moms. Marisa had the added challenge of having a husband who travelled for work. We both were desperate for adult interaction. We became fast friends, but not terribly close back then. My first impression of her was that she was funny, very pretty, and super social.

As the kids got older, they went to different preschools. You'd be surprised how that little change can make a difference. The kids also moved into the phase where they preferred to be with kids of their same gender. Suddenly boys and girls were not playing together like they used to. We started running in different circles, but were always glad to see each other whenever we did meet up. Living on an island, that happens a lot.

A couple of years ago, I got in my mind that I wanted to really be a grown up. Start hosting and going to dinner parties. After reading about a supper club in some magazine, I decided that was what I was going to do. I made a couple of rules for myself on these supper parties. They had to be with people who loved food & were willing to try new things. My two best friends were instantly eliminated because of violations of that basic premise, adventurous eating.  By these rules, I shouldn't have allowed my own husband in the club, but he got a pass because of me. He's still iffy on certain types of veggies and seafood, but he's come a long way. There was brief talk of me bringing somebody else to be my date because my husband could be such a dud.

I admit, I struggled to find the 3 other couples to be in my group. Some people were worried about the time commitment. At least that was what they told me. Maybe it was the fear of meeting new couples who only had me in common. Who knows. But I really struggled to find people to meet the criteria.

On a whim, I went with my daughter to watch the local musical theater company do a production of Beauty and the Beast. Sitting by herself was Marisa, right in front of me and my daughter. We chatted and I asked her if she and her husband might be interested in being in my supper club. She said yes immediately. Yay! Coincidentally, I asked the wife of the guy who played the Beast to be in it and she agreed as well. Who knew that half of my recruiting problems would be solved at Beauty and the Beast?

It was one of the luckiest things that has ever happened to me.

For one, Marisa can make a drink. She says that her mom would have her mix drinks for the family dinner parties when she was a kid. Imagine bartending from the age of 9. (That *might* be an exaggeration.) Marisa has a very heavy hand. Or maybe I have a very light tolerance. But for the first few supper clubs, I could barely make it through the appetizers without being completely blotto. She is easily one of the most interesting people I know. She's studied World Religions and has a totally different philosophy about spirituality than most people I know -- but she still manages to be respectful and nonjudgmental about other people's views. Something that I know other people simply don't know how to emulate. Nor often do they know how to recognize it when they see it. She volunteers and works tirelessly in service as a Rotarian and as a Girl Scout. She has this GORGEOUS voice which she used as part of a band with her husband (they have a cd). Went karaoke with her friends & her once and was blown away. She is a stunningly graceful belly dancer. A belly dancer after 2 kids and you couldn't ever tell! Saw her in a bikini this summer and if she weren't my friend, I'd have thrown jealous daggers at her all day.

A couple of years after I started the supper club, the unthinkable happened to our family. My husband lost his job. Beyond that, he didn't seem to be motivated to look for a new one for a while. I knew that he needed to figure that out. I needed to figure that out too. Unless you go through something like that, you don't know what it is like. It was devastating, and ego crushing. I knew the right thing to do was to go back to nursing, a career that always felt like shoes that didn't fit. Sure I could walk in them, but it would hurt. Nursing was soul crushing to me because it doesn't speak to my passions. And who gives a crap about passion when there are babies to feed and a house to pay for.

The other thing is that nobody knows how to help you out. Nobody knows what to do for you when this happens, because it is so uncomfortable. In this society, we don't talk about money. We say empty promises like, "If I can help in any way, just let me know." How exactly are we supposed to ask for help?

So I cannot express the gratitude I felt when Marisa would call and say, "I'm just overrun with produce from the garden. Why don't you come over and help me out." That summer and fall, she gave us so much from her bounty, always with the attitude that we were helping her since her girls wouldn't eat the stuff and her husband was out of town. Once she even insisted that we take a bunch of meat she had in her freezer because it was "just going to go to waste."

Not only did she help feed my family in a very concrete and real way, she did so without ever making me feel beholden to her.

I guess she has even more grace than her ability to dance.

I'm grateful to my son for being little at the same time her daughter was so that Marisa and I could meet. I'm grateful to my daughter for wanting to see Beauty and the Beast with me. I'm grateful to my dog for being such a spitfire that she tires out Marisa's big dogs and gives me an excuse to hang out with Marisa.

Mostly, I'm grateful, Marisa, for the friendship you give me. Love you, sister!

Girl Scout camping without girls

This weekend was the first ever Peninsula Girl Scout leader retreat. I'm not 100% sure what I want to say about this past weekend other than the very non descriptive:  It was AWESOME!!! We had representatives from all over the peninsula including vampire/werewolf country:  Forks, WA. I'm thinking I need to make a dig to the SU's from Bremerton and Poulsbo because they missed out on a fabulous weekend. We talked a lot about the girls, commiserated about challenges, things we had learned, but mostly just got together and had a freaking blast.


Our contingent ended up getting there a little later than we should have. Turns out it is hard to find the camp in the dark. It is in the middle of BFE, I mean, the Tahuya National forest. The sign for the dirt road turn off for the camp is about the size of notebook paper. Anyhow, when we did finally get our gear put in the cabin and get downstairs to meet the rest of the people, I have to admit, I was a little intimidated. That didn't last very long, mind you. But still, I was a little nervous. The whole point of the weekend was for leaders from all over to get to know each other. 


I walked into that room and I thought they all were a bunch of old friends -- they all must have come from the same area. I had to fight that urge to sit by myself or find a table that had enough seats for my contingent to sit together. Instead, I went to a table already in the middle of something -- unwrapping the hershey kisses on the table so they could make a foil ball to see if they could make the trash can from across the room. (It made sense then. What can I say?) Anyhow, I got right in the middle of this and I was welcomed instantly. Cool, right? Turns out that these ladies weren't all from the same service unit. Turns out a lot of them had just met the hour before. But how cool is that?


