20 Percent

So, I thought it was time - past time, perhaps - for me to post another commute story.

Back story first:

Mark is usually funny, but occasionally he is tear-inducing, can't-catch-your-breath funny. Several years ago, Mark figured his funniness into a ratio. I was talking about how sometimes, with Mark, you have to suffer through a bunch of comments that maybe aren't so funny until you get to that one real gem. I said that the wait was always worth it, because he's come up with some real winners. Mark declared that it was a 80/20 ratio. Eighty percent of the time his comments were poor to average. Twenty percent of the time they were almost-pee-your-pants funny. Mark has pulled out the 80/20 ratio explanation several times. On instance had him explaining the ratio to our friend Jon Auel. I wasn't there, but I guess Mark was particularly "on" at the time. Our friend Jon declared that Mark was 20 percent 100 percent of the time.

Back to this morning:

We were just crossing over Winnetka on our way to daycare. Mark had his hand fisted inside is glove so that all the fingers were empty. He was driving, so don't ask me what exactly he was supposed to be accomplishing with his hand like that. Anyway, he shook his fist at me so that all the fingers waved around.

"Look," he said. "Chicken hand!"

I laughed. It didn't make any sense, but I laughed anyway. I think the delivery was funnier than the actual comment. Also, those flapping fingers were funny.

"It's white meat," said Mark.

I laughed some more. Then I stopped.

"I'm not sure why I'm laughing. That didn't really make any sense. And it's not that funny."

"Yeah," said Mark. "I think it accidentally slipped into the 20 percent. That happens."

___________

Later that same commute:

We were on Hwy 55 driving behind a short bus. I mean, the bus was shorter in length than what you consider to be a "normal" bus. Yes, everyone knows what a short bus is, but I wanted to explain that in this story, it was the literal meaning, not the connotative meaning.

As we followed the short bus around the corner Mark said, "I wonder if anyone drag races short buses?"

"I don't know, honey."

"I bet you could google it."

"You google it. I don't want to google your stupid stuff. I have my own stupid stuff to do."

"But, honey," said Mark. "Our marriage is based on our doing stupid stuff for each other."

Touche.

Tee Hee

Today I am wearing a new orange sweater I bought in Iowa city last weekend. I'm wearing it with my Levi 515 jeans and my orange moccasins from Land's End that my mom bought me in April when we were waiting for Harper to be born.

This morning I was leaning over the bathroom vanity putting pomade in my hair. Mark was next to me finishing brushing his teeth. He looks over at me.

"You look nice today."

I beamed at him. Usually he only says this when prompted.

"Thanks, Honey!!"

What a great way to start the day!

Potty Dance?

Ali just danced into my office. Ali has a lot of energy. Anyway, she danced in holding her laptop bag. She proceeded to dance from foot to foot.

"Are you going to be here for awhile?" Ali asked, almost breathless.

"I'm going to be here ALLLLLLL afternoon," I replied.

"Ok," exclaimed Ali. "Can I leave my laptop in here while I'm in class?" (Yes, exclaimed. Ali never really just says anything.

"No," I said, deadpan. Then, "Of course you can."

"Great!" enthused Ali. She pranced over and deposited her bag. She continued to dance.

"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" I asked, watching her.

"NO!" Ali proclaimed. "I just went!"

I spent the next two minutes laughing.

Parenting is Hard

I realize that many of my blog posts relate conversations or funny things that happen when Mark and I are either on our way to daycare, home or work. This morning is no exception.

We had just dropped Harper off and were on our way out of the daycare parking lot. Our car is a stick shift. Mark was driving. As he's pulling away from our parking space he starts singing:

"Put it into first. Then put it into second. Then put it into third," we are both kinda laughing at this point. "Then put it into... fourth..."

We are both totally laughing.

"It's a song," says Mark. "It teaches..."

I'm still laughing.

"It's a song that teaches how to drive the car."

"Yeah," I said, "Because going from gears 1 to 2 to 3 to 4 isn't intuitive enough without a song."

