Seriously. I'm trapped in a closet in my home right now. My husband is on his way home to rescue me. But, I'm writing to you from inside a closet.
I'm working on a recording project for work and despite having an amazing microphone, the sound still sounds pretty shitty. After doing some research I had the brilliant idea to try and record in the large closet off of our guest room. I grabbed my laptop and the microphone, set up on the floor of the closet, closed the door and gave it a shot. Nope, still shitty. Oh well, I thought, I will use Bryan's computer tonight. I reached for the door knob, gave it a twist and nothing. Turned it the other way and tried again. Nope, nothing.
So, I'm sitting on the floor of our closet. We are under a heat advisory today. Our closet's insulation is worse than throughout the rest of our nearly 100-year-old house. So, I'm warmer than I'd like to be. And I haven't eaten lunch. And, yep, you guessed it., I have to pee.
Hope you all have excellent days.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
How Thesaurus Day turned into an apology to my cousin thanks to Meatloaf
Today is Thesaurus Day. Thanks to our local "play what we want" station I was treated to songs vaguely surrounding this theme as I dropped off child at daycare and husband at work. Several musically unrelated songs played while several topically unrelated thoughts swirled through my head. Should I buy a thesaurus or use the ones online? What will I make for dinner tonight and when will I make dinner since I have to fit in a crowning at the dentist and then pick everyone back up again around 5pm? Will we be able to make it to the library for story time tonight or should I just let it go? Then a sound from my childhood stopped my random questioning. Meatloaf.
Oh, Meatloaf. I must confess my first thoughts were centered on your career. Who thought you would be a marketable talent? Your voice is interesting, but not really...well, good. You mostly hit the notes you set out to sing. And you aren't the most attractive man on the planet. You aren't ugly, but I don't think there are many ladies out there who think, "I wanna get with that!" while reading your liner notes. Is it because you are everything we don't expect - A large, not-really-attractive man with a mediocre voice, receding hairline and strange clothing choices instead of a teenage heart throb with shiny hair, a clear voice and a personal stylist? Are you so different from what the world was experiencing when you hit the stage that you were welcomed with open arms for your normalness? I don't know and I'm not planning on doing any research, but I am curious.
As "Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth" continued, I thought back to late middle school/early high school when I was introduced to Meatloaf. One summer, I headed to Terre Haute, IN to visit family. My cousin, Jeremy, and I had been super close when we were little. We thought if we could just get married, we could play all the time wouldn't have to go home at the end of our visits. When we realized that wasn't the best idea, we understood that we would have to cram more into our time together. We laughed and played and toilet papered our grandmother's trees. We took bike rides, ate ice cream cones at the Charbell and blinked in fascinated horror as our grandmother released a string of curse words one morning during breakfast at all five of her grandchildren. Oh the memories.
But this visit was a bit different. We were both on the edge of young adulthood. We wanted to be buddies like we'd always been but now we weren't quite sure how. We remembered how much fun we'd had but didn't know how to start it up again. Luckily for us, Jeremy's church youth group came to our rescue.
One evening we were informed we would be hanging out with some of the kids in youth group. Seeing as we were bored and the idea of hanging out with older kids seemed pretty awesome, we agreed. When the 2-door sedan stopped in front of my Aunt and Uncle's house, we squeezed into the backseat and tried to act cool enough to not be dropped off early.
On some dusty, country road one of the girls up front produced a cassette tape and announced that it was Meatloaf time. Our ears perked up. Did she say, "Meatloaf"? Were we going to listen to songs about dinner-time specials? Was this diner music? Was this a children's album that the cool kids would make ironic and funny? We didn't know it but our worlds were about to be rocked and rolled into a new dimension.
Hairbrushes were found and passed around, tape deck volume was adjusted and the song, "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" came pouring out of the speakers. Confused and slightly awed, Jeremy and I watched the rest of the people in the car dance in their seats to the music and pretend to sing the male and female parts of the song right into their hairbrush mics. If you've never heard this song, please find it, listen to it and be changed. Or if you are like my husband, be disgusted and angry that those five minutes are now permanently gone from your life and grumble whenever the song's title is mentioned.
As the tape was played and rewound, played and rewound, we slowly picked up the lyrics and were encouraged to join in. And join in we did! We thrashed around in time with the music, we crescendoed and decresendoed, we mimicked the words and imagined facial expressions of the teenagers stuck in the song's theme of high school horniness and the need for love and belonging, and most of all, we collapsed into a laughing pile each time the song was over while the tape was being rewound again. Jeremy and I had found our friendship! And then I ruined it.
