The Husband

The Wonderful

April 20, 2011 by alicia · 2 Comments

Through a series of fortunate events yesterday, I now own:

This is very important. Very important. First of all, it was printed in 1962 and used all of the original illustrations from the first edition (which was printed in 1900). Second, it was written by L. Frank Baum who I respect for his tenacity to follow his day dreams. Third, it smells like an old book.

Have you ever seen L. Frank Baum?

I don’t think I could have married him. First of all, we would have day dreamed ourselves into bankruptcy (which he almost managed to do on his own several times -even after The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was published). Second of all, he hopped from place to place and job to job. It would have driven me stack-raving mad.
He probably would have used my insanity as fodder for a best-seller, but that’s beside the point.

The point is that I admire the man. He always kept going despite monster-sized road blocks. He even went so far as to publish The Wonderful Wizard of Oz himself. Can you believe that? No one would publish his book, so he published it himself.

I also can’t help but admire him for his unwavering loyalty and devotion to his wife, evidenced here:

He dedicated his book to her.
It’s also rumored that after the book succeeded in sales, he bought her an Emerald Ring. I chose to believe -beyond a shadow of a doubt -that rumor is true.

Her name was Maud. Maud Gage. Maud Gage Baum.
Four letters in every name -how wonderful! They also had four sons.

L. Frank Baum (Lyman Frank Baum, but he hated the name Lyman) wrote in introduction to his book. He called it a Wonder Story, something of a modern fairy tale. But unlike the Fairy Tales of Grimm, it was devoid of all nightmarishness. That, by the way, isn’t a word.

Read what he says here:

“It aspires to be a modernized fairy tale in which the wonderment and joy are retained and the heartache and nightmares are left out.”

That one sentence completely sums up my feelings about my online web-log (my blog). Except there’s something antiquated about the notion of a fairy-tale in the world we live in today. You have to live above the muck, you know, to actually believe it can happen. For myself, I reside comfortably in the clouds. As I read back on my blog (which I do quite often) I never remember the tears I’ve had, the sleepless nights of worry, fear, or lost hopes. I don’t remember the pain, the sorrow, the heartaches. That is to say: I don’t remember them AS WELL. With every passing reading, I forget the heartaches more and more. If everything goes as planned, my children won’t recall them at all.

I do remember the joys, the laughter, the happiness, and the hilarity of my children.

And so we live, day-by-day, in our own little Wonder Story, full of joy and happiness without nightmares.

We have nothing to fear here in the clouds.

(scripture time on Daddy’s iPod. Scripturing has never been so cool. Esther on a touch screen!)

A quote:
“As they passed the rows of houses they saw through the open doors that men were sweeping and dusting and washing dishes, while the women sat around in groups, gossiping and laughing.

What has happened?’ the Scarecrow asked a sad-looking man with a bushy beard, who wore an apron and was wheeling a baby carriage along the sidewalk.

Why, we’ve had a revolution, your Majesty — as you ought to know very well,’ replied the man; ‘and since you went away the women have been running things to suit themselves. I’m glad you have decided to come back and restore order, for doing housework and minding the children is wearing out the strength of every man in the Emerald City.’

Hm!’ said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. ‘If it is such hard work as you say, how did the women manage it so easily?’

I really do not know,’ replied the man, with a deep sigh. ‘Perhaps the women are made of cast-iron.”
— L. Frank Baum (The Marvelous Land of Oz)

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband · Tagged With: L. Frank Baum, Maud Gage, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

The June Cleaver Experiment

April 19, 2011 by alicia · 2 Comments

A few days ago, I wrote a post about housekeeping. I shared a few pictures from a housekeeping book. In that same housekeeping book, the author (Daryl V. Hoole) suggests getting yourself dressed and ready for the day before serving breakfast. I thought it was a good idea in general, but nothing I was ever going to attempt. But the thought lingered. And lingered. And lingered longer, and I suddenly found myself thinking of it as a challenge.
Yesterday, I took that challenge -by jingo. I woke up, showered, dressed, did my make-up, did my hair, and then served breakfast to my husband with a (sarcastic) smile.
“This is for you, dearest,” I beamed.
“Thank you, darling,” he beamed back.

