Thursday, December 19, 2013

30 for 30

Today I turn 30.  I haven’t decided how I feel about it yet, but I guess it doesn’t matter.  Time marches on regardless of how we feel.

So, on this 30th anniversary of my birth, I will share with you 30 fun arbitrary random facts about me.  It’s my birthday.  I can do whatever I want.

I think belly buttons are the most disgusting, germ infested, places on earth. I clean mine with peroxide and a Q-tip on a very regular basis.
2. Even if I seem outgoing, I feel pretty anxious in most social settings.
3. I don't think I could ever punch someone. But I can definitely write a really mean letter.
4. CrossFit WODs and liquor both cause me to use expletives with great enthusiasm.
5. My mom, my sister Ber, my BFF Linds, and my dear friend Ash are my very best girlfriends. None of them live in the same town as me.
6. I probably like my dog more than you.
7. I took piano lessons for 16 years. I love to play, but not for anyone other than my immediate family.
8. Mr. B and I have been together for 11 ½ years, and have been married for 9 ½.
9. I don't find anything great about the outdoors. I like my air to be purchased

10. I stir my coffee with a fork or a butter knife; rarely a spoon.
11. If I had to select only two things to eat/drink for the rest of my life it would be Smucker’s natural creamy peanut butter and 1% milk.
12. I like things to be organize either alphabetically or in Roy G Biv order.
13. I am not friendly in the morning.
14. My preferred waking hours are 10 am – 3 am.
15. I never thought I would have human kids.
16. I would adopt every stray dog in the state if Mr. B would let me.
17. I gave birth to 
Little K 5 weeks early.  While I was waiting for the epidural to wear off, I enjoyed a Big Mac, large fries, and a Diet Coke from McDonalds (don’t judge me, I had been in labor for 2 days).
18. I expect everyone to have pure intentions.  I am still surprised when people turn out to be jerks (and I can never seem to remember that jerks typically don’t crave or appreciate honesty when requesting feedback).
19. My mom is a much better judge of character than I am – and if she gets a bad feeling from someone, I have learned to be leery.
20. I love Jesus, naps, and cheap wine (Cupcake Moscato d’Asti is my favorite).
21. I’ve been writing stories and poems for as long as I can remember.
22. I would love to have a beautifully landscaped yard.  I loathe digging in the dirt, weeding, and watering.
23. I always thought I would move to New York and be on Broadway.  I’m not nearly as talented as I thought I was.
24. My humor is often lost on other people.
25. My dad is the wisest (and wise-assiest) guy I know.  He is often my sounding board, and I am lucky to have him in my life.  It never fails to make me smile when he picks up the phone and says, “Hey Kid!”
26. I was an awful teenager.  Awful.
27. In the past 9 ½ years, Mr. B and I have lived in 2 states, 3 cities, and 4 different homes (soon to be 5).
28. It pisses me off when things don’t work properly – cars and electronics in particular.
29. While becoming a mother has certainly taught me to respect my body, I’m fairly certain I will never love it.
30. My interest in projects and hobbies is like a light switch; completely interested and focused or it’s dead to me – nowhere in between.

So cheers to the next 30, and the 30 after that.  Thank you for keeping me In Good Company.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

You are 4...

Dear Little K,

This week you turned 4 years old.
I will always remember you at this age with an ornery grin, messy hair, the longest dreamy eyelashes, the bluest eyes, mismatched jammies, and cowboy boots.

I, like every mother on Earth, simply cannot understand where time has gone.  I really feel like we just brought you home from the hospital.  Even the long nights full of colic and acid reflux seem like just a blink of an eye ago.

No longer are you a baby.  Nor are you even a toddler.  You are a full fledge little boy full of spunk and energy and ideas.  At least three times a day, you look at me, stunned, holding your forefinger up in the air, and say, “I got an idea!”  Usually it is something like, “You should go to the store and buy me a toy, mom!  Is that a good idea?”

You love your toys, particularly anything with wheels or wings.  And you are smart.  So good are you at memorizing names and details and events, that Daddy is ready to teach you how to play Black Jack right now.

You tell me you love me at least once a minute while you are awake.  You talk to me non-stop.  Non-stop.  Someday I know I will miss this, but right now we need to learn about phone etiquette.

