July 24, 2009
This post contains 14 links. You're welcome.
When a girl calls for help, y'all came a-hollerin'.
And I have absolutely no idea why I'm getting all Paula Deen here. Welcome to my mind.
A couple weeks ago, I needed some help because I was pulling inappropriate books off the library shelves at random. I got great responses from you guys and wanted to share everyone's suggestions. Although, if you live in Indianapolis, just know I already requested every single book from the library. Sorry.
Before I start listing everything, two things:
1: Megan at Sorta Crunchy sent me to her recently compiled list, Children's Literature We Love! It is awesome and so what I need to carry in my library bag. It's sorted by ages and includes old and new books, which I love since my childhood books are very sentimental to me and I want to pass them on to Madeline without her missing the fun new ones too.
If you're wondering whether The List is credible or not, it includes some of my favorites like Tasha Tudor's A Time to Keep and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. And since not everything is about me, it's also credible because most of your suggestions made the list.
2. Amy suggested my favorite, favorite, favorite book, You Are Special. No matter how many times I read it, I still get a lump in my throat when I read the last few pages. It is a beautiful story and I cannot recommend it enough.
OK, enough from me. Here are all your suggestions. Thanks again!
Jenny at Birds on a Wire
Chicka-Chicka Boom-Boom(coincidence that she recently had a post titled "Boom Boom?" I think not.)
Kristen at No Small Thing
Marshmallow Kisses
Flannel Kisses
The Nose Book
Faith at Hope of My Heart
Anything by Dr. Seuss
The Giving Tree
Love You Forever
Courtney at In This Heart
Anything by Cynthia Rylant (Courtney, just so you know, this came up with 146 search results. She's written a lot!)
Jeri at infocus.by.jruetz
If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, etc.
Amanda at Amanda Elpers Photography
Llama, Llama, Red Pajama
Courtney at All Things New
Wodney the Wat
Amy at Amy Loves It
The Crippled Lamb
You Are Special
God Gave Us You
The Legend of the Three Trees
Dana at The Dana Files
Stranger in the Woods
Green Eggs and Ham
Kate at The Bishop Brood
Llama, Llama Mad at Mama
Pinkalicious
Aliens Love Underpants
And I have absolutely no idea why I'm getting all Paula Deen here. Welcome to my mind.
A couple weeks ago, I needed some help because I was pulling inappropriate books off the library shelves at random. I got great responses from you guys and wanted to share everyone's suggestions. Although, if you live in Indianapolis, just know I already requested every single book from the library. Sorry.
Before I start listing everything, two things:
1: Megan at Sorta Crunchy sent me to her recently compiled list, Children's Literature We Love! It is awesome and so what I need to carry in my library bag. It's sorted by ages and includes old and new books, which I love since my childhood books are very sentimental to me and I want to pass them on to Madeline without her missing the fun new ones too.
If you're wondering whether The List is credible or not, it includes some of my favorites like Tasha Tudor's A Time to Keep and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. And since not everything is about me, it's also credible because most of your suggestions made the list.
2. Amy suggested my favorite, favorite, favorite book, You Are Special. No matter how many times I read it, I still get a lump in my throat when I read the last few pages. It is a beautiful story and I cannot recommend it enough.
OK, enough from me. Here are all your suggestions. Thanks again!
Jenny at Birds on a Wire
Chicka-Chicka Boom-Boom(coincidence that she recently had a post titled "Boom Boom?" I think not.)
Kristen at No Small Thing
Marshmallow Kisses
Flannel Kisses
The Nose Book
Faith at Hope of My Heart
Anything by Dr. Seuss
The Giving Tree
Love You Forever
Courtney at In This Heart
Anything by Cynthia Rylant (Courtney, just so you know, this came up with 146 search results. She's written a lot!)
Jeri at infocus.by.jruetz
If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, etc.
Amanda at Amanda Elpers Photography
Llama, Llama, Red Pajama
Courtney at All Things New
Wodney the Wat
Amy at Amy Loves It
The Crippled Lamb
You Are Special
God Gave Us You
The Legend of the Three Trees
Dana at The Dana Files
Stranger in the Woods
Green Eggs and Ham
Kate at The Bishop Brood
Llama, Llama Mad at Mama
Pinkalicious
Aliens Love Underpants
July 23, 2009
I am a separation wimp
I used to think people who complained about colds were pathetic. And then I got my first sinus infection.
I don't judge those people now and I need to deeply apologize to those in my past.
Over the last few years, if I get a cold, it knocks me out and tends to end with a flourish as a sinus infection.
