My blog friend Mrs. Chili over at The Blue Door posted a meme on Monday about the holidays. And as I read her responses, I couldn't help but reflect on traditions around the holidays. We all have so many. And so many of us have the SAME traditions. And yet, we each tweak them just a bit to fit our own personal likes and the needs of our families. Comparing and contrasting seemed like fun. So you can check our her thoughts on the holidays and then see what I had to say on the same topics...
1. Real tree or Artificial? Believe it or not, we have one of each. The real tree is in the family room and covered with all our favorite old ornaments and kid crafts, etc. And all our colored lights. And that is the tree the presents go underneath. But some years we also put up an artificial tree in the living room with white lights and more formal ornaments. This year...just the real one.
2. Do you like decorating the tree? Parts of it. I always have to put the tree in the stand and get the lights on ahead of time. I don’t love that part. But the ornaments are all done with the whole family and that part is fun.
3. When do you put up the tree? It varies...usually around the second weekend of December. This year, I put the tree in the stand and put on the lights tonight. We'll all put on the ornaments tomorrow evening.
4. When do you take the tree down? Usually about a week after New Year’s.
5. Do you like eggnog? Oh I do! Most of the folks in my family do not, so when we buy it, I know I’m only sharing with Son1, so that means a lot for me.
6. Ever broken a present right after opening it? I don’t think so.
7 . Hardest person to buy for? My wife. And it is my fault. I put too much pressure on myself to get the perfect gift every time.
8. Easiest person to buy for? Our daughter. She always provides us with a color-coded list with appropriate hyperlinks to web sites, reviews, etc.
9. Do you have a nativity scene? We do.
10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Mail. But we have been narrowing our list of who gets them every year. What a chore to do that whole process.
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? Underwear. From my mom. And not when I was a kid.
12. Favorite Christmas Movie? It’s A Wonderful Life. I know...how predictable.
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? As soon as possible after Black Friday is over and those folks go home.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Honestly, not that I can remember.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Thing. Singular. Then I would have to pick my wife’s rouladen. We have that for our Christmas dinner every year. I love it.
16. Have you ever actually eaten fruit cake? Sure. Often as a kid. Not so often as an adult. See, I really do learn as I grow!
17. Favorite Christmas song? Again with the singular! I’m pretty sure I can’t narrow it down to one song so I won’t even try. I’ll just say that I love Christmas music. I love the traditional songs such as Oh Holy Night and White Christmas. Plus I love some of the new stuff by The Roaches, Sara McLaughlin, and others. And I’m warning you, I love to sing along...which isn’t always a pretty thing.
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? We’ve been at home for the holidays for a long time now.
19. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer? Absolutely.
20. Angel on the tree top or a star? Angel on the real tree. When we use the artificial tree, a big red bow.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Both. It works like this. When our kids were very young (in fact, when there was only “kid” without the “s”) we started letting them open one small give on Christmas Eve. We were trying to take the edge off cause he/they would be so excited about the whole thing we were afraid they were going to explode. So one gift the night before.....that we selected cause we wanted to make sure it was a small one....and then all the rest Christmas morning. That tradition is still continued today. And even though two of them are in their 20’s, they would get quite pouty if there was no Christmas Eve gift opening.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? People who just like to complain about things related to the holidays. Yes, there is more traffic and stores are busy. Relax. We’ll all get home for Christmas.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color? Oh that’s a tough one. If you were there as we decorated the tree, you would think about half of them are my favorites. I grab one to hang up and suddenly start reminiscing about when we bought it or what I remember about it. But if I have to choose a theme or color...I would have to say I love our more crafty/country style ornaments. The colored balls are fun...but I like the wooden ornaments best.
24. Favorite Christmas dinner? That rouladen I mentioned earlier with mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, a good veggie. And a nice piece of pie for dessert.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year? Easy question! I’m am totally wanting to upgrade to an iPhone.
Showing posts with label Wife. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wife. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Monday, May 05, 2008
Fact or Fiction
Saturday was a good day of recovery for my wife - Ms NFMC (thanks for the alias, May!). But on the heels of one good day of recovery at home, she had a night of restlessness and nausea and vomiting. She was unable to keep down any food, any liquid, any of her medications.
And it was green. Like pea soup green.
So we looked on our list of "Call the doctor if any of these are present". This list had been kindly provided by the hospital when we left on Friday. There were about ten things on the list. She had three. Extreme nausea. Vomiting. Green vomit.
So the call was made. And guess what they told us to do???
You guessed it - return the emergency room - the place where it all began last Wednesday morning. The triage wait was very short. Nothing else on Sunday was short. We were in that tiny room in the ER for eight hours.
Eight is a very big number when you are bored out of your freaking mind! There is NOTHING to do in ER. Not one single magazine. No Sports Illustrated. No National Geographic. Hell, I would have been happy with Women's Day! But nope, nothing to read.
And no food or beverage. We left home about 8AM on Sunday morning. No coffee. No breakfast. And they would not let me bring in a soda or a snack. Nothing. Oh sure, I could go to the cafeteria and eat. But I could easily return to find my wife gone to some test with no idea what really happened to her. So I stuck around.
