March 31, 2008

Me, after finally seeing my husband come home from a long shift at the Hospital where he just started working: Hey, How was work?

Mike: Really awful.

Me: Why?

Mike: Well, I had to sit with a patient and his family my whole shift and….. we had Broccoli for dinner last night.

Oh, so you had to….

And I couldn’t.

You couldn’t leave the room to?

It would have followed me back in. And even then, I was only allowed to leave the room, like ONCE the entire shift.

There’s not a quiet place somewhere to let one go?

Not really.

Well, in Grey’s Anatomy, there’s a room where all the Doctors and Nurses have sex, couldn’t you have gone in there?

Gosh! I never thought of that! Next time, I’ll just ask everyone where the sex closet is!

Perfect! But be sure to let them know you are asking so you can fart in there, not have sex.

Right.

Because you don’t want to give them the wrong idea.

No.

March 13, 2008

Things are looking up, people. It’s a new day, a new era in the Battle Station household. It’s sunny out, we went to the River today on a walk, our dog (sloth) actually walked for 1/3 of the time, our kid rode her new bike, we are back on the adoption list and we have a corrective appointment scheduled with the home automation people who CURSED our house with motion controlled INDOOR lights. Yes, things are looking up.

And yes we can. Yes we can.

I love saying the Barack slogan just intermittently throughout the day. It’s my thing right now.

Delaney’s thing right now is to say FOR REAL after everything she says. Example: I just farted, FOR REAL Mom! So between the two of us and our fancy new idioms, it’s certain to be a good time around the battle station. And that’s why Mike has decided he really really wants to organize the garage tonight on his one night off.

As he was walking off to garage he yelled: Okay! I’ll really miss you girls while I’m organizing my tools in the silence of the garage! To which Delaney yelled: You’re not even the boss Dad, FOR REAL! And just to drive it home, I yelled out a final YES WE CAN, YES WE CAN right before he shut the door. It was magical. I recommend being a part of the majority within your household. Multiply and replenish your home with girls. You will not regret the decision and your counterparts will have nothing to do but be outnumbered all the time.

Mike is sooooooooo close to finishing this blasted last semester. It’s so unbelievable that we have decided to not talk about it. It’s the unspeakable thing. We must not speak of it, for fear of disrupting the Murse (male nurse) God. The Murse God is testy, unpredictable and apparently friends with President Bush because the whole crazy long deployment thing halfway through the nursing program? Murse God COULD have exercised some Murse God Powers there and instead chose to use the opportunity to vacay in the Caribbean somewhere.

Bummer about David H going home, eh? (That was a segue into an American Idol discussion) I think the whole male stripper thing didn’t bode too well for the chap. Which, I found it curious that he didn’t mention that tidbit in his little bio video before his song, did you not as well? I was an airport screener, I was a waitress, I was a nurse… I rocked a male thong! Vote for me America! Poor lass.

Good news though! I think I finally figured out why I can’t love on some David Cook! Mike said it perfectly. He passed the tele while running around the house JUST as David Cook was doing his little bio thing, Mike stops and watches, five seconds go by and he says (sarcastically, as David) “No matter what is happening at the moment, I feel it deeper than you”. I dropped my jaw and was all, THAT’S IT! THAT’S why there’s no love emittance from me for David! I couldn’t pinpoint it!

And then he left. Just when I need him most, he appears, answers life’s riddles for me and then leaves me deep in thought at his abounding wisdom. His American Idol wisdom.

If any of you are having this problem, this inability to pinpoint why a contestant bothers you problem, please send all inquiries to Mike at AI Energy Expert dot com. Botherless tv can be right around the corner for YOU too.

February 18, 2008

Me: Hey, I am having my friend Tarah come over to give us massages on Wednesday night.

Mike: Who’s Tarah?

Me: A friend.

Mike: From where?

Me: From our adoption group and blogging.

Mike: Well…….that’s creepy.

Me: Why?

Mike: Well I don’t know, what does she do for a living? Is she a masseuse?

Me: Yes she’s a masseuse, what do you think, I just invite, like, our Realtor over to give us a good rub down? Of course she’s a masseuse.

Mike: Well…. good.

Me: Alright then. Good talk.