Yesterday, the cold totally knocked me flat on my back. I was worried that I couldn't properly care for Madeline because I could barely keep my head held up.
But if we're being honest, I was really worried I would have to turn to the big purple dinosaur for support around noon. And that would be ugly.
By 9 a.m., I waved my white flag and cried, "Uncle Mom!"
Within 30 minutes, my mom arrived to take Madeline so I could sleep, eat and sleep some more.
I've only spent three days away from Madeline since she was born. That equals 811 out of the last 814 days. It was hard to not have her by my side, especially since it was the first day I'd spent without her in our home.
It was very weird and bizarrely quiet. I missed seeing her careen around corners or stepping on puzzle pieces left around or hearing "Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?" approximately 37,000 times.
My mom is so much cooler than your mom because not only did she unexpectedly have Madeline for eight hours, she also had a take-home dinner ready for us when Joe went to pick up our little girl.
Love. My. Mom.
But man, I missed my little girl. When she finally walked through our door, I cried. She just looked so darling and came in yelling, "Mama, Mama!"
Plus, when my mom bought her a new ball, Madeline insisted that the price tags be placed on her back. You know, where her church name tags usually go.
She. Is. A. Doll.
But worth way more than $3.99.
When I woke up today, I felt well enough to rescind yesterday's petition for a throat and head transplant.
My mom called to see how I was faring and I think she was genuinely disappointed to hear I was better.
Mom: "Oh, you really feel better? Well, you still need your rest. Don't you think I should have Madeline again?" Me: "I really feel a lot better. I feel human again. I think I'll be fine today." Mom: "Well, I was thinking about taking her to the pet store and toy store. Don't you think she'd like that? And, you know, you really need to rest."
There's no way I can compete with the pet store AND toy store in one day, especially since I was only feeling well enough to play three rounds of Candyland instead of Madeline's usual 37.
So my little girl was gone again. By 5 p.m., I was tapping my toes and peering out the window every 30 seconds and chugging my Tylenol, determined to be 100 percent by tomorrow. I missed her terribly.
When she returned with a toy horse who neighed and shook its tail, it was pretty clear she didn't miss me as much. Or at all.
The last two days have been long but they reminded me once again how blessed I am to have my little girl and be able to spend 811 days with her so far.
Oh Lord, may I have 22,630 more.
I don't judge those people now and I need to deeply apologize to those in my past.
Over the last few years, if I get a cold, it knocks me out and tends to end with a flourish as a sinus infection.
Yesterday, the cold totally knocked me flat on my back. I was worried that I couldn't properly care for Madeline because I could barely keep my head held up.
But if we're being honest, I was really worried I would have to turn to the big purple dinosaur for support around noon. And that would be ugly.
By 9 a.m., I waved my white flag and cried, "
Within 30 minutes, my mom arrived to take Madeline so I could sleep, eat and sleep some more.
I've only spent three days away from Madeline since she was born. That equals 811 out of the last 814 days. It was hard to not have her by my side, especially since it was the first day I'd spent without her in our home.
It was very weird and bizarrely quiet. I missed seeing her careen around corners or stepping on puzzle pieces left around or hearing "Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?" approximately 37,000 times.
My mom is so much cooler than your mom because not only did she unexpectedly have Madeline for eight hours, she also had a take-home dinner ready for us when Joe went to pick up our little girl.
Love. My. Mom.
But man, I missed my little girl. When she finally walked through our door, I cried. She just looked so darling and came in yelling, "Mama, Mama!"
Plus, when my mom bought her a new ball, Madeline insisted that the price tags be placed on her back. You know, where her church name tags usually go.
She. Is. A. Doll.
But worth way more than $3.99.When I woke up today, I felt well enough to rescind yesterday's petition for a throat and head transplant.
My mom called to see how I was faring and I think she was genuinely disappointed to hear I was better.
Mom: "Oh, you really feel better? Well, you still need your rest. Don't you think I should have Madeline again?" Me: "I really feel a lot better. I feel human again. I think I'll be fine today." Mom: "Well, I was thinking about taking her to the pet store and toy store. Don't you think she'd like that? And, you know, you really need to rest."
There's no way I can compete with the pet store AND toy store in one day, especially since I was only feeling well enough to play three rounds of Candyland instead of Madeline's usual 37.
So my little girl was gone again. By 5 p.m., I was tapping my toes and peering out the window every 30 seconds and chugging my Tylenol, determined to be 100 percent by tomorrow. I missed her terribly.
When she returned with a toy horse who neighed and shook its tail, it was pretty clear she didn't miss me as much. Or at all.
The last two days have been long but they reminded me once again how blessed I am to have my little girl and be able to spend 811 days with her so far.