Mark pulls to a stop at the stoplight. He says, "Ok, lets punch in our coordinates." Then he makes a flurry of button-pushing gestures at the dashboard of our car. There may have been a "doot, doot, deet" in there.

Mark is funny. I am still laughing. He occasionally thinks it's funny to pretend we are driving a spaceship.

As we are sitting at the light, a big RC Cola semi goes through the intersection. Mark says, "RC Cola is going to eff me in the bee."

"You know," I say, "We really need to start watching our language. Harper is going to start picking up this stuff."

"That's going to be hard," says Mark.

"I know, but we need to try."

Mark says, "Yeah, what if Harper started saying "eff me in the bee" at daycare."

We are laughing. Of course, the idea of Harper ACTUALLY saying something like that at daycare, then stating that it's OK because her Daddy says it all the time may haunt me.

As we pull up to the next light, I say, "Sometimes you are like a child."

"I know," Mark says. "It's going to make parenting difficult." He looks at me. "For you."

Pants

I'm never quite sure what to expect when Mark dresses Harper on his own. It's not that he comes up with terribly mismatched outfits. I mean, he dresses himself on a day-to-day basis. I have some confidence in his ability to put together clothing that matches. However, from time to time, after Mark has dressed her, Harper has emerged from the nursery in an outfit that looks... somehow... not quite right?

For example, Mark once dressed Harper in a green and white striped onsie with green pants. But the greens weren't the same. One was a sea-foam green and one was more grassy. In addition, the green pants and fleece jacket that went with it were lined with stripes. But, yellow stripes. So, there were multiple stripes and multiple colors of green. At first glance you might think, "oh, that works." But really... no. Mark wouldn't find anything wrong with putter Harper in a red onsie and red pants. The reds might not match. And Harper would be exceedingly red. Or, he might dress her in two shades of pink that weren't complimentary, but seemed ok because they were both pink. You know, as I write this, I can't help but thinking this weird matching is a little odd. I mean, he has training in design. Usually, he's really good with color...

Anyway, when he went into the nursery to dress Harper this Saturday I was interested to see what the result would be. Mark brought her out and I said, "Well, what have we got on today?"

Turns out, Mark had dressed Harper in the green striped onsie from the above description which has brown writing on the front. It says "Mommy's Little Monster" and there is a brown monster on it. In addition, he had put on these cute brown cargo-type pants. You know, the kind with little buttons and loops on them. The pants were exactly the same color as the writing and the monster.

"Oh," I said. "Good job! You love those pants!" It's true. Mark has tried to dress her in these pants several times with limited success (which means that I have not let those outfits persist).

"Yeah," Mark said, as he leaned to to put Harper on the floor. "They are her weekend dungarees!"

Be Still My Heart

I had an epiphany last night. It began while watching a commercial for the iphone. The main point of the commercial was that you can surf the net while talking on the phone. In the commercial, the guy with the phone was talking to his wife who says "I can't believe our anniversary is next week!" The guy agrees that it is amazing while using his phone to look at flower arrangements. It occurred to me at that point that I really liked flowers and hadn't received any from my loving husband in quite a while. I decided that since next week was Valentine's Day, I would like to get some flowers.

Now, here's where the behavior change begins. In the past, I would have dropped subtle hints to Mark about how I'd like flowers. Mark, being Mark, probably would have missed the subtle hints because I would have tried dropping them while he was otherwise engaged with television, or Call of Duty, or the computer. Valentine's Day would have come and gone and I wouldn't have gotten any flowers. Then, I would have been mad at Mark and sad and thinking that he did not love me or ever think of me (this is ridiculous, but true). I would have taken out my anger on Mark. It would probably be catalyzed by something not even related to the actual reason I was upset. For example, I may have just started crying that he didn't love me after he didn't rinse out his cereal bowl (that is my brand of crazy). Eventually, I would admit that I was upset he didn't buy me flowers for Valentine's Day. He would console me (because that is his brand of awesome) and I would have apologized and admitted that I overreacted.