We are a massage couple. Usually on holidays, anniversaries, birthdays, time periods in which we are so immensely stressed out and insane with tired, etc… we get massages and can’t begin to tell you how much we love them. We both emerge from our room at the spa looking like as though we are emerging from an opium den at Woodstock. The relaxation and complete loss of tenseness and stress, well, I don’t think I was that relaxed even as an infant. My Mom will attest to this, I have revolted and despised the human touch from day one, even as a breast-feeding newborn. Remember this story? I am not one to touch or be touched. But massages have never been a problem. And I think it’s because I carry ALL my stress in the shoulders, like most women do, and the massage bit just gets rid of it all. I don’t need a counselor, I just need a massage.

And can I say that finding a good masseuse is probably just as hard, if not harder than finding weapons of mass destruction in Iraq? Do you not concur, internet? Has everyone reading not had the most horrid and awful massage experience in their life because of the masseuse?

The masseuse.

Word to the wise? When you are making casual chit chat with a client as you’re starting a massage and you finagle the details out of him that he’s a soldier getting ready to head to Iraq for a year, just a little tidbit of masseuse protocol, don’t discuss bloody war details and staggering death statistics over the duration of your massage with said client. It’s not actually THAT relaxing. Thanks so much.

And another quick tip? When a client says “Ow, that hurts” and maybe follows that up with “HOLY CRAP, THAT REALLY HURTS” and then possibly mentions again a few minutes later that you must “STOP DOING THAT, PLEASE JUST STOP!” It maaaaaaaay be beneficial in the end that you stop. Stop the torture. I promise, the client will NEVER return or refer friends to you if you PHYSICALLY HURT them the entire hour. A good indicator? A helpful tell-tale sign? When the clients hands start SWEATING from the pain. I’m just sayin.

Lastly, and this is mostly just a request on my part, a simple preference really. Please don’t use random knick-knacks and gizmo object thingies on my body. I don’t want Inspector Gadget to give me my massage. Really, I could ask my 4 year old to bring in her new Hannah Montana lip gloss kit and poke and prod my back for an hour if I wanted this effect. Just plain ol’ hands on back action is what I’m lookin for. The trinkets and lockets are not my thing. Sorry.

But when it’s good? Holy moly, it’s goooooood. When the light music is going, the blankets are soft and comfy, the massage starts with my feet since they are always icicles, the masseuse is ROCKIN the good grub of rub, it’s just phenomenal.

And on a side note, if and when ya’ll go to Playa del Carmen Mexico and stay at the Riu Palace Mexico, head down to the beach and you’ll see a cabana with three pristinely white massage tables set up with a picturesque view of the ocean behind it. STOP THERE. Be eternally glad you did.

Wednesday will be lovely, I can’t wait. It’s what I live for right now, is Wednesday. If I post a half-logical and rambling post on Thursday, you’ll know why. Which is funny, since all my posts are half-logical and rambling. Get it? That’s funny.

January 30, 2008

It’s snowing again.

I cannot tell you how SICK! I am of the snow this winter. It’s not magical anymore, it’s not special. It’s crap. And it will NOT stop. It’s been a full on blizzard for days on end and I’m feeling as though my life is starting to mimic “The Shining”.

I know I run the risk of sabotaging my own efforts of getting you all to move here to start our blogging commune when I mention something like this. I try not to ever say anything negative about Boise so as to give the illusion of rainbows and butterflies all the live long days because even though I know none of you will ever move here, I still believe that ALL of you COULD move here, if it not for your complete selfishness. And so the fault lies with you, I wash my hands of this.

Things wouldn’t be SO bad today except that Mike took my van to work. Something that I know to be of a revengeful nature on his part. He probably figured that if he took MY car and left me with his “tobaggon on ice” which he knows I deem a death trap on wheels and therefore refuse to drive, he must have figured that I couldn’t go anywhere and spend money and shop for cute things or make impulsive decisions in a shopping mall pet store. Which, I see his logic, somewhat. He DID, I guess, leave for work 2 days ago and upon return, discovered a new puppy in our house. But GEEZ, what’s the big deal?! You know? Take my car away? A bit harsh, I’d say. All in agreement, say aye. I know, right?