You are an incredibly sweet little boy, but you are also a tough little guy to parent.  You are head strong, determined, and stubborn.  You do not like to be told what to do, and you have a fiery temper.  You get these qualities from your dad.  Okay fine, and me too.

You know how manipulate situations, and you have some incredibly strong leadership skills.  While this is tough now, I am proud for the future.  Because I know that you will grow to be assertive and you will not be used as a doormat.

You are also a ladies’ man.  Already.  You have a girlfriend at every place we go.  Sophia at swimming lessons, Lilly at the Y’s toddler time and Chloe at school.  I am concerned for the years when hormones drive your decisions.  I’m really considering lobbying to bring back the chastity belt as a legal birth control option.  My hope for you is to wear the steel belt until you are thirty, with your go-to pick-up line being, “would you like to meet Frisky, Snuffles and Fluffy, my cats?”

Of course, I’m kidding.  I just hope you learn to make wise decisions, and that you show respect to the women around you.  And, someday, when you fall in love, I hope it is of the forever kind.

I hope you will always be kind to animals the way you are to Daisy.  I love that you tell people she is your black and white sister.

I hope you learn to appreciate naps.  Now would be nice.  But someday seems more achievable.

I hope you always stand firm in your faith.

I hope you are never afraid to be silly.

I hope you always believe in magic.

I hope that you are always confident and carefree enough to spontaneously dance.

I hope you will karaoke (not as a profession, just on occasion).

I hope you are always free to be loud.  Your voice deserves to be heard, but give others a chance to be heard as well.

I hope that someday I will embarrass you.  Because then I’ll know that I’m doing something right.  You won’t be allowed to hang out at houses belonging to “cool moms”.  For now, though, while you are little, I’m glad that I’m still your best friend.

I hope you continue to be encouraging.  I love how you cheer me on at CrossFit, or just when I’m trying to find a lost toy.  “Come on Mommy, you can do it!” always makes me smile.  Encouraging others and giving praise will make a heart happy.

At four years old, you seem to already grasp the importance of family.  I hope you always love your family like you do now.  The enthusiasm in which you love your grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins is adorable and contagious.

While I hope you are tough, I also hope that you won’t be afraid to talk about your feelings.

I hope that you, even though you hate it now, are learning something when you do chores.  Someday your wife will thank me.

I hope you will always appreciate the wisdom your grandparents have to offer.  Despite what you may think, they were young once too.

I hope you are always funny.  Laughter is truly the best medicine, and, Buddy, you are full of laughs!  You have just, in the past few days, learned to tell your first joke.  And even though the chicken always crosses the road just to get to the other side, your charisma and eye-sparkle make it worth hearing every single time.

I hope you always know that you are loved.  No matter how naughty or downright dumb you will ever be, you are loved.  Mommy and Daddy are always on your team.

I know that you are already in a hurry to grow up.  You always correct me when I call you my baby boy by demanding, “I’m NOT a baby!”  You keep asking me if you are a grown-up yet, and if you are big like Daddy yet.  Don’t hurry too fast, Little K.  Swallow up every moment of being carefree and full of wonder.  Too soon it will vanish, and the wanderlust of childhood will be evaporate into term papers and first jobs and careers and engagement rings and dirty diapers and bills.

Be little, little one, for as long as you can.

I love you more than the earth and the sky and the moon and the stars.

Love always and forever,

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

100 Days of Thanks: Days 31-45

I intend to check in every so often during these 100Days of Thanks.  Giving thanks daily, even for just one small – or large – thing, is making an impact on my daily outlook.  It’s not too late to join me!

Day 31: Arriving home safely

Day 32: A helpful husband

Day 33: A wonderful realtor

Day 34: Cool crisp temperatures

Day 35: Little K's pre-school teacher, Ms. Becky: The Toddler Whisperer

Day 36: The offer on our house!!

Day 37: Hot showers – not puke showers

Day 38: I’m thankful Mr. B and Daisy are home because I caught whatever stomach bug Little K had and I am not getting out of this bed (and neither is Daisy from the looks of it)

Day 39: Honeycrisp apples and Smucker’s natural creamy peanut butter

Day 40: Our wise and caring pediatrician

Day 41: At-home breathing treatments that keep our son out of the hospital

Day 42: Our baby boy turning 4

Day 43: Festive cookies brining smiles

44: Naps

45: Songs of Christmas

Feel free to post your thanksgivings (and how Eucharisteo is changing your life) in the comment section below.  As always, thank you for keeping me In Good Company.