The next day we could attend discussions, do crafts (which were pretty darned cool -- batik & decoupage -- not at the same time but I suppose you could) or whatever we wanted. I took a hike around the lake after we attended a morning discussion about resources in our local communities. Later that afternoon we had a great discussion about the new Girl Scouting program. Yes, has changed once again and it is really really cool. Change is good. Stagnation is bad. Stagnation = irrelevance. It's that simple.


The food was fabulous. (Honestly, when do you get creme brûlée while camping?)There were flushing toilets, showers & electricity but my data connection was spotty at best. (I know, lame to use a cell phone during a camp out but how else was I going to check my Facebook?)


And while we were on our weekend high, our group decided to host next year's event. This was an event pulled together just since this past June and already the bar is set crazy high. But since we have a year to put it together, hopefully it won't be too bad. 


Just don't know how to top creme brûlée.

St. Volkswagon

Those of you who have known us for a long time are familiar with Neighbor Bob. He was our neighbor at our old house. At the time, our eldest was very confused with there being an Uncle Bob on Hubby's side, and Uncle Bob on my side, and Bob who lived next door. So our nice older neighbor was dubbed Neighbor Bob by That. Neighbor Bob is still a good friend to us and we see him from time to time as we still own our first house and rent it out. In fact it was Neigbor Bob who found our new tenants when our old ones moved out. Even before we had the chance to list it! Neighbor Bob rocks!

Anyway, about 4 years ago, Neighbor Bob woke up one day with a belly that looked like he was 7 months pregnant. He went from being a very active, single, divorced guy to being infirm. His elderly mother moved in to take care of him. We saw Bob only rarely then, with his mom giving us the details of his condition. Things were so bad at one point that Bob ended up on the liver transplant list, wondering who was going to win the race: Death or a new liver.

It was truly a great surprise when we ran into Bob a couple of months ago at the library parking lot. Gone was the ashen pallor he had been wearing for the past few years. There was pink in his cheeks and his eyes had gone back to sparkling. Then he told us about the big dent in the door of his Volkswagon Euro Van that pretty much saved his life.

Bob had returned from his doctor's office pretty deflated. The internist had told him that his liver function tests were quite poor and that he had been moved up to first priority for a new liver. Things were looking grim and the doctor estimated that Bob only had a couple of weeks to a month to live. At that point he was walking with a cane and his nearly 90 year old mother was driving him around town. (I should add a pause here as you should all be realizing that riding around with his mom in the driver's seat was probably his best way of preventing his death from liver failure. Likely blunt force trauma would catch up with him first. But I digress...)

Bob was resting in the living room when his mother came home. She said that the van was making a funny noise and she thought she may have run over something. Could he please take a look. So Bob got out his cane and dutifully walked over to the still running van. Gripping the driver's front door, he leaned over and noticed that Mom had driven over a tomato cage which had wrapped around the front axle. He tried to dislodge it by poking it with his cane but was unsuccessful. So while he held the driver's front door, he laid down his cane and reached under the van with his other hand. He gave the tomato cage a mighty yank and somehow popped the car out of park and into neutral. It started to roll. Bob was caught under the van which rolled over his abdomen and over his legs. And because it was parked on a slope, the van started to roll back the way it had come, again over Bob's legs and his head. At this point, he knew that if he didn't get up, there was no way he was going to survive the day. So he caught the front door of the van which was still open and swinging freely. Somehow, he pulled on the door, wrenching it backwards and almost off of the car, but that move got him out from under the moving vehicle. As you can imagine, blood was streaming down his face from the headband shaped cut across his scalp. He calmly got on his cell phone and called his mother. He told her not to panic and to just turn the shower on as cold as possible. Told her that he had a little cut on his head but it was not a big deal. He was just going to clean himself up and no worries.

My thought is that he couldn't see saddling his mother with an emergency room visit since he only had 4 more weeks to live. So anyway, he walked up to the door probably looking like the Night of the Living Dead, except in real life, telling his mom not to panic and don't bother calling an ambulance. It was only a flesh wound. When he washed up and lay down with a red towel wrapped around his head, his mother did the only sane thing and called for an ambulance.

Bob was airlifted to the nearest trauma center where his head was stitched up and he was told to meet with a surgeon to assess if he had any other damage to his internal organs from the accident. That surgeon did an exploratory surgery on Bob, and like an expert Christmas Elf putting away a string of lights, the surgeon pulled out Bob's innards and replaced them back in the original packaging good as new.

After recovery, Bob was coming up close to his 4th and theoretically last week of life. He went to his regular doctor and they did the usual liver function tests. When the results came in, his doctor was flabbergasted. He said, "I don't know how you did it, Bob, but you've got the liver function of a 20 year old."

Now Bob's being asked by the University of Washington Medical Center to come in so they can figure out exactly how he's still alive. He hasn't fixed the damage he caused to the driver's side door of his van but it is a great lead in for a great story so I wouldn't fix it either.
When I tell this story, I laugh all the way through it -- only because I know it ends well. I mean, Bob told us the story after all. Either way, I am certain that that van was instrumental in a miracle. My husband likes to joke that the van only needs to cure one more person of a terminal illness and it can be canonized a saint.

Anybody out there game?

Honest Answers

I got tagged by a friend of mine to do this on Facebook and as my blog and FB are linked, I figured I'd post it here and it will eventually be posted there. Here are my answers to this MEME.