And then he left for work.
But before he left for work, he kissed me. Because I had gotten ready for the day, I was wearing lip gloss deliciously flavored with strawberry something-or-other (probably chemicals, right?). And his normal quick “I’m heading out the door” peck on the lips was replaced with a long, long, long… kiiiiiiissssssssss. The kind that make you swoon.
After he pulled away, he looked at me, thanked me for remembering just how much he loves the tasty lip gloss, and then told me I was hot.

Hot? Say whaaa?

I must here state that I really half-arsed my way through “getting ready for the day.” Instead of washing my hair, I straightened day-old hair. Instead of dressing up in something impressive, I opted for my comfy tennis shoes, my Old Navy jeans, and a handy blue Hansen’s Auto t-shirt. Did I mention that I’m still carrying a mound of holiday weight around my mid-section? Well I am.
But throughout the day I got texts from him.
“How are you?”
“What are you up to?”
And when he came home, he showered me in compliments the likes of which have never been heard since the dating days. This is shocking! And I’ll tell you why.
It has nothing to do with my husband. He’s as sweet as a honeysuckle. It has everything to do with me and those children running around my ankles.
THESE children.

There was NO END to their naughtiness yesterday! Absolutely no end! My main goal yesterday was to fold laundry. My loveseat is overflowing with laundry, and I was going to fold it come hell or high water!
But guess what?
On account of my children’s naughty behavior, I took my exhausted self and banished it to the kitchen instead. I hid behind beef soup (made with steak -sorry dad), dishes, and -surprisingly -pineapple meringue pie. Do you remember that old graduation song -the one filled with great advice and catchy music? Every now and then, a phrase from that song will pop out at me.
Like:
Do one thing every day that scares you.

Well, meringue scares me, okay? It looks so easy to mess up! So I took it on. I let the laundry sit where it may and I beat egg whites to my heart’s content. Because I banished myself to the kitchen, dinner happened to be ready when my husband walked through the door at 5.
THIS IS NOT NORMAL!
And I think it sort of cancels out that one time I served my family dinner at 11:45 in the PM.

As the day wore on, what was left of my patience flew out the window and despite the fact that my make-up was on and my hair was done, I sounded quite the beast. But my husband told me several times over how hot I was.
Hot. Hot.
I’m still wrapping my mind around that.
Hot? No. I’m not hot. I’m a mom!
(“I’m not a woman anymore. I’m a mom!” Name it…)

We ran into town to get a few Eastery things for an Easter package we were assembling for our brother on a mission, and I tried to keep my cool and not dump my negativity all over my husband. I didn’t succeed 100%, but I did okay. We stopped off at the post office to get the mail before they locked the door AND to shove candy in my son’s mouth so he would stop falling asleep since it was nigh unto 7 in the PM and he had skipped his nap.
Which is another story.
And mama doesn’t allow naps at 7 in the PM. EV-ER.

When my husband came back out with the mail, he told me that the latest issue of Country Living had come in. He almost set it aside (gasp!) but I held out my eager hands and begged for it.
I squealed with delight and hugged it to my chest, clinging to my huge ray of sunshine on an otherwise trying day.
As I did so, my husband continued to say some of the sweetest things I’ve heard since we were dating.

During my Kitchen Confinement, I had done the dishes approximately 70 billion times (okay, 3) and after dinner was done, I did them once again. But I didn’t put the soup up.
After the packages were assembled, my husband put the soup up. I didn’t ask him to, he just DID. Then he scrounged up every dirty dish in the house and washed them.
Then he turned on The Odd Couple as I put the kids into bed (never been so happy to).
Then he laid a blanket out in front of the television.
Then he offered me his arm.
And we laughed and ate pineapple meringue pie.

I also gave him the best foot rub known to mankind as my way of saying “Sorry for my lousy attitude, chum.”

I’m still trying to figure out what went on yesterday, and this is what I’ve come up with so far.

Meager attempt to look nice + flavored lip gloss > losing patience with naughty children

June Cleaver, the world may condemn you in their own way, but today -as I served breakfast to my husband 100% dressed and ready for the day -I praised you. Though your ways and hair may seem dated, they stand for something monumental.
And let’s face it: he did my dishes. without even so much as a nudge.

But today I’ve really got to buckle down and fold that laundry.
Thank goodness for leftover pineapple meringue pie in the fridge.

Here’s a few shots of our package assembly last night (aka FHE):

Check out how happy I look in this picture. Can you tell it had been a long day? (lie and say “no”…)

World’s Greatest Man and his children. See how the daughter is clinging to him for affection? See how the son is mid-whine and saying “Nooooooo!” because his mother asked him to smile for the picture?