So I got a job...

So I got a job.

At first it didn’t feel like the timing was right.  Because I wasn’t planning on going back to work until Little K went to kindergarten.  I was really counting on having another year and a half of being a full-time mommy.

But an opportunity dropped itself in my lap.  The sort of opportunity that felt divinely orchestrated.  An opportunity to work for a dear friend, part-time, at a non-profit counseling center, where I could work from home a good percentage of the time, and can take Little K with me to the office should I ever need to.

I pondered and talked and thought and prayed and worried and thought and pondered and talked and prayed about it until I finally decided that I would not ever have this sort of opportunity drop in my lap again.

As much as I love being a stay-at-home-mom right now, I want even more to be the mom later who can go to school programs and class parties, to be able to pick Little K up from school if he gets sick, to be able to pull him out of school on a whim for a birthday lunch at his favorite restaurant.  And this opportunity, fulfills this.

We have been talking for a long time about looking for a new house, but have been resigned to the fact that we would stay in our adorable little house forever because houses in our town are priced so insanely high.  I had accepted that I would forever be sharing one tiny bathroom with two boys.

This job, if I work exactly 20 hours each week, pays exactly our current mortgage.

Two weeks after I started working, we found a home we were interested in seeing.  A home that now belongs to our old next-door neighbors.  A home with really good bones, that could use some interior paint and maybe eventually some tile, with two and a half bathrooms, in the area we want to move, for a price that isn’t scary.  We put in an offer.  The next day it was accepted.

A week later we listed our house.  In less than 48 hours we received an offer.  A few hours later we agreed on a price.

Divine orchestration.                                                                             

God is present even in the moments where we aren’t looking.  I wasn’t planning on going back to work.  But I also hadn’t realized how lost I had become in the identity of only being mommy.  This job has been so good in more ways than one.  I now have a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day, I feel like I am contributing, and I have a reason to put on makeup, which is nice – and Mr. B admittedly appreciates.

Adjusting to being a part-time worker, while continuing to be a full-time mom hasn’t been easy – for Little K or for me – but it has been good for both of us.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Black Saturday

I don’t shop on Black Friday.  Not in the get up at the devil’s hour and punch someone in the face for a new toaster sort of way anyway.  I firmly believe there is no sale good enough to make it worth getting out of bed that early.  After filling myself full of tryptophan and wine, the last thing I want to do is stand too close to strangers who are loaded up on gravy and caffeine.
Even Daisy was exhausted after all that Turkey!

My mother-in-law and I did a bit of shopping the day after Thanksgiving at a few of our favorite locally owned boutiques, which was decidedly crowd-free and delightful.  She found two cute pairs of shoes, I found a few sweaters, and told her I wouldn’t try on any of the jeans because my ass isn’t worth $100.
The real shop-a-pallooza happened on Saturday with my mom and sister.  We knew the huge sales were over, but we also knew we would have all of our eyes and teeth at the end of the day, so we felt good about spending a few extra dollars.  Ber got up early, my mom and I didn’t, and we headed to Joplin to shop the day away, but not before heading to my dad’s work to say hello.  Okay, we didn’t just go to say hello.  My dad had a mole removed from his cheek the week before, and let’s just say that stitches are no match for ole Fireball.  There was one lone stich stuck in his face that my sister, the nurse, had to remove.  It was starting out to be an adventurous day.
As he was seeing us off, my dad gave us this advice: “Have fun.  Be careful.  Pay attention.  Don’t get tasered.”  “DID YOU JUST SAY ‘DON’T GET TASERED?!’” I said.  I’m not even sure we gave him a chance to rebuttal before we all burst into the kind of laughter that would rival any ab workout the P90X guy could show me.  We laughed until we were wiping tears from our cheeks.

We were pretty goofy and giggly anyway because we never get out of the house without men or children (or man-children).  So beginning the day with a big belly laugh just added to our enthusiasm.

Our first stop was at large chain book store.  I was looking for an elf for my son.  But not the traditional Elf on the Shelf with his creepy murderous eyes.  I was in search for a Christopher Pop-In-Kins.  This is the conversation with a sales clerk, who, I might add, was probably voted most likely to grow illegal crops and live off of Mountain Dew and Doritos Locos Tacos.