It’s just that Delaney and I needed to do some birthday present shopping and we ended up at the mall. EVERYONE knows that when at the mall with a kid, it’s pretty much required of you that you take the kid to the pet store. It’s an unwritten law, you MUST DO IT. So, fearing the consequences of disrupting the alter-sphere-of-parenting-law-bondage (just go with it), we indeed went to the pet store. Upon which, we bought a dog. But the decision was made entirely by Delaney, I told Mike this, it had nothing to do with me! I turned my back for ONE second and when I turned back around, Delaney was just finishing up the paperwork. It was done. I had no choice but to bring the dog home after that.

Meet Annie.

She’s a Lhasa Apso, 4 months old and was discounted at the pet store because she had been there too long. Which made us want her even more.

So far, she’s been scared of every single thing, tip-toes around our house and shakes. But this morning, a sign of life! She wagged her tail! And all day today, she’s been following Delaney around and dare I say it, pouncing? She almost comfortable enough to behave like a real puppy but not quite yet. The absence of barking is awesome though, which I guess is the perk of having a scaredy-dog.

Delaney is smitten. Her life from now on will be marked from THIS POINT. Just as we have B.C. and A.D., Delaney now has “before Annie” and “after Annie”.

And I now have a full day of a wild child and a peeing dog. Oh and the blizzard.

January 11, 2008

I have no brilliant lead in for this and no clever way to build up, so I’m just going to say it.

Some little devil child at Delaney’s new preschool told her she was “ugly and didn’t belong in class.”

*sigh* It breaks my heart every time I talk about this.

I’m curious as to how you all would have handled this situation and if you think I acted A. Like a level-headed, protective Mother or B. Like a rabid screaming Banshee. Because, this is the first time anything remotely close to this has happened to my child and let’s get one thing straight. Delaney, my child Delaney? Is no Ugly.

See?

So, where were we? Ah, yes. The devil child.

Mike picked DeeDee up from school and the VERY first thing she said was that “another girl said I was ugly and didn’t belong in class.” Which, kids make stuff up all the time, but this, this she did not make up. My child would not concoct this sentence up in her 3 year old mind. Dora would NEVER say someone was ugly - and that is how Delaney rationalizes things in her life. What Would Dora Do?

Well Mike did what any loving parent would do and pulled the minivan over to the side of the road and proceeded to tell our wee offspring that she is SO beautiful, SO smart, SO nice and SO BELONGS IN CLASS. This, apparently, went on for the entire drive home because my Psychologist Mother always told us that it takes 10 put-ups for every put-down to rebuild self esteem. And well, Mike didn’t just want her self esteem level back to where it was that morning before preschool, he wanted it at record levels, the best ANYONE has EVER felt about themselves EVER.

After 20 or so minutes of making her repeat self-affirmations, Mike called me.

“Are you sitting down?”

“Why?”

“Some little turd-girl called our child U.G.L.Y. at school today”

“GGGGGAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSPPPPPPPP!”

“AND told her that she didn’t B.E.L.O.N.G. in C.L.A.S.S.”

“…..(trying to mentally spell out the words)….. GGGGGAAAAASSSSSSSPPPPPP!”

“I know.”

“WHAT DID YOU DO!”

“Well, I’ve been telling her over and over again how beautiful, smart and nice she is” (I can hear a little voice in the back saying “I’m a NICE girl!”)

“That’s it!”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?”

“I’ve got to go”

“What are you doing?”

“Calling the school. Bye.”

And I did. I left a very nice message asking if one of Delaney’s teachers could call me back, I would like to know if anyone saw this happen and if anything was done to remedy the situation (ie: PLEASE TELL ME SOMEONE BODY SLAMMED THAT OTHER LITTLE COCKROACH OF A CHILD TO THE GROUND). And I am pleased to announce that the Principal called me back after only 15 minutes, fifteen minutes of marathon pacing across my living room, and that yes, she TOTALLY DID body slam the cockroach to the floor.

Kidding.