Can you fill this out without lying? You've been tagged, so now you need to answer all the questions HONESTLY. At the end, choose at least 8 people to be tagged. Don't forget to tag me!

To do this, copy this entire message, then go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, delete my answers, and type yours.

Next, tag 8 people (in the right hand corner of the app). Click publish (at the bottom). Have fun! :)

1.What was the last thing you put in your mouth? Clam chowder that was leftover from last night. OMG I am a good cook. It is the first time I tried making clam chowder and I just tried what I thought would fit. Granted, this isn't like figuring out how to make a souffle but it was a triumph for me.

2.Where was your profile picture taken? At home after a dinner party with my mobile phone -- a Palm Pre. Hubby is getting increasingly annoyed with the Pre because it could be faster about loading apps, etc. but I don't care. It is freakin' awesome that I can answer my email, txt, send pics, etc. I love it!

3.Can you play Guitar Hero? We don't own Guitar Hero but I have played it before. We do own the pads for DDR for our old Xbox which is very similar, except was done with your feet.

4.Name someone who made you laugh today? My good friend Marisa. She did tell me what felching (sp?) was. Before you Google or Bing that word, remember you can't unknow something that you now know. And the visual is simply not pleasant.

5.How late did you stay up last night and why? Around 1am. I was up coughing. Damned cold.

6.If you could move somewhere else, would you? Norway. Just watched SICKO by Michael Moore. The fjords are gorgeous.

7. Ever been kissed under fireworks? Yes. We got married on the Fourth of July. The country celebrates our anniversary with fireworks. At least that is what we tell our kids.

8. Which of your friends lives closest to you? I'm gonna say Sharon. But I haven't taken out a map. It could be Marisa. Not sure.

9. Do you believe exes can be friends? I think you can go back to friendly acquaintances. But true friends? Probably not.

10. How do you feel about Dr Pepper? It is good. It has been over a decade from the diet Dr. Pepper vaca on Kauai that Hubby and I took. We had about 4 days left on the vaca and we went to the grocery store. The "cube" of diet DP was on sale and I couldn't pass up on that price. After 3 days of drinking nothing but diet DP, Hubby and I couldn't touch it without wanting to throw up. I think we left some in the fridge of the hotel room.

11. When was the last time you cried really hard? When Uncle Nofre died last December, I wailed. I mean truly loudly wailed. I still miss him terribly.

12. Who took your profile picture? I did.

13. Who was the last person you took a picture of? Julia's dogs. Does that count as persons? If not, I've got Julia's leg in the picture.

14. Was yesterday better than today? No.

15. Can you live a day without TV? Hubby would disagree with this claim, but yes, I can live without TV.

16. Are you upset about anything? Not right this second. Oh wait, the railing on our deck fell off when it was dumping rain last night. I may have to get into it with my insurance company. But that is about it.

17. Do you think relationships are ever really worth it? Never. jk. Of course.

18. Are you a bad influence? Yeah, most likely. I could be better about cuss words and not losing my temper. I also keep a fairly messy house, as my mother would attest to, so that's not a good influence on my messy kids either. So definitely I'm a bad influence.

19. Night out or night in? In. I'm an old married lady with kids.

21. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital? My mother, last October. She's cancer free now.

22. What does the last text message in your in box say? It was a note from Julia at 8:38am. "Not so fun standing in the rain at a soccer game..."

23. How do you feel about your life right now? These are the good years. I'm living the dream.

24. Do you hate anyone? No

25. If we were to look in your face book inbox, what would we find? Emails from friends. Nothing scandalous.

27. Has anyone ever called you perfect before? Yes. By my dentist. I have beautiful teeth.

28. What song is stuck in your head? Nothing right now. Blessed silence.

29. Someone knocks on your window at 2:00 a.m., who do you want it to be? Paul Gross. I have a crush on that actor. He's on Eastwick on ABC this year. OMG yummy. He also was on Slings and Arrows, which is where I first started crushing on him. He's tall with dark wavy hair and light eyes. What can I say? I have a type.

30.Wanna have grandkids before you’re 50? My son would be in his early twenties then and while it is possible, given that he's gorgeous but (thankfully) awkward, I doubt it. Hubby always jokes that we'll be grandparents in 3 years. (The boy is 12 right now...)

31. Name something you have to do tomorrow? Pick up the boy from a campout.

32. Do you think too much or too little? Too much -- but obsessively on one thing at a time. So the last couple of days it was all Girl Scouts all the time. A couple of weeks ago, it was all dog training all the time.

33. Do you smile a lot? I think so.

34. How many hours a day do you spend on the computer? I think maybe 5 - 6.

35. If you could be anyone else for a day, who would you be? Paul Gross's mistress. jk. Martha Stewart before prison. Well, she wasn't so bad after prison either.

36. Facebook or Twitter? Facebook. I'm tweeting but not really well enough. There are some people who tweet way too much and I end up being deluged by them so I don't like checking too often.

37. Chicken or Beef? Beef. I'm sure I'm a mad cow and will likely turn into a flesh eating zombie if Zombieland is to be believed. Prepare for the zombie apocalypse.

38. Mac or PC? PC

39. Have you ever punched anyone in the face? No

40. Have you ever been punched in the face? Yes, by an old man who was a patient when I was a nurse. I wasn't familiar with him and had not heard that he was violent. He was sitting in a chair out in the hall and the nurse who was caring for him was in the breakroom giving report. He was tearing stuff up and throwing it on the floor so I bent over to pick the stuff up. I got too close and he gave me a fat lip. I was so shocked as I totally wasn't expecting it. He didn't even look angry. Who knows, maybe when I'm old I'll do crazy stuff like punching 20 year old nurses in the face too.