Me: “Hi, I’m looking for a Christopher Pop-In-Kins.”
more silence
akward silence
more akward silence
me wondering if maybe she’s stoned
me wondering if maybe she’s deaf
me wondering if maybe she’s stoned and deaf
Clerk: “Um…. What?”
Me: “A Christopher Pop-In-Kins.  It’s like Elf on the Shelf but not as creepy.”
Clerk: “A what?  Um… I don’t know.”
Ber: “Here, I’ll look it up.  Maybe the knowing the author would help.”
Clerk: “Yeah, that would – WOAH!  You guys look a LOT alike.”
Me: “We’re sisters.”
Clerk: “Are you, like, twins or something?”
Me: “Nope.  Just sisters.”
Clerk: “Are you SURE you aren’t twins?”
Me: “Um, pretty sure.”
Mom: “I can attest to the fact that they are not twins.”
Clerk: “Geez… you look so much alike it’s reDICulous.”
Ber: “Well here’s what the cover looks like, but I can’t find the author.”
Clerk: “What were we looking for again?”
Ber and Me: “Christopher Pop-In-Kins.”
Clerk: “Oh.  I’ll check.”
Clerk: now on the phone “Hold on.  What?  Yeah we have that.  How much is it?  I dunno.  Prolly, like, around, $16.  Do you want it?”  Hanging up the phone “Geez.  She ordered a book but didn’t know how much it was and doesn’t know if she wants it now.  Pssssh… I’ll send it back.  I don’t even care.”
Me: “Bummer”
Clerk: “No we don’t have it.”
For the record, Ber and I do resemble each other.  But we certainly are not twin-like – although we walk, talk, and move the same so that could maybe creep someone out – like the guy at the liquor store one time that I convinced she and I were not related, but had only just met that day.

Anyway, I finally chose a stuffed elf that wasn’t creepy.  It doesn’t have pose-able arms, but I felt like it was worth the compromise -- Little K has named him Elfie (in unrelated news, I'm not at all concerned about my son's lack of creativity).

Coffee.  Extra espresso.

Our next stop was Target.  There may have been talk about landing a bird in the bathroom, and itchy butt holes.

Next was a smaller clothing store where we staged this picture to send to my Dad with the caption, "Oh shit!  Kelsey got tasered!":

And took this picture to prove to my husband that my leopard phone case is not, in fact, camouflage:

Coffee.  Lunch.  Cookies.  More shopping.  More coffee.

I made my sister try on this horrible outfit.  We decided that the jacket wasn’t really all that bad once it was off the hanger.  But it certainly wasn’t $119 cute.  Those awful pants were priced the same, they weren’t cute on or off the hanger.

Our last stop was at a sporting goods super store where I was in search of a hunting something or other for my husband.  I picked out a weight belt as one of my presents from my parents.  It’s pink, and I can’t wait to use it.  However a bitchy sales girl looked at me while I was trying it on and said, “You know that’s for lifting heavy weights, right?”  I just smiled and looked away.  Because if I would have spoken I might have told her that I was only buying it because I thought it would look cute with my new purse.

More coffee.  Delirium.

During the 30 minute drive back to my parents’ house, Ber jokingly called me a snatch basket.  So I called her a twat waffle.  I thought my mom was going to choke on her spit at this point.  But, what surprised me the most is when my, usually fairly reserved, sister said: pink velvet sausage wallet.  I think the only time I’ve ever laughed harder was earlier in the day when my dad told us not to get tasered.  I spit back something that was much too crude to post here.  But it made my mom’s face turn red.

Wrapping presents.  Cold Thanksgiving leftovers.  Laughter.  Sore stomach muscles.

Chatter.  More laughter.  Sore throats from laughter.  Aching feet from twelve hours of shopping.  Falling into bed exhausted.
Perfect day.

Thursday, November 28, 2013


November is fast becoming my favorite month of the year.  Not because Mr. B is always leaving to go hunting (I hate that part).  Not because of the cool crisp temperatures, the crunchy sweet-tart apples, or the lovely gold, crimson and orange brittle leaves.

I think my favorite part of November is the thankfulness.  Thirty days devoted to gratitude.

