Ice Tea Baby?

It is Saturday morning. My parents are here to celebrate my birthday and Easter. We have begun the getting-ready-for-the-day rituals when Mark, who hasn't yet showered, emerges from the bathroom (where, presumably, he had the chance to behold his appearance in the mirror).

"Vanilla ice tea," he says.

My mom and I kinda look at each other. We're not sure what that means.

"What?" I say.

"Vanilla... ice... tea..." Mark now looks unsure. "Ah, ice tea..."

Still not quite sure what he is referring to, but suddenly craving tea, I ask again: "Huh?"

Mark gestures to his hair, which formed into a fairly impressive flat-top during the night.

"I look like..."

"Vanilla Ice?" I supply helpfully.

Most of the time I can read Mark's mind which is a good thing. If I couldn't, we'd never be able to communicate effectively. In this particular instance, however, it took me a little longer to get his drift. Oh, I had my suspicions, but I KNOW that he knows that Vanilla Ice and Ice T are two different people. He even had Ice T's first album. I've heard him talk about Ice T and that album before. So, when he combined to very disparate rappers, I was understandably confused and the mind-reading took a bit longer than normal.

"Yes," says Mark. "Vanilla Ice." Thank god we got that figured out.

Hearing the Auditory

"Hey," I ask Mark as we merge onto 100 southbound, "Is driving with headphones in illegal?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I think so. Maybe you can only do it with a permit."

What? I laugh.

"You know," he continues, "It's like being deaf. I think you need a permit to drive if you are deaf because you can't, you know, hear things like sirens and stuff. You can't hear auditory signals."

"That's redundant. Hearing auditory signals."

"What?"

"You don't need to say both hearing and auditory," we approach the carpool lane. "Of course I would hear auditory signals."

"Well," Mark says as we round the corner, "I was just being ridiculous."

"No," I say, thinking about how much I like our little debates, "you often DO say things just to be ridiculous, but I don't think this was one of those times."

A pause.

"Well," says Mark archly, "That's your opinion."

Shit. I got nothing.
--------------------

P.S. If I would have really been on my game, I would have pointed out that EVERYONE needs a permit for driving. It's called drivers license. But, at the time I was distracted with pondering the fact that I drove with my ipod earbuds in yesterday - hence the legal question.

A Hole of What?

So, I'm sitting in my office today waiting for my lunch to finish cooking in the microwave when Ali pops around the corner.

"So," Ali says, "I went to the ortho today." Ali means the orthodontist. We are in a similar orthodontic situation in that both of our mothers told us that they would pay for braces if we got them now. We decided that we could get our braces at the same time thereby lessening the stigma of having adult braces. Ali had an appointment with the ortho today. I have yet to schedule one.

Ali launched into an explanation of her visit. Apparently her ortho work may require three years of braces and jaw surgery. And she has four baby teeth with no adult teeth underneath them.

"So," Ali says in summary, "my mouth is just a... hole of... fun."

Of course, I started laughing IMMEDIATELY. I don't think Ali got what was so funny for a moment. Then she covered her hole of fun with one hand and bent over laughing.

I knew, even as I was fighting off tears, that I would have to blog about it. Hee hee.

______________________________

So, after I posted the above blog I sat in my office waiting to hear Ali start giggling. I always post my blogs on Facebook and I knew she had her computer open out in the office. Sure enough, after about 12 minutes I heard her start laughing. Then I heard her footsteps coming toward my office door.

"Yes," she said as she popped her head around the corner, "I'm laughing at the blog."

"I know," I said.

No One Blogs Like Gaston

Yes, I realize that many of my blogs have a car-conversation theme. This one is no different.

Last night Jared, Annie, Mark and I were on our way back to Goodyear, AZ after seeing the play "The Light in the Piazza" at Phoenix Theatre. As we were exiting the 10 Jared sees the sign that directs travelers to the town of Surprise, AZ. Jared says, "I wonder if anyone ever is confused when asking people from Surprise where they are from? You know:

'Where are you from?'

'Surprise.'

'No, where are you from?'

'SURPRISE.'

'NO! WHERE ARE YOU FROM?'"

(Kinda like the whole "Who's on First bit").

Then Mark says: "I wonder if there is a town out there called Guess Where. Like, Guess Where, Idaho. I should Google it."

Jared says: "You'd probably crash the interent."

I laugh, "Like, the entire internet?"

"Yeah," Jared says, laughing. "Then, Al Gore would pop up on your computer screen and scold you."

Mark, still on the funny-town-name kick, says: "Or Wouldn't You Like To Know."

"So," I say, "Someone asks where you're from and you say Wouldn't You Like To Know"?

"Yeah," Mark says, "Like Wouldn't You Like To Know, Virginia."

"Don't call me Virginia," says Jared. We are ALL laughing.

_____________________________________

A little while later (I'm not sure how this happened) Annie and I were singing "Bonjour" from Beauty and the Beast. Earlier, at the theater, Jared saw a picture of the cast of Les Mis in the program and said it was from Beauty and the Beast. Annie said, no, it's from Les Mis. Later, Annie and I proved conclusively that it was, in fact, from Les Mis. Anyway, we were singing a song from Beauty and the Beast when Jared breaks into the "Noooonnnnneeeeee fights like Gaston..."

"Or," Jared says, "Like Mark said earlier: 'No one blogs like Gaston. No one tweets like Gaston..."

I start laughing REALLY hard. "When did Mark say that?"

Jared says, "When we were standing outside the theater. After I saw the picture of what I thought was Beauty and the Beast."