Back to the epiphany... I realized last night that if I ASKED him to get me flowers, then he would. I would be happy because I got flowers. Mark would be happy because he made me happy and also because he would have avoided the inevitable crazy. WE BOTH WIN!! I decided right then and there that from now on, when I needed a little romance in my life, instead of just wishing that Mark would spontaneously read my mind, I would come out and ask for it. So, I asked for flowers. I don't know what kind I will get, roses, lilies, daisies, whatever... and that is surprise enough.

The Ride Home

Wednesday night Mark was in a pretty good mood when he picked me up for the drive home. He starts off by declaring happily that we are going to drive home with the fuel light on... again.

We merge onto I94 and were dealing with lighter-than-usual traffic. We chat about our day. Then, in a lull in the conversation, Mark suddenly breaks into song. He sings a few notes, no words. Then stops. While make a hand gesture to indicate the reading of Marquee sign he says,

"It could be the theme song from 'Mark: The Musical!'"

A Happenin' Place

During lunch today in the cafeteria there was a cooking demonstration. There was a cooking station shaped like a U set up in front of a black curtain and there was a big video camera pointed at it. The demonstration didn't begin until about half-way through our lunch. To fully understand the situation, I need to give the cast of characters:

1. Deb - our department chair, been at Augsburg many many years, highly involved in the film program
2. David - on the comm faculty, also been at Augsburg many many years, teaches many many classes
3. Wes - the "film guy," knows lots about film and television production
4. Charlie - from computer science, occasionally puts up with us at lunch
5. Me

So, we're all sitting around the table finishing lunch when the demonstration begins. For a few moments there is some conversation about what is happening an why.

Finally, a little disgusted, Deb says, "You can't go anywhere on this campus where something isn't happening."

David says, "You could come to my classes."

We start laughing.

David says, "Ba Dum Bum." (the drum beats for a bad joke)

Funny.

UGH!

It all started Saturday night. Harper did not sleep well. She kept waking up and we couldn't really figure out why she was so unhappy. The unhappiness continued on Sunday. It was a preview of things to come (I, too, was unhappy by the time the Vikings/Saints game concluded that night). We thought that perhaps she was teething. She wasn't interested in her bottle, she was rubbing her face and ears, she wasn't napping well, and, of course, general fussiness. Harper didn't sleep well Sunday night either. She was up every two hours, which means, of course, that I was up every two hours. I was starting to feel a little paranoid. She had a bit of a temperature when we changed her diaper at o-dark-thirty and it was reminiscent of her Christmas ear infection. As we were getting back into bed, I said to Mark:

"I'm thinking about staying home with her tomorrow. I could take her to the walk-in clinic. They could check if it was an ear infection."

Mark replied, "Let's wait until morning and see."

In the morning Harper was still pretty unhappy. I decided to stay home from work. I emailed instructions to my workstudy. I fed Harper and got her dressed. We left for the clinic. Harper fell asleep on the way there, which was just a sign of how poorly she had slept the night before.

Fortunately, the clinic was practically empty. I had just un-buntinged (a word I made up just now to refer to taking Harper's bunting off) Harper when we were called back. The doctor looked in her ears and didn't see any sign of infection. He thought she was teething. Relieved, Harper and I went to the pharmacy to pick up some baby motrin and we were on our way home.

I should have know that it's never that easy.

Monday night, Harper didn't sleep well again. And she still wasn't drinking her bottle very well. We took her to daycare on Tuesday with the motrin and instructions on dosage. I was (and still am) of the belief that she is teething. When I went to pick up Harper from daycare she had JUST fallen asleep for her second nap of the day. I had to wake her up to bunt her (no, not hit her with a bat, put her in her bunting). She was M A D. And she cried. Sigh. Got her home. Fed her. We were getting her ready for her bath when she got really made. She was laying on her changing table and crying and the tears coming out of her right eye were PINK! I freaked and called the ask-a-nurse. I explained what had been going on with Harper and also mentioned that she seemed to be a little gooey in the right eye, along with the pink tears. After several phone calls and information relays between the nurse and the on-call physician, I was told that it might be pink eye and that I could go to the pharmacy to pick up some medicated eye drops.

