My Turn

Thought I'd show off my little cousin Courtney.  Rick and I got to see her perform on Valentine's Day and I'm heading to Dallas again tomorrow to see the show once more.

That's Courtney, between Rick and I.



Aren't we intelligent looking?  And don't I take wonderful pictures with my phone?  Uh, smile Kris.  Smile Rick.

Okay, we got the smiling down...  Now if we could just get the looking human thing down.

It just isn't gonna be a good day ...

... when you arrive to this.

Then again, it wasn't a very good day for this guy, either...



Simple Simon

Is it me... or has this word always been a verb?



If you guessed the number of jelly beans in the jar correctly, you would win the chance to "pie" a teacher.


Hmmmm... must be a Texas thang.

Brrrrr

As I ran out the door this morning, Rick called to me, "It's gonna be cold... take a coat!"

Rick is normally very astute about the weather.  Obsessed, even.  He is always turning on the TV "to find out what the weather's gonna be like" while I just tell him to stick his head out the door and see for himself. 

And right about now, he's correct.  It is going to be cold today.  However, the one thing Rick has forgotten is that I'm always prepared for the cold.  Always.  Even in the summer.

I see four items of warmth in my backseat.   I wouldn't want my backseat to be exposed to the elements, you know.

Here's a close up.  This little teal number is my favorite.

And... the trunk.  I see two more right there.

So... yes, Rick.  I'll take a coat.

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Valentine's Day in Deb Kane's world

Debbie Kane is a phenominal writer.  I've loved her work since I first met her little sister umpteen years ago and listened to her brag about her sister's latest rantings work.  And I've wanted to meet Deb ever since.  Well, I've still never met her but I feel like I know her now.  Just through her writings.  And Facebook.  Some of Debbie's best work is on Facebook!  We convinced her to blog and this is one of her first entries.  Perfect for this particular day...

Oh dear gawd. The unopened Christmas credit card bills have barely hit the shredder and here comes Valentine’s Day. I know, many people anxiously anticipate this frilliest of holidays. Some because they have stock in Hallmark. Many, many others are starry-eyed romantic dreamer types with their heads up their, uh, clouds. Yeah, we’ll go with clouds. If you haven’t picked up the vibe yet, I am not in either category.

In an effort to figure out why I have such a nasty attitude about this day of love and Cupid (Rhymes with ‘Stupid’…’nuff said), let’s travel back to grammar school. Back in my day, Valentine’s Day was one big pink and red lace-trimmed festival. We spent all morning decorating our little Valentine’s mailboxes – the base could be a shoebox, tissue box or a cereal box rescued from the trash at home. In desperation, a certain feminine hygiene product box served just fine, and was not nearly as embarrassing as one would thing. Since grammar school boys don’t mature until—well—ever, it was easy to convince them the products pictured were big thick Odor Eaters. Armed with a wide array of art supplies, we all set to work decorating our mailboxes. The boys were done in under a minute. Doesn’t take long to tape three baseball cards to a shoebox.

We girls took much longer.  Every year, my artistic vision far exceeded both my artistic ability and the array of art supplies. I pictured a sparkling lace and glitter confection of a treasure chest that would be positively bursting with Valentines, including a breathtaking handcrafted creation from Dougie or Billy or the new kid – whoever I was head over Keds for that week. I further imagined that after the exchanging of handcrafted proclamations of undying affection, my one true love du jour and I would share chocolate cupcakes decorated with fluffy white frosting and cinnamon hearts. Then as the sun set in the west, we would walk, hand in hand to Bus #9. I’ll give you a moment to wipe the tears away. Now here’s how it usually played out.

We’ll start with the wide array of art supplies. The glue, having been left uncapped since the Christmas projects was a cementy clot, the little scissors jammed up at the sight of construction paper, the paper lace doilies, being all fused together, came apart in little shards and the glitter stuck to my face and hands but not any paper surface. The finished product would have made Picasso proud, but was not appreciated by my classmates, Picasso’s talent not being a big topic of discussion at Connors-Emerson in Bar Harbor in the early ‘60’s. Was the mailbox positively bursting with cards? A generous estimate would be half full of the generic store bought variety, with no handmade creation from my one true love. Just another generic store bought card signed by his mother.

As for sharing party fare? Never, unless you count the year an unknown perpetrator (I knew in my little fourth grade heart it was Dougie or Billy or the new kid flirting with me) stuck a fluffy-frosted cinnamon heart bedecked cupcake on my chair as I sat down. It goes without saying (which won’t stop me from saying it) that the handholding to the bus was a non-event.