"So Mark said 'No one blogs like Gaston'?"

"Yeah," says Jared. "And 'No one tweets like Gaston'."

I thought this was HILARIOUS. I said that I was going to blog about this whole conversation. Jared said "Yeah, you can call it No One Blogs Like Gaston." And so I have.

Murderer

For those of you who do not know this, my mom was an English teacher. My mom was MY English teacher in high school. Growing up, I was never allowed to say things like "ain't" or "orientated" or to end sentences with prepositions. My upbringing has made it very difficult for me to ignore any misuse of the English language. Oh, also because I read a lot (A LOT) I have a pretty extensive vocabulary.

We were on 100 southbound about to hit the carpool lane when Mark used the word "intrepidatious" in a sentence. I don't remember what he was talking about, that's not important. What is important (and funny) is the fact he used the word at all and the conversation that followed.

"Intrepidatious is not a word," I said. "Intrepid is a word. Trepidatious is a word. Intrepidatious is not a word."

Mark laughed. "Did I offend your English sensibilities?"

"Yes," I said. "You offended my English sensibilities."

Mark laughed some more. "I am a murderer," he said, "of the English language."

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

I may have just accidentally eaten an entire carton of Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby ice cream. DON'T JUDGE ME!!!

In my defense, my freezer was not keeping it frozen. It was melty, on it's way to being warm, dairy soup.

Because it was so melty, I was 3/4 through the carton before I even realized it. At that point it seemed foolish not to finish it off. I WILL be going to the gym tonight... for about five hours...

Liberating Ziggy

Ziggy is our cat. Mark named him after the David Bowie song Ziggy Stardust. Ziggy is hilarious for many reasons. He's a worrier, for one. You can always see the worried expression on his face... like he's constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop... onto his tail...

Anyway, last night I was laying in bed reading. Mark had already gone to sleep. I had the bedside lamp on, otherwise the room was dark. Quinn was sleeping at the foot of the bed. I could hear Ziggy walking around on the floor. His nails make little click-click sounds on the hardwood. Then, I heard Ziggy go into my closet. There are two closets in our bedroom. Mine is on the left. I always leave the doors open (actually, I always leave most doors of most things open, much to Mark's continued dismay). I heard Ziggy doing... something... in my closet. It sounded like he was attacking something. There were sounds as he tried to balance himself on my shoes. I heard his claws scritching on the wall of the closet. I tried to look down to see, but it was too dark. Ziggy is a dark gray cat and he blends well with shadows.

I go back to reading. More sounds from the closet. It sounds like a rhino is in there, not a small cat. I sit up in bed, trying to figure out what is going on. All of a sudden, Ziggy flops out of my closet onto his back. His right paw is stretched up above his head, one claw snagged on a garment hanging in my closet. He wriggles. Think fish on a hook. His back legs and butt flop from side to side, but he remains stuck to the garment. He turns his head to look at me and lets out a seriously piteous meow.

I start laughing. I can't help it. I get out of bed and go liberate Ziggy from the closet trap. I pick him up and transfer him to bed while laughing. Ziggy is indignant. He meows. He seems to be saying "Quit laughing at me." But I don't. I can't. Ziggy tries so hard to be a distinguished gentleman, then gets stuck in the closet.

Of course, Mark woke up because I was laughing so hard. He looks at me. Mark gets this look on his face when I'm laughing hysterically at something that he thinks is only mildly amusing. That's the look I get as I explain what happened.

"I had to liberate Ziggy," I said. "He got stuck in the closet."

Mark sort of grunts at me.

"It was really funny."

He rolls over.

"He was stuck in the closet," I say. One last attempt to get him to understand the hilarity.

I don't think he fully grasped the humor of the situation.

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.

Mark + pills = funny

Two funny things from today:

First:

The first story is culmination of four days of forgetfulness. Last week, on Wednesday, daycare sent a note home that Harper was almost out of formula. On Thursday, the three of us went to Target to get more. On Friday, despite the fact that the formula was sitting in the car, I forgot to bring it in. Because I hate to back-track (those of you who know me know this to be true) I decided I would rather drive around town with the formula in my car than go back inside.

Monday morning, Mark and I are in daycare dropping off Harper. I say: "Formula!" I turn to Mark and ask (OK, order) him to go out to the car to get it.

I wait. And wait. And wait.

Mark returns after several minutes. No formula.

"Where is it?"

"I couldn't find it."

"Did you take it out of the car?"

"I don't think so."

At this point one of Harper's teachers interjects that Harper has enough formula for on more day.

On our way out to the car: "Well, if you didn't take it out and I didn't take it out, then where is it?"

"I don't know."

And then we promptly forgot about it until this morning. Again, we were standing in daycare when I said: "Formula!"

However, I have learned my lesson. I go out to the car to look for it. If living with Mark has taught me anything, it's that I should ALWAYS look for something myself first. He is a bad looker.

I unlock the car and open the back driver-side door. I lean over to look under the seat. I push a box of Kleenex out of the way and, lo and behold, there is the can of formula. I pick it up and head back inside. The entire process has taken 15 seconds.

When I get back inside with the formula Mark says, surprised, "It was in there?!"

"Yes. It was under the seat."

As we are putting our shoes on Mark says,"Well, you ARE shorter than me."

Second,

This morning before we left I was looking for some medicine. I asked Mark where it was and he actually knew (surprising... see above story). Of course, Mark had purchased the medicine and so it was in chewable form, not pill form. Mark hates swallowing pills. He buys everything in liquid of chewable form if he can. He even takes gummy vitamins.Watching him try to swallow pills is hilarious and I highly recommend it.