After the 8th or 9th time we had performed Meatloaf's Opus to teenage hormones and angst, the subject of a local cemetery was raised. This cemetery was a little different. This cemetery was pretty old. This cemetery was haunted. And would we like to go there? Um, yes, please!
As we drove through the dark country roads I was filled in on the most unique characteristic of our destination - its staircase. The cemetery was situated at the top of a hill and the only way to reach the top was by using a steep staircase with 100 steps. The scary part was that you would count 100 steps going up, but only 99 when you came back down to the road below. We contemplated this strange phenomenon and just how very creepy it all was when Jeremy and I decided, or it was decided for us, that we would climb the steps. We were brave, it wasn't that big of a deal, we would count the steps for everyone.
When we arrived, Jeremy and I crawled out of the car, took some deep nervous breaths and began to climb the crumbling concrete stairs. Jeremy was braver and went ahead of me. Slowly we climbed the stairs getting more and more scared as we ascended. About halfway up I had the brilliant idea of abandoning him at the cemetery, not for long, but long enough to scare him. As Jeremy climbed higher, I quietly backed down the stairs, ran to the waiting car, jumped in and yelled, "Go! Go! Go!".
As we drove off I saw Jeremy turn around, come flying back down to the road and begin yelling for us to stop. And damn it, he looked scared. Everyone in the car was laughing, even me. But despite the laughter, I knew I had started the end of our night out and had damaged the emerging friendship that Jeremy and I had rekindled earlier that night.
We didn't leave him on the side of the road for long - maybe 15 more seconds. He was royally pissed at me. I don't think he spoke very much to me for the rest of the night and the rest of my visit was a little strained. But all this happened over 20 years ago (crap, seriously?) Jeremy and I grew up and are now friends again and when I get to spend time with him I wanna go find some Legos or the game of Cootie and sit down on the carpet and play awhile. Jeremy is an interesting guy and fun to be around. But today, when driving home and listening to Meatloaf on Thesaurus Day, I wanted to make a formal apology to my cousin. So, Jeremy, here it is.
I am sorry I left you in a dark cemetery in the middle of the country when we were hanging out that summer. It was very bitchy of me. I'm sorry the rest of the week was not as much fun as it could have been because I acted selfishly and was so desperate to appear cool that I put your trust on the line. I'm glad we put it behind us and are friends again. And I'm glad I share a strange fascination for Meatloaf with you.
Oh, Meatloaf. I must confess my first thoughts were centered on your career. Who thought you would be a marketable talent? Your voice is interesting, but not really...well, good. You mostly hit the notes you set out to sing. And you aren't the most attractive man on the planet. You aren't ugly, but I don't think there are many ladies out there who think, "I wanna get with that!" while reading your liner notes. Is it because you are everything we don't expect - A large, not-really-attractive man with a mediocre voice, receding hairline and strange clothing choices instead of a teenage heart throb with shiny hair, a clear voice and a personal stylist? Are you so different from what the world was experiencing when you hit the stage that you were welcomed with open arms for your normalness? I don't know and I'm not planning on doing any research, but I am curious.
As "Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth" continued, I thought back to late middle school/early high school when I was introduced to Meatloaf. One summer, I headed to Terre Haute, IN to visit family. My cousin, Jeremy, and I had been super close when we were little. We thought if we could just get married, we could play all the time wouldn't have to go home at the end of our visits. When we realized that wasn't the best idea, we understood that we would have to cram more into our time together. We laughed and played and toilet papered our grandmother's trees. We took bike rides, ate ice cream cones at the Charbell and blinked in fascinated horror as our grandmother released a string of curse words one morning during breakfast at all five of her grandchildren. Oh the memories.
But this visit was a bit different. We were both on the edge of young adulthood. We wanted to be buddies like we'd always been but now we weren't quite sure how. We remembered how much fun we'd had but didn't know how to start it up again. Luckily for us, Jeremy's church youth group came to our rescue.
One evening we were informed we would be hanging out with some of the kids in youth group. Seeing as we were bored and the idea of hanging out with older kids seemed pretty awesome, we agreed. When the 2-door sedan stopped in front of my Aunt and Uncle's house, we squeezed into the backseat and tried to act cool enough to not be dropped off early.