I left the house at 7:30 p.m. and went to Walgreens. I returned home with the medicine at 8:30. Harper was asleep (hallelujah). I was really hoping for a good night's sleep. But I didn't get it (even though I went to bed at 9:15). I had to re-nuk Harper at 11 p.m. She had flung away her nuk and needed it back. At 1:15 we gave her a bottle and more motrin. She woke up fussing a few more times after that. Even though I didn't get up, she still woke me up.

So, now I am a zombie. Next month I am going to visit my friend Angela in Iowa for a weekend. It will be the first time I've been away from Harper over night. This morning while I was getting ready, all I could do was think about how awesome it was going to be to be able to sleep for an entire night without interruption. I can't wait.

In the meantime, I guess we'll continue to deal with Harper's teething/cold/pink eye? I already have my teeth, but the other two are contagious... maybe she'll be much better by the time we pick her up from daycare today?

Hug A What?

So, I'm in my office, being all kinds of productive (drinking Diet Pepsi while watching last night's Colbert Report on comedycentral.com) when I click over to Augsburg's webpage so I can access my Moodle account. I glance over to the calendar bar on the right side of the page and I see the following:

THURSDAY, JANUARY 21

National Squirrel Appreciation Day

Hug a squirrel today :)

Wow. I had no idea. Intrigued, I decided to (reluctantly) put off some speech grading to find out more about this fascinating and important holiday. At holidayinsights.com I learned that Squirrel Appreciation Day always falls on January 21. In addition, the website helpfully gave the following information:

"Squirrel Appreciation Day is an opportunity to enjoy and appreciate your tree climbing, nut gathering neighborhood squirrels. It's held in mid-winter when food sources are scarce for squirrels and other wildlife. Sure, squirrels spent all fall gathering and "squirreling " away food. But, their supplies may not be enough. And, the variety of food is limited. So, give them an extra special treat today to supplement their winter diets.

Not everyone likes squirrels. While they are fun to watch skirting around the yard and trees, they are aggressive at bird feeders. Squirrels tip almost any bird feeder and spill the seeds in search of the particular seeds they want. In the fall, they attack pumpkins on front porches in search of the seeds inside. For gardeners they dig up and steal flower bulbs, and may eat some of the veggies in your garden.

When you think about it, mid winter is the best time to appreciate squirrels. In the winter they provide a little entertainment. During other times of the year, you may look at them as a pest in the flower and vegetable gardens.

According to Christy Hargrove, the founder, 'Celebration of the event itself is up to the individual or group -- anything from putting out extra food for the squirrels to learning something new about the species.'"

This has given me a whole new perspective on these bushy-tailed and beady-eyed bundles of scary yellow teeth. Nevermind that a gray squirrel jumped out of a garbage can and almost killed David Lapakko yesterday as we were walking to lunch. I can now see that these little, misunderstood scavengers are really... wait, what does holiday insights say... oh yes, tree-climbing, nut-gathering neighborhood scavengers, err, squirrels. Except that I actually used correct punctuation when writing the compound adjectives, hence the lack of quotation marks. Actually, the holiday insights information doesn't really even say anything nice about squirrels. In fact, the post isn't complimentary in the least. Underneath the post there are two links to more "squirrely" fact. There is a link to a wildlife rehabilitation site apparently maintained by Christy Hargrove, the found of this glorious holiday, and link on how to control squirrels in your garden.

Now, despite a few run-ins with squirrels as they pop scarily out of campus garbage cans and an incident where Mark had an altercation with a squirrel in Loring Park (the squirrel came up to his bicycle as he stopped to take photographs and actually PUSHED his bike tire. He has pictures of the squirrel. You can really see the insanity in its eyes) I actually think squirrels are pretty cute. I think I'll take the advice of the Augsburg Calendar post and go out to hug a squirrel right now. Then, I will probably go get a tetanus shot.