Later that morning, after leaving daycare, the subject of these chewables came up again.

"Aren't they great?" he asks.

"Actually, no. I thought they were gross. They tasted horrible."

"No way," says Mark. "I... I actually dream... dream of, like, a meatloaf that tastes just like that... like a chalky mint... mmmmm..."

I laughed. "No. You have gone too far with that one. TOO FAR."

How Embarassing

Yesterday after we dropped Harper off at daycare I asked Mark if we could swing into Rainbow Foods (or Roundy's, as I call it) to pick up some eggnog. I needed to take the eggnog to school with me so that Ali and I could drink it while putting up our office Christmas tree. ANYWAY, Mark said sure, so we cruised across the street and ventured in.

While on my way to the back dairy case, Mark was strolling along behind me, trying to decide if he wanted anything to eat for breakfast. I lost track of him in my quest for nog, and when I returned to the front of the store, he was waiting for me with a cream-filled chocolate-frostinged doughnut. It looked delicious, but my will-power prevailed and didn't buy myself any pastries.

Back in the car, Mark points us back toward school. Stopped at the first light, Mark pulls out his doughnut and takes a few bites. He reaches the cream center. He looks like he is enjoying himself. Then, the light turns green and it's time for us to go again. For those of you who do not know this already, we drive a stick shift. Somehow, in the process of managing the doughnut while shifting gears, said doughnut winds up frosting-side down in his lap (read crotch).

"Yeah, I thought you would have known better than to eat something like that in the car while driving," I say helpfully.

Miraculously, when Mark removes the doughnut from his lap (read crotch) his pants are unscathed. More than he deserves, I think.

I start laughing. It's hilarious now that I know we don't have to stop back at home so that Mark can change pants.

I look at Mark. "I'm going to write about this in my blog."

Mark actually looks horrified. "NOOO!" He practically shouts it.

"Yes," I say. "You have done a stupid thing and the blog is your punishment. My readers will enjoy it."

Mark shakes his head and is quiet for awhile.

"The call of the cream filling was just too strong for me to ignore," he finally says.

Time to Put Away Childish Things: Part III

So, the past two Childish posts have been about dolls. Today's post moves us into the realm of electronic fun - specifically, video games. I'm crediting this post to my brother, Jared. He has a great blog that talks about video games and gaming in general. Check it out if you like that sort of thing.

http://www.1up.com/do/my1Up?publicUserId=6082290



I'm not sure how old we were when Jared got the original Nintendo game console. Pretty young. I remember trekking up the hill to our neighbors house to play Mike Tyson's Punch Out before we got our own system. Of course, the original NES came with Super Mario Bros. The Super Mario series is still my favorite series of games (with X-Men: Legends being a close second). Anyway, some of my favorite childhood memories involve Jared and I, up late in Jared's room, playing Mario.



I still remember the theme song and frequently sing it to my dog, Quinn.

My BEST memory from Mario Bros., however, comes years later after the release of Mario 3, arguable the best Mario game to date. Once again, Jared and I spent late nights up in his bedroom working our way through the various levels. In Mario 3, World Three is a water world, with several levels that rise and sink. This world also introduces the character Big Bertha, an angry red fish that will attempt to swallow Mario whole.



If memory serves, level three, World Three was a scrolling map. I always hated scrolling maps because you can't take your time, you have to keep moving or the back end of the screen will catch up to you, resulting in all manner of unpleasantness. This particular world not only scrolled, but it had multiple levels. You could run on land above, or you could swim below. At one point during the game, late at night, I was on the run (swim) from Big Bertha. The map was scrolling. I was beginning to panic. I was on the bottom level of the game, barely keeping my head above water (literally, in the sense that my character in the game was swimming), when I came to a dead end. Behind me lay the edge of the scrolling screen AND an angry red fish with a very large mouth. Ahead of me, a brick wall.

I turned to Jared and said, "Uh oh. I may be stuck."

Now, I know this doesn't sound particularly funny, but, trust me, it was HILARIOUS when it happened. We laughed until tears came to our eyes. The phrase "uh oh, I may be stuck" has become one of those great shared-sibling jokes. In fact, that one sentences sums up all the great moments I had playing (or watching) video games with my brother from that first NES through every incarnation of the NES, to Xbox, to Play Station and beyond.

We share these moments even as adults. Here are a few more:
- Me head-stomping Jared as Chun Li in Street Fighter 2
- Jared running from Crispin in Time-Splitters 2
- Jared cursing monkeys in Time-Splitters 2
- Playing Mega-Man 2, first on a tv with no sound, then on a tv with no color. Every time we switched it was like playing a whole new game.
- Goldeneye. Enough said.
- Ocarina of Time, when you hit the chicken enough and it calls all the other chickens.



Anyone else have either great video game or sibling moments they want to share?

Time to Put Away Childish Things: Part II

So, I know that everyone has been anxiously waiting to see what childhood toy I might write about next. First, I have to say that it has taken me so long to get my next chapter written because I've been INSANELY busy. In the past week and a half I've written two exams, graded an exam, graded speeches, graded papers, graded outlines, advised a myriad of students and generally been an all-around super prof.

Choosing my next topic for this blog series was difficult. Should I tackle GI Joe? My Little Pony? Barbie? But then, inspiration struck. For Part II I will shall discuss no other than SHE-RA: PRINCESS OF POWER!!!!!