But I did eventually entertain myself. For example, when I took my wife's heart monitor off - that little thing they clip on your finger to monitor your pulse (heck, she was sleeping by then, she didn't know), I found out that my pulse was about two beats per minute faster than her pulse. And that little gizmo also monitors the level of oxygen in the blood. Don't ask me how, some sort of medical techno magic. But however it works, my rate was again about two higher than her rate. But we were both in the upper 90's - which apparently is good. But what was a little concerning about their magic technology was that the sheet had an oxygen content of about 60. Really? Hmmmm.
Oh, and those little stretchy things they wrap around your arm tourniquet-style to make the vein pop up for an IV...well those little suckers will really fly across the room if you pull back on them really good.
But enough about me and my fun. This is about my wife, huh? Cause she was the one laying on the bed. And since she went in reporting massive vomiting, they immediately gave her an anti-nausea medication. It stopped the urge almost immediately. And then, since she had been awake all night, she fell asleep and slept for most of the eight hours we were there.
And if they solved the problem right away, why did we stay so long? Well it wasn't cause the food was good! Apparently they wanted to figure out why she was throwing up. Picky, picky. So she slept...and periodically had someone take an x-ray or do an ultrasound or take a blood sample.
And the result of all that? They don't know! Their guess (gee, isn't it nice when the doctor only has a theory?!?!) is that she had a reaction to one of the anti-surgery medications they gave her. But did they change any of those? Nope. Just gave her some anti-nausea medication to take at home and sent us on our way.
After eight hours. I did say it took eight hours, right?
And today? She seems just fine. No throwing up. No pain from the surgery. Still sleepy from the medications. But basically it seems like the recovery is back on track.
Now...which parts of this story are fact and which are fiction?
Sadly, all of it is fact.
And it was green. Like pea soup green.
So we looked on our list of "Call the doctor if any of these are present". This list had been kindly provided by the hospital when we left on Friday. There were about ten things on the list. She had three. Extreme nausea. Vomiting. Green vomit.
So the call was made. And guess what they told us to do???
You guessed it - return the emergency room - the place where it all began last Wednesday morning. The triage wait was very short. Nothing else on Sunday was short. We were in that tiny room in the ER for eight hours.
Eight is a very big number when you are bored out of your freaking mind! There is NOTHING to do in ER. Not one single magazine. No Sports Illustrated. No National Geographic. Hell, I would have been happy with Women's Day! But nope, nothing to read.
And no food or beverage. We left home about 8AM on Sunday morning. No coffee. No breakfast. And they would not let me bring in a soda or a snack. Nothing. Oh sure, I could go to the cafeteria and eat. But I could easily return to find my wife gone to some test with no idea what really happened to her. So I stuck around.
But I did eventually entertain myself. For example, when I took my wife's heart monitor off - that little thing they clip on your finger to monitor your pulse (heck, she was sleeping by then, she didn't know), I found out that my pulse was about two beats per minute faster than her pulse. And that little gizmo also monitors the level of oxygen in the blood. Don't ask me how, some sort of medical techno magic. But however it works, my rate was again about two higher than her rate. But we were both in the upper 90's - which apparently is good. But what was a little concerning about their magic technology was that the sheet had an oxygen content of about 60. Really? Hmmmm.
Oh, and those little stretchy things they wrap around your arm tourniquet-style to make the vein pop up for an IV...well those little suckers will really fly across the room if you pull back on them really good.
But enough about me and my fun. This is about my wife, huh? Cause she was the one laying on the bed. And since she went in reporting massive vomiting, they immediately gave her an anti-nausea medication. It stopped the urge almost immediately. And then, since she had been awake all night, she fell asleep and slept for most of the eight hours we were there.
And if they solved the problem right away, why did we stay so long? Well it wasn't cause the food was good! Apparently they wanted to figure out why she was throwing up. Picky, picky. So she slept...and periodically had someone take an x-ray or do an ultrasound or take a blood sample.
And the result of all that? They don't know! Their guess (gee, isn't it nice when the doctor only has a theory?!?!) is that she had a reaction to one of the anti-surgery medications they gave her. But did they change any of those? Nope. Just gave her some anti-nausea medication to take at home and sent us on our way.
After eight hours. I did say it took eight hours, right?
And today? She seems just fine. No throwing up. No pain from the surgery. Still sleepy from the medications. But basically it seems like the recovery is back on track.
Now...which parts of this story are fact and which are fiction?
Sadly, all of it is fact.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Put down the pins...
...and step away from the voodoo doll!
I'm starting to feel cursed! I mean, I just wrote last Friday about the on-going trauma to our little family. But we were bouncing back. And we bounced all the way to Wednesday morning about 3AM. That was when my wife woke me up due to her severe pain. We were off to the emergency room for a little visit by 4AM. And after a series of blood tests, ultrasounds, and 92 different interns and residents poking on her until she practically screamed and then asking "does that hurt?"....it was 1PM and they carried her off to surgery.
By the time I saw her again around 5, she was missing a gall bladder. But in so much less pain! Those little incisions were so much less painful than a gall bladder that was infected and engorged.
They kept her at the hospital until noon today...just monitoring lingering infection and pain, but she is home now and seriously medicated.
And the highlight of the whole ordeal (aside from her obvious improvement in health) was Son18 giving me a call at the hospital yesterday just to ask..."So when they took out her gall bladder, what did they do with it? Do they just have a big garbage can full of body parts?"
Whatever can they have, it now has one more seriously infected gall bladder. Better in the can than in my wife!