In a book I’m currently reading – One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp – the words thanksgiving and gratitude are interchanged with the word eucharisteo.  Eucharisteo may be my most favorite word ever.  In the book, the author is challenged to write down one thousand eucharisteos.  One thousand gifts.  One thousand things to be thankful for.

By day 25, I’m hard-pressed to come up with anything profound.  Family and God and Salvation and Roofs Over Heads and Dogs and Food are all easy to come up with.  But when thanks have been said for the big things… what then?

Does anyone care that I’m really thankful for soft-yet-strong toilet paper?  Not likely.  Is it appropriate to post on Facebook my gratitude for an empty yoga studio on the only day I happened to be running incredibly late to teach class?  My boss wouldn’t love that.  But then again, giving gratitude isn’t about anyone else.

Often we miss the small things, look for the big things… and come up feeling disappointed.  What I have found this year, is that paying attention to the small, silly, and even insignificant things has made my heart feel just plain glad.  If I can find one thing, just one tiny thing, to be thankful for in each day; the bad things don’t seem quite so heavy.  I understand this year, more than ever, why often it is recommended to have an attitude of gratitude.  Because it really is an attitude – a choice.  You can choose to be grateful for all you have – or you can be remorseful for all you don’t.  You can be happy for how far you have come – or you can be mad about how far you have to go.

I will share with you my list of eucharisteos for the month of November…

Day 1: I am thankful for Mr. B. God knew the desires of my heart when He created him. Neither of us are perfect, but we are perfect for one another
Day 2: I am so thankful for Little K. For a girl who was never going to have kids, I am head over heels for that little guy. I can't imagine there is anything better to be called than "Mommy".
Day 3: I am thankful for my parents. They are truly the best.

Day 4: I am thankful for my best friend for life, my sister, Ber. Because who else besides a sister can say things like, "Where in the hell did you get that skirt?! Molly Ringwald's closet in 1989?" And that, my friends, is a direct quote.

Day 5: I am thankful for our home, it may be little but it is full of love.

Day 6: I am thankful for God’s grace.

Day 7: I am thankful for my BFF Linds. She is more of a sister than a friend, and I would never have accumulated so many hilarious/crazy "do you remember that one time..." stories without her. Love you "Linds the ruthless"!!

Day 8: I'm thankful for a very exciting opportunity that seemingly just fell into my lap.

Day 9: I am thankful that, two years ago today, I conquered my fears and insecurities, and began CrossFit. This picture is of me during my very first CrossFit class, feeling like a 30# press was very hard. I have come a long way, thanks to my amazing coaches. I am thankful to all of them (past and present) for encouraging me when I wanted to quit, yelling at me when I was being lazy, and for congratulating me every single time I have tried my best. I'm nowhere near the fastest or strongest person at my box, but I am light-years ahead of where I was when I began (physically, emotionally, and mentally).
Day 10: I'm thankful for tomorrows.

Day 11: Today, and every day, I am thankful for my freedom. I salute all of those who have served, and are serving, our country to protect our right to freedom. #hugaveteran

Day 12: I am thankful for my Daisy girl. She was our first "baby", she gave us someone to love, and made our house feel like a home. She made us believe we would be good parents someday. Now at 7 1/2 years old, she still brings us joy with her wagging tail and sweet snuggles. She protects Little K like he is her own and makes sure the mailman knows who is boss. #doglovers
Day 13: I am thankful for wine.

Day 14: I'm thankful that our family is fortunate enough to have our needs met. We truly are blessed.

Day 15: I am thankful for CrossFit WODs that challenge you to the point that you feel like a total rock star just for finishing.

Day 16: I am thankful for all of this awesome (and very rare) one-on-one time with the best mom in the whole world!!

Day 17: I am thankful that Mr B and Little K are coming home this afternoon. It has been a long 5 days without my handsome guys!!

Day 18: I'm thankful that my husband is not afraid to pitch in and help around the house. Among many other things, he knows how to cook, do dishes, vacuum, clean floors, dust, and do the laundry. His help is hugely appreciated during this time I am adjusting to working part time while still being a stay-at-home-mom. #backoffladieshestaken

Day 19: I'm thankful my parents taught me to stand up for what I believe. Today I am standing up for all of us who know and believe that leggings are, in fact, pants (just as long as they aren't see through when you bend over... And please, for the love of all things holy, make sure the frontal region doesn't make you resemble the lowest part of a certain humpy animal).