Oh Lord, may I have 22,630 more.
July 22, 2009
An olive branch to my music-snob husband
Joe calls me a book snob because after I insist on watching a movie based on a novel, I always declare, "The book was way better." Because it's always true. Always.
He, on the other hand, is a music snob and looks down on my love for country music and Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone."
The day I wrote this post explaining his dislike for country music, he sent me this text message before he read my blog:
Three really bad things are happening.
1. Music is playing in the office.
2. It's country music.
3. It's the cover of a Ray LaMontagne song and a little piece of my soul has been turned into a horcrux.
It's proof that a) I'm not exaggerating when I say he doesn't like country music and b) he's way funnier that I can ever aspire to be.
Then we had the fun little conversation later when he explained after being forced to listen to Zac Brown Band's cover of "Jolene," he read my blog, clicked on the YouTube video and had to listen to yet another country music song.
Poor baby.
So I'd like him to be able to listen to a song without shuddering, one that I will also dedicate to him on our (much belated) anniversary.
Because as much as I love him more than yesterday, he is also the best thing that's ever happened to me.
He, on the other hand, is a music snob and looks down on my love for country music and Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone."
The day I wrote this post explaining his dislike for country music, he sent me this text message before he read my blog:
Three really bad things are happening.
1. Music is playing in the office.
2. It's country music.
3. It's the cover of a Ray LaMontagne song and a little piece of my soul has been turned into a horcrux.
It's proof that a) I'm not exaggerating when I say he doesn't like country music and b) he's way funnier that I can ever aspire to be.
Then we had the fun little conversation later when he explained after being forced to listen to Zac Brown Band's cover of "Jolene," he read my blog, clicked on the YouTube video and had to listen to yet another country music song.
Poor baby.
So I'd like him to be able to listen to a song without shuddering, one that I will also dedicate to him on our (much belated) anniversary.
Because as much as I love him more than yesterday, he is also the best thing that's ever happened to me.
July 21, 2009
Throughout 11 summer hours, anything is possible
9 a.m. Dallas sister-in-law reminds me that I have been delinquent in texting her random photos of Madeline. I instantly search for Madeline to snap a picture. No joke; it was 83 degrees outside and my child is wearing ear muffs inside. But I'm not going to stop her because she's having a fabulous time.
3 p.m.Madeline treasures her favorite foods. From chocolate chips to popcorn to her morning vitamin, she is too excited to eat it right away and instead alternates between clutching it tightly in her palm for 10 minutes and showing it to everyone within 100 yards. This blue disaster is from just two M&MS.
In this sense, she is not her mother's daughter because I prefer to shovel M&Ms with a spork.
In this sense, she is not her mother's daughter because I prefer to shovel M&Ms with a spork.
8 p.m.Eating our free Arby's dinner by the river while Daddy fishes. While this picture was being taken, Madeline was faced with the unpleasant decision of choosing between her two favorites: eating first or fishing with her hot pink Barbie pole first.
In this sense, she is her mother's daughter because the burger won that battle.
Also, is there anything more precious than a little girl in a big hat? Only if the little girl absolutely insists on wearing said big hat everywhere. So in the case of this picture, no, there is nothing cuter or more precious.
Footnote: These pictures were from last Friday; I wanted to post these photos much earlier but was prevented by epic BlackBerry failure.
But on days like this, I feel guilty that Joe is slaving away in an office with computers, meetings and deadlines while I'm enjoying M&Ms in a friend's backyard while our kids shriek and splash. My greatest worry is that the closest Arby's location might not accept our free dinner coupons and I might be forced to cook a dinner that in no way resembles the heaven-sent curly fries I may or may not be dreaming about all day.
It's a hard-knock life for me.
On the other hand, yesterday was not one of those glorious days. Madeline and I were both rendered utterly useless by nasty colds and even though Madeline spent more daylight hours asleep than awake, I still didn't have much energy to entertain her in her cranky, sick state and thus introduced her a monster I swore I would never let her watch: Barney.
I'm hoping vast amounts of Tylenol will erase any memory of the giant purple dinosaur she loved at first sight but I won't hold my breath.
So in some ways, it really is a hard-knock life for me.
But on days like this, I feel guilty that Joe is slaving away in an office with computers, meetings and deadlines while I'm enjoying M&Ms in a friend's backyard while our kids shriek and splash. My greatest worry is that the closest Arby's location might not accept our free dinner coupons and I might be forced to cook a dinner that in no way resembles the heaven-sent curly fries I may or may not be dreaming about all day.
It's a hard-knock life for me.
