Me in Place

Guess what SuperBoy got for Christmas from my loving bro/sis-in-law?

My house will never be the same again.

And I’ll never admit to the fun I have playing with it after the kids are all tucked in their beds.

Well, I finished up another Jeopardy calendar. I don’t have a picture of it – but it’s one of those page-a-day ones where every day is a question (answer, technically) and I try to figure out the question. I’ve been doing Jeopardy calendars since I was in college – I have proof because I just found a picture of me in my college dorm room and there, in the background, is the calendar! Then, at my work, we used to compete all year ’round and the losing team had to buy the other team pizza. I’ve even kept track of it the last two years on this blog.

2007 – I was 73% smart

2008 – I was 69% smart

2009?……69% smart again. This is so depressing. I thought you got smarter with age? No?

Isn’t that one of the hardest things to deal with? That you’re average?

Oh, that’s right…you’re perfect. You’d have no idea what average feels like.

It’s been four years today since my dad died. Sometimes the only thing I can tell myself is that the reason the grief is so deep is because I was blessed to have such an amazing dad.

A dad who showed us the value of working hard. I hated every second of digging those weeds out of the sidewalk with a butter knife. And every morning at 5:30 for a few years of my life, he would wake up with me and we would walk my paper route together. Showing that hard work is hard work – so shut up and get it done.

A dad who showed grace and mercy. I failed a class my first year of college. I had never gotten an F in my life before. I was so afraid to show him, but when I did, he comforted me instead of lecturing and said, that’s okay, I got bad grades my first year too. It’s a time of adjustment. Now you know what’s going on, go get better grades.

A dad who – when I came up with my new obsessions – showed an interest and asked questions and truly wanted to know what we were interested in. Usually for the two of us, it involved music. He and I would discover a new song and we’d listen to it over and over again.

A dad who – after I got married – never ever stepped into our decisions or told us we were morons for our choices. He said, our relationship is different now and you’re his responsibility and I will treat you as a friend and I will not give you advice. I remember once laughing at him, saying, Dad, really…I won’t take it as you imposing on our marriage, just tell me - Maytag or Whirlpool?

A dad who taught us to have a sense of humor about it all.

A dad who put up with people of all sorts and showed extreme…read that – EXTREME patience and grace to those around him. Including me.

A dad who demonstrated his love with actions and words. He held our hands those last days in the hospital and told us he loved us. I remember standing beside him, seeing that his heart was giving out and telling him it was okay for him to go.

I’ve always wanted to take those words back.

Grandpa with a newborn SuperBoy

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and souls delivery.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better then thy stroke; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

-John Donne

I have this awesome trait of always being sick or injured on my birthday. And since so far I am neither sick nor injured today, even though it is, indeed, my birthday, I thought I’d take a look back at my favorite birthday injury thus far. And my mom can correct me on all the things I’m wrong about. And if you could read this post in a British accent, too, that would be appreciated. It just adds more to the writing, methinks.

So here’s my greatest Birthday Story Ever. We used to have this vintage Coke machine…you know, the kind that dispensed bottles? And we used it is a bookcase. I can’t remember what room it was in. But I remember it having books in it. So my brother, whom I shall refer to as Jeff, since that is, indeed, his name. (Or, go ahead and call him Fuffy, which was how I said his name when I was little. He’ll really like that.) So, Jeff and I decide that it sounds like there’s still change in that machine. We tried to reach in and get the money, but we couldn’t reach it. There were bottle caps still in there, but we were sure there were also quarters. So we pulled and pulled and pulled…and suddenly the whole machine tipped over and fell on me and I felt the handle rip at my ear. I can remember lying on the floor with my head to the side and I could see Jeff who was now curled up on his bed yelling, “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” Dad came in and got the machine off of me. I was okay except for the fact that my ear was cut badly and was almost completely ripped off!

We pushed a towel to my ear and raced to the hospital. We lived quite some distance from it, but I remember sitting on my mom’s lap in the front seat and telling her, “Well, this is a silly thing to happen to a six-year-old* (*Mom Correction: I was six).” And then apparently I said something about how six-year-olds don’t cry and I didn’t cry anymore about it. (Awww… that’s probably the last thing I was that brave about!)

So, here comes the plastic surgery part. This all happened on a Saturday and my regular doctor was a Seventh Day Adventist, which means he was at church when we got there. So they called in the other available doc, who was a plastic surgeon. He reattached the ear and, all kidding aside, it was actually pretty good that he did it – you can hardly see the scar and I never had to have an additional surgery or anything. I do remember them giving me a huge handful of lollipops because I didn’t cry and he told me my mom would take me to McDonald’s.

And that’s my best birthday story so far. I hope I don’t have a better one by tonight! (knock on wood)

I’m sorry I don’t have pictures of it. I bet you’re sorry too.

I did something for you yesterday. I bet you weren’t even aware of it, but that’s how giving I am.

Let’s review:

That’s the temp outside yesterday – and so far today. What I’m now wondering is how we came about owning such an overachieving thermometer – -60? 120? Where? When? Is that possible? (Update: I’ve been thinking… maybe he is just a very very nice thermometer – reminding me that it’s never as bad as it could be.)

Anyway, what did I do for you, my friends? I did laundry. Because I thought, hm, if I do all the loads of laundry that are waiting for me, I could potentially raise the outside temp one degree with the dryer exhaust.

That’s right, I saved you from -21 degrees. You’re welcome.

Stay warm.

(My warm cat. Tempo Cat-erina.)