Day 20: Today I am thankful for sweatpants.

Day 21: I am thankful that CrossFit is such great stress relief. A tough WOD sure gets the aggression out of your system in a hurry!

Day 22: I am so very thankful for my family. All of them. I'm sure I've already said that... but it is true today, and every day.

Day 23: I'm thankful that our Christmas shopping is now 90% done!

Day 24: Today I am thankful for fuzzy blankets and naps.

Day 25: I'm thankful my car does not need a new transmission after all! A catalytic converter is expensive, but not transmission expensive.

Day 26: I'm thankful for a month devoted to Eucharisteo. Gratitude makes my heart feel happy.

Day 27: I'm thankful for the loud echoing laughter.

Day 28: I'm thankful for too much food.

Day 29: I’m thankful for my in-laws.

Day 30: I’m thankful for (kid-free & guy-free) girl time with my mom and sister!

Even going through and rewriting all of these things for which I give thanks, my heart swells with gratitude.  I may not be swimming in diamonds and pearls or have the perfect body or the biggest house or the nicest car or every outfit I’ve ever pinned on Pinterest… but I have more than that.  I am blessed with so much more than all of that.

Thirty days are done, but I think I am going to carry on with Eucharisteo.  I desire to live a life of gratitude.  Not a life of entitlement and want.  I need to remember daily that we have been blessed fully.

I challenge you to join me in one hundred days of thanks.  You can start today if you’d like.  I am looking forward to hearing of the gifts you are blessed with, and I want to hear how your daily gratitude is changing your attitude.

Look for the little things.  Give thanks.  And thank you for keeping me In Good Company.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Texts to a Traveling Husband

When Mr. B travels for work, which has become fairly frequent lately, he can expect a number of random photo texts from me.  I thought I'd share with you some of his my favorites.  Just so you can know how lucky he is to be married to me.

1. "Frida Kahlo"

2. "I snatched myself in the forehead today..."

3. "Little K is a 'Bad to the Bone Monster Cowboy' today."

4. "Happy Wednesday!"

5. "I need coffee!"

6. "Let's rob a bank?"

7. "We are having a rough night tonight.  Come home soon!!"

8. "Goodnight!  We love you!!"

There is a pretty good chance that he isn't even surprised to see my nose taped to my forehead again.  Just to keep things spicy, I'll occasionally tape my nose to my chin -- actually I've never done that, but I'm going to now.  Nevertheless, I think we can all agree that he is a lucky, lucky man.  After all he is always In Good Company.

Monday, November 4, 2013

My Daddy Farted

In previous posts, I have written about the numerous embarrassing moments that come with parenting a 3 year old.  All of these moments seem to happen at my expense.  I’m pretty sure I’m the only one lucky enough to have gotten to discuss wieners (not the hot dog variety) while walking through Target.  Little K does not have an inside voice.  Not at all.

LK: Mom?  Do you have a wiener?
M: No buddy, girls don’t have those.
LK: Girls don’t have wieners?!
M: Ssshhh.  No.
LK: You don’t have a wiener?
M: No, Little K, I don’t have one.
LK: Say it mom.
M: What?
LK: Say the word.
M: What?
LK: Say you don’t have a wiener.
M: Buddy I don’t have one.
LK: No, say WIENER, mom!

My darling husband hasn’t ever had to experience one of these moments… until Saturday.  Mr. B took Little K to dinner and a movie so that I could take a turn hosting my monthly cooking club at our house.  While they were seated at Dairy Queen, Little K's booster seat made a squeaking noise on the booth seat.

LK (leaning over to the woman sitting next to him): My daddy farted.
MB: Little K!  No I didn’t!
LK: Yes you did!  I heard it!
MB: No, it was the booth.  I didn’t fart.
LK: Yes you did!  You farted!
MB: Hush.  No I didn’t.
LK (again to the woman sitting next to him): He did.  My daddy farted.  I heard it.

When Mr. B told me about this, I laughed.  An evil laugh of justification.  A laugh that made my stomach muscles hurt and tears come to my eyes.  And, even though Mr. B had been “Dad of the Year” all day long, I told him that it was about damn time something like that happened to him!