I'm starting to feel cursed! I mean, I just wrote last Friday about the on-going trauma to our little family. But we were bouncing back. And we bounced all the way to Wednesday morning about 3AM. That was when my wife woke me up due to her severe pain. We were off to the emergency room for a little visit by 4AM. And after a series of blood tests, ultrasounds, and 92 different interns and residents poking on her until she practically screamed and then asking "does that hurt?"....it was 1PM and they carried her off to surgery.
By the time I saw her again around 5, she was missing a gall bladder. But in so much less pain! Those little incisions were so much less painful than a gall bladder that was infected and engorged.
They kept her at the hospital until noon today...just monitoring lingering infection and pain, but she is home now and seriously medicated.
And the highlight of the whole ordeal (aside from her obvious improvement in health) was Son18 giving me a call at the hospital yesterday just to ask..."So when they took out her gall bladder, what did they do with it? Do they just have a big garbage can full of body parts?"
Whatever can they have, it now has one more seriously infected gall bladder. Better in the can than in my wife!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Funeral Food
My wife grew up Mormon. She is no longer a part of that religion, but all of her family is very active. And one tradition I've always heard about is funeral potatoes. Apparently this is an unofficial tradition among Mormons - especially those who live in Utah. If you Google "funeral potatoes", you'll find more than 90,000 links to blogs, online magazines, recipe sites, and other web sites discussing this particular dish.
Funeral potatoes are not just for funerals. They might show up at other potlucks, parties and gatherings. But they are a staple item at enough funerals that the name has evolved to simply reflect that fact.
For something so commonplace at these events, the recipes can vary quite a lot. Some are made with cubed potatoes while others are made with hash browns. Sometimes they are made with cream of chicken soup, sometimes with cream of celery soup, and sometimes with cream of mushroom soup. And sometimes people go crazy and use two kinds of soup in one dish! Some recipes have no soup at all but substitute cream, evaporated milk, or other creamy substitutes. And some top it off with bread crumbs, some with cracker crumbs, some with corn flakes, and some with frosted flakes.
But in spite of the variations, it is a traditional dish at meals served after Mormon funerals in Utah.
Is it good? I don't know. When we went to my niece's funeral in December, there were no funeral potatoes. My sister-in-law hates them and insisted that none be served. So I can't give you first hand experience of the dish.
But while visiting Georgia for my mom's funeral, we were lucky enough to have many people volunteering to provide meals to our family. My cousin's church provided a meal. My uncle's church provided a meal. My mom's church provided a meal. Even the funeral home provided a meal. There were no funeral potatoes. However, there were other foods that clearly represent the southern funeral. Fried chicken. I guess we could call it funeral chicken now. Every meal that was served by some church or other group had fried chicken as the primary - and often the only - entree. And it was also clear that every platter of fried chicken was destined to be served with something creamy and white. Potato salad...macaroni salad...or cole slaw. One of those was piled high next to every mound of the funeral fried chicken.
Am I complaining? Nope. I love fried chicken and potato salad. I like macaroni salad. I don't understand how anyone can eat cole slaw, but that's just me. But the chicken and potato salad...delicious.
However, there was one thing missing at every meal. Veggies. No green salad. No beans. No broccoli. No asparagus. Nothing that could be classified as a vegetable. And we all started to miss that. At one point, the five of us went to a restaurant just to order the salad bar. It was wonderful!
But the whole experience offered this interesting opportunity to observe the different traditional foods served around funerals. Makes me wonder what might show up at other parts of the country. And what might be missing.
Funeral potatoes are not just for funerals. They might show up at other potlucks, parties and gatherings. But they are a staple item at enough funerals that the name has evolved to simply reflect that fact.
For something so commonplace at these events, the recipes can vary quite a lot. Some are made with cubed potatoes while others are made with hash browns. Sometimes they are made with cream of chicken soup, sometimes with cream of celery soup, and sometimes with cream of mushroom soup. And sometimes people go crazy and use two kinds of soup in one dish! Some recipes have no soup at all but substitute cream, evaporated milk, or other creamy substitutes. And some top it off with bread crumbs, some with cracker crumbs, some with corn flakes, and some with frosted flakes.
But in spite of the variations, it is a traditional dish at meals served after Mormon funerals in Utah.
Is it good? I don't know. When we went to my niece's funeral in December, there were no funeral potatoes. My sister-in-law hates them and insisted that none be served. So I can't give you first hand experience of the dish.
But while visiting Georgia for my mom's funeral, we were lucky enough to have many people volunteering to provide meals to our family. My cousin's church provided a meal. My uncle's church provided a meal. My mom's church provided a meal. Even the funeral home provided a meal. There were no funeral potatoes. However, there were other foods that clearly represent the southern funeral. Fried chicken. I guess we could call it funeral chicken now. Every meal that was served by some church or other group had fried chicken as the primary - and often the only - entree. And it was also clear that every platter of fried chicken was destined to be served with something creamy and white. Potato salad...macaroni salad...or cole slaw. One of those was piled high next to every mound of the funeral fried chicken.
Am I complaining? Nope. I love fried chicken and potato salad. I like macaroni salad. I don't understand how anyone can eat cole slaw, but that's just me. But the chicken and potato salad...delicious.