Happy Tuesday, all. May it be better than Monday.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband ·

If You’re Worried

April 7, 2011 by alicia · 4 Comments

I wrote this late last night and then fell asleep before hitting “Publish.”

I’m feeling a little like Bing (Crosby of course) (It just NOW hit me that my neighbors might be direct descendants of the Great Bing -Crosby, not Chandler – but given that they’re all athletes and Bing was… Bing… I’m betting the relation is distant).

Growing up, I was in the habit of saying my personal prayers before bed. Once I hit 22 and I had one into-everything kid and was pregnant with another, I sort of got in the habit of dropping nearly dead the minute my daughter shut her eyes. I got out of the habit of personal nighttime prayers. Thanks to the Personal Progress Program, I got BACK in that habit! Hooray!

Something I love most about nighttime is the way I start mentally listing things I’m grateful for so I won’t forget them in my prayers. Without even realizing it, I’m improving my bedtime mood (which is usually pret-tee sour). Anyway, as I wandered through the house and put away this and shoved aside that, I realized that tonight’s Mental Grateful List is note worthy. I think any and all gratitude lists are note worthy, but hear me out about today. I liked my list so much I played with the idea of posting it on facebook. It was rather short.

“Tonight,” the post would say, “I’m grateful that dinner’s plates were disposable, the markers on the couch were washable, and the kids are asleep.”

Then I remembered that I was also grateful for my nice, warm bed.

THEN I heard the rain thrashing against all of my windows, and I thought of my flannel pajamas waiting for me in my bedroom. Then I thought about the cookies and milk I could have before drifting off.

Soon, my mind was a-whirl with things I’m just really grateful for today. I want to share them all with you because I think you’ll appreciate them. Ready?

#1) Paper plates.
#2) Washable markers.
#3) Sleeping children.
#4) BEDS.
#5) Homemade flannel PJ’s.
#6) Rain. Where I come from, rain is a good thing.
#7) Homemade cookies and milk before bed.
#8)My husband.
#9) And his job.
#10) The fact that my husband was able to come home a little early today.
#11) The fact that on account of his coming home early today, he was able to investigate the SMELL that’s been coming from beneath the loveseat.
#12) The fact that my husband will do whatever he can to keep me from seeing a dead mouse.
#13) The fact that my husband got RID of the dead mouse.
#14) The fact that the smell is gone!
#15) The fact that my husband played slave today because Wednesdays are my busy days.
#16) The fact that I only ate one cookie with my milk, a true accomplishment for me.
#17) A tiny, tucked away space on the Internets where I can write, write, write. Write, write. Write.

And so I say, as my dear friend Bing Crosby would sing: If you’re worried and you can’t sleep, just count your blessings instead of sheep, and you’ll drift off to sleep counting your blessings.

Hopefully your list of blessings has nothing to do with dead mice.
Amen.

Filed Under: The Husband ·

Children Darling

March 22, 2011 by alicia · Leave a Comment

My daughter borrowed “Peter Pan” from some of my favorite kids. After watching it one day during her rest time, she came over to me and said, “I’m going to call you mother today.”

I said, “Okay, Lacy Darling.” She loved being Lacy Darling, and she went out of her way to find different ways to talk to me -just so she could exercise the Mother word.

“Here’s a towel, Mother.”

“Mother, I love you.”

“Mother, look at my twirls.”

Yesterday, she took to calling me mother again. She also insisted that I refer to her as Lacy Darling. But Lacy isn’t always Darling, so sometimes I forgot. Like when she hit her brother about a million times yesterday. Like when she had to be asked a million times to pick up her things and STILL decided not to. Like when she yelled at her brother. Like when she threw a screaming FIT when we left the second birthday party of yesterday

By the time the sun went down and I had prepared and delivered both a FHE lesson, dinner, and a FHE snack and then gotten the kids bathed, dressed in PJs, and had family prayer… I was through. Wasted.

I sat down on the couch while Lacy “Darling” scurried to clean her room up in hopes of getting to color in her chore graph (it didn’t happen, by the way. She couldn’t stay up long enough to finish her room because it had been days since she’d cleaned it). Sitting next to me was my husband. I listened to the kids fighting in their room (“No! TRENT! GET OUTTA HERE! I just gotta CLEAN UP!”) and the sounds of Angry Birds coming from my husband’s phone, and I took a stand.