She was quite possibly my favorite toy and cartoon when I was a kid. The cartoon was on for 15 episodes starting in 1985. Rather than explaining the plot of the cartoon, I will let you all check out the opening of the cartoon, which I found on youtube (awesome).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quzY7ONePM4

I owned many of the She-Ra dolls. Looking back on it now, I think I can probably trace my love of chicks-kicking-ass to She-Ra. She was tough, had an awesome sword, and rode a unicorn! What could be cooler than that! She-Ra was the first in a long line of ass-kicking heroines to win my admiration. The was Jinx of GI Joe, Gina Davis' characters in both Cutthroat Island and Long Kiss Goodnight, Charlie's Angles (both TV AND movie versions-yes, I know and I don't care), and Rachel Morgan in the books by Kim Harrison to name a few.

She-Ra is a great role model for many reasons. First, she is a flawed character. She was the leader of an evil Army, but she learned the errors of her ways and decided to lead the Rebellion instead. She is loyal to her family and often fought with her brother He-Man. She-Ra is strong and independent and can take on any one. Also, did I mention the cool sword and the unicorn?!

Finally, I just need to mention that you can actually find full episodes of She-Ra online. I think we all know what I'll be doing during lunch tomorrow!

Who are your heroes/heroines? Anyone else out there a huge She-Ra fan?

Time to Put Away Childish Things: Part 1

Two things happened recently which have prompted me to reflect upon my childhood... specifically, the toys of my childhood. The first happened in the Mall. I came across a display of Barbies through the ages. Several notable Barbies were displayed. I was particularly interested in the Barbies of the late 1980s to early 1990s, my own prime Barbie time.

The second thing that lead me down the road to my childhood was the recent live-action GI Joe movie. This movie was both horrible and awesome. Jared and I used to watch the GI Joe cartoons and the cartoon feature-length movie. Jared also had several action figures.

In light of these two events, I have decided to do a series of posts about memorable childhood toys. Yes, I will be discussing both Barbie and GI Joe, but not until later. I decided to devote my first installment to:

Jem.

Jem is excitement. At least, that is what the theme song of her show used to say. According to Wikipedia (yeah, I know, I never allow my speech student to cite Wikipedia as a source) Jem the cartoon was based on the Jem dolls by Hasbro, of GI Joe fame. Jem was the rocker alter-ego of Jerrica Benton, owner of Starlight Music and Starlight House, a home for foster girls. Jem and her band, the Holograms, got into many different adventures, competed with rival band the Misfits (whose songs, they claimed, were better), and were all-around glamorous and musical.

I have mentioned Jem to several people in the last few days and no one really remembers her. I, on the other hand, can still sing most of the Jem theme song. I had many of the dolls as well. I remember liking Jem's pink hair and sparkly outfits. I played with Jem during the same time I played with Rocker Barbie. Jem and Rocker Barbie shared similar tastes in make-up and wardrobe.

As a rhetoric scholar now, I can't help but wonder what I learned from my play with Jem and the Holograms. I guess Jerrica/Jem was a strong female role-model. After all, Jerrica DID run her own company and Jem and the holograms DID win a mansion in the battle of the bands. Of course, I don't think I needed Jem to be a strong female role model. I had my mom for that.

Another big theme, at least in the Jem cartoon series, was the struggle to keep Jerrica and Jem separate. There are probably parallels here that can be drawn between Jem/Jerrica and any other person who wears multiple hats in a day. This week I've been Mom, Wife, Teacher, Adviser, Friend, Confidant, Counselor, Citizen, Faculty, and Bitch. When you get right down to it, don't all of us have some identity we're trying to suppress? And, if I'm really being honest with myself, I do think there is a pink-haired, pink-eye-make-uped rocker inside me longing to be free.

In closing:

Anyone out there remember Jem? Anyone want to share their hidden Jem?

Taters?

So, I was just reading my FB newsfeed, seeing what all my FB friends were up to. One of my friends, Tanner Vix, wrote that he had a better supper last night that consisted of sirloin, shrimp, veggies and taters. My immediate thought was:

"What's taters, precious?"

Is that wrong?

O. M. G.

So, today Mark and I drove separately. I wanted to be able to leave early because, for a wonder, I didn't have any meetings or appointments scheduled. I did, in fact, go home early and I took a wonderful nap, but that's not really the point of this posting.

At 4:45 Mark called and asked if it would be OK if he stayed late to do some work. I said "sure." I was just about to leave to pick up Harper at daycare. After talking to Mark (and finding out which $100K great room remodel won best bang for the buck)I told the puppies to be good and headed out.

The Harper pick up went smoothly. We we got home I discovered a giant puddle of regurgitated water in the entryway. Sometimes Quinn drinks so much water so fast that it immediately comes back up again. Anyway, we were greeted by a vast expanse of thrown-up water. I took Harper out of her car seat and navigated around it just as Quinn threw up another, possibly even more voluminous, puddle in behind me. Whatevs. I'm still zen at this point (largely thanks to my awesome afternoon nap).

Harper and I went immediately into the kitchen. I was intending to clean up the great lakes of dog-water later. I mixed Harper up some sweet peas and rice cereal. She sat in her bumbo on the table and watched me with much excitement. I bibbed her and she opened up for the first bite. I put the pea-cereal mixture in her mouth and her face changed from one of excitement, to one of horror. I'm not kidding. Imagine the face of the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man on Ghostbusters right before he explodes. THAT is what her face looked like. And then, once again - not kidding here - she reached down, grabbed her bib, put it up to her mouth, and spit the pea-cereal into it. It was such a deliberate action that I didn't have the heart to try another spoonful.