Tired

I'm tired today... tired this week. Maybe I'm tired of winter, maybe I need a little sunshine. I'm not sure. I'm feeling a little like I'm getting buried. For me, this is unfortunate. The more buried I feel, the less inclined I feel to dig myself out. Part of my problem is that I've been feeling a low-grade sense of yuck for about a week now. I'm not sick... at least, I don't think I am... I just don't feel completely normal. When I feel like this, I have more of a tendency to want to read trashy novels on my couch. Reading trashy novels on the couch rarely solves anything (notice I said rarely, sometimes a couch and trashy novel is all one really needs).

Maybe I need a list. I like listing. Lists make me feel productive, especially when I get to check something off of them. So, what are things I am trying to accomplish right now? Where am I? I need to:
Grade some stuff
Write some stuff (oh, the now ever-present pressure of academia)
Lose some weight
Run some more
Eat less of some stuff
Eat more of other stuff
Spend less money
Save more money
Spend more time with Harper
Cook more at home
Eat out less
Cook better food
Cook for Harper
Buy some Midol
Take some Midol
Have more energy
Get more sleep
Have more me time
Have more couple time
Relax
Work
Connect
Play
Work
Work
Work

Nope... That list didn't help at all...

Mediated Communication

So, I am stealing this topic a little bit from Ali, but it's a good topic and there is lots to be said about it.

A little bit ago, Ali came in all a-breathin' fire, talking about how frustrating it is that some people are so down on computer-mediated communication (CMC). CMC is something that I frequently discuss in class. I vividly remember the first time I brought it up with a group of students here at Augsburg. I asked the class how many of them email and what they think about it. I was floored when half the class said that they hate email and CMC in general. I really couldn't figure that out. I LOVE CMC. CMC makes my life so much easier. I love my cell phone, my IM software, and texting. Don't mistake me, I also realize that CMC is having some detrimental effects on our overall ability to communication. For example, this morning on NPR I heard a story about a new study that found that college students that frequently text message do worse on formal writing assignments but better on informal writing assignments. I have seen evidence of this many times in student papers. However, after having many discussing about CMC, and having spent much time pondering the problem, I have come to the following conclusion:

CMC isn't stupid, people are.

Ok. That's not EXACTLY what I mean... people are lazy...allow me to elaborate... I am a frequent user of CMC. I also have good writing skills. While I do allow myself the occasional lazy use of abbreviations or accidentally-incorrect grammar, for the most part I am very diligent about making sure that my text messages and IMs have correct spelling and punctuation. Yes, it is a small point of pride that even my brief CM messages are well-written. More than pride, however, is the influence of habit. I practice and have practiced good writing habits my entire life. When I make a typo or grammatical error, my finger automatically flies to the delete button, fixing the problem before I am even conscious that I made it in the first place.

To sum up, CMC is a tool, not an excuse. Any thinking person has the ability to tailor their communication to suit the situation. Be mindful, pay attention to the context of that communication. Don't email your professor or boss in the language of the LOL Cats (or, as one of my students called it last week, "That kitten speech." If you don't know what this is, check out http://icanhascheezburger.com/). While those funny sayings over pictures of cute kitties are hilarious, they aren't exactly professional. Use common sense. If you have friended your boss on Facebook, remember not to post comments about how much you hate your job. Yes, it's convenient to blame CMC for many of societies woes, just as Plato wanted to blame rhetoric for badness in ancient Greece. However, I'm with Aristotle on this one: CMC (like rhetoric) is a tool. That tool can be used for good or evil. Now, I have to go take all my drunken party pics off my profile.

Diet Pepsi

I love Diet Pepsi. I blame my BFF Ang for this love. Anyway, this morning, I stepped out to our front desk to chat with my friend and work study, Ali Rapp. I noticed there was this sad, lonely, forelorn Diet Pepsi just sitting there.