On the other hand, yesterday was not one of those glorious days. Madeline and I were both rendered utterly useless by nasty colds and even though Madeline spent more daylight hours asleep than awake, I still didn't have much energy to entertain her in her cranky, sick state and thus introduced her a monster I swore I would never let her watch: Barney.
I'm hoping vast amounts of Tylenol will erase any memory of the giant purple dinosaur she loved at first sight but I won't hold my breath.
So in some ways, it really is a hard-knock life for me.
July 20, 2009
It's like Brad Paisley took the words right out of my mouth
This is a post that I wanted to publish on Thursday but since our Internet decided to work only when Joe's fingertips graced the keyboard, I wasn't able to. (Not that I'm bitter at all that the computer decided to play favorites or anything...)
Last Thursday was our four-year anniversary. If we lived in Hollywood, we would be shattering records.
It's been four years of laughing until my ribs ached and kinda wishing someone else could witness just how hilarious my husband is 24/7 but also glad it's just me who gets to enjoy it.
Four years of watching him go all googly-eyed while imitating Kaa from The Jungle Book by singing, "Trust in me!!!" after a moment when I'm not (ahem) trusting in him. If you are looking for something to crack the tension during a fight, acting like a cartoon snake is a proven winner.
Four years of screaming when he does something totally scary and frightening, like appearing around a corner when I'm not expecting him, even if we've been in the same house for the past 72 hours straight.
Four years of praying I get to do exactly this for the rest of my life.
So how do two totally-in-love-we-just-want-to-gaze-into-each-other's-eyes people celebrate such an extraordinary event?
By watching a teenage wizard fly around on a ginormous screen, stuffing our faces with manicotti and gnocchi and walking through a beautiful park at dusk.
Translation: My idea of a perfect evening.
I'm guessing a little piece of Joe's soul will die when he reads the lyrics I chose to honor this anniversary because it's from a country song. And country music is Joe's sworn enemy. It is his kryptonite; it has the power to make him halt mid-action and wonder how quickly he can escape his surroundings.
I believe he wanted to slip "And I, Katie, will give up country music in exchange to be your wife" in our vows.
Last year, I choose Ben Folds' lyrics of which Joe completely approved because if you don't like "The Luckiest," we can't be friends. Seriously.
(Kidding.)
(Kinda.)
But this year, from Brad's lips to my heart, his song "Then" is exactly how I feel. Because truly, Joe has changed my whole life in the best ways imaginable. I really do love him more than yesterday.
Last Thursday was our four-year anniversary. If we lived in Hollywood, we would be shattering records.
It's been four years of laughing until my ribs ached and kinda wishing someone else could witness just how hilarious my husband is 24/7 but also glad it's just me who gets to enjoy it.
Four years of watching him go all googly-eyed while imitating Kaa from The Jungle Book by singing, "Trust in me!!!" after a moment when I'm not (ahem) trusting in him. If you are looking for something to crack the tension during a fight, acting like a cartoon snake is a proven winner.
Four years of screaming when he does something totally scary and frightening, like appearing around a corner when I'm not expecting him, even if we've been in the same house for the past 72 hours straight.
Four years of praying I get to do exactly this for the rest of my life.
So how do two totally-in-love-we-just-want-to-gaze-into-each-other's-eyes people celebrate such an extraordinary event?
By watching a teenage wizard fly around on a ginormous screen, stuffing our faces with manicotti and gnocchi and walking through a beautiful park at dusk.
Translation: My idea of a perfect evening.
I'm guessing a little piece of Joe's soul will die when he reads the lyrics I chose to honor this anniversary because it's from a country song. And country music is Joe's sworn enemy. It is his kryptonite; it has the power to make him halt mid-action and wonder how quickly he can escape his surroundings.
I believe he wanted to slip "And I, Katie, will give up country music in exchange to be your wife" in our vows.
Last year, I choose Ben Folds' lyrics of which Joe completely approved because if you don't like "The Luckiest," we can't be friends. Seriously.
(Kidding.)
(Kinda.)
But this year, from Brad's lips to my heart, his song "Then" is exactly how I feel. Because truly, Joe has changed my whole life in the best ways imaginable. I really do love him more than yesterday.
What I can't see is how I'm ever gonna love you more
But I've said that before
But I've said that before
And yes, I am responsible for 875,309 views of this YouTube clip. That is the consequence of working at home, not owning an iPod and listening to "Katie's Favorite Song of the Week (or Month)" over and over and over and over again.
July 18, 2009
And to think people used to live without phones
I was isolated from Planet Earth this past week. My phone decided to not work on Monday morning, our Internet was popped in and out and Madeline got a cold so we weren't able to hang out with friends.