Although Valentine’s Day, for me, is not as portrayed on the Hallmark Channel, I thought I might be able to help make it better for others. To that end, I offer these shopping suggestions to help the menfolk reading this make their sweetheart’s Valentine’s Day special. You know who you are. You are the ones reading this at gunpoint.

Kitchen and/or household appliances. No. Never.


Flowers. Now we’re talking. I should caution you that, although it may be a real timesaver to purchase a single rose or a bouquet at the same place you buy your beer, lottery tickets and breakfast pizza, there are businesses right in the area that specialize in flowers and floral arrangements. They have phone numbers and they deliver. We like delivered flowers. Oh sure, we seem to appreciate you handing us flowers at home, but we all secretly prefer to have a large flashy arrangement delivered to our place of work by a team of winged cherubs. Makes it easier to flaunt in the face of flowerless co-workers.


Candy. Candy is good, if it is GOOD CANDY. A few basic rules to follow – if the box is decorated for Christmas and has a 75% off sticker, pass it by. If it is covered with cartoon and/or sports figures, move on. Look for a simple, elegant box with maybe some gold lettering. Most importantly, please note that it is bad form to eat the candy yourself while telling your sweety you are doing her a favor because she is looking a little ‘hippy’.


Lingerie is risky, but with proper consideration, can be rewarding for both giver and recipient. As with flowers, there are shops devoted just to lingerie. While Wal-Mart carries items that are structurally similar, make the trip to Victoria’s Secret. When purchasing the gift, please be aware of the recipient’s age, size, shape, agility, ability and mood. And please also be aware that on the recipient, the black lace babydoll may not appear exactly as pictured. But you should also be aware George Clooney probably looks better in Carhartt’s than you do.


Jewelry. Shiny stuff in velvet-y boxes is always welcome. Go to a store that deals exclusively in shiny stuff in velvet-y boxes. Make sure the item description does not end with ‘ish’, ‘like’ or ‘tone’. Most jewelers offer some form of installment plan or indentured servant program to help you afford the bauble she truly deserves. I will caution you, some of us regard jewelry as an admission of guilt. Oh, we will wear the 4 carat diamond tennis bracelet, but there will be questions, many questions.

A couple of final shopping notes, in the event anyone has the urge to buy me a Valentine’s (or any day) gift. The only thing that Victoria’s Secret sells that consistently fits me is the perfume. Also, I will happily accept shiny stuff in velvet-y boxes, no questions, asked.

OK, gentlemen, you only have a few shopping days left. So arm yourselves with several major credit cards and the title to your pickup truck and seek out those specialty stores. If you’re still in a quandary about how to demonstrate your love, be sincere. And maybe stick a fluffy frosted cinnamon heart bedecked cupcake in her chair.

You can find Debbie's blog is at:  LEAP YEAR BABY
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I've been working on the railroad...

My darling daughter just sent me this photo.  To show me, I'm sure, that she was hard at work at school.  And that we should be proud of her.  And we are.

It looks a little too staged, though.  A little too perfect.  And honestly, that water bottle is nearly empty... so I'm thinking there were a lot of trips to the little girl's room during that study period.

But I'm pretty sure this is all legit.  Especially since there were only 19 entries on Facebook during the time that she told me she was studying.  That's pretty good.  For her.

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Riverdance

For Christmas I gave Rick tickets to see his all time favorite performing group... RIVERDANCE.  Yes, I scored.  He was excited.

I also gave him tickets to see BRING IT ON - THE MUSICAL because I wanted to see it.  Yes, I scored.  I was excited.

So, last night was the first show... Riverdance.  Rick was dressed and ready to go when I got home from work.  Even though we had two full hours before we needed to leave.  But he was ready.  And he nagged me all afternoon to get ready so we could leave.  And we arrived there a full hour ahead of schedule.  That's a big deal to me.  I never arrive ANYWHERE an hour ahead of schedule.  I barely ever arrive anywhere on time...

And we saw the show.  And I scored.  Rick was in heaven.  I did good with his Christmas gift this year.

And you know what he said to me when we got in the car after the show?

"Bring It On was great!  Thanks for getting the tickets!"