Holly -wog

Poor little Holly has such a fun name. All kinds of neat nick names can be made from it. Holly-wood. Holly-wog. Holly Berry. Hollyanna.

A couple of weeks ago, lil' Miss Holly proved that she loves me far more than any of my human children ever could. Maybe it is just that they've not been faced with proving their love for me by putting themselves in mortal danger, so perhaps I am a little unfair in my assessment.

We were at the beach for our last summer hurrah. It was a perfect day for it. The tide was low earlier in the day so when the water came in, it was nice and warm. There was a breeze so we weren't too hot on the sunny day, but it did make for choppy waters. I think the waves were maybe 3 or 4 inches tall but when you're Holly sized (she was maybe 8 - 9 pounds at the time) they're tsunami sized waves.

Lil'T wanted to go swimming so I walked out into the surf with her. Holly is not a swimming dog. Her breed historically lived on farms and hunted mice. They were always far from the sea. Holly doesn't even like to go out in the rain. But she followed me and T to the shore where she howled and barked for me to come back to the dry land because it was treacherous in the water. Surely, T and I should know better than to risk our lives in the sea. T and I played in the surf and Holly looked on completely dismayed. Somewhere in that doggy brain, she made a decision to save our lives and she jumped into the surf, braving waves breaking over her head, swimming (more like thrashing) because she's not an artful swimmer. I've covered how here breed is not a water dog, right? And she swam into my arms. At that point, I was holding both the dog and the pre-schooler. Lil'T was laughing and having a great time. Holly was crying, wet, miserable, shaking in fear, and cold. So I walked the 3 yards to the shore and plopped her on dry land. Again with the crying, whimpering, and howling. And again with the jumping in, thrashing in the water, swimming out to Lil'T and me. It happened about 5 or 6 times.

Our friend Kiko, who is a veterinarian, was with us at the beach. She saw the whole pathetic display of Holly's undying devotion. She was asked if this was normal for dogs to behave this way. She said that it wasn't normal. That it bordered on pathological. Kiko said that I should spend time away from Holly and let her learn to be on her own a little more.

Pathological?

I think I'm okay with she and me being codependent on each other. I mean, it isn't like I'm enabling her to do drugs or alcohol. She just has a slightly unbalanced attachment to me and I have to admit, I do to her as well. That throwing her own mortal fears to the wind and jumping into the water to "save" me, well, that just sealed it.

Devotion = Holly

TheGirlsWedding

I didn't catch swine flu. At least I don't think I did. But I did get a major case of homesickness for Hawaii. When people ask me about the wedding, I tell them that it felt like I was at a garage party in the heart of Waipahu. The only things missing were the mosquito punks, the buckets of water under the outside lights to catch the moths, and the old guys in the corner playing Sakura cards and drinking beer. There was the beer drinking but not the card playing.

There was Hawaiian plate lunch food: steamed rice, teri chicken, fried noodles, kalbi ribs, mac salad, green salad. The cake was so good. It was a coconut type filling and so tasty that I had a piece as big as my head. Well, maybe not that big, but definitely bigger than I would have taken had it not been coconut in the center.

Dawn, Noelle's sister, sang "What are you doing for the rest of your life?" by Na Leo as Noelle and Edie danced. I folded up a dollar bill so small and put it so deep down Edie's shirt that I don't think Noelle had a chance to retrieve it. Oops. Seriously, I wasn't trying to cop a feel on your wife, Noelle. We sang "Dahil Sa Iyo" to Edie. It was a great moment; Noelle, her cousins and me belting it out to her wife. Edie said later that it was the only time she had cried all day long. It was so very sweet. Afterward, her cousins told her, "You're part of the family now, Edie."

During the reception, we had a jam session with guitar and uke playing, stumbled through Hawaiian lyrics that we had to plumb the depths of our memory to find those elusive melodies. We were cracking jokes and laughing. Noelle at one point told us the, "Watch out, watch out, watch out," story that had us all rolling. Music, laughter, free flowing wine and beer, and yummy cake. What's not to like?

I absolutely fell in love with Noelle's extended family. My head actually hurt from laughing so much. We reminisced about going to St. Joe's for grade school. We did the usual, "What school you grad?" stuff that is kind of a given when you gather a bunch of people from Hawaii in a room. And while I was just home to Hawaii only a couple of months ago with my own family, the visit was so colored with grief that I still miss home. The abject joy of hanging out with family, how Dawn's son Aston called me Aunty even though he had never met me before, all the inside jokes, how when I said, "chai wait," that I was understood perfectly (yeah, that slipped out of my mouth at one point and actually surprised me because I thought those Waipahu roots were well buried)-- I miss that.

Oh well, my brothers with respective families, my mom, Hubby's parents and my sister-in-law, will all be here at the end of the month. That means that I need to somehow get it so that there shouldn't be a red plastic wrap on my front door emblazoned with the word BIOHAZARD. I need to clean this house. That's the downside of family gatherings. But the upside is that I get to see everybody -- and we'll be laughing over shared inside jokes and singing loud bad karaoke in the media room.

I can't wait.

Spamdemic

Next weekend, one of my friends from my hana-butta days is getting married in Southern California. I'm so very excited to be invited to the wedding. Noelle and I have been friends since I think the 3rd grade. We've never lost touch. Even when I went off to Sacred Hearts Academy and she went to Waipahu High School, we remained close.