I discarded that bowl and mixed up one with prunes instead. I know, I know, many of you out there are thinking "Peas to prunes!?! You are a terrible Mom!" But, seriously, the first time she had peas she LOVED them. I don't know what happened. The prunes were received with a grudging acceptance, not nearly the enthusiasm to which cereal and carrots are subjected. At one point, Harper made her elephant noise which spit cereal into my open mouth. Of course, my mouth was open because I was mimicking her. I often think of the baby-feeding scene in the Incredibles. You know the one? Well, that's what I was doing when Harper spit cereal everywhere.

As you might imagine, but the time we were done there was cereal, peas, and prunes everywhere, not to mention what was leftover on her clothes from her earlier meals. I decided it was time for a bath.

I ran the water and got her ready. I really enjoy bath time. She's at the point now where she plays in the water. It's really fun. Unfortunately, as I was getting her into the bath I discovered yet ANOTHER puddle of regurgitation. This time, I didn't see it in time to avoid stepping in it. It smelled very bad. It was all over my socks and jeans. I had to take both off. So, I gave Harper a very short bath in my shirt and underwear. As she played in her crib, I had to go around and clean up three (yes, three for those of you who haven't been counting) lakes of dog regurgitation. Awesome.

I am really at the end of my rope as far as dogs are considered.

Tongue Trills

Yesterday when we picked up Harper from daycare one of her teachers said she was making a funny noise. I asked if it was tongue trills. Harper just recently figured out how to trill her tongue... it sounds similar to when you roll your r's, except that she does it for sustained amounts of time in a high-pitched voice.

Her teacher exclaimed "Yes! That's what it was!"

I responded that she had just started doing that.

Her teacher said "I've never seen a baby do that before."

This particular teacher has been at daycare for years and years, so she has seen babies do a LOT of things.

See. I knew my baby was exceptional.

1/2 Moon

A little boy just mooned me.

More accurately, a little boy just mooned me and Ali Rapp. The boy was standing outside my office window with his back to us. At first, Ali thought he was peeing on the wall. Then, to our extreme amusement, he wiggled one side of his jeans down to reveal most of one cheek. Technically, I guess it was a half-moon. It appeared to be a challenging process because he had some guitar-shaped instrument strapped to his back.

After he had run away, Ali said she still thought he looked like he had been peeing at first. I went to the window and looked at the wall.

"Nope," I said. "A closer scientific examination has revealed no wetness on the wall or ground."

The evidence is in. He just wanted to moon us.

Happy Mornings

Filling out Harper's daycare form this morning got me thinking... On this form, we indicate three things about Harper's state of being that day.
1. How did Harper sleep? What time did she get up?
2. Did Harper eat anything before she came to daycare? If so, how much and at what time?
3. How is Harper today? Happy? Not her normal self? (Notice that cranky is not an option)

Answer question number three always makes me feel very lucky. I almost always get to check off "happy." I think she has only not been "her normal self" once or twice. Yes, Harper wakes up happy every day. EVERY DAY. Every morning Mark or I goes into her room to get her ready for the day and we are greeted with a big toothless smile. To Harper, every day is a new opportunity for a great day. Everything is new and exciting... even things she has seen or done before. Her joy at being place in the bouncer at daycare is great every morning.

Reflecting on her happy disposition this morning made me wonder what it takes to face everyday with that excited smile. I wondered about my "normal self." Do I have a normal self that faces each day? If so, what is that self? I think that I'd like my normal self to be more like Harper's normal self: facing each day with a smile and a curiosity that allows me to discover new joy even in things I experience everyday.

Harper is teaching me a lot of things. Some other day I'll have to write about what Harper is teaching me about posture.

Moving Furniture

I made Mark help me move the furniture in our living room around today. He hates it when I get the rearranging bug. But, I'll get an idea one day and then it just festers and festers and festers until I can't take it anymore and then I ask him to help me move furniture.

Once, several years ago, we were sitting on the sofa in an apartment that I had just moved into. We were watching TV, which was located on the opposite wall. I wasn't feeling this furniture arrangement. So I said to Mark: "Do you want to help me switch the TV with the sofa?"

He looked at me. He looked at me like he always does when I ask this question. His face clearly says "Why, why, why would you think that I would WANT to help you move furniture?"

He said, "No."

"Ok," I said. "How about this: Would you rather help me switch the couch and TV now, or would you like for me to harass you about it for the foreseeable future?"

We moved the furniture.

We've been together for almost nine years, married for almost seven of those years. Is it any surprise that now, when I want to move furniture, he just sighs and says "Where do you want it?"

Integrity

So, today at lunch we (my departmental colleagues and I) wound up sitting with a woman from another department on our campus. During our conversation she revealed that she was currently dealing with some political problems. Her boss had hired a consultant to come in to "fix" her department. This consultant has apparently been in before and this time, when this woman was told the consultant was coming, she "respectfully declined" to meet with her.

Anyway, the ins and outs of the politics aren't important. What I think WAS important and very admirable was that this woman went to her boss and told her that her integrity was more important than her job (in so many words). She is unwilling to compromise her dignity and I think that is incredible, especially considering our current economic situation.

I would like to think that if I had to, I would make the same choice as this woman, but I don't know if I would be as brave. In the immortal words of Kenny Rogers "You have to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em." I think that the holding can be much more difficult.

Why? Why?

So, this post is about my wonderful husband's tendency to do things that are sometimes not so wonderful. He may read this and that's OK. This post is about button-pushing, which he purposefully does to tick me off.