"People shouldn't just leave Diet Pepsis around like that," I said, tempted to grab it and run.

"I think it's Eric's," said Ali.

I stared at it for a bit. "I want to take it," I said. "If it's still there when I come back from my next class I am stealing it."

"No, you are not," said Ali. "It's not yours." Ali is my external conscience. She is often more strict than my internal conscience, much to my dismay.

I huffed. Sometimes, I am very child-like. No, wait. Not child-like... childish.

I went into my office and emailed Ang about this sad, lonely Diet Pepsi. Ang emailed me back in short-order.

And I quote: "Take it. For the love of mankind... TAKE IT!!!"

About this time, Mark showed up in my office. He had to run an errand over on my side of campus (yes, half of the campus is, technically, mine). He got here just in time to hear me start laughing at Ang's response. THEN, Ang sent me a picture of her urging me to take the Diet Pepsi. The panic in her eyes was obvious and compelling. I laughed even more.

Mark shook his head in sort-of-sad amazement. His face was funny, so I opened up my photobooth and took a picture of us: me laughing, him looking ashamed and mystified by my amusement. I sent the picture to Ang. Ang responded with a picture of HER drinking a Diet Pepsi. Talk about adding insult to injury. In the email she said that I should make Mark go get me a Diet Pepsi. Alas, by this time Mark was gone. So was the Diet Pepsi. I was alone and soda-less.

Well, time heals all wounds, as it is wont to do. By noon I had forgotten about the Diet Pepsi. I went to lunch off campus. I returned at 1:50. Carly, our other work study, had a wonderful message for me. There was a 12-pack of Diet Pepsi behind the front desk JUST FOR ME!! My wonderful husband had picked up the Diet Pepsi and had dropped it off while I was at lunch. He is probably the best husband, ever.

Ahhhhhh... and this Diet Pepsi is sweet indeed.

The Value of Dreams

Mark and I are on our way to Hopkins when The Doors' Riders on the Storm came on the radio. Mark says:

"I listened to a lot of Doors when I was in high school."

"Oh yea?" I reply. "Were you a disenchanted youth?"

Mark kinda smiles and shrugs. "I don't know. I guess."

"Well," I say, "You are a disenchanted adult, so I imagine you were a disenchanted youth."

He laughs.

"Yeah," he says after a moment, "Hopes and dreams are for suckers."

Not Quite Human

Last night Mark and I were discussing our Christmas presents on the way to a Wild game.

"You know you're going to have to read those books, because Jared is going to ask about them," I said to Mark. My brother got Mark World War Z and Zombie Apocalypse for Christmas. It was the Christmas of the zombie.

"Oh, God," said Mark. "I'll actually have to READ a BOOK." Mark can read books, he just doesn't very often. He was being sarcastic.

Continuing to give him grief, I said, "You know, I can read, like, three books in a day." This is actually true. I can, have, and do occasionally read three books a day.

"That's because you are not quite human," replied Mark.

I laughed. "Oh, really? Was that said with admiration or disgust?"

"There were elements of admiration."

That's my husband. He might not be able to read three books a day, but he is the master of the politically correct statement.

Some Funnies

As Mark and I were driving home on Friday Mark turned to me and said, "What do you put in eggnog? Vodka?"

"Oh God! Gross!" I said. "No, it's rum, honey."

Later, Annie and I were at the liquor store. There was a bottle of eggnog with the liquor already mixed in at the cash register. I related the story to the two ladies behind the counter.

"So, husband thought that you put vodka in eggnog," I said.

"OH GOD! GROSS!" They both said. We all laughed.

Later, I told Mark about this. "Geez," he said. "I just didn't know what it was!"

_____________________

Ang, Annie, Kate, Izzi and I were having lunch at Spasso's. Annie noticed that they serve gelato there for lunch.

Ang, prompted by this discovery, began talking about "the best place to get gelato in Iowa City. It's in this place downtown," she said, "where they guy... the gelato is made from this actual Italian guy." She was very enthused.