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Smashed Potatoes

Being that tonight was a big TV night, (Mondays always are.  We watch all the sophisticated stuff on Mondays... The Bachelor, Castle...) I had picked up some baby back ribs for our dinner at home.  Of course we needed something more than just a few ribs, so I told Rick to prepare potatoes and veggies, too.  Following is his response to me after my very simple request.

"Where are they?"
"In the pantry."

"Should I cut them up?"
"Cut what up?"
"The potatoes."
"No.  You just get them out of the pantry."

"And then cut them up?"
"Cut the potatoes up?  No... they're flaky."
"Flaky potatoes?"
"Rick... what kind of potatoes do we store in our pantry?"
"I don't know.  I didn't even know we had potatoes in our pantry."
"We don't have real potatoes there..."
"Then what do you want me to cut up?"
"NOTHING.  They don't need cutting up."

* pause *

"So, where are they?"
"IN THE PANTRY.  ON A SHELF."
"What shelf?"
"The top shelf.  They're in a box."
"Since when do potatoes come in a box?"
"They've always come in a box.  They're flakes.  And you mix them with water and cook them."
"Oh, instant potatoes.  Why didn't you say so?"

* pause *

"So where are the vegetables?"
"IN THE PANTRY."
"Are they in a box?"

We ordered a pizza tonight instead.
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This man...

... was a very good sport.  He let me do this to him:

He was the star of a little play we put on on Friday night.  He did not glamorize himself, though.  No, I was responsible for that mess prettiness.

The play?  A silly version of Extreme Home Makeovers, without the home and without the 'extreme'.  Pretty much without the makeover, too, since the original version of Rick was really much better than the aftermath.

Three of the men of our church relented to being in the competition.  Three of the wives (their's) all sat behind them under a snuggy, acting as their arms while the men pretended to be looking in a mirror and getting ready for a night out on the town.  "I Feel Pretty" was playing in the background.

This man won.  But only by a hair, literally.  He won because his "arms" (wife) pulled out the perfume and sprayed him with it.  That got him the gold medal.  Too bad the perfume doused the man sitting next to him instead.

But after Rick's arms (wife) was able to stand up and see the end result... she felt he should've won regardless of the perfume.  That false eyelash up there was definitely award-winning.

"I feel pretty and witty and gay!"

Too proud to admit it

At one of my elementary schools, the "teacher" restroom is right around the corner from my office.  It's nestled right in between the girl's bathroom and the boy's bathroom and I know the path well.  I visit that little room a few times during my normal workday.  And, since I've worked at that elementary school for nearly three years now, I could probably find my way there with my eyes shut.  I could probably even close my eyes and count the steps there.  It's a rote thing.  My brain just knows the way.

Until today.

I decided that it was time to use the restroom.  I stood up, walked out into the hallway and headed around the corner to the little staff restroom.  I pushed down on the handle to enter and noticed that it was locked.  Must be in use.

Dilemna.

Should I stand and wait for the person inside to finish and come out so that I could go in?  Or should I just give up and head to one of the other faculty restrooms?  They aren't very far away... yet, in a rush, they could very well feel far away. 

Seeing as there was a young boy standing at the sink (the sinks are outside of the doors to the children's restrooms so that the shenanigans we pulled as children could not be repeated... like throwing soap up onto the ceiling) I decided not to wait.  I don't know why.  I guess I was embarrassed that he would KNOW why I was waiting.  But first I tried the door handle one more time... just in case I was wrong and the restroom wasn't occupied after all.  But the door handle still didn't budge.

Should I wait?  Should I walk?  I decided to walk. 

A split second after I turned and headed away, the little boy at the sink called to me.

"Ma'am?  Did you need to use the bathroom?"

Embarrassed, because things like little kids knowing that I need to use a restroom embarrass me, I called back to him, "No, that's okay.  I'm going to the office."

He said, "But did you want the bathroom?"

I was insistant.  "No, that one's got someone in it.  I'll just go to the office."

"Okay," he said.

And I headed up the hallway.

Later on, it became time to find my way to the little room again... and I walked that well-trod path to the staff restroom.  And I reached for the silver door handle and pushed down on it.  It was locked again.  What the...  It's never occupied.  I'm in a wing that most teachers don't come to.  WHY is someone in there?  Again?

And then I noticed... that the sign on the door read...

CUSTODIAN

I moved over one door promptly and entered the correct room immediately.  Hoping no one had seen.

I'm never coming out, either.  I'd rather live in here than face that little boy again.  He just might still be lurking outside the door.
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