However, there was one thing missing at every meal. Veggies. No green salad. No beans. No broccoli. No asparagus. Nothing that could be classified as a vegetable. And we all started to miss that. At one point, the five of us went to a restaurant just to order the salad bar. It was wonderful!
But the whole experience offered this interesting opportunity to observe the different traditional foods served around funerals. Makes me wonder what might show up at other parts of the country. And what might be missing.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
The Birthday Girl
Today is a big day in our house! Today is my wife's birthday. And before you even think about a number, you can be sure I'm not going to reveal her age. I have learned a few things in all our years of marriage! LOL (Don't even try counting the candles...it is not the right number!)
It was a very relaxing day...she got to sleep in...she got to spend an afternoon watching DVD's and opening gifts...and the family went out to dinner.
And what big, romantic gift did I give her? Nothing. At least nothing romantic. No jewelry. No flowers. Nope...it was way better than that. It was better because I gave her something she truly loves. Something she really wanted. Something that will entertain her and make her happy for hours and hours. And hours!
So what was this magical gift?
The X-Files.
Not just one season. Not just the movie. Everything! All nine seasons, the movie, the movie poster, the episode guide...everything.
She'll be watching DVD's for a long time...and loving every minute of it.
Happy Birthday!
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Spoiler Alert!
Here is the last sentence of this post...
My wife and I are big readers. We always have a book with us and several books piled up waiting to be read. We read some of the same books...plus we have some individual preferences. But we have very different approaches to reading books. My natural reaction is to say my way is right and her way is wrong. But we didn't make it through 22 years of marriage with that kind of thinking! So I'll say her way just flabbergasts me while my way makes her laugh at my rigid approach to life.
Here is my way. I open up the book and read page 1. Then page 2. In order...first page to last page. I don't skip ahead. I never look to see what is going to happen. I let the suspense build while the story unravels in an orderly fashion for my reading pleasure.
Her way? She reads the last page first. Every time! She'll go to the book store to buy books and she will have read the ending of all her new books before she even makes it through the line to buy the books. I'm trying to restrain myself here, but I want to say...that's just wrong! If that were me, there would be no reason to even buy the book at that point.
We've discussed this. I like to be surprised. I love not knowing what my gifts will be at Christmas. I don't want to know how a movie ends before I see it. And I don't want to read the last page first.
My wife is the opposite. She likes helping choose her gifts so she is assured of getting what she needs. She doesn't really want to know the ending of the movie first, but if she does know, it certainly doesn't diminish her enjoyment of the movie. And she always reads the last page first.
Why?
Not because she doesn't like a surprise now and then. And it's not because she has no patience. She has plenty of that. But she likes to see how the writer gets from Point A to Point B. If she knows how the book ends, she can enjoy the plot twists and turns while she reads because she can see how the author is moving her toward a particular ending. So rather than spoiling the book for her, it actually increases her enjoyment as she reads to know what is coming at the end. Plus it means she can enjoy reading a book more than once. Me? I can't read it again unless it has been so long that I no longer remember what happens.
I suppose this is just one of those "different strokes for different folks" things. But every time I see her pop open a new book and go right for the last page, I just want to leap to her rescue, grab the book from her hands, and yell "no, you're wrecking it!"
Of course, at that point, she would be justified in grabbing the book back, proceeding to pummel me with it, and then enjoying her book in leisure.
Of course, at that point, she would be justified in grabbing the book back, proceeding to pummel me with it, and then enjoying her book in leisure.Now let's begin at the beginning...
My wife and I are big readers. We always have a book with us and several books piled up waiting to be read. We read some of the same books...plus we have some individual preferences. But we have very different approaches to reading books. My natural reaction is to say my way is right and her way is wrong. But we didn't make it through 22 years of marriage with that kind of thinking! So I'll say her way just flabbergasts me while my way makes her laugh at my rigid approach to life.
Here is my way. I open up the book and read page 1. Then page 2. In order...first page to last page. I don't skip ahead. I never look to see what is going to happen. I let the suspense build while the story unravels in an orderly fashion for my reading pleasure.
Her way? She reads the last page first. Every time! She'll go to the book store to buy books and she will have read the ending of all her new books before she even makes it through the line to buy the books. I'm trying to restrain myself here, but I want to say...that's just wrong! If that were me, there would be no reason to even buy the book at that point.
We've discussed this. I like to be surprised. I love not knowing what my gifts will be at Christmas. I don't want to know how a movie ends before I see it. And I don't want to read the last page first.
My wife is the opposite. She likes helping choose her gifts so she is assured of getting what she needs. She doesn't really want to know the ending of the movie first, but if she does know, it certainly doesn't diminish her enjoyment of the movie. And she always reads the last page first.
Why?
Not because she doesn't like a surprise now and then. And it's not because she has no patience. She has plenty of that. But she likes to see how the writer gets from Point A to Point B. If she knows how the book ends, she can enjoy the plot twists and turns while she reads because she can see how the author is moving her toward a particular ending. So rather than spoiling the book for her, it actually increases her enjoyment as she reads to know what is coming at the end. Plus it means she can enjoy reading a book more than once. Me? I can't read it again unless it has been so long that I no longer remember what happens.
I suppose this is just one of those "different strokes for different folks" things. But every time I see her pop open a new book and go right for the last page, I just want to leap to her rescue, grab the book from her hands, and yell "no, you're wrecking it!"