“I’m going to bed,” I said. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve gone to bed while the children were still up. But last night, I was at the end of my rope. I said my prayers, slathered my feet in lotion before applying my awesome arch support socks, and then remembered that I had forgotten to take my daily herb.

I went back out into the jungle and took it. As I walked by the kids’ room, they were both in bed watching “How To Train Your Dragon.”

“Goodnight, babies,” I cooed to them, and made my way into my room.

“MOM!?” Came the cry as crossed the threshold into my room.

“NOGOTOBED!” I shouted back, almost without realizing it. The silence that followed was broken only by a thundering laugh from my husband.

Apparently shouting after cooing makes me a regular comedian.

Or maybe just a regular mom.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband · Tagged With: bedtime, birthday parties, How To Train Your Dragon, Peter Pan

Shoes

March 21, 2011 by alicia · 1 Comment

When we were first married, my husband worked part-time at a department store. He used his employee discount to buy me some good tennis shoes. I really needed some, and I used the HECK out of those shoes. I really did.

In truth: I haven’t bought a new pair of athletic shoes since then -over five years ago. It was all a money issue. I mean, when you have to choose between diapers for the children or shoes for your feet, you’re going to choose diapers every time! Trust me! I bought new shoes between then and now. Sort of.

I bought a pair of flats on clearance at Wal-Mart. Of course, I bought The Old Lady shoes from Savers. Um. There has to be more, but I honestly can’t remember. I should go check my shoe rack and see, but that would require getting up nothankyou.

This story might have ended all right and good (if you push the whole “fashion” idea out of the picture as only buying shoes every five years is something much less than trendy). BUT I happen to have arches so high they rival The Eiffel Tower. About a year ago, the nagging pain that pinched in my knees when I got on the ground to change the kids’ diapers started coming around more often. Every time I bent down, my knees wanted to sock me. Every time I got up, they wanted to stab me… to say NOTHING of what they thought about my climbing stairs. Ow, ow, ow.

My husband sat me down on the couch Friday night and forced me to list what needs to be done to get my young body acting it’s own age instead of a grandmother’s age. I didn’t want to, honestly. I don’t like spending money on myself when we need a new bed so badly. But when he looks at me like that -all concerned and worried -I can’t help but give him whatever information he requires.

New shoes, I told him. New shoes with arch support.

My Granny, I told him. My Granny and her reflexology treatments.

More money for the food budget, I told him. A little more money to pay for things like healthy peanut butter and DoTerra oils.

The very next day, he drove me into the city and bought me a pair of good shoes. Then he bought me gel arch support insoles. Then he bought me arch supportive socks.

(granted these are those shoes that are supposed to tone your buttocks while you sweep the kitchen, but I didn’t buy them for that. I bought them because their comfort level is off the charts.)

I’ve taken these shoes off to sleep, shower, and attend church. That is it. I’ve felt an immediate difference in the knee pain. It’s still ever-present, but it’s manageable. This gives me hope that it will continue to improve! I wore them until almost midnight a few nights ago and really rather considered sleeping in them. My husband noticed me walking around the house and pulled me over to him.

“Don’t EVER go that long without taking care of yourself,” he said, seriously, “I promised to take care of YOU before we ever had kids. You need to let me keep that promise.”

I got in trouvle, as my son would say. Instead of saving my family money, I’m actually costing them more. Why do we learn things the hard way, eh? I guess that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that we ARE learning.

And I will be buying new shoes sooner than later.

Filed Under: The Husband · Tagged With: arch support, diapers, doTerra oils, knee pain, reflexology, sketchers

Keeping it Real -Keeping it Together

March 15, 2011 by alicia · 4 Comments

I hate folding and putting away laundry, BUT I love warshing it. My spoonful of sugar (as it concerns folding) is Netflix instant streaming. I’ll set my laptop on a chair next to the couch and stream a movie as I fold.

Yesterday, I streamed “The Odd Couple.” Forgive me for my ignorance, but I had NO IDEA it was a series on TV. The movie gave me a great laugh, and it also gave me about a million things to think about.

I just love Jack Lemmon. I do, I do, I do. I first fell in love with him when he dressed up as a woman and named himself Daphne.
“I can never have children.”