This morning, after I explicitly asked him to NOT drive like a maniac, he swung into a parking spot in front of Einstein Bros. like he was being chased by machete-wielding monsters. Of course, this sent stuff in the car flying and knocked over the plant that was sitting on the floor in the backseat which resulted in dirt on the floor and on one of my scarves. I told him it was his responsibility to clean both the scarf and the floor of the car. If he's going to do stuff like that in order to tick me off, then he can deal with the consequences of his actions.

Ali + Skittles = ugly

Ali Rapp just ate, like, 7 mini bags of skittles from my left-over Halloween candy basket. Now she feels yucky. She says she's going to get the Rainbow Barfs. I think that sounds like Rainbow Brite's little brother.

Remember Rainbow Brite? She was awesome.

So Far Behind

Yes, I have lots of grading to do. I should be doing it now. But before I can get back into the grind, I had to take a moment to rest my sense of disappointment. The majority of my students do not capitalize, do not use correct punctuation, do not, in fact, write in complete sentences. One of my students misspelled the word communication. The exam is in the class Introduction to Communication. It is an open book and open notes exam. You would think that, at some point, this communication major would have learned how to spell communication. I'm tempted to blame computer-mediated communication. I'm sure that CMC has impacted this on some level. However, the problem is so systematic, I have to wonder if that is all that is going on.

Are students really just this lazy? I mean, really, is the extra pinky stroke necessary to capitalize the pronoun "I" that much of a burden?

Also, at what point did everyone forget that a sentence is supposed to have a subject and object?

And finally, wouldn't you think that having automatic spell check would have reduced the amount of spelling errors in typed documents? Because I can tell you... it hasn't.

Becoming More Mindful

A few weeks ago I was driving home after my Friday night class. Prior to this drive, I had been reading some article in some magazine that was giving advice on how to become more observant. One of the suggestions was to try to pick out something you've never noticed before when you are walk/driving down your street.

Anyway, it was 9 p.m. on a Friday and I had been at work since 8 a.m. I wasn't really paying attention and I almost missed one of the turns right by my house. As I was driving down the street, I thought of that article as I observed how dark the street was and how driving at different times of the day can really make you notice things that you have never noticed before.

Then I realized I wasn't on the right street.

My Mom vs. Her Cat

My Mom emailed me today. The subject was: The Rocky Incident. Rocky is her cat. Apparently, last night my dad started Rocky the cat so bad that he flew out of his little cat tent and scaled my Mom like she was Mount Everest. Imagine 15 lbs of freaked cat climbing your face. Poor Mom. She has bloody gashes on her leg and face.

Mark is Funny

We were driving home one day when we (somehow) got on the topic of Taco John's.

Mark: "It's hard to find a Taco John's in this town. Kinda like trying to find a WalMart."

Me: "But we don't care. We hardly never eat Taco John's. Except for sometimes there is nothing better than potato ole's."

Mark: "Yeah, like when you need a year's worth of sodium yesterday."

As Yet Untitled Story: Part 1

“They’re vampires.”
Joan Vixer made this statement in response to an inquiry from her daughter.
“Oh?” Ann asked for elaboration.
“They only come out at night,” Joan said. “They moved in two weeks ago and the only time we’ve ever seen them is after dark.”
Joan and Ann were sitting in Joan’s small living room. Ann and her husband, Steven, were visiting from Minneapolis for the weekend. The house next to Joan’s had been for sale for well over a year. It was your average suburban bi-level house. The vinyl siding was a taupe color that blended in with all the other vinyl-sided houses in Joan’s neighborhood. It was not in the least bit scary.
Ann enjoyed listening to her parents talk about their lives in South Fargo. Ann had grown up in a small town in North Dakota with her parents and her younger brother. She had had a great childhood. Normal. She loved her parents but, like many children, only really got to appreciate them as people after she had grown up herself. Her mom and dad had moved to Fargo several years earlier after Ann and Steven had gotten married. Her younger brother, Craig, lived with his wife if West Fargo. Since Ann’s mother and father had moved into their suburban, South Fargo home, they had come up with entertaining nicknames for many of their neighbors.
First, there was Bob the Viking Guy. The Viking Guy referred to Bob’s love of the football team the Minnesota Vikings, not to any resemblance Bob may or may not have had to a blonde, sea-faring raider. Bob the Viking Guy lived on the other side of what was now the Vampire house.
Next, Ann’s dad, Barney, had named the man living two houses north of them Doug Voler. The origination of this nickname was more complicated. Voles are small rodents that live in the ground. During the winter, they make tunnels. After the snow melts in the spring (or summer, you never know in Fargo, N.D.) many people in Barney’s neighborhood discovered vole marks in their yards. One particular spring the voles had been very busy. On a fine Saturday Barney stood looking out his front window. The vantage point allowed him a clear view in to Doug, Soon-to-be-Voler’s backyard. Doug Soon-to-be-Voler was on his hands and knees, attempting to repair vole damage. Suddenly, he leapt up, grabbed a nearby rake, and began frantically beating at the lawn. Barney laughed, guessing that Doug’s quest to eradicate the vole damage had uncovered one of the little, rodent vandals. Because of Doug’s entertaining dance, he had been coined Doug Voler.
Finally, there were Joan and Barney’s neighbors to the back. Ann had been amused when her mother referred to the new neighbors as the Rolley-Polleys. Then she had been a little ashamed of herself for being amused. Mr. Rolley-Polley liked to mow the lawn without his shirt on. Soon after the Rolley-Polley’s moved in, Barney planted a row of fast-growing trees in their backyard on the property line between their house and the neighboring house.
Needless to say, Ann was not surprised that the new neighbors had been christened with a nickname. She wasn’t even surprised that the new neighbors nocturnal habits had lead to the Vampire moniker. Both her parents liked bad scary movies and her mom loved horror novels. Ann left one of the over-sized living room chairs to peek out the kitchen window at the Vampire house.
“They have a garden.”
Joan shrugged.
“I don’t think vampires would need a garden,” Ann was smiling. She knew her parents didn’t believe the neighbors were really vampires.
What would vampires do with a garden?
“They garden at night. The only time we’ve seen them out there is after dark.”
“Anything else?” Ann asked as she returned to the living room.
“No, they’ve only been here a few weeks. Dad talked to the them for a few minutes right after they moved in.”
“Hmmm. Was Dad also out doing some nocturnal gardening at the time?”
“He was putting out the garbage. He saw Mr. Vampire in the driveway so he went over to say ‘hi.’”
“Did he find out their actual name?”
“He didn’t remember it. It’s Karnak or Kardasian or something.”
“Kardasian? Like Kim Kardasian?”
“Who?”
“Nevermind.”
Joan shook her head. “What should we have for supper?”