Anyway, she's getting married in Southern California where this swine flu has been found. I have to admit, I'm a little afraid about catching it. I'm coming off a nasty flu season when Lil'T got sick every other week. In fact, she's sick right now. But the thing is, I still have that lingering cough you get after you've had the flu. I can't shake it. And now, with everybody being in a panic, I'm worried that I'll be mauled when I get on the airplane next week Friday. I mean, what if I cough and all the passengers turn on me because they're afraid of the swine flu?

Plus, what if I go down to So Cal and end up catching it? I'd bring it back to my island and imagine what would happen. This island is so freaking small that if one kid has lice in one school, all of the schools are on alert. For weeks after the last lice outbreak at an elementary school that isn't even the one that Princess attends, I put the girls' hair up in ponytails and buns so that there would be no chance of transmission. Swine flu would go through this place faster than Chinese Food on a Tuesday night.

My mother is suggesting that I either invest in some face masks (yeah, that will look nice in the wedding pictures) or that I just cancel the trip until the spamdemic passes.

I think I'm going to chance it anyway. I wouldn't miss this wedding for the world.

The Wedding Planner

Yesterday evening, on the most auspicious day of 8/8/08, at 8:08pm, my friends Julie & Joe got married. Thousands of people (especially Chinese folk) got married yesterday because of the number 8 which means good fortune (wealth) in China. Joe and Julie aren't Chinese, but I think the idea of all those eights, especially since this is the 8th year of them as a couple, they thought it a great idea to get married on the day.

And it is all my fault.

I didn't introduce them or anything like that. What I did do was nag Julie to the point of annoyance which all came to a head last week Sunday at the beach. I struggle with this because I've been told many times by people who love me that I have no tact. Because self-loathing is something I'd like to rid myself of, I embrace my tactlessness. Anyway, back to the beach. I said to Julie, "So, are you two ever going to have a ceremony?" Which led to a discussion about the 8/8/08 day. When I told Julie about its meaning in the Chinese culture, I think it really captured her imagination. The following day, she called me and my co-conspirator Sharon with the news that her friend Lissa was going to host it at her fabulous waterfront property and the wedding was a go.

You didn't read that wrong. There were 4 days to plan and do this wedding.

I've reflected on that idea a lot. People always say that you need a good year to plan a wedding. I think that is a whole lot of hooey. See, it is all about expectations. If you have a year to obsess about how a wedding should look and how people should dress, and what the favors should look like, and what color bows to put on the chairs -- YOU WILL OBSESS ABOUT THE MINUTIA, simply because you can. When you have 4 days to put together a wedding, you get to be much more big picture. This was a big picture wedding.

The invitations were sent out by email. Of the 80 people invited, about 70 showed up. Remember, that was on 4 days notice. The bride's father and the groom's parents who live out of town, made it to the wedding. It was amazing. Friends and family, even the best friend of the bride's father made it to the wedding. It was truly magical.

The minister is a friend of Joe & Julie's. He's a total hoot! I talked to him on Thursday to get some music figured out for the wedding ceremony. I also suggested what I think is the perfect wedding song, but the few couples that I've suggested it to in the past have nixed it. It is Grow Old with Me by John Lennon, covered by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Thursday at 10 pm, I checked my email and found that Mark had decided that I should sing the song while he accompanied me on the guitar. A perfectly balanced person would balk at that idea especially with no rehearsal time.

I am not perfectly balanced.

I wrote Mark back and told him that sounded great. And since I would be singing, then Sharon would do the reading during the service instead. Turns out that it was a joke. Mark was not ready (in one day) to get that song in performance mode so I called his bluff. I was a little disappointed that I didn't get to sing it but should I ever attend another wedding where Mark is officiating, I'll be sure to sing it then.

I ended up herding cats all evening long. Getting the kids to stick around for the formal pictures, getting the guests to gather for the actual wedding, getting people to gather for toasts, making sure the couple had champagne in hand to have the toast... truly, it was challenging. There is the fact that you cannot legally use a cattle prod on guests at a wedding. Nor can you taser the groom so that he'll stay in one place while we're taking pictures. (No, Joe, you may not go back to the car to get something.) You cannot tastefully use a megaphone at a wedding. You cannot yell at people to get moving or they'll miss the wedding. And yeah, Minister Mark, I get to tell you to start at 8pm, and it was a gift that I gave you 8:08pm. I get why real wedding coordinators get paid so much.

And the other cool thing about weddings is seeing people you totally don't expect to see. I got to catch up with a college friend whom I've not seen in about 17 years. We didn't even know we had Julie in common. Amazing.

All in all, it was really great. One of the guests brought fireworks to set off. When they were announced as Mr. & Mrs. they had the fireworks overhead. I cried a little during the vows and couldn't believe that I had forgotten the rule to always wear water proof mascara to weddings. I didn't raccoon too much. Sharon stole my napkin to pass to the bride to wipe her tears leaving me defenseless. Bah.

It was a good day for romance.

His friend Jeremy

When I need a quick pick me up, I like to peruse the offerings at website called Engrish.com. They show funny english words or phrases on products or signs that are corruptions of the English language. This goes beyond the simple misspelling, but more to strange new meanings that only a native speaker would understand. Like how having a drink called "Coolpis," might not be the most appetizing prospect on a hot summer day. Or how your marketing department might need a reorganization if they named your new candy "Dew-dew". It isn't only potty humor. Like the most recent discovery was of a very indecisive store called, "Go Go Come." Talk about mixed messages.

A work colleague of my husband is visiting from Taiwan. Jeremy thoughtfully brought presents to his friends here. Here is a picture of what we received.

Like any good morning cereal box, it comes with puzzles. Here's a closeup of the word scramble.It isn't that hard to solve the puzzle but just in case you're stumped, I put it as one of the labels for this post.