Of course, at that point, she would be justified in grabbing the book back, proceeding to pummel me with it, and then enjoying her book in leisure.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
The Value of Time
Today is a very special day in our house. Today is our 22nd anniversary!
I looked up the traditional and modern anniversary gifts. Twenty-two years is the copper year. So that means the best gift is...a penny?
Trust me, a mountain of pennies would not reflect the value I place on my marriage. I'm a lucky man and I know it! My wife is beautiful and funny and smart and caring. She's a great parent to our kids. And she manages to see through my faults and still love me.
But this isn't just about me or her. There is value in the time itself. The many things we've done together. The things we've shared. We have each become the holder of the other's history. We can teach our kids - maybe one day our grandkids - about the other because we know their stories. We know what makes them special. We've lived much of it with them and we've heard about the rest in long conversations over dinners and late night talks lasting till 3:00 in the morning.
We're not perfect. I write here about some of the fun and interesting things that happen in our family. I don't usually write about bad things. But we have them. We have disagreements just like anyone else. But truthfully, over 22 years, the disagreements come along much less often. It is almost like we've found our groove. Our lives have a momentum and rhythm all their own and it becomes easier to go forward as we add more richness to our shared history.
Our tradition for our anniversary is to avoid the cards and gifts and just spend time together. So no copper bracelets or copper pots or copper jello molds. I have the day off work and we'll spend some time together at home and then go out for a nice dinner. Probably doesn't seem very exciting. But it is comfortable. And it is about us.
I'm so thankful for these twenty-two years. And I'm looking forward to the next twenty-two! And I wouldn't trade this for all the copper in the world!
I looked up the traditional and modern anniversary gifts. Twenty-two years is the copper year. So that means the best gift is...a penny?
Trust me, a mountain of pennies would not reflect the value I place on my marriage. I'm a lucky man and I know it! My wife is beautiful and funny and smart and caring. She's a great parent to our kids. And she manages to see through my faults and still love me.
But this isn't just about me or her. There is value in the time itself. The many things we've done together. The things we've shared. We have each become the holder of the other's history. We can teach our kids - maybe one day our grandkids - about the other because we know their stories. We know what makes them special. We've lived much of it with them and we've heard about the rest in long conversations over dinners and late night talks lasting till 3:00 in the morning.
We're not perfect. I write here about some of the fun and interesting things that happen in our family. I don't usually write about bad things. But we have them. We have disagreements just like anyone else. But truthfully, over 22 years, the disagreements come along much less often. It is almost like we've found our groove. Our lives have a momentum and rhythm all their own and it becomes easier to go forward as we add more richness to our shared history.
Our tradition for our anniversary is to avoid the cards and gifts and just spend time together. So no copper bracelets or copper pots or copper jello molds. I have the day off work and we'll spend some time together at home and then go out for a nice dinner. Probably doesn't seem very exciting. But it is comfortable. And it is about us.
I'm so thankful for these twenty-two years. And I'm looking forward to the next twenty-two! And I wouldn't trade this for all the copper in the world!
Friday, March 23, 2007
Step...Brush...Shuffle...Slap
That's right...we're talking tap! The craft of Gene Kelly and Ann Miller and little Shirley Temple. And now...(drum roll please)...my wife!My wife took tap as a little girl. And she took ballet for quite a few years when she was older. But she hasn't danced since college.
Till now.
Last week she started tap dance classes. She had been wanting to do some dance lessons...just not sure what kind or where. And then she got into a conversation with someone from our church who started talking about the tap dance class that he and his wife were taking. He noticed my wife's interest and called a couple of days later with the instructor's name, details of the class, and the best place to buy tap shoes. My wife called and there was still a spot available in the class starting that week. Before signing up, my wife asked the instructor if a 50-year-old woman could really do this. She was assured that she would be just fine.
A quick trip to the Dance Studio and she had her shoes. And only a couple of days to wear them around the house to break them in. We knew exactly where she was at every moment. And shoes that made noise drove the dog insane!
On the day of the first class, my wife was worried that she might dance for 20 minutes or so and keel over with a heart attack. Thankfully, that did not happen. Two lessons later, she is loving the class. Still a little embarrassed about the whole thing. But looking forward to every Thursday afternoon.
I would gladly invite all of you to the recital, but my wife assures me there will be no public tap performances. But you're all welcome to drop by for a cold beer and you can look at her cool new shoes.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Day of Love!
It's Valentine's Day and I wanted to show some love to my wife. And I decided the best way to do that would be to share one of the ways she shows some love to others.
See, my wife loves to crochet. And I've watched her do this work - this process of poking that little needle-like probe in and amongst a tangle of yarn and ending up with clothing. It seems like magic that a bundle of yarn turns into something nice and warm. At one point I thought that looking at the directions would help me understand the process. But then I saw this one line of instructions...
She has made a variety of winter hats and scarves for the family. She has made some baby blankets for friends with newborns. And all of her stuff looks great.
But that is not what this post is about.
This post is about her hats. Her premie hats. My wife crochets hats for premature babies at hospitals. It seems that the hats which hospitals sometimes have available, even in the NICU areas, are often too large. Also, they aren't adjustable and don't have openings in them for the various monitor leads that get attached to the baby's head. So there are special patterns for creating premie hats that really meet the needs of the doctors and nurses while looking cute and snuggly on the babies.