Barney was working in the yard. Barney liked his yard. He had planted a garden in the back and he spent a lot of time gardening and doing lawn work in the summer and shoveling the driveway in the winter. The grass in Barney’s yard was thick and green and cut twice a week to a precise two-inch height. The lawn was his kingdom and he was the king.
Because Barney was so frequently in the lawn, he noticed when the Vampires began making some strange alterations to their yard. They removed the deck on the back of the house and boarded up the sliding door. They put a large padlock on the backdoor to the garage. And, strangest of all, one of their garden level window wells was filled in with dirt until none of the glass was visible. The vampires didn’t even reseed the filled-in window well with grass. The dirt was like a scar on an otherwise well-kept lawn. A dirty, grass-less, dirt scar. King Barney hated it.

“Dad won’t quit complaining about that window-well,” Joan said to Ann on the phone one evening. Joan looked out the window in the kitchen, the one that looked out on the Vampire house.
“They just filled it in with dirt?” Ann asked.
“Yes,” said Joan. “You have to admit, it is weird.”
“It is,” said Ann. “I’m sure there is a good reason. Maybe they converted that space in the basement into a media room. You don’t want windows in a media room.”
“Media rooms are really popular now,” admitted Joan. “You brother keeps saying that he is going to have one in his next house. Remember that house we looked at during the Parade of Homes? The one with the big media room in the basement?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“That was nice.”
Ann sighed. “Yes, it was.”

Blogger Ethics

In Media class today we talked about media ethics. One of the points we tried to make was how changing technology brings up new ethical dilemmas. We discussed the Megan Meier suicide case (http://abcnews.go.com/TheLaw/story?id=7595756&page=1) and blogging. The internet makes it possible for amateur and unprofessional publishers to reach mass audiences. Suddenly, our own personal opinions and perspectives are available to mass audiences. I wonder how much impact our words have on the values and beliefs of others.

Yesterday David Lapakko brought up the website Rate Your Professor. It is possible to flame professors on this website. My feelings about websites like this are mixed. I have been known, in my time, to advise students to take or to avoid certain professors (mostly when I was TAing at NDSU). However, hearing my review of a professor in a one-on-one situation and reading a review of a professor on a website probably have two very different impacts. What is to stop people from writing horrible and false reviews of professors on these websites? What is to stop someone from writing a horrible and false account of anything on a blog? And how harmful could these comments be to individuals? Of course, I don't have any answer to any of these questions but the discussion surrounding these concepts has made me think more about my duty as a professor, a blogger, a communicator, and a citizen of this new technological world.

Blissful Ignorance

WOW. It has been a long time since I have blogged.

Mark and I were just IMing about finances. He told me he was giving me some information just so that I "was aware." I told him I didn't want to know, that I wanted to live in blissful ignorance. That is true. I do want to live in blissful ignorance about finances. Alas, it isn't possible.

Today in COM 120: Mass Media and Popular Culture, we somehow got on the topic of medicare and social security. I say "somehow" but what I really mean is that Wes declared to the class that they were going to be paying for his retirement. (Wes is my co-teacher for this class). But I digress (much like how I digressed in class when the following conversation happened). One of my students asked if it were true that they weren't going to have access to health care. Then another student asked if we thought that retirement wouldn't be something that their generation got to experience. I said that they would have the ability to retire if they started getting smart about their money now. Most of the students in this class are first-year students. I said they should start a savings account and even if they could only put in $5/month it would be something. As I type this I realize that I don't even do that. I am now resolved to starting a savings account with an automatic deposit this afternoon. I told the class that they didn't even have the luxury of ignorance that I had when I was their age. If I could go back in time and change some of the financial and life choices I made, I would certainly do so. However, there really is no use crying over things that can't be changed. All we can do is hope that we learn from past mistakes enough not to repeat them.

On another note, I'm thinking of starting to publish installments of a story that has been percolating in my head for some time here on Showering With Sharks. Is anyone out there that reads this blog interested in reading my story? (Shameless bid for affirmation and support).

Harper Chronicles: Chapter 7

Last night I was reading my "Caring for Your Young Child" book. Yes, I'm an academic. When I'm not sure exactly how to do something (like raise a child) I buy a book. As Harper is 4 months old today, I was reading the section on 4 to 7 month development. In the section on sleep in said that our 4-month-old should be skipping one feeding during the night, possibly sleeping through the night. I read it out loud. Harper is still getting up at least twice a night. After reading that section to Mark he said:

"I want our money back."