Even though it was kinda annoying to not have those communication conveniences, it was nice to unplug from everything for a few days. Even though I like texting, it was pleasant to not grab my phone every time it dinged. And even though I wondered a few times if I had any e-mails waiting for me, it was great to not sit in front of the computer during Madeline's nap.
OK, did you really believe any of that??
Of course I'm lying. I was DYING all last week to not be able to call, text, check my e-mail or read your blogs. And not having my BlackBerry was like not having my left arm. It was torture.
It started on Monday morning when I read an omnious "OFF" in the upper-right corner on the screen. The phone was on but was disconnected from the network. You know, the network you need to be able to call, text or hop on the Internet. Kinda crucial to this home-bound mom.
I got on the Sprint Web site to see what support they offer. Turns out, if you have a problem with your phone, they don't want you to e-mail them. They want you to call so they can "resolve the issue speedily."
Which would be fine IF I HAD A WORKING PHONE.
It was a long saga that included eight hours talking to seven, count 'em, seven different customer service representatives through the next two evenings using Joe's phone. I know I normally exaggerate numbers but I'm not this time. I kept track, knowing it was an epic blog saga in the making.
I lost eight precious hours of my life listening to Sprint commercials, attempting to provision my phone (whatever that means) and repeating, "No, provisioning didn't work. It says 'Error 1012.' Again." while trying to not totally lose it.
You know Albert Einstein's famous quote, "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results"?
Someone needs to explain that to the customer service representatives at Sprint. During a conversation, one rep had me try provisioning 11 TIMES IN A ROW. And the funny part was, he seemed genuinely surprised when it failed. All. Eleven. Times.
My favorite conversation was with the fifth rep I talked to. His name was Anthony and I pictured him wearing a backwards baseball cap. He was memorable in the bad sense.
After explaining my problem, Anthony had me try his brilliant troubleshooting idea: provisioning. I restrained myself from releasing a snort of derision.
Anthony: "Let's try something called provisioning."
Me: "OK, I can, but just to let you know, I've done it several (in my head, a bazillion) times and it will reconnect to the network for about 20 seconds and then disconnect. But (trying to sound upbeat and optimistic) I can do it again if you want to."
Anthony: "Oh, you have? Well, I'd like to try it again. It should work."
Me: "OK, I'm doing it."
(moment of silence)
Me: "OK, it reconnected."
Anthony: "Oh, good. Well, hopefully you're all set."
Me: "Um, can you stay on the line for a little bit longer because -- yeah, OK, it disconnected again."
Anthony: "Oh, really? Man...."
(long pause)
Clueless Anthony: "Oh, so you, like, really haven't been able to use your phone, have you?"
(long, uncomfortable pause)
Me: "Yeah. That's why I'm calling... again."
If there was a way to climb through the phone connection and throttle the person on the other end, I would have achieved it at that moment.
The last rep was my favorite. After I explained the problem, I went into detail about how many times I've called, how much time I lost and that I really needed my phone to be fixed.
There's a strong possibility I ranted.
I groaned inwardly when she asked me to try provisioning but she followed her request with, "I will only ask you to do it once. Then we'll try one other thing and if that doesn't work, I'm sending you a new phone "
Blessed, blessed words.
When it failed for the thirtyonemillionth time (OK, now I'm slightly exaggerating), she took my info for a new phone. Our conversation lasted shorter than 10 minutes.
If it were possible to climb through a phone connection and plant a kiss on the person on the other end, I would have achieved it at that moment. I had to restrain myself from audibly professing my love for her.
My new phone arrived a few days later. I wanted shout from a mountain top. But I didn't have a mountain top. (Name that movie.)
Joe just wondered why I'm blogging about this. He thought I would want to let go of those awful memories. But it was actually theraputic writing it all out. At the very least, it was cathartic to make fun of Anthony.
No, honestly, I wrote it out to say if you left me a voicemail or text last week, I don't hate you; I just didn't get it. Hopefully you now understand why.
If not, call Anthony. He can help you. (And yes, now I'm snorting with derision.)
Even though it was kinda annoying to not have those communication conveniences, it was nice to unplug from everything for a few days. Even though I like texting, it was pleasant to not grab my phone every time it dinged. And even though I wondered a few times if I had any e-mails waiting for me, it was great to not sit in front of the computer during Madeline's nap.
OK, did you really believe any of that??
Of course I'm lying. I was DYING all last week to not be able to call, text, check my e-mail or read your blogs. And not having my BlackBerry was like not having my left arm. It was torture.