Poop has taught me a lot about life and what to expect from life and how to deal with the literal and figurative poo life serves up. I’m not talking Pooh bear, I’m talking poo, people. (Forgive me, Grammas).

1. Strangely enough, I rarely smelled my kids’ poopy diapers. I had no problem changing them, didn’t have to leave the room, could ignore it for quite some time, actually. (I can smell other people’s kids, though. Ick.) While everyone else was clearing the room and covering up their noses, I was like, “Hm? What? Dirty diaper?” Lesson: Bad things that happen in life will affect people differently. React to bad things the way you will, don’t let others’ reactions bother you. And be patient with others and their reactions.

2. Poop attracts help. One of the worst poo moments was when my middle child was a baby and her diaper, and all that was in it, exploded at the Omaha Zoo. I had to buy her an outfit from the zoo gift shop, and was changing her and basically giving her a bath in the bathroom sink. By the time I was done, there were three older ladies helping me clean her up, telling me stories of when their kids had messy diapers and giving me pats on the back as encouragement. At first I was embarrassed that they were helping with the poop bomb, but then I told myself to lighten up and I took their help and had a great time in the bathroom of the Omaha Zoo with three grandma helpers. Lesson: Let others help you when poop explodes. Let their life lessons encourage you.

3. I used to try to do my treadmill at home when SuperBoy was little. He was crawling around playing in the basement (on the other side of the room from where the treadmill was). But, no joke, the sound of the treadmill must have triggered something in him to make the diaper fill. So my workouts never got done because I’d stop to change the poop and then never get back on track again. I even blogged about one instance here. SuperBoy’s out of diapers now, but you know what else? I finally joined a gym. This way, when I am working out, I am working out. I am not worried about the poop. Lesson: It’s okay to give yourself a break and relax. The poop will still be there when you’re done. Take a break and breathe.

4. My last lesson today about poop is this: There is never any way to always be prepared for poop. No matter how much of a good, prepared mother I tried to be, there was always a point where I’d be standing there with a naked baby yelling for “Somebody bring me the diaper wipes!” or we’d be out somewhere and the diaper bag wouldn’t have the extra outfit in it. Lesson: You will never be prepared for the poo in life. Bad things are expert at surprising you. There ain’t nothing you can do about it.

Take the good with the bad. Clean up the poop and be strong. It’s worth it.

I’m having this ongoing battle with Mr MIP. He loves microwave popcorn. I hate it. The texture is gross and the smell is awful. I practically gag when I smell it when he makes it “ten seconds past being done.”
We’re at a stand-off right now. He still makes it three or so times a week. I still gag three or so times a week. I tell him the calorie count in a bag of popcorn (close to 500!). He tells me it’s his one snack he enjoys.
He’s so kind, he opens the bag out in the garage or outside to minimize the gagging smell.
I’m so kind, I don’t talk about it every single time he makes it.

But last night, on my way home, I heard a short blurb on the radio about the chemicals released in that steam when you first open the bag. I’m pretty sure the guy called that chemical “poofa.” (Upon looking it up, it seems it would be Perfluorooctanoic Acid, otherwise known as PFOA.)

Ha. New ammunition in the fight against nasty microwave popcorn smells. Should I use it in my warfare? I debated for a while as he munched and we watched TV. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I muted the TV and machine-gun-shot the words, “I’m really sorry. I tried not to say anything, but I was driving home and I heard the guy say that the chemical smoke that comes out of the microwave popcorn contains poofa and is a known human carcinogen. I don’t want you to be eating carcinogens and I DON’T WANT TO DIE FROM SECONDHAND POOFA!!!”

He kept munching. We watched the rest of our show.
“Killing me softly with poofa…”

Merry Christmas from our house to yours.

Sounds of joy have put to flight, all the sorrows of the night.

Long-time readers (otherwise known as “Grandma”) will maybe, possibly remember that I keep track of how many right and wrong answers I get on the annual Jeopardy calendar. Here is last year’s post about how smart I wasn’t. Last year I hit 73% right on the answers.

I kinda thought each year I would get a little smarter. A little wiser.

Nope. Just finished up this year’s, and I only came in at 69% smart for the year. Only being 69% smart is very very scarily close to being…not smart!

I am trying hard not to blame it on the fact that one of the final topics was Greenland. The closest country to Greenland is this one, a mere sixteen miles away. Greenland is an autonomous dependency of this nation. A peninsula in northern Greenland is named for this arctic explorer who had his sights set even further north.

At least I knew Justin Timberlake was one of the members of ‘N Sync. Kept me from being dumb.

Today is Flashback Friday day! And let’s flashback to approximately three hours ago! (Hey, I never set paremeters for how far back the flashback would be.)

Here it is. Five Things I Did Instead of Doing Laundry:

1. Did my treadmill and watched the latest episode of Top Chef. What I’m wondering is: how many seasons are there of Top Chef and why in the name of all that is simmering did you not tell me about this show?

2. I put myself in a Kraft Christmas card. Click here to see me ice skate!

3. I took this test and my personality came out as an ENTJ. They call this the “Fieldmarshall,” and suggest that I am in the same personality category as Hillary Clinton and Napoleon. This is devastating. But also suggests why I am avoiding laundry. Do you really think Napoleon ever washed dirty socks?

4. I answered approximately 365,421,250.3 questions from the three kids. No, I’m not exaggerating. Everything from: how did God really make time? to Why is this string cheese gross? to Why does SHE get to do that and I don’t?

5. Posted a comment on this blog.

6. Ordered two prints, one of which was this one: (Have you ordered yours yet? Go here. )