There are the simple misspellings like bayery for bakery, serring for serving, carbohy drate for carbohydrate, too many 'e's in protien. Those were fun.

But my favorite engrish from the box was this.


What's that you say? No engrish there. Oh, but my friend, when you open the box, the engrish becomes quite evident.

Yeah, that's not cake.

The ghost of someone's tradgedy

The title of this post is from my favorite Indigo Girls song: Watershed.

"Twisted guardrails on the highway, broken glass on the cement. The ghost of someone's tragedy, how recklessly my time has been spent"

Two weekends ago, there was crazy weather here on the island. There was sunshine, snow, hail, sleet and freezing rain all within the span of 2 hours on Sunday afternoon. We drove in that insane weather to do some shopping and on our return to the island, was caught up in a police blockade on the highway. Traffic was diverted to side streets and the highway wasn't opened up again until around 3pm. It wasn't until the next day that I found out why.

My daughter brought home a note from the principal of her elementary school. The father of 3 children at her school was killed in a car accident on the way home. His 8 year old son was in the car with him but didn't sustain serious physical injuries.

For the past week, I've been obsessing about this accident. He was young, only 42 years old. It is a mystery how he lost control of the car. By the time we were returning home, that area on the road seemed clear of snow and ice, but maybe not.

We don't personally know the family. I'm positive I would recognize them on sight as we all had children attending the same school. My kids are exactly 1 year older than 2 of their kids so we didn't run in the same circles. We have 1 degree of separation from that family as quite a few of our friends are also friends with them.

When something like this happens, it somehow feels wrong that the world keeps spinning. Somehow, there should be a pause button. There is this guilt that I can still laugh, breathe, or kiss my kids. Things I rejoice in, just seems unfair that family doesn't have them anymore. So in that way, the world did pause in honor of that tragedy.

And then there is the desire to somehow care take for that family. That's how a family gets deluged with casseroles and macaroni salads after a loved one is lost. But you know, after coming out of the fog of losing a loved one, I don't remember who brought the doughnuts or the macaroni salad. I remember that they came. That they sat with me and bore the grief with me. That they reminded me that I could still breathe.

I don't know what I can do to help that family. My friends and I have reached out through a mutual friend. She said she'll let us know what the family will need and will put us on the schedule for cooking meals if that is what the family wants.

So I'll look up an easy to freeze casserole recipe and await my turn, hug my husband especially tight, and try to replace my guilt with gratitude.

The evolution of girl friends

My mother, who turned 70 this past August, has a close friend who lives in Barcelona. How cool is that? Yvonne is probably in her 50's-60's (I don't want to commit to an exact age. She might have some choice words for me if I do.) She and my mom used to be neighbors but when Yvonne's husband got work in Europe, Yvonne had to move. And to make it even worse, Yvonne sold her house in Hawaii and will be moving to Washington when her husband's work in Barcelona is over. Thank goodness for the Internet. They email each other regularly. Even though Mom isn't living with me anymore, when we talk on the phone, I'll read Mom's emails to her and then take dictation for the replies. Sometimes they'll write about how the grand kids are getting so big. They marvel about how this one is already talking, or the other one has outgrown their shoes after only 3 months. But that's a distraction.

Invariably, their bulk of their emails is about food.

Yvonne always writes about her access to fabulous seafood, fresh market produce, and exotic restaurants. Mom counters with all the home cooking and local foods that Yvonne cannot find in Barcelona -- things like pancit bihon, manapua, chicken adobo, and Loraine Lau's laulau. (We ate the last of the Lau's laulau last month and so I'm begging my mom to call Loraine as soon as she deplanes in Honolulu. Loraine makes the best laulau. Broke da mout!)

My husband teases me every time I facilitate an email exchange between my mother and her friend. He says that someday it'll be me with my friends comparing produce and side dishes on the phone.

A few years ago, I remember having a mild freak out when my friend Charlotte, whom I've known since we were both 14 years old, gave me a recipe for a dip. A dip recipe! That was something my mother always did with her friends. Now that Char & I are old married ladies and mothers, we no longer talk about shoes, boys, makeup, shoes, which of the Duran Duran guys would make the best husband, and what's the new black. (And if you think I put in shoes twice by accident, you clearly don't know me personally.) None of that. Now we're exchanging casserole recipes and tips on how to get wine stains out of Berber carpet.

I hope that I remain an interesting person as time goes on. I'd hate to think that after we stop exchanging recipes, stain removal tips, and bragging/complaining about our kid's schoolwork/homework/sports/activities, all we'll be left with to talk about is what we had for dinner last night.

But what if it is already too late? What if conversation devolving into talking only about food is the only safe road? I mean, we don't talk religion, politics, or finances. Is that what is going on? Is that why we become "boring"?

Budding artist

I want to apologize to all those parents out there about whom I have ever once thought, "What the heck are they doing with those kids? They have no idea how to raise them." Please forgive my arrogance. I only had thoughts like those before I had kids myself. And for all of you who have thought that about us, I forgive you. My mother tells me the above quote on a regular basis, and considering that she spent the last few months with us, I think it is fair. And she's my mom. She gets a pass.

Back when I knew all there was to know about parenting, back when I had no kids of my own, I was visiting with my friends Aileen and Mike. They had 2 young boys at the time. I think N was 4 or 5 and M was 3. Anyway, I was talking to Aileen at her dining table when M came streaking by. Now when I say streaking, I'm not trying to be creative with my words saying that he was running by. I mean streaking in the sense of running with no clothes on. But what was upsetting about the situation was that M's penis was all purple. I was worried. Aileen had seen it too and we both became concerned. She ran after him and after a few moments of tense coaxing, "M, let Mommy see. What happened to you baby?" He finally showed her what was wrong. There was a pause and I heard Aileen say, "M, what did Daddy say about using the permanent markers?" I think I was going to fall out of my chair. I loved how Aileen had kept totally cool. She didn't bust out laughing at the situation, but kept him on track and reminded him that he had done wrong. It was then that I knew that I had no idea what it would be like being a parent. Aileen was awesome.