It started on Monday morning when I read an omnious "OFF" in the upper-right corner on the screen. The phone was on but was disconnected from the network. You know, the network you need to be able to call, text or hop on the Internet. Kinda crucial to this home-bound mom.
I got on the Sprint Web site to see what support they offer. Turns out, if you have a problem with your phone, they don't want you to e-mail them. They want you to call so they can "resolve the issue speedily."
Which would be fine IF I HAD A WORKING PHONE.
It was a long saga that included eight hours talking to seven, count 'em, seven different customer service representatives through the next two evenings using Joe's phone. I know I normally exaggerate numbers but I'm not this time. I kept track, knowing it was an epic blog saga in the making.
I lost eight precious hours of my life listening to Sprint commercials, attempting to provision my phone (whatever that means) and repeating, "No, provisioning didn't work. It says 'Error 1012.' Again." while trying to not totally lose it.
You know Albert Einstein's famous quote, "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results"?
Someone needs to explain that to the customer service representatives at Sprint. During a conversation, one rep had me try provisioning 11 TIMES IN A ROW. And the funny part was, he seemed genuinely surprised when it failed. All. Eleven. Times.
My favorite conversation was with the fifth rep I talked to. His name was Anthony and I pictured him wearing a backwards baseball cap. He was memorable in the bad sense.
After explaining my problem, Anthony had me try his brilliant troubleshooting idea: provisioning. I restrained myself from releasing a snort of derision.
Anthony: "Let's try something called provisioning."
Me: "OK, I can, but just to let you know, I've done it several (in my head, a bazillion) times and it will reconnect to the network for about 20 seconds and then disconnect. But (trying to sound upbeat and optimistic) I can do it again if you want to."
Anthony: "Oh, you have? Well, I'd like to try it again. It should work."
Me: "OK, I'm doing it."
(moment of silence)
Me: "OK, it reconnected."
Anthony: "Oh, good. Well, hopefully you're all set."
Me: "Um, can you stay on the line for a little bit longer because -- yeah, OK, it disconnected again."
Anthony: "Oh, really? Man...."
(long pause)
Clueless Anthony: "Oh, so you, like, really haven't been able to use your phone, have you?"
(long, uncomfortable pause)
Me: "Yeah. That's why I'm calling... again."
If there was a way to climb through the phone connection and throttle the person on the other end, I would have achieved it at that moment.
The last rep was my favorite. After I explained the problem, I went into detail about how many times I've called, how much time I lost and that I really needed my phone to be fixed.
There's a strong possibility I ranted.
I groaned inwardly when she asked me to try provisioning but she followed her request with, "I will only ask you to do it once. Then we'll try one other thing and if that doesn't work, I'm sending you a new phone "
Blessed, blessed words.
When it failed for the thirtyonemillionth time (OK, now I'm slightly exaggerating), she took my info for a new phone. Our conversation lasted shorter than 10 minutes.
If it were possible to climb through a phone connection and plant a kiss on the person on the other end, I would have achieved it at that moment. I had to restrain myself from audibly professing my love for her.
My new phone arrived a few days later. I wanted shout from a mountain top. But I didn't have a mountain top. (Name that movie.)
Joe just wondered why I'm blogging about this. He thought I would want to let go of those awful memories. But it was actually theraputic writing it all out. At the very least, it was cathartic to make fun of Anthony.
No, honestly, I wrote it out to say if you left me a voicemail or text last week, I don't hate you; I just didn't get it. Hopefully you now understand why.
If not, call Anthony. He can help you. (And yes, now I'm snorting with derision.)
July 8, 2009
Promise me you'll read the entire post before spreading any rumors
First things first: I totally forgot just how good "Jealous Kind" by Jars of Clay is until today. I may or may not be listening to it repeatedly and have bumped the YouTube video up a couple thousand views.
Also, it's very possible I am belting it out as I type and, believe me when I say my falsetto sounds awesome.
Anyways...
I come to you for help. Yesterday at the library, I searched through hundreds of children's books for 20 good ones to bring home. I'm constantly on the hunt for new good ones because I'm afraid I might go bonkers if I have to read "The Berenstain Bears and No Girls Allowed" one. more. time.
Not that it isn't a good book. It is. It's just that by the 493th reading in 72 hours, I'm so inundated with life in Bear Country that I start thinking I can actually smell the barbecue salmon and honeycomb.
Which brings us back to why I was combing the shelves yesterday. I'm one who totally judges books by their covers. If it's pretty, I pick it up.
This method failed me yesterday.
Out of 20 books I brought home, two of them were about breaking news of an impending baby brother or sister.
Before I go further, trust me, I have no news to announce.