Seeing him as an obsessive clean freak was hilarious.
We had some friends over for dinner last night, and I spent the day cleaning up. Cleaning is defeating for me, you know. It’s a constant fight for me to maintain my self worth while cleaning. While I’m sweeping, my eyes inevitably wander to the top of the shelves… dusty. Then they wander to the sink… unscrubbed. Before I know it, clutter is flying off my counter tops and out of my closets and DANCING OVER MY HEAD to the beat of Satan’s drum as they AUDIBLY CHANT:
You’re a failure.
You’re a failure.
You’re a failure.

And then my husband comes through the door and catches me mid-fall.
“I’m SORRY you have to LIVE WITH ME!” I burst into tears.

Cleaning and organizing are not my talents. They are my husband’s, but he has to work and stuff. Last night, I curled up in bed and went to sleep to the sound of water running. My husband was doing the dishes. He had done them the night before as well. I do the daytime dishes, and when he can he does the nighttime dishes. That way, I wake up to a fighting chance instead of self-destruction and pitiful doom.

As I watched Jack Lemmon crazily clean his roommate’s apartment, I thought to myself how my husband deserved someone who could clean like that. I even went so far as to turn the movie off and leave the laundry for a few minutes so I might clean the microwave!

But I also realized something else: before the holidays (2010) my house was in general good order. I was sort of on top of it all (not counting my bedroom. We are NOT counting my bedroom), but I wasn’t doing other things. For example, I would say my nighttime prayers one night and then realize that it had been several days since I had done so. My scripture reading was splotchy. Is that a word? Splotchy?
Anyway, now I’ve gotten back into my good habits, but my house is falling apart. Where is the medium? The balance? My fairy godmother?

A few years ago, I took an online quiz to find out which “Friends” character I was. The results?

Chanandler Bong.

That’s right. I didn’t even make the cut as one of the FEMALE characters. I was a little down over that until I watched a few episodes with my husband one night and started ROLLING with laughter. Because although my husband did not take the quiz, we both pegged him.

The One Who Likes Things Just So.
The One Who Likes To Be in Control.
The One Who Hates It When Someone Gets a Dot of Ink of the Sofa.

It’s all okay. It’s all okay.
I need someone like that. Just like he needs someone like me.

I am the Walter Matthau to my own Jack Lemmon.
I am the Chandler Bing to my very own Monica Gellar.

Together we sometimes drive each other crazy, but -incidentally -we work things out very well. I need him around to keep reality in the picture. He needs me around to drive reality out now and then.

Balance, see. Balance.

Before I go, I HAVE to show you what I got today:

It came in the mail and it was SO beautiful that didn’t want to open it. But I did.

I ran home, wrote TWO letters and drove right back to the post office. When I went up to the counter, I rang the bell for service.
The postmaster came to the window and wondered why I was back so quickly.
“The package I just picked up had stationery in it, so I went home and wrote TWO letters! I just need to know how many stamps they need.”
He looked at me in disbelief.
“Girls…” he muttered under his breath.

Girls, indeed. We are frivolous. I think that’s why we blog.

Filed Under: Family, The Husband ·

Lobster Killer

March 12, 2011 by alicia · 14 Comments

“I’m giving up Glee,” I said to my husband who sat across the table from my at Red Lobster. Neither of us had ever eaten at Red Lobster, and neither of us had ever eaten lobster. We had set aside some money to go out on Valentine’s Day to try lobster for the first time, and finally -last night, nearly the Ides of March -we had our Valentine’s Date.

“Why?” he asked, his mouth full of warm, flaky cheddar biscuits.

“What do you mean ‘why?’ Because it’s trashy! Anyway, you’re not supposed to question my motives. You’re just supposed to fawn over me and tell me how proud you are of the good decisions I’m making.” I replied.

“But don’t you like that show?”

“I like the music in that show. There’s a difference,” I said, “And didn’t you hear what I just said? You’re supposed to be applauding me, not doubting me. Here’s the thing: I gave up Glee last week and it lasted all of four hours. This week, it’s lasted 3 days. Three whole days.”

“Well maybe this week it won’t be trashy.” He shrugged.

“It will so!” My eyes were wide in surprise, “What are you doing here, man? Trying to make me go home and watch it?”

“Can you watch a preview of this week’s episode?” He asked.

“NO!” I cried, throwing my hands up. “I mean, I don’t know but that’s not the point. I’m not GOING to watch one.”

“What if this episode turns out to be the best one yet?”