The Principal was very nice, very professional. She mentioned several times what a joy Delaney is in class and how thrilled they are to have her in their school, yada yada yada gettothegoodstuff. DeeDee’s Teacher did see this unfortunate exchange of words take place and promptly pulled this other little girl to the side and told her that we don’t speak this way and the things she said were not nice and unacceptable things to say. I was relieved to hear this, not that it changed anything or undid the damage to my daughter’s sweet heart, but it did make me feel better. And to the Principals credit, she remained professional and would not give up a name (I tried) (Oh please, you know you would have wanted to find out where this girl lives too). The call ended with her assuring me that they will keep an eye on this other girl to make sure it doesn’t happen again and that this kind of behavior is not tolerated at their school. It sounds like a cult, but really, it’s a great place. Don’t judge me all you brilliant, patient homeschooling Moms.

The kicker of the whole story is that the other day when I dropped Delaney off at school, her Teacher handed me a card. The card said

“I was deeply saddened to hear of the unkind words my child has decided to use. I apologize for the hurt and anguish this has caused your child. I am continually working on loving words for my daughter to use and I hope that your child hears some of those words next time.”

And she signed her full name.

Then I felt bad for making such a big deal about it. Kids are kids. Kids are dumb. They don’t even know what they are saying half of the time and I’m sure that this other little cockroach girl has older cockroach brothers or learned it on TV. I’m sure cockroach girl has nice cockroach parents that were really embarrassed by the whole thing. As I would be MORTIFIED if I learned my kid said those words. My Psychologist Mother would have washed my mouth out with soap. Which, by the way, does anyone do that anymore? Is that against the law now?

So. Let’s have it. Did I over-react? Should I write a nice letter back to this other Mom? I’d hate for her to continue being all Opus Dei about it. Thoughts please Internet. Thoughts.

December 6, 2007

You know your husband loves you when:

You go to the coffee shop to buy a 6 pump Vanilla Latte and when you go to pay for it, after already having sipped the first few scrumptious sips of sweetness off the top, you realize you have no debit card, no check book and no cash. Absolutely no money to pay for anything. None. NAKED of money, that’s you.

You call your husband and the conversation probably goes like this:

Hello?

BABE?

….. uh, Ya?

I just went to the coffee shop and got a drink and went to pay for it only to realize that I had NO debit card, NO checks and NO CASH.

HaahaahaaaHAAA…… oh, that’s funny.

……… NO. It’s not. You TOOK ALL my money!

(realizing now that the call is not a call of humor story exchanges) Well, it wasn’t on purpose.

Well! I am really annoyed!

Well, honey, it was just funny timing.

………………………. (silence)

I’m not crazy husband guy, I didn’t TAKE all your money on purpose so you couldn’t spend money.

Well, I KNOW THAT. But. I want you to care more! I want this to be your problem too! I want you to be ANGRY! AS ANGRY AS ME!

Okay, I’ll see you in a little bit. Love you.

AND THE CAR CLOCK IS STILL AN HOUR FAST! YOU STILL HAVEN’T CHANGED THE CAR CLOCK!

(click)

And then probably 2 hours later, the same husband gets yet another call from his sweet, angelic wife.

……… Hello?

What are you doing?

Watching TV, what are you doing?

What?! You’re watching TV?! You didn’t mess up my shows did you?!

Um, ya, I think I did.

WHAT?!

Sternfalter (code word for totally, completely, no b*llsh*t telling the truth)

I can’t believe this!

Well, it wouldn’t let me change the channel without canceling one of your recordings.

So, you just CANCELED THEM?! MY SHOWS?! MY PRECIOUS SHOWS?!?!?!

Okay, I’ll see you when you get home in a bit, okay? Love you.

WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!

(click)

(calling back)

Hello?

ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

Babe, I said Sternfalter.

(huge, big frustrated air sound)

Okay, I’m going to go now, I’m tired of being in trouble for the day.

FINE!

(click)

So. Back to the beginning. You know your husband loves you when you come home after ALL this and he still pats the couch next to him and says “Wanna watch America’s Next Top Model together?”

November 19, 2007

After staying up 2 hours later than my husband, I quietly sneak into our dark and quiet bedroom. As I slip into my side of the bed, Mike stirs in his sleep and I seize the moment.

“pst. Babe. Do you want to have sex?”

Without one SECOND’S hesitation, he rolls over, still miles away in slumber and fiercely states “Doesn’t count” before slipping into sub-conscience again.