These books just had pretty covers and were innocuously titled "The Berenstain Bears and the Easter Surprise" and "Princess Petunia Takes Charge."
Halfway through reading the first book aloud with Joe in the other room, I had to explain to my very curious and possibly shell-shocked husband that this was not some subtle, cute way of breaking any news.
If I actually were pregnant, I would not tell him through the words of Stan and Jan Berenstain. Also, my telling would probably involve a little more drama than, "'And so, Brother Bear,' said Mama, 'you're going to have a special Easter surprise.'"
It would probably be more like, "OHMYWORDOHMYWORDOHMYWORDOHMYWORDOHMYWORD."
So I put that one down and picked up the next one. By the third page, I discovered that Princess Petunia was going to be a big sister.
I think I actually said, "For crying out loud!" because, really, what are the chances of picking up two of those books?!
Which brings me back to my original point. I need books recommendations. Preferably ones that don't include an explanation to why Mama's lap appears to be getting smaller and smaller. Thanks.
Also, it's very possible I am belting it out as I type and, believe me when I say my falsetto sounds awesome.
Anyways...
I come to you for help. Yesterday at the library, I searched through hundreds of children's books for 20 good ones to bring home. I'm constantly on the hunt for new good ones because I'm afraid I might go bonkers if I have to read "The Berenstain Bears and No Girls Allowed" one. more. time.
Not that it isn't a good book. It is. It's just that by the 493th reading in 72 hours, I'm so inundated with life in Bear Country that I start thinking I can actually smell the barbecue salmon and honeycomb.
Which brings us back to why I was combing the shelves yesterday. I'm one who totally judges books by their covers. If it's pretty, I pick it up.
This method failed me yesterday.
Out of 20 books I brought home, two of them were about breaking news of an impending baby brother or sister.
Before I go further, trust me, I have no news to announce.
These books just had pretty covers and were innocuously titled "The Berenstain Bears and the Easter Surprise" and "Princess Petunia Takes Charge."
Halfway through reading the first book aloud with Joe in the other room, I had to explain to my very curious and possibly shell-shocked husband that this was not some subtle, cute way of breaking any news.
If I actually were pregnant, I would not tell him through the words of Stan and Jan Berenstain. Also, my telling would probably involve a little more drama than, "'And so, Brother Bear,' said Mama, 'you're going to have a special Easter surprise.'"
It would probably be more like, "OHMYWORDOHMYWORDOHMYWORDOHMYWORDOHMYWORD."
So I put that one down and picked up the next one. By the third page, I discovered that Princess Petunia was going to be a big sister.
I think I actually said, "For crying out loud!" because, really, what are the chances of picking up two of those books?!
Which brings me back to my original point. I need books recommendations. Preferably ones that don't include an explanation to why Mama's lap appears to be getting smaller and smaller. Thanks.
July 1, 2009
$500 is a high price for killing a raccoon but possibly worth it
I might have mentioned my sometimes-but-sometimes-not irrational fear of rodents a couple of times. Maybe a bazillion. Whatever.
I don't have this fear for attention; the fear is real and true and deep-rooted in a horrific Lassie episode.
Matilda was my first true encounter. And after last weekend, I now believe all rodents have heard about me and are conspiring to come to find me.
We went up to South Haven, Michigan for a beach day with my family. It was a wonderful day. Madeline loved it all, the sand, the waves, the boats, everything. It was perfect weather, a beautiful setting and some of my very favorite people in the world.
In other words, it was the complete opposite of last year.
So, of course, something had to go wrong.
Since our trusty (except that one time when I was sure I was going to die) Honda has 235,000 miles on it, we don't expect him to make long trips. He's put in his time in 1994 and deserves a break every now and then.
And yes, our car has a name. We love him that much. He is our Steed because Webster defines steed as "a spirted horse, as for war." Fits him perfectly.
Have I mentioned I love Steed? He is so good to us.
Anyways....
For any length of road trip, we rent a car and leave Steed home. It's $18 a day through Enterprise and totally worth it to not stress about Steed breaking down hours from home. Because I'm sure when he gives up, he's going to go out with style and totally blow up in smithereens.
Since this wasn't a long trip, we opted to not get the $15 insurance. Because why pay an extra $15 when the car just costs $18?
ANSWER: YOU PAY $15 BECAUSE IF ANYTHING, I REPEAT, IF ANYTHING HAPPENS, YOU DON'T PAY A CENT MORE.
For a mere $15, we could have smashed that little Hyundai to bits and not be responsible for the damages at all.
But no, we decided to not buy the insurance because we're cheap like that.
On our way back home, around midnight and after passing Mexico, Indiana (I can't make up details like that, folks; it's all true), we hit a raccoon.