“Fine!” I said, “That’s it. When we’re done here, we’re going home and we’re watching Glee. You and me.”

“No. I’m not watching that show.”

“Well I am. You seem set on my watching it, so I will. With you. It’ll be your punishment for tempting me to fail.” I pointed my fork at him.

“I was just playing devil’s advocate.”

“Is that why I married you? Or did I marry you so you’d be supportive of my good decisions?”

“You married me to keep things interesting.” He grinned.

“You’re watching that show,” I shot back.

“Now I’m going to feel really bad if you go home and watch it.” He tucked his head down and chuckled.

I’m happy to report that I did NOT watch glee.

Get thee hence, devil’s advocate.

In my defense, I must say that Glee didn’t used to as trashy as it is now. Dang it.

Filed Under: The Husband · Tagged With: glee, red lobster

Mail Time!

March 10, 2011 by alicia · Leave a Comment

Last week, my husband brought home the mail. He slapped down a stack of three letters.

“These are for you,” he said. Then he held up what was left -a stack of bills -and said, “These are for me.”

I felt sorta bad for him. Should I write him a letter, do you think? I don’t want him to think it’s a pity letter. How would I even start to go about that? When we were first married, I once wrote him a ridiculous poem asking him to a dance and I shoved it in our mailbox for him to find. I could go that route again, but I think he’d rather find a $20 in an envelope rather than a ridiculous poem.

Anyway, I grabbed my letters and dove onto my bed. I pried them open carefully and then devoured them with the same amount of satisfaction I get out of a soft piece of cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory.

I’m sharing them with you today for two reasons:

#1) One has something funny in it that you need to see.

#2) The stationery.

Let’s break with convention and start with number two.

(Did anyone just hear Dr. Evil’s voice saying “number two” ? Or am I the only crazy one here?)

The stationery.

The one on the left is from Taiwan! Can you believe it! I just turned it over and over in my hands, wondering what’s it’s seen! Where it’s been! All the way on the other side of the ocean! How exciting!

And the one on the right? It’s from Japan. Needless to say, I’ve been in a fit of excitement wondering about the places the stationery has been. I’m a regular dork. But really! Imagine it! It makes me want to start ordering local stationery from all the places I want to visit. Does Nauvoo have it’s own stationery? What about Stockholm, Sweden? All of the fifty nifty United States? Okay, I’m quite finished talking about it. For now.

#1)

My friend snipped this clip from her husband’s multi-vitamin. It made me laugh out loud. It made my brother Steve laugh out loud. And it also reminded me of my Midol. I took Midol once and it purty near killed me. Terrible stuff, that. But the label? Priceless. It warns that if you have prostate problems, you shouldn’t take it.

I quite agree.

(PS: the third letter I got was actually one I sent out earlier that week that got returned on account of it’s having not enough postage. Postage has been added and the letter has been sent. And the postmaster knows me by name now.)

Filed Under: The Husband · Tagged With: Japan, local stationery, Midol, multi vitamins, postage, postmaster, stationery, Taiwan

The Simplicity Complex

March 7, 2011 by alicia · 4 Comments

Do you feel tired? Overwhelmed? Overscheduled? Overworked?

Yeah, me too. I feel like life time is moving too fast, but I think it’s me that is. Don’t fret -this isn’t a “stop and smell the roses” post. This is a “I think I figured out why Farmville is addicting” post.

I’ve been wondering for over year what the HECK is up with Farmville. I’ve never played it because I’ve heard it’s addicting, and frankly I’m a little insulted that there is such a thing. I’ve harvested peppers -real peppers. I’ve fed cows -real cows. I’ve worked hard and harvested hard (and yes. “Harvest” in this sense refers to both the peppers AND the cows). There’s no way to click your way to satisfaction in this sense! You have to strain yourself!

I’ve often watched a youtube video that depicts some of my feelings perfectly.

I must say: my feelings have changed.
No, no. I haven’t started playing farmville. And I never will.
But Saturday, I watched my simple children play Fruit Ninja on my brothers’ iphones.
The point of the game is this: use your finger to “chop” fruit that is falling on the screen.