CRAP! This is BAD! The subject seems to have caught on. The species is evolving.

This after several instances in where myself, the exquisitely brilliant woman that I am, had successfully maneuvered this transaction with ease and superb performance. The midnight romp offering was there, offering denied, power in my corner. LARGE AMOUNTS of power. Learn from me, friends, take my knowledge and bask in it.

The next night or next day or next minute, whatever the case may be, Man will desire rompage. Something like this may happen-

“WOMAN. BED. NOW.”

“No, not tonight. I’m ________ (enter any adjective here: tired, hungry, sick, blogging, whatever - you know the drill)”

“HUH? MAN DESIRE WOMAN! MAN NEVER GETS WOMAN!”

“Well, sweetness, I offered last night and you said no.”

“WHAT!”

“Last night. I offered. And you said no. So…..”

“You mean in the middle of the night when I was asleep!”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t count”

“Counts”

“No way”

“Yes way”

But now, I fear, my tricks and skills have been compromised, you see. He has learned. He has evolved and I can only assume that others like him will too. So, use the skill ladies, use it and be exquisitely brilliant. But, use with caution. Use with discretion. Use knowing that they will catch on.

I’ll let you know when I have discovered a plan B.

November 16, 2007

I remember it well. Sitting there in a classroom at Rick’s College surrounded by 30 or so giddy college students discussing our upcoming sacred marriage vows in a CREDITED college course entitled “Dating and Marriage Prep”.

The instructor laid out the main reasons married couples fight and at the very top were “Finances” and “Family Holidays”. VERY CLEARLY I remember this. “Family Holidays” she said and she warned. And I remember hearing her say that and then thinking to myself “Mike is so hot. He is so everything. So hot and so spiritual too. Mike can be hot and spiritual at the same time. I think I’ll tell him tonight when we have our scripture study session together how spiritually hot he is.”

And after class when we were walking across campus holding hands but leaving enough room between us for the Holy Ghost to be there we discussed the notion of Families and Holidays being an issue.

So, your parents, what are their names? Are they crazy about holidays?

That’s EXACTLY what I was thinking!

And so was our preparatory period for marriage. We really weren’t all that concerned. We knew what we were doing, thankyouverymuch.

And to our credit, and our families credit, we have not had ANY issues with holidays whatsoever over the last 6 years. It just always seemed to work out just fine. We’d head down to Utah for one holiday, stay in Boise for another, go to my Mom’s for the morning and then my Dad’s for the evening etc….

But then it happened.

The motherload.

The Big Family Holiday Fight.

I’m not even sure how it happened. Truly, as most big fights are like that, you’re in the throes of it, freaking out and then you go “What are we even fighting about? How did this start? What’s happening? I don’t know but it’s obviously really important to me that I win so I will continue to be mad.”

And we were mad.

Mike was under the impression that Thanksgiving was HIS family Holiday this year. I had already told my family that we would at least be stopping by THEIR Thanksgiving dinner this year. And so then it was the battle of the families. And we NEARLY had to go to emergency marriage counseling THAT VERY NIGHT. Because I am not usually a cryer. I don’t cry. I am a robot. I have no feelings or emotion, just sarcasm. But I cried. And don’t feel bad for me just yet because I then proceeded to scream a big giant “F YOU” at Mike and slam the door.

These things happen.

And we actually laughed about it a few hours later when we reminisced on how the last time I did that was when we were first married and Mike wouldn’t stop playing his video game and come sit with me by the bath. I wanted him to SIT next to the Bath and TALK with me WHILE I was in the Bath and he WOULDN’T so I screamed F YOU at him and then stormed out of the house. You can see the ramifications of marrying a teenage bride, yes?

But we hashed out the fight. Thanks to Mike again. He always fixes it usually by injecting me with a tranquilizer but nonetheless, it’s fixed. And even at the end when little bits of craziness were still erupting out of my mouth like little aftershocks, things like “NO! I WANT to go to your family’s house now. I WANT TO GO! I DEMAND that we go! I change my mind!” He knew what to do. He shushed me like Cesar Milan does with those little yippy dogs.

“But I…” Sh!

“I’m seriou…..” Sh!

Sh!

That’s enough!