I turned to her. "They make the gelato from an Italian guy?" I asked. In my mind, I had many questions: how much gelato can you make from one Italian guy? Do they keep needing to import them? Does this Italian guy object being made into gelato. Visions of Simpson's Treehouse of Horror dance in my head.

"Gross," Kate said.

_______________________

On the way home from Target we were talking about pregnancy. My friend Anna Kudak is pregnant and adorable.

"She looks like she has a basketball down her shirt," I said to Ang.

"Oh!" Ang exclaimed, "I wish I looked like that pregnant! I was as big as a HORSE!"

The word horse surprised me. I didn't not anticipate that noun.

Laughing, I turned to her. "I didn't expect you to say horse there," I said.

Ang laughed, too. "Me neither! I'm not sure where that came from!"

_______________________

My brother and his wife were staying with us this weekend. Saturday morning Jared was sitting on the love seat. I was on the couch and Ang was in the chair. Annie, who had already showered and dressed for the day, came to sit on Jared's lap. Jared had not showered yet (in fact, he did not shower that day until almost 5 p.m., Annie thought this was gross). Jared was wearing his Spiderman pajama pants and a zip up sweatshirt. Annie sat on his lap and in a few moments we heard:

RRRRRIIIIIIIPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!

It sounded like a big piece of velcro. Annie gasped. "I think my dress just ripped!" she said, her hands flying around to her bottom.

"No," said Jared. "I think it was my pants."

It was, in fact, Jared pants. GIANT rip in the crotch of his pants. This was very funny.

"It's a good thing you're wearing underwear," said Ang.

"Oh, honey," said Annie. "I'll get you some new sleep pants at Target."

"But," said Jared, "can't you fix these?" Then, in a little-boy voice: "They're my favorite..."

Wish You Were Here

So, periodically Mark and I get it in our heads to try to discipline Quinn. One of the things that we have been told to do is to establish that Quinn is the dog and we are the people. One of the ways you can do this is by not allowing him on the furniture or the bed.

Quinn is a half-sheltie, half American Eskimo. When we got him, we were told he'd get to be about 15 lbs. He's 25 lbs of barking fur. But he's awesome. He's the cuddliest dog I've ever met. Also he LOVES Mark. He likes me alot, but he LOVES Mark. Probably because Mark often forgets that we are supposed to be disciplining Quinn.

I will be strictly enforcing the "not on the furniture" policy only to look over to see Mark cuddling Quinn on the loveseat. So, we are currently on a discipline break. I know, I know, this is confusing for Quinn. But, see, what happens is this: It starts getting really cold (as it often does in winter) and Quinn turns into a 25 lb, triple-coated, cuddly dog-shaped warmer. He's wonderful to have by your side as you relax on the couch.

I suppose we'll eventually go back to the discipline... Fortunately, Quinn seems to adapt to these changes in rules with equanimity.

Taxi Driver

So, I drove the Taurus to work this morning. The Taurus is a shitty car. I apologize for the language. I tried to think of another word that would accurately describe the Taurus, but shitty was really the only word that fit. We got the Taurus for free from Mark's grandma. I am very thankful that we got the car when we did, but that doesn't change the fact that it is unreliable and prone to malfunctioning. One summer we had to replace the transmission and the engine within four weeks of each other. Later, Mark had the Taurus taken to a dealership so that they could do an inspection. When he got back after the inspection with all the paper work his comment was, "My car is awesome. It's missin' some parts."

Anyway, in light of all this, one of my favorite past times when driving the Taurus (other than praying fervently that it doesn't break down on a major artery) is looking for cars that are shittier than the Taurus. This morning, I noticed a taxi on hwy 55 as I approached I94. A) The taxi was, in fact, a shittier car than the Taurus. B) But what really caught my eye was how the taxi was fishtailing all over two lanes. This made me wonder about the state of the tires on the taxi. No one else on the road was fishtailing, yet this taxi couldn't adjust its course at all without it's back end whipping from one side to the other.