Actually, we nailed a raccoon. Hard.
I believe he was coming for me. Coincidence that my last blog title included the word "raccoon?" I think not.
Instead of attacking me and fulfilling his mission, he hit the radiator, causing the car to overheat, make a loud funky sound and shudder to a stop.
I can't really express the joy of waiting on the highway shoulder, waking Madeline up to transfer her to my brother's car, realizing Joe, my parents and two other brothers would have to wait in a gas station parking lot for TWO HOURS for a tow truck and understanding this fun little experience would cost us an insurance deductible.
Oh, the joys of being an adult. Who doesn't buy the additional insurance.
ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS BUY THE INSURANCE, PEOPLE!
Have I made that point yet?
The following day, Joe and I discussed our road trip luck. Or lack thereof.
On our first trip, way back in college, we hit a dog. A big dog while going about 90 mph at 4 a.m. That resulted in another busted radiator and two hours of sitting on a nasty, nasty, nasty gas station floor.
We have had our fair share of flat tires and speed-trap tickets.
We once drove an hour and a half in the wrong direction. Like, totally wrong direction. North, instead of east.
"I thought the Rocky Mountains would be rockier than this."
"That John Denver's full of..."
Please tell me you get that line and don't think I'm just crazy.
But despite our dumb luck, we have never been hurt or hurt anyone else. And for that, I'm thankful.
I'm $500 poorer but thankful.
And there's one less raccoon haunting your highways. You're welcome.
I don't have this fear for attention; the fear is real and true and deep-rooted in a horrific Lassie episode.
Matilda was my first true encounter. And after last weekend, I now believe all rodents have heard about me and are conspiring to come to find me.
We went up to South Haven, Michigan for a beach day with my family. It was a wonderful day. Madeline loved it all, the sand, the waves, the boats, everything. It was perfect weather, a beautiful setting and some of my very favorite people in the world.
In other words, it was the complete opposite of last year.
So, of course, something had to go wrong.
Since our trusty (except that one time when I was sure I was going to die) Honda has 235,000 miles on it, we don't expect him to make long trips. He's put in his time in 1994 and deserves a break every now and then.
And yes, our car has a name. We love him that much. He is our Steed because Webster defines steed as "a spirted horse, as for war." Fits him perfectly.
Have I mentioned I love Steed? He is so good to us.
Anyways....
For any length of road trip, we rent a car and leave Steed home. It's $18 a day through Enterprise and totally worth it to not stress about Steed breaking down hours from home. Because I'm sure when he gives up, he's going to go out with style and totally blow up in smithereens.
Since this wasn't a long trip, we opted to not get the $15 insurance. Because why pay an extra $15 when the car just costs $18?
ANSWER: YOU PAY $15 BECAUSE IF ANYTHING, I REPEAT, IF ANYTHING HAPPENS, YOU DON'T PAY A CENT MORE.
For a mere $15, we could have smashed that little Hyundai to bits and not be responsible for the damages at all.
But no, we decided to not buy the insurance because we're cheap like that.
On our way back home, around midnight and after passing Mexico, Indiana (I can't make up details like that, folks; it's all true), we hit a raccoon.
Actually, we nailed a raccoon. Hard.
I believe he was coming for me. Coincidence that my last blog title included the word "raccoon?" I think not.
Instead of attacking me and fulfilling his mission, he hit the radiator, causing the car to overheat, make a loud funky sound and shudder to a stop.
I can't really express the joy of waiting on the highway shoulder, waking Madeline up to transfer her to my brother's car, realizing Joe, my parents and two other brothers would have to wait in a gas station parking lot for TWO HOURS for a tow truck and understanding this fun little experience would cost us an insurance deductible.
Oh, the joys of being an adult. Who doesn't buy the additional insurance.
ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS BUY THE INSURANCE, PEOPLE!
Have I made that point yet?
The following day, Joe and I discussed our road trip luck. Or lack thereof.
On our first trip, way back in college, we hit a dog. A big dog while going about 90 mph at 4 a.m. That resulted in another busted radiator and two hours of sitting on a nasty, nasty, nasty gas station floor.
We have had our fair share of flat tires and speed-trap tickets.
We once drove an hour and a half in the wrong direction. Like, totally wrong direction. North, instead of east.
"I thought the Rocky Mountains would be rockier than this."
"That John Denver's full of..."
Please tell me you get that line and don't think I'm just crazy.
But despite our dumb luck, we have never been hurt or hurt anyone else. And for that, I'm thankful.
I'm $500 poorer but thankful.
And there's one less raccoon haunting your highways. You're welcome.
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