The local hospitals collect some. And there are national organizations, working through web sites, that collect them and distribute them to hospitals nationwide. The Premie Project is one such web site, but there are many others, dedicated to providing hospitals and families with hats, blankets and booties for premature babies, and burial dresses and other items through their Infant Bereavement Program.
Here is a sampling of my wife's recent creations...
Watching her make these is pretty interesting because I am not a crafter and the process mystifies me. But then holding these little hats is just a bit heartbreaking. After watching our three children being born, I hold these hats and am amazed at how small a baby would be that would need a hat this tiny. The photo above doesn't really give you a sense of the size, so I took one additional photo where I put my car keys on top of one of the smaller hats. We all know the size of a key...so now you know the size of the hat...
Pretty damn small! It makes me sad in a way. But I'm awfully proud of my wife for donating her time and her talent to make this small difference for a family struggling through the birth or their little son or daughter.
I love my wife for many reasons and her generosity towards others is certainly one of them!
Happy Valentine's Day to my wife...and to all of you! Hope you have a great day!
See, my wife loves to crochet. And I've watched her do this work - this process of poking that little needle-like probe in and amongst a tangle of yarn and ending up with clothing. It seems like magic that a bundle of yarn turns into something nice and warm. At one point I thought that looking at the directions would help me understand the process. But then I saw this one line of instructions...
dc next 9 sts, dc dec, 9 dc, dc dec, 4 dc, 2 dc in each of next 8 sts, 4 dc, dc dec, dc remaining sts...and realized that not only was she creating magic with her little stick but she was reading a secret language that only those blessed by the gods of crochet could understand.
She has made a variety of winter hats and scarves for the family. She has made some baby blankets for friends with newborns. And all of her stuff looks great.
But that is not what this post is about.
This post is about her hats. Her premie hats. My wife crochets hats for premature babies at hospitals. It seems that the hats which hospitals sometimes have available, even in the NICU areas, are often too large. Also, they aren't adjustable and don't have openings in them for the various monitor leads that get attached to the baby's head. So there are special patterns for creating premie hats that really meet the needs of the doctors and nurses while looking cute and snuggly on the babies.
The local hospitals collect some. And there are national organizations, working through web sites, that collect them and distribute them to hospitals nationwide. The Premie Project is one such web site, but there are many others, dedicated to providing hospitals and families with hats, blankets and booties for premature babies, and burial dresses and other items through their Infant Bereavement Program.
Here is a sampling of my wife's recent creations...
Watching her make these is pretty interesting because I am not a crafter and the process mystifies me. But then holding these little hats is just a bit heartbreaking. After watching our three children being born, I hold these hats and am amazed at how small a baby would be that would need a hat this tiny. The photo above doesn't really give you a sense of the size, so I took one additional photo where I put my car keys on top of one of the smaller hats. We all know the size of a key...so now you know the size of the hat...
Pretty damn small! It makes me sad in a way. But I'm awfully proud of my wife for donating her time and her talent to make this small difference for a family struggling through the birth or their little son or daughter.I love my wife for many reasons and her generosity towards others is certainly one of them!
Happy Valentine's Day to my wife...and to all of you! Hope you have a great day!
Monday, January 29, 2007
We request your presence...
at a party in honor of your birthday!
My wife celebrated a birthday last week. (I won't mention which birthday. My momma didn't raise no fool!) And she received gifts and cards and phone calls from family and friends. And our family took her out to dinner and baked her a cake. It was all good.
But she also got an invitation to a party. In her honor. And that struck me as odd.
Let me explain...
My wife grew up Mormon. Now I'm not here to bash Mormons or any other religion. Every person can choose their own spiritual path. And I know lots of Mormons and they are all very nice people.
But my wife has not attended the Mormon church in all the years I've known her...and for a few years prior to that. So we're going back over 25 years! In that time she has lived in several different states, found another spiritual path that is deeply meaningful to her, and has no intention of returning to the religion of her childhood.
So how does the religion of her childhood relate to her birthday. Well, it was the local Mormon church (or 'ward' in their terminology) that sent her the invitation. Here was a group of people whom she has never met, inviting her to her own birthday party at the home of someone she doesn't know.
Maybe it's just me who finds it odd, I don't know. But the cynic in me finds it hard to believe these people are very interested in her birthday. I mean, where were they the last 25 or so birthdays, if that's the case. No, I'm pretty sure this is an attempt to lure her back to participation in their church. And even then, I've got no problem with them just calling up and saying 'hey, we know you haven't been here before, but we would like to invite you'. At least that's honest. But to stage a party in her honor...as a way of getting her to attend a church function...well, I found it odd. Even to the point of being almost inappropriate.
But then I've been called a cynic before...so this won't be the first time.
My wife celebrated a birthday last week. (I won't mention which birthday. My momma didn't raise no fool!) And she received gifts and cards and phone calls from family and friends. And our family took her out to dinner and baked her a cake. It was all good.
But she also got an invitation to a party. In her honor. And that struck me as odd.
Let me explain...
My wife grew up Mormon. Now I'm not here to bash Mormons or any other religion. Every person can choose their own spiritual path. And I know lots of Mormons and they are all very nice people.
But my wife has not attended the Mormon church in all the years I've known her...and for a few years prior to that. So we're going back over 25 years! In that time she has lived in several different states, found another spiritual path that is deeply meaningful to her, and has no intention of returning to the religion of her childhood.