As if the condition of the car weren't bad enough, I shortly realized that the person driving the taxi was contributing to the overall disaster. First, the taxi decided not to get into the lane that turns onto I94 until it was actually stopped at the light. I magnanimously let the taxi into the correct lane in front of me (although, I have to say that one of the side effects of driving the Taurus is that I get a bit more belligerent behind the wheel because I really don't care if anyone hits me). The taxi driver continued to be obnoxious as we merged with traffic. Instead of zipping into traffic, which is the appropriate merging procedure, the taxi passed the car that had zipped in front of it and then tried to merge into traffic after cutting that car off.

It offends me when people don't follow the rules of the zip (think zipper). The zip is what allows people on the road to coexist happily and without accident. When people disregard appropriate zip protocol, I almost take it as a personal insult. As a side note, people in Fargo do not understand how to zip. It is one of the reasons that, even though traffic is worse in Mpls, it is actually more dangerous to take the interstate in Fargo.

Excitement

I'm sitting on my couch watching the Office. Mark is sleeping. Harper is sleeping. Millie is sleeping. Quinn is sleeping. Mark and the two dogs are in our bed. Harper is, of course, in her crib. It's just me and Ziggy... sitting on the couch... my life is one major event after another...

And you know what? I'm going to stay on this couch, laptop on my lap, watching TV, until the Mentalist is over. Then I'm going to bed. My life is awesome.

Some Quality Time

Many of you either know of or are experiencing the winter weather we are having in the Midwest right now. I wanted to post a breakdown of our morning commute in the spirit of ridiculous traffic everywhere!

We left the house this morning at 7:20 a.m. Two blocks after leaving our house I turn to Mark.

"Well, don't try to call me today because I forgot my phone at home."

Mark laughs. "Ok."

Halfway to daycare, I jokingly say to Mark "So, what funny thing are you going to do today that I can blog about?"

He says, "I don't know," just as I shout out "Diapers!"

Harper was out of diapers at daycare. We got a note about it last week saying we needed them by Wednesday. It's Wednesday.

"Crap!" And some other bad words. And yes, I did feel guilty about saying them with Harper in the car.

"So, I guess we go back?" says Mark.

"Yeah," I sigh.

"Well, at least you'll be able to get your phone."

"True."

It has taken us longer than normal to even get halfway to daycare because of the snow AND because we were following a firetruck for awhile. But, we head back to the homestead.

Mark pulls into the garage and jump out to retrieve my phone and diapers. I notice that Quinn has somehow pulled a manual for a baby monitor off the bookcase and has began chewing it to bits. I pick it up and then pull all the paper stuff off the bookcase so that he can't eat anything else. I grab my phone and the diapers and head back out the door. We pull out of the garage and head towards daycare. Again. It's 7:40.

We get to daycare about 7:50 and drop off Harper. One of her teachers mentions that she is such a happy baby all day. As we pull out of the parking lot I tell Mark that Harper is probably the best baby at the daycare.

Traffic on 55 wasn't the worst I've ever seen it. But it wasn't awesome. We get onto 100 south and then into the carpool lane (thank God). The radio mentions that a semi has jack-knifed on 94 east bound. I suggested we could go through downtown or we could go across on Franklin. Mark, who is always up for trying a new route, decided to take Franklin.

We took Lyndale to Hennenpin to Franklin. There was all sorts of crazy traffic and bad driving. Then we discovered that you can't make a left turn from Hennepin to Franklin. So we had to keep going south. After two blocks we decided to swing into a parking lot to get turned around. It happened to be a Caribou parking lot. So we got coffee. It was approaching 8:30. While in the Caribou waiting for our beverages I turned to Mark.

"Well, honey, instead of getting mad you could just think of this as more quality time we get to spend together in this busy holiday season."

He replied "I don't know how quality it is with all the bad driving and irritated drivers."

But I still think it was quality time. We got to campus at 8:45. So, it may have taken over an hour for us to get to work, but at least I got to have coffee with my husband as we weaved in and out of traffic on Franklin.