On some dusty, country road one of the girls up front produced a cassette tape and announced that it was Meatloaf time. Our ears perked up. Did she say, "Meatloaf"? Were we going to listen to songs about dinner-time specials? Was this diner music? Was this a children's album that the cool kids would make ironic and funny? We didn't know it but our worlds were about to be rocked and rolled into a new dimension.
Hairbrushes were found and passed around, tape deck volume was adjusted and the song, "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" came pouring out of the speakers. Confused and slightly awed, Jeremy and I watched the rest of the people in the car dance in their seats to the music and pretend to sing the male and female parts of the song right into their hairbrush mics. If you've never heard this song, please find it, listen to it and be changed. Or if you are like my husband, be disgusted and angry that those five minutes are now permanently gone from your life and grumble whenever the song's title is mentioned.
As the tape was played and rewound, played and rewound, we slowly picked up the lyrics and were encouraged to join in. And join in we did! We thrashed around in time with the music, we crescendoed and decresendoed, we mimicked the words and imagined facial expressions of the teenagers stuck in the song's theme of high school horniness and the need for love and belonging, and most of all, we collapsed into a laughing pile each time the song was over while the tape was being rewound again. Jeremy and I had found our friendship! And then I ruined it.
After the 8th or 9th time we had performed Meatloaf's Opus to teenage hormones and angst, the subject of a local cemetery was raised. This cemetery was a little different. This cemetery was pretty old. This cemetery was haunted. And would we like to go there? Um, yes, please!
As we drove through the dark country roads I was filled in on the most unique characteristic of our destination - its staircase. The cemetery was situated at the top of a hill and the only way to reach the top was by using a steep staircase with 100 steps. The scary part was that you would count 100 steps going up, but only 99 when you came back down to the road below. We contemplated this strange phenomenon and just how very creepy it all was when Jeremy and I decided, or it was decided for us, that we would climb the steps. We were brave, it wasn't that big of a deal, we would count the steps for everyone.
When we arrived, Jeremy and I crawled out of the car, took some deep nervous breaths and began to climb the crumbling concrete stairs. Jeremy was braver and went ahead of me. Slowly we climbed the stairs getting more and more scared as we ascended. About halfway up I had the brilliant idea of abandoning him at the cemetery, not for long, but long enough to scare him. As Jeremy climbed higher, I quietly backed down the stairs, ran to the waiting car, jumped in and yelled, "Go! Go! Go!".
As we drove off I saw Jeremy turn around, come flying back down to the road and begin yelling for us to stop. And damn it, he looked scared. Everyone in the car was laughing, even me. But despite the laughter, I knew I had started the end of our night out and had damaged the emerging friendship that Jeremy and I had rekindled earlier that night.
We didn't leave him on the side of the road for long - maybe 15 more seconds. He was royally pissed at me. I don't think he spoke very much to me for the rest of the night and the rest of my visit was a little strained. But all this happened over 20 years ago (crap, seriously?) Jeremy and I grew up and are now friends again and when I get to spend time with him I wanna go find some Legos or the game of Cootie and sit down on the carpet and play awhile. Jeremy is an interesting guy and fun to be around. But today, when driving home and listening to Meatloaf on Thesaurus Day, I wanted to make a formal apology to my cousin. So, Jeremy, here it is.
I am sorry I left you in a dark cemetery in the middle of the country when we were hanging out that summer. It was very bitchy of me. I'm sorry the rest of the week was not as much fun as it could have been because I acted selfishly and was so desperate to appear cool that I put your trust on the line. I'm glad we put it behind us and are friends again. And I'm glad I share a strange fascination for Meatloaf with you.
Thursday, December 09, 2010
Creating Holiday Memories One Burnt Pork Tenderloin At ATime
I had the best plans for last night. It was going to be all sweet and tender and full of memory making stuff - Tree Decorating Night. I imagined telling Hannah the stories about our ornaments, having a cookie or two, maybe making a cup of cocoa. Nope. Last night we created a new tradition - Burn dinner and run around like you have no idea what you're doing. Yay!
I HATE cooking in oil - like "pour a tablespoon of oil in a skillet then place XXX into the hot oil" kind of cooking in oil. I almost always burn stuff. Well, last night I both burned and undercooked the same food item.