So how does the religion of her childhood relate to her birthday. Well, it was the local Mormon church (or 'ward' in their terminology) that sent her the invitation. Here was a group of people whom she has never met, inviting her to her own birthday party at the home of someone she doesn't know.
Maybe it's just me who finds it odd, I don't know. But the cynic in me finds it hard to believe these people are very interested in her birthday. I mean, where were they the last 25 or so birthdays, if that's the case. No, I'm pretty sure this is an attempt to lure her back to participation in their church. And even then, I've got no problem with them just calling up and saying 'hey, we know you haven't been here before, but we would like to invite you'. At least that's honest. But to stage a party in her honor...as a way of getting her to attend a church function...well, I found it odd. Even to the point of being almost inappropriate.
But then I've been called a cynic before...so this won't be the first time.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
The Mashed Potato Story
Many folks commented and supported my cooking efforts on my last post. Thank you! But Meander was the one who prompted this post when she said "I would love to hear the mashed potato story". So without further delay...
The disastrous mashed potato dish which Daughter13 has burned into her memory needs a bit of history so you'll understand my relationship to the mashed potato.
When my wife and I were just dating, we got together to share a meal. We were going to work together to prepare it...and then settle in to enjoy it. And one of the items we planned to eat was mashed potatoes. At some point in the preparation for the meal, she began peeling potatoes.
Now, I should insert here that I did eat food as a child. I grew up eating a variety of foods - including mashed potatoes. My mom cooked dinner every night. If it came in a can or a box, she cooked it. Excessively. Excruciatingly. Until all flavor and nutritional value had successfully been removed. So I knew a thing or two about food.
So I asked, with real curiosity, "What are you gonna do with those?"
To which my wife casually replied, "These are for the mashed potatoes."
Now, when you are in a new relationship, a guy is hesitant to point out to his girlfriend that she has lost her mind. But I couldn't just overlook this insanity. So I gently commented, "But honey, those are for baked potatoes, not mashed potatoes."
She paused in her potato peeling and looked at me with an astonished expression - as if I had just grown a third eye on my forehead. And she asked the million dollar question, "Well where do you think mashed potatoes come from?"
"From a box."
Some time later, after recovering from the uncontrollable laughter and changing into dry pants, she returned to peeling her potatoes and continued the conversation.
"So you think mashed potatoes come from a box?"
In what later proved to be an amazing exercise in naiveté, I pushed forward, "Yes. You must have seen then at the store. These boxes have these little potato-flavored flakes in them and you just boil some water and pour them in. You add some milk. And that is how you get mashed potatoes."
This produced another round of laughter and some gasping comments such as "Stop it. You're killing me!"
After gaining some measure of control and completing an additional change of pants, my soon-to-be wife patiently explained the amazing story of How A Potato Becomes Mashed Potatoes.
This was culinary magic! I had no idea. I honestly thought that mashed potatoes were sort of a fake food product that you only got from a box.
My wife not only revealed this secret of potatoes to me, but during our first years of marriage she also taught me how to make mashed potatoes using actual, real potatoes. Don't get me wrong, our cupboard usually has some potato flakes in it for emergencies. But we also have whole potatoes for actual cooking and eating.
And all this brings us to The Mashed Potato Story. A few years ago my wife was out of town for some reason, and I was left to feed and provide a relatively safe home environment for our three children. And one night I decided to make mashed potatoes to go along with whatever else we were having. So I did exactly like I had been taught. I peeled the potatoes. I diligently diced them into cubes and put them in boiling water. I tested them often for just the right degree of tenderness. I drained them at just the right moment. And then I mashed them...adding milk, butter, and salt for just the right taste and texture.
I got one out of two. The taste was just fine. But I made a serious error in judgment when adding milk. Way too much! I did not have mashed potatoes in the pot. I had something that looked more like potato broth.
The rest of dinner was ready. Three children looked at me with hungry, expectant faces. What do you do when your potatoes are too thin? My wife had not taught me that!
But I'm an adult. I can problem-solve. What would be the logical strategy for saving this dish?
Yes! Add those potatoes from the box!! If those are flakes where you just add water...well then they'll work just fine adding them to my potato broth. They'll soak up some of the moisture, creating just the right consistency. And they'll just add more potato-flavored goodness.
So I added a bunch of flakes. Stirred them in. Oops. Too many flakes. Now I had potato cement. No problem, just a bit more milk. Damn! Too much milk! This whole cooking thing was turning out not to be as easy as Julia Child made it seem! But I persevered.
And eventually ended up serving something vaguely resembling a potato bisque. That tasted like crap.
And while the rest of the meals I've cooked for my kids have usually come out fine. And while I've made mashed potatoes (from real potatoes, which is still just really cool!) many times without incident. That one disaster has settled into the brains of my children. And I never cook without being asked, in a hesitant and frightened voice, "You aren't making mashed potatoes, are you?"
The disastrous mashed potato dish which Daughter13 has burned into her memory needs a bit of history so you'll understand my relationship to the mashed potato.
When my wife and I were just dating, we got together to share a meal. We were going to work together to prepare it...and then settle in to enjoy it. And one of the items we planned to eat was mashed potatoes. At some point in the preparation for the meal, she began peeling potatoes.