But the best part was when Mike came home and Aileen said, "You'll never guess what M did with the permanant markers." And he said, "Oh no. Did he color his penis again?"

See this is what happens when you live with little crazy people. You start being able to predict the crazy things that they do. Like today, I had to remove fruit loops from the dining room light fixture. No, I don't know why or how they got up there. But I know that my days of only finding dead moths and dust in my light fixtures are over for a time.

I also know that crazy people will bicker over the most inane things. And they truly believe that if you just listen to their side of the story, you will advocate for them. That the injustice will be fixed. Today, there was a loud fight with tears and screeching about the color of flowers on the Lite Brite toy. I'm not kidding. I live with crazy people.

When Princess was younger, she used to hear me say that all the time. I'd mutter, "I live with crazy people." And on occasion, she'd say to her brother, "I live with crazy people, and you're one of them."

My sentiments exactly.

15 - love

In thinking about a title to this post, I have come up blank. My brain keeps playing Pat Benatar's "Love is a Battlefield." But really, only because of the title. The lyrics (sorry Pat) are inane. I mean, "you come on with a come on, you don't fight fair." Seriously? Come on with a come on. Seems like a case of not knowing what to put next, you know? Like "Those pants are as tight as... tight pants." Whatever. But I wanted to just tell you about a small but in no way insignificant victory in my marriage.

Last weekend, we were supposed to visit with Sharon and Steve for dinner. They wanted to play a board game with us. They were expecting us there at around 5pm. I had wanted to get there as soon as possible because I had picked up a few things from the store for the dinner and needed to get them cooking at Sharon's house. Well, my hubby was dragging his feet because he couldn't get his printer to spit out my son's homework assignment. Something about ink nozzles being clogged.

I was of the mind that if my son didn't finish his homework, that wasn't my problem. I know that sounds cold, but it is a Love & Logic thing. He's got to pay his own consequences. He might have started on the project in Friday instead of Sunday and we would have known about the printer problem, but I digress (and am sounding like a nag while I go on about it.) I gave my opinion, but my husband was having none of it. He said that all he had to do was print it out but he'd been having problems. That wasn't the boy's fault. So, I told my husband that he would have to drive my car and I'd be taking the van because I had already loaded up the stuff for Sharon & Steve in the back of the van.

Now, here's the part that I was embarrassed to admit to all of you, but I think it is an essential part of the story. A couple of years ago, my husband bought me a CD for Christmas. It was a CD that he said he had a little trouble buying, because he had never in his lifetime, purchased a CD from the display at the front of a music store. Ever. It was the Clay Aiken CD. Yes, it was the year he was on American Idol. Yes, I watched American Idol that year. Yes, I voted for Clay. Yes, I asked for that CD. Do you think less of me now? Well, I had forgotten that I had that CD and a few weeks ago, I stumbled across it. It was like visiting an old friend. And on the way back from the hospital that day, I was blasting it on the speakers. Now do you think less of me? Even I laugh at myself a little for blasting Clay Aiken on my speakers. Whatever.

I was at Sharon and Steve's house when I remembered that I had left the car stereo on playing Clay Aiken's "Invisible." I instantly busted up laughing and wished that I could have been there when he turned the key.

He made it to the party only about 30 minutes later and didn't say anything.

I asked him about it later that evening. He told me that when he turned the ignition, Clay was belting his poor breaking heart out. My husband blindly started hitting the console with the flat of his hand, hoping that something he hit would turn off the sound. When he finally got it off, my son said, "Whew. Thanks Dad." Nobody in my family appreciates good pop music.

Okay, so I have to ask, do you think less of me now?

Liar, liar, pants on fire

Let me just say that this was a long grift. If you don't know what I mean, to grift is to con somebody. Sometimes this can be a short term lie or sometimes it can be a long term lie. Some lies you have to set up, prepare a mark (a.k.a. victim) with a couple of believable lies -- commiserate with them, make them feel like you're a victim of the same circumstances. A grifter is a con artist. I never knew I had skills like these. But I do. I have the gift of grift.

About 5 weeks before my husband's 40th birthday, I told Hubby that the church auction was coming up. The real auction was taking place a week before my husband's birthday, but I figured that he had heard some buzz about an auction coming up and that was enough to validate my story. When there are church events, our director of religious education, Sister Anna, will often pluck me out of the parking lot or even church, and ask me to help out. I told my husband (who rarely attends mass with me)that after mass, Sr. Anna had asked me if I would help out with the auction. I told him the auction was scheduled for his birthday so I wanted to clear it with him before I got back to her. He, being the good soul that he is, assured me that it was fine. I could help out if I wanted.

The following Thursday, I complained again to my husband. When I picked up the kids from CCD, Sister Anna saw me again and asked if I would be able to prepare some food for the auction. See, it is a money making endeavor, so to cut costs, they were asking parishioners to bring food. I said, "Can you believe that they're asking people to bring food? I mean, they're charging $75 per ticket in the first place." So he told me that it was a fund raiser. That I can't blame them for trying to raise money. He really defended the actions of Sr. Anna, even though she was being absolutely ridiculous.