I love Aldi for many reasons. They have a decent selection in the types of food they sell (not choices of brands) and they are happy on my grocery budget. A few months ago I picked up a box of frozen breaded pork tenderloin. I had heard wonderful things. The first time I cooked them, one side was a little darker than I would have liked, but they tasted fine and we had a nice dinner. Last night I burned one side of our dinner black and then turned them over to cook the other side. That side was a beautiful golden brown. When I took our dinner's temperature (I'm a bit scared of cooking pork) it was a good 50 degrees colder than my thermometer's safety guidelines suggested. I set everything aside to cool and walked away from the kitchen.
After dinner had been ruined, Hannah and I decided to put the ornaments on the tree. It was fulled with wonderful, loving phrases like, "AAAH!!! That one is made of glass! Put it down, put it down!" and "I know you love Cookie Monster, but that's mommy's ornament from when she was your age. Oh, please don't cry", and my favorites "Angus, get away from that!", and "Dammit! Algernon, get out from under the tree!" By the time we'd finished it was 7pm and I hadn't fed my kid dinner. Because I'm awesome.
The rest of the night was a whirlwind of eggs, yogurt, Clifford, and bath time. Still, I managed to get Hannah in bed almost on time and somehow convinced her to stay in her bed all night. Our conversation went a little something like this:
Me: "If you stay in your bed tonight you will get flat eggs for breakfast tomorrow morning and you will get to eat your Advent calendar chocolate."
Hannah: "But I like to sleep in your bed. It's one of my rules."
Me: "No, the rule is to sleep in your own bed."
Hannah: "Okay. But I don't want eggs anyway."
Me: "You won't get chocolate. There will be. no. candy."
Hannah: "Oh. Well, okay. G'night Mommy."
I bribed her with chocolate at breakfast. And I'm not ashamed.
The best part of the night was when I started walking downstairs and smelled the wonderful Chinese feast Bryan had brought home from Kin Lin. We both agreed I should ruin dinner more often. Perhaps we've started a new family tradition, just not the one we were expecting.
I HATE cooking in oil - like "pour a tablespoon of oil in a skillet then place XXX into the hot oil" kind of cooking in oil. I almost always burn stuff. Well, last night I both burned and undercooked the same food item.
I love Aldi for many reasons. They have a decent selection in the types of food they sell (not choices of brands) and they are happy on my grocery budget. A few months ago I picked up a box of frozen breaded pork tenderloin. I had heard wonderful things. The first time I cooked them, one side was a little darker than I would have liked, but they tasted fine and we had a nice dinner. Last night I burned one side of our dinner black and then turned them over to cook the other side. That side was a beautiful golden brown. When I took our dinner's temperature (I'm a bit scared of cooking pork) it was a good 50 degrees colder than my thermometer's safety guidelines suggested. I set everything aside to cool and walked away from the kitchen.
After dinner had been ruined, Hannah and I decided to put the ornaments on the tree. It was fulled with wonderful, loving phrases like, "AAAH!!! That one is made of glass! Put it down, put it down!" and "I know you love Cookie Monster, but that's mommy's ornament from when she was your age. Oh, please don't cry", and my favorites "Angus, get away from that!", and "Dammit! Algernon, get out from under the tree!" By the time we'd finished it was 7pm and I hadn't fed my kid dinner. Because I'm awesome.
The rest of the night was a whirlwind of eggs, yogurt, Clifford, and bath time. Still, I managed to get Hannah in bed almost on time and somehow convinced her to stay in her bed all night. Our conversation went a little something like this:
Me: "If you stay in your bed tonight you will get flat eggs for breakfast tomorrow morning and you will get to eat your Advent calendar chocolate."
Hannah: "But I like to sleep in your bed. It's one of my rules."
Me: "No, the rule is to sleep in your own bed."
Hannah: "Okay. But I don't want eggs anyway."
Me: "You won't get chocolate. There will be. no. candy."
Hannah: "Oh. Well, okay. G'night Mommy."
I bribed her with chocolate at breakfast. And I'm not ashamed.
The best part of the night was when I started walking downstairs and smelled the wonderful Chinese feast Bryan had brought home from Kin Lin. We both agreed I should ruin dinner more often. Perhaps we've started a new family tradition, just not the one we were expecting.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
The best moments are not always caught on film
Every once in a while there is a moment when I wish our camera was permanently attached to my body so I wouldn't miss out on some of the wonderful moments that happen around here.
Bedtime has become a bit of a struggle as Miss Sassy Pants wrestles with us for more control of how things are done round these here parts. Will we get into jammies and then brush teeth or will we watch Clifford and read one book or will we read 4 books and sing 3 songs or will we go camping in her room? But every once in a while there is a night when it all comes together. She brushes her teeth and there is giggling. She puts on her jammies and doesn't stall for 10 years because she has to do the buttons All By Herself. She's had enough stories and doesn't try to con us into more. Last night was a good night.