Now, I should insert here that I did eat food as a child. I grew up eating a variety of foods - including mashed potatoes. My mom cooked dinner every night. If it came in a can or a box, she cooked it. Excessively. Excruciatingly. Until all flavor and nutritional value had successfully been removed. So I knew a thing or two about food.
So I asked, with real curiosity, "What are you gonna do with those?"
To which my wife casually replied, "These are for the mashed potatoes."
Now, when you are in a new relationship, a guy is hesitant to point out to his girlfriend that she has lost her mind. But I couldn't just overlook this insanity. So I gently commented, "But honey, those are for baked potatoes, not mashed potatoes."
She paused in her potato peeling and looked at me with an astonished expression - as if I had just grown a third eye on my forehead. And she asked the million dollar question, "Well where do you think mashed potatoes come from?"
"From a box."
Some time later, after recovering from the uncontrollable laughter and changing into dry pants, she returned to peeling her potatoes and continued the conversation.
"So you think mashed potatoes come from a box?"
In what later proved to be an amazing exercise in naiveté, I pushed forward, "Yes. You must have seen then at the store. These boxes have these little potato-flavored flakes in them and you just boil some water and pour them in. You add some milk. And that is how you get mashed potatoes."
This produced another round of laughter and some gasping comments such as "Stop it. You're killing me!"
After gaining some measure of control and completing an additional change of pants, my soon-to-be wife patiently explained the amazing story of How A Potato Becomes Mashed Potatoes.
This was culinary magic! I had no idea. I honestly thought that mashed potatoes were sort of a fake food product that you only got from a box.
My wife not only revealed this secret of potatoes to me, but during our first years of marriage she also taught me how to make mashed potatoes using actual, real potatoes. Don't get me wrong, our cupboard usually has some potato flakes in it for emergencies. But we also have whole potatoes for actual cooking and eating.
And all this brings us to The Mashed Potato Story. A few years ago my wife was out of town for some reason, and I was left to feed and provide a relatively safe home environment for our three children. And one night I decided to make mashed potatoes to go along with whatever else we were having. So I did exactly like I had been taught. I peeled the potatoes. I diligently diced them into cubes and put them in boiling water. I tested them often for just the right degree of tenderness. I drained them at just the right moment. And then I mashed them...adding milk, butter, and salt for just the right taste and texture.
I got one out of two. The taste was just fine. But I made a serious error in judgment when adding milk. Way too much! I did not have mashed potatoes in the pot. I had something that looked more like potato broth.
The rest of dinner was ready. Three children looked at me with hungry, expectant faces. What do you do when your potatoes are too thin? My wife had not taught me that!
But I'm an adult. I can problem-solve. What would be the logical strategy for saving this dish?
Yes! Add those potatoes from the box!! If those are flakes where you just add water...well then they'll work just fine adding them to my potato broth. They'll soak up some of the moisture, creating just the right consistency. And they'll just add more potato-flavored goodness.
So I added a bunch of flakes. Stirred them in. Oops. Too many flakes. Now I had potato cement. No problem, just a bit more milk. Damn! Too much milk! This whole cooking thing was turning out not to be as easy as Julia Child made it seem! But I persevered.
And eventually ended up serving something vaguely resembling a potato bisque. That tasted like crap.
And while the rest of the meals I've cooked for my kids have usually come out fine. And while I've made mashed potatoes (from real potatoes, which is still just really cool!) many times without incident. That one disaster has settled into the brains of my children. And I never cook without being asked, in a hesitant and frightened voice, "You aren't making mashed potatoes, are you?"
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Sudoku Madness
My wife has the 'madness'. She loves sudoku puzzles.
It started innocently enough this summer when I was doing a puzzle. She asked me to show her how it worked. We solved one together. She never looked back.
She has now completed approximately 283,000 puzzles (rounded to the nearest 1000). And one of her favorite gifts under the tree yesterday was probably the least expensive. A gift bag filled with books of sudoku puzzles, pre-sharpened pencils, and cap erasers. Pre-sharpened pencils allow the puzzle fanatic to immediately begin solving without that pesky pencil sharpening chore. She liked that. And the pointy corner of cap erasers apparently make it much easier to erase the various little potential numbers in a square. Gotta have that.
And it wasn't long after the shredded gift wrap was whisked away that she was happily sudokuing. (I think I just created a verb! Webster, where are you??)
I couldn't let her top the 300,00 mark without a bit of a challenge, though. No 'easy' books for her. And one 'fiendish' level...just to test her advanced sudoku skills.
Merry Christmas, honey!
It started innocently enough this summer when I was doing a puzzle. She asked me to show her how it worked. We solved one together. She never looked back.
She has now completed approximately 283,000 puzzles (rounded to the nearest 1000). And one of her favorite gifts under the tree yesterday was probably the least expensive. A gift bag filled with books of sudoku puzzles, pre-sharpened pencils, and cap erasers. Pre-sharpened pencils allow the puzzle fanatic to immediately begin solving without that pesky pencil sharpening chore. She liked that. And the pointy corner of cap erasers apparently make it much easier to erase the various little potential numbers in a square. Gotta have that.
And it wasn't long after the shredded gift wrap was whisked away that she was happily sudokuing. (I think I just created a verb! Webster, where are you??)
I couldn't let her top the 300,00 mark without a bit of a challenge, though. No 'easy' books for her. And one 'fiendish' level...just to test her advanced sudoku skills.
Merry Christmas, honey!
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