So easy even a small child can do it.
I got a kick out of watching them, and my son -after even one successful “chop” would parade around the house.
“I got da STAW-BERRY!”
Okay, fruit ninja. Good job, I guess.
Last night, my husband gave me some very direct instructions. “At ten to seven, I want you to draw yourself a hot bath and light some candles. Put on some soothing music and soak for however long you want. After your bath is over, put on some of your most comfortable pajamas and wait for me.”
When my bath was over and my pj’s were on, he gave me the nicest back massage and then put the kids to bed while I relaxed in my bed.
I had a long day Saturday, one that left my body aching all over. I can’t tell you how much I needed that massage! But I can tell you how much I appreciated it -SO much!

I pulled out some of my old blog entries that I’ve printed out and started reading through them and after the kids were in bed, my husband crawled in bed next to me. He pulled his ipod out and started playing games, and I started reading out loud. The old blog entries were funny -one about a mouse crawling across my bare toes, one about my utter lack of imperturbability.
Pretty soon, I noticed the sounds coming from my husband’s ipod.
“Are you playing angry birds?!” I asked.
“I just want to see what all the fuss is about,” he shrugged.

I’ve never played. I never will play. I’ve heard it’s addicting and frankly, I don’t like the idea of the whole thing.

I stared on in wonder as my husband slung birds at pigs and giggled like a school girl, and then I realized something monumental:
Angry Birds and Farmville give people the simple escape they crave so much.
Live is so crazy, so full, so frustrating, that sometimes the best cure is something extraordinarily SIMPLE.

On that note, I’d love to take a survey of people who have made family mottos this year. I’m willing to bet about 60% chose “SIMPLIFY” as their motto.

I have my own “farmvilles” and “angry birds.” They are crocheting and putting on an apron to simply READ a cookbook from the 50s (a simpler time).

My mom came over and put this book in my hands.
It wasn’t even Christmas!

I’ve got a friend who promises to play Florence while I’ll take the part as Irma. We’re going to bake. In aprons.

And so who am I to judge Farmville? It stands for everything I support! Cows, chickens, peppers, and SIMPLICITY.
That doesn’t mean I’ll play and that definitely does not mean I’m going to take up slinging birds at pigs despite my husband’s insistence that I’d really like it.
Please honey. Leave the gaming to the childrens.

(See my brother Steve’s hand? After I snapped the two pictures of my kids, he said “You’re getting blogged” to my daughter. She didn’t respond either because she was a) too wrapped up in chopping fruit or b) it was old news.)

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband · Tagged With: angry birds, betty crocker, farmville, simplicity, tobuscus

Planning to Fail for Success

March 4, 2011 by alicia · 1 Comment

During the past week, I’ve been working hard to keep the house in order. I’ve been cooking and cleaning and spending the day looking forward to when my husband would walk through the door.

Monday night, I made a fancy-for-us dish: chicken teriyaki skewers. They came out of the oven beautifully, and luckily my ma, pa and little brother came over to help eat them as my husband had to work late.

Thinking the next day would be different, I repeated the process. I planned the meals out and worked hard on them, I cleaned and completed projects… and again went to bed alone.

By the end of the week, you would have THOUGHT I would have learned my lesson. I made plans to spend an evening with a friend I hadn’t seen since the county fair (which didn’t really count) and before that, since the county fair the year before (and that really didn’t count because she didn’t see me) and before THAT since college.

Sorry about my sloppy English this morning.

For some odd reason, given the track record of the past week I still hadn’t learned the lesson: making plans is a no-no. Live on the edge a little! Be spontaneous!

As I woke up yesterday, husbandless on account of his heading out the door early early, I decided that I would STILL plan.

To fail.

And maybe I’d succeed in getting my husband home.

Instead of doing the dishes, I plucked my eyebrow (singular).

Instead of cleaning the living room, I crocheted and watched three episodes of “Bleak House.”

Instead of sweeping and bleaching and mopping, I straightened my hair.

And you know what? My husband is home! It worked! Success! I’m a little sorry he missed out on the house being clean all week, but I’m more happy that he’s here to help me clean it today.

I haven’t told him that yet. Shh.

And also -because I know you care -my evening of fun with my college buddy turned into an evening of fun with my college buddy with four kids in tow. It turns out that we are multi-tasking CHAMPS. They didn’t teach us that in college, kids. We learned them skills in the school of hard knocks (otherwise knows as Childbirth and the Great Race of Young Mothering).

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a house to clean. It’s a regular atrocity. But it was all for my husband! A noble sacrifice on my part.

(That’s what I’m planning on telling him while we’re cleaning the kitchen.)