About 45 minutes after Bryan went upstairs to put her to bed, I tiptoed up there to wake him up. I guess he thought he should lead by example? When I opened the door, both daddy and daughter were asleep, side-by-side on the floor. Holding hands.
It is so amazing to watch Bryan be Hannah's dad. Does it sometimes drive me nuts that he's not doing something with quite as much care or precision as I might? Yes. Yes it does. In no small way does it sometimes drive me up the freaking wall. But then I see them holding hands, or conspiring about something together on the couch, or see his patience with her unending questions and stall techniques and those things that I do my way and he does his way don't bother me quite so much.
This picture was captured right before Hannah's blessing at our church in the Spring of 2008. We didn't even know it existed until someone told me they loved the picture of Bryan and Hannah that was on the church's website. I am forever grateful and happy to have this moment captured.
Bedtime has become a bit of a struggle as Miss Sassy Pants wrestles with us for more control of how things are done round these here parts. Will we get into jammies and then brush teeth or will we watch Clifford and read one book or will we read 4 books and sing 3 songs or will we go camping in her room? But every once in a while there is a night when it all comes together. She brushes her teeth and there is giggling. She puts on her jammies and doesn't stall for 10 years because she has to do the buttons All By Herself. She's had enough stories and doesn't try to con us into more. Last night was a good night.
About 45 minutes after Bryan went upstairs to put her to bed, I tiptoed up there to wake him up. I guess he thought he should lead by example? When I opened the door, both daddy and daughter were asleep, side-by-side on the floor. Holding hands.
It is so amazing to watch Bryan be Hannah's dad. Does it sometimes drive me nuts that he's not doing something with quite as much care or precision as I might? Yes. Yes it does. In no small way does it sometimes drive me up the freaking wall. But then I see them holding hands, or conspiring about something together on the couch, or see his patience with her unending questions and stall techniques and those things that I do my way and he does his way don't bother me quite so much.
This picture was captured right before Hannah's blessing at our church in the Spring of 2008. We didn't even know it existed until someone told me they loved the picture of Bryan and Hannah that was on the church's website. I am forever grateful and happy to have this moment captured.
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Catching up feels like admitting nothing really happens
I have not written a blog entry in a long time. Since my last post a lot of things happened.
Naps. There were several naps within the past few months. Not mine. I hate napping But I do love it when the child takes a nap:
Perfecting pizza recipes - well, not perfecting but improving upon. I want to believe my best pizza ever made hasn't happened yet:
Attendance to Hot Air Balloon Festivals on hot-ass days when storms kept the balloons from flying. But don't worry, really bad face painting was available:
Slamming of fingers in car doors right before photo sessions:
Witnessing the Kansas City Wizards (now Sporting Kansas City - Gah! Horrible new name!) play and win against Manchester United:
The point is: We did a lot of fun stuff. We participated in multiple activities. We had several difficulties. We dealt with things and had basements waterproofed and recovered from tonsillectomies, etc. So much time has passed since my last post that nothing feels important enough to highlight.
It's like that when I catch up with friends on the phone or via facebook or email or whatever. I am so excited to chat and then I struggle to remember what has happened. Or events are retold with such lack of detail or enthusiasm that I feel like an idiot who doesn't think things that happened in my own life are interesting enough to remember then why they hell do I think they are interesting enough to tell someone else and THEN I sound like I have the most boringest life ever. Or my stories sound like the previous sentence - completely unstructured
So, I've been un-bloggerly for a long time. I hope to change that. Mainly because I need a lot of material to embarrass my kid with when she's older. And how will I do this if I don't have a history of postings regaling us all with tales of potty training, pooping, fingernails that fall off, attitude and pre-school pissiness, and other wonderful and woeful topics? I hope there are people out there who read this blog. The bloggers (that would be the They they all refer to) say to blog for yourself. Write for yourself. Well, that's just boring and not what I really want. I would like to provide a chuckle or smile to those who want or need one. I would like to receive feedback and comments from people (friends & kind strangers both) who stumble over here.
So, I'm going to try to blog more often for myself like they tell me to because if I do I have a better chance of achieving those smile-giving goals. And maybe I'll become rich and famous, too. 'Cause that's really what I'm hoping for.
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