Harper Chronicles: Chapter 6

Harper is going to be baptized on Sunday. In preparation for the event, Mark and Harper and I attended Baptism 101 at church. I was a little nervous going into the class. Izzi, my goddaughter, was baptized when she was one month old. I was baptized at two months old. This is the extent of my experience with baptisms. Anyway, I was nervous that Harper was going to be the oldest baby at Baptism 101 and that all the other parents were going to think that Mark and I were unholy or something for putting it off until she is 4 months old. Happily, all the other babies at baptism class were almost the same age as Harper. There was one 4-week old there (with his parents, obviously). I told his mother I thought she was brave.

Personally, I was terrified of taking Harper out of the house until she was two months old. Part of this is because our pediatrician told us that she shouldn't be exposed to large crowds until she was 6-weeks to 2-months because of her still-developing immune system. The larger part, however, was that I was never sure how she was going to react to anything - especially in public. For the first two months of her life if she was awake and not eating she had to be moving. We either had to be bouncing her on the ball, bouncing her in her chair, or walking around with her. The chair and ball were difficult to transport to public places and all that walking gets exhausting. Hence, we didn't take her out much until she was about 10-weeks old.

We will be having mucho company for the baptism. My parents, Jared and Annie, and my gramma and grampa will be staying with us this weekend. Dan and Ang (Harper's godparents, along with Barb) and Izzi will be coming up and so will Kate and Nate and Steff. It's going to be a fun and busy weekend. It's a good thing my class finished last week so that I have time to clean my house this week. Now I'm just hoping that Harper behaves herself during the actual baptism. She likes bath-time, so I'm hopeful...

Harper Chronicles: Chapter 5

Harper's New Trick

Harper rolled over last night for the first time. She rolled from her back to her front. I've read that it is more common for babies to roll from their fronts to their backs first, but this would be difficult for Harper to accomplish as she spends most of her time on her stomach screaming bloody murder. Harper hates "tummy time" and nothing I do can convince her that it is actually good for her to spend time that way.

Considering her hatred of tummy time, I have to admit I was a little surprised at how diligently she rolled onto her stomach, over and over, once she finally got it figure out last night. Here's how it goes: Harper starts on her back, then she pulls up her legs and rotates them to the side (either side) taking her upper body with her. Then, she turns and mashes her face into the floor. This maneuver gets her 3/4 of the way onto her front. Next she wiggles her legs and hips until she actually works her way onto her stomach. The process is almost complete. Finally, she has to work her arm (which wound up underneath her chest) free.

I was so excited when she did it!!! She looked excited too for about 10 seconds. She did her mini-pushup and kicked her legs. Then she realized that she somehow wound up on her tummy. Then she remembered that he hates to be on her tummy. Then she started screaming. Of course, I tried to soothe her for a few seconds, but she is inconsolable when on her tummy. So I rolled her onto her back. She immediately began the process all over again. I would say that she rolled over about 7 times total and she was mad every single time she finally wound up on her stomach. All I can do at this point is hope that she learns how to roll from stomach to back soon, or I'm going to have a really mad baby on my hands....

Oh! as I type this there she goes again!!!!

Harper Chronicles: Chapter 4

Mark: If I were you, I'd be taking Harper on a walk every morning.

Me: Yes, that's a good idea. I'll take her on one tomorrow.

Monday, 2 p.m. Kristen and Harper set out for the library. It is about a 10 minute walk.

Nice lady at the library while I am checking out my four books: Oh, what a sweet little lady!

Harper: Waaaaaaaaa!

Harper as we leave the library: Waaaaaaaaaa!

Harper as we turn on to Pennsylvania Ave: Waaaaaaaaaa, waaaaaaaaaa, waaaaaaaaa!

Harper as we walk past the golf course: Waa, waa, waa, waa, waa, waa!

Harper as we turn onto Kelly Drive: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Harper as we turn into our driveway: sigh.

Harper as we go into the house: Waa aaa aaa aaa.

Me as I take Harper out of her carrier: pant, pant, pant (with sweat dripping)

Thanks Daddy. That walk was a good idea.

A Pro Sex, Pro Life, Pro Gay Marriage Woman

I like Meghan McCain. I just watched her on the Colbert Report. She defined herself as Pro Sex, Pro Life and Pro Gay Marriage. And she said some very intelligent things about the Republican Party.

http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/228068/may-18-2009/meghan-mccain

You may remember that I was involved in the RNC this past August as an instructor for the Washington Center. I learned a lot about the Republican Party and about politics during those two weeks. It was a great experience, even if there were moments where I wanted to tear out my hair and gouge out my eyes (during Rudy Guiliani's speech). Anyway, I think Meghan McCain has great ideas about the future of the Republic Party (not that I'm going to join it, or anything). On the other side, the new emphasis the Republican Party is putting on Ronald Reagan as the future of the Party is slightly ridiculous.

http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=228016&title=republicans-look-forwardjames

Dick Cheney Scares Me

Dick Cheney scares me. Not just his policies or his worldview (although those are plenty scary)... the physical reality of Dick Cheney. He looks like one of the Gentlemen on Buffy. Judge for yourself.

Harper Chronicles: Pictures

Here is a link to Mark's website. This is where most of Harper's pics get posted. I intend to post some pics here in my blog, but the galleries are always viewable here:

http://www.mchamberlain.us/harper.html