Then I was reminded me of a time Mr. B and I were eating at a small Mennonite café with my parents.  It has been a long-running joke in my family that my dad has worms (he doesn’t) because of his insatiable appetite.  He is a relatively small and thin guy, but could eat his weight in anything (besides vegetables) more than a few times a day.  We often say things like, “Time to feed your worms, Daddy?”  Anyway, we were all at the Mennonite café one very quiet morning eating breakfast.  There was no music playing, no chatter, no clattering of dishes.  It was quiet, despite the many patrons – most of whom were Mennonite.  For some reason, I chose that moment to feed my curiosity (I don’t really know what kind of worms would make someone feel hungry all the time) and said, “What kind of worms do you have, Daddy?  Tape worms?”

The women at the table next to me not only snarled their noses and curled up their lips, they set down their forks and declared themselves full.  Several tables full of people stared at us in disgust.

It is now that I realize, I deserve any embarrassment that 
Little K may cause.  My parents have been long-suffering at my expense, and my adulthood hasn’t spared them much.  I suppose I should be proud that I have obviously passed down the I-didn’t-realize-this-was-a-horrible-time-to-say-that-can-I-please-somehow-make-this-situation-more-awkward gene.  Hopefully he continues to be funny too.

Be awkward.  Love yourself.  And thank you for keeping me In Good Company.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Maybe the Meanest Thing I've Ever Done

Tomorrow is Little K 's day to take snacks to preschool.  I thought it would be a good idea to make adorable fruit and cheese skewers.  What I didn't notice until I had already loaded the fruit was that the skewers are enthusiastically pointy.  Like little wooden daggers.  I decided it wasn't in my best interest to send weapons disguised as snacks to preschool, and would feel pretty badly about de-eyeing nine 3-year olds and a lovely teacher.  So I tried my damnedest to chop of the sharp edges using my fabric scissors.  Mr. B was at a dinner meeting, and I was done feeling resourceful so I unloaded the skewers.  The result was what looked like a health food massacre.  I had a kitchen full of mutilated fruit.  I transferred the fruit into plastic bags (mixing it in with non-murdered pieces).  I'm just hoping Little K's classmates don't say, "Ms. Becky, why do my grapes have stab marks?"  Hopefully Ms. Becky will have the humor to say, "Little K brought us holy fruit to Catholic preschool today!"

During this fruit and cheese emergency, my doorbell rang.  In my last post I touched on the anxiety that an unexpected knock on the door brings.  I am instantly pissed off if my quiet is interrupted.  Not only am I thrust into an unknown situation, but now Daisy has turned into Cujo, and Little K has opened the curtains and is waving at whoever is on the front porch.  I can't even pretend to not be home. 

So I opened the door, and an eager sales girl tries to sell me windows because she noticed I "have old windows."  First of all, I like my old drafty windows.  I always have a slight breeze, so my house never gets stuffy in the winter.  Second of all, if I wanted to make a several thousand dollar purchase, Mr. B would say no we would go to a home improvement store.  I politely pointed out my glass door's no soliciting sign, to which she snipped, "I just noticed that".  I closed my door and went back to the kitchen to deal with The Fruit Slaughtering of 2013.

Not ten minutes later.  Ten.  Effing.  Minutes.  My doorbell rang.  Again.  My first thought was, "If that's not Jesus, he's getting a wooden skewer in the eye.  I hastily opened my front door to a smiling chubby guy who was waving at me.  Cujo Daisy was barking and snarling and Little K was smiling and waving back.  Without opening it, I bitchily pointed out the no soliciting sign on my glass door.  As he leaned closer to read my sign, I slammed my front door closed.

It might have been the meanest thing I've ever done.

I probably ruined that poor chubby smiling guy's night.  In my defense, I feel like I deserve to not be bothered in my own home.  Telemarketers are one thing – although that do-not-call-list is not proving very helpful – but don't come knock on my door during dinner hours.  Or ever.  Let's go with ever.

The thing is, I'm so pissed off when my doorbell rings, there is no way I'm going to buy what you're selling.  If you want me to buy something from you, you need to catch me at 4:00 am on QVC, when I'm exhausted and feeding my colicky infant.  He's almost four now, so you have missed your window.

I told Mr. B about what I did and he said that if I've never done anything meaner than that I’m in pretty good shape.  He also said, "Geez Kels, you took our son to jury duty and now you slammed a door in a guy's face; I'm starting to wonder if you've got a set of balls hidden in there somewhere!" 

Thank you for keeping me In Good Company.