Some time during the following week, I asked my mother (in front of Hubby) what she would like to prepare for the auction. We came up with lumpia and pancit. It is traditional to have noodles on your birthday for long life. And everybody loves my mom's lumpia. My husband likes having potatoes in lumpia (I know, it is totally unacceptable according to Mom) so as a birthday treat, I told him that I'd reserve some that didn't have shrimp in it (he doesn't eat bugs -- his words, not mine) and put potatoes in that batch.

About 2 weeeks before the auction I started telling my husband that people weren't buying auction tickets as well as they had hoped. "At $75 a peice, how can you blame them? I might be helping out but there is no way that I'm going to pay for tickets."

Here's the scary part. My whole plan may have fallen apart because my son's soccer team won their division championship. If they progressed through regionals, then the state championship game would be on my husband's birthday -- the day of the party. It is a very strange feeling -- the definition of conflicted -- because I wanted my son's team to succeed. Of course I did. But on the other hand, part of me wanted them to fail because my plan for the party was going so well. I had even thought to mention to another parent from our church whose kid plays with That not to talk about missing the church auction which happened on the day of the regionals. She was awesome and didn't say a word about it.

Sadly for my son, his team didn't win the regionals. Yay for me, but I didn't cheer. He took it in stride and actually had nothing but good things about playing soccer in the snow. "Mom, it was so cool because when you kicked the ball, it would grow into this huge snow ball, and when you kicked it again, snow would explode everywhere. COOL!"

We were still on for our party. Here was the clincher. I had come up with an excuse for me to be making mass quantities of food. I had come up with an excuse for my mother to come with me. But the whole deal was to get my husband to drive to our friends Steve & Sharon's house for the actual party. My mother was the weakest link of the whole thing.

Having already told my husband that tickets weren't selling well and that they were massively expensive, I had laid the groundwork. Now in for the kill. I waited until the Thursday before the party. That is the day the kids have CCD. My mom picked them up from church that day. So she had opportunity to do this act.

"Honey," I conspiratorially told my husband, "don't get upset but for your birthday, my mom bought the three of us tickets to the auction."

"She what?"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. She didn't ask me but she thought it would be good because there will be entertainment and lots of food. She thought it would be fun for us to do."

"Oh man, I get to spend my fortieth birthday at a church auction. Are you kidding me?"

"I'm so sorry."

"Why don't you guys just go, you and your mom?"

"She bought 3 tickets."

"Well, who is going to watch the kids?"

"I talked to Sharon, and she said that she's having a holiday party for the kids from their church. She said 3 more kids wouldn't be a problem and there will be lots of fun things for them to do."

Defeated, my husband resigned himself to feign gratitude and excitement when my mother told him about the auction tickets.

I practiced with my mother over and over again. She said that maybe she should add that I'd take him out to dinner another day too. She also was trying to come up with what kind of entertainment would be at the auction. She was suggesting menus and coming up with the guest list of who would be at our table.

My mother doesn't lie. It doesn't come easy to her. In fact, I think it may cause her physical pain. But we went over it again and again, and finally she streamlined it down to, "For your birthday, I bought us tickets to the auction."

When it came time for her performance, it turned into this. Nervously, while my husband was in the other room, my mother said, "Oh, for your birthday, I bought us auction tickets. Is that alright? Maybe Tess can take you out for dinner another time. Is it okay?" I may have pushed her too far. It was really hard for her.

And delivering the best performance of his lifetime, my sweet husband walked back into the room where my mom was sitting and said, "You mean the church auction? That will be great. Thanks." He actually seemed to be happy. Later he asked me for his Oscar. It was maybe an Emmy. Not an Oscar.

The morning of his party, my husband woke up with a bad cough. I thought I was sunk. But instead, I quietly pressured him into going to the auction by saying, "Honey, I'll go to the church and Mom should stay home and watch the kids while you rest, and then when it is time for the auction, she can go to Sharon's and drop the kids off so you can sleep."

"But what about the tickets? Your mom paid so much money for them."

"Don't worry about that. It is your health, okay?"

"No, I'll go. It'll make your mom feel bad if I don't."

Everybody was in place, the cars were parked in the driveway, but that was explained away by the party Sharon was throwing. The guests and I were crouched behind sofas and the kitchen island waiting for Hubby to make an appearance. I was keeping a lookout. Sharon answered the door and chatted for what seemed to be at least 10 minutes in the entryway. My husband wouldn't come into the house! She finally coaxed him in with promises of bacon wrapped Ritz crackers as appetizers for the party. I saw him enter the living room and I turned to the rest of the guests, counted three, and popped up to yell, "Surprise!"

That was immediately followed by, "Where did he go?"

Turns out that my husband got to the living room and realized that he had forgotten the diaper bag. He was just about to the front door when he heard us yell, "Surprise!...Where did he go?" Bummer. But Sharon says that she could tell he was surprised because he stopped in his tracks. He came back into the living room and we all had suddenly appeared.

It was a great success. Our friend Marisa, stage name Samira, made an appearance belly dancing. That was great fun. My husband admitted to me later that he didn't know where he should look. Marisa is smoking hot and here she was dressed in a belly dancing outfit.He didn't want to look like a jerk and stare especially with me standing right there next to him, but he took it in great stride and Marisa got a few of us to try belly dancing too.

I had mistakenly ordered a carrot cake which has walnuts in it. I had forgotten to check. My husband has a sensitivity to walnuts so that was a big boo boo. But luckily, I had arranged for our friend Julia to make a Chocolate Torte Royale -- a dessert that my mother-in-law made for hubby for all of his childhood birthdays. You also should know that when I brought out the carrot cake and realized it had walnuts, the first words out of my husband's mouth were, "Well, you better make me a Chocolate Torte Royale."

It was a great party. We have awesome friends. I hope I did his 40th birthday justice.