Oh what a tangled web we weave....

 There are many ways to pass the time when you are waiting somewhere with small children. Some parents pack activity books, some buy their kids electronic games or iPods and others, like Danny and I, find more creative ways.....like scaring them.

This last Saturday my oldest daughter was performing in an Opera at the Egyptian theater downtown. We had arrived an hour early to secure good seats. You might think this extra hour could be used for several relaxing activities. Such as - surfing Facebook on your phone, catch up on reading emails, or just enjoying a few minutes of peace and quiet.
 
Parents of young children realize this is a delusional notion. We understand that it will be an hour filled with "I'm hungry-s" and” I'm bored-s “and “she’s touching me-s". I believe this is why some countries limit reproduction to one child per family. My theory is that they found it cuts down on suicidal tendencies in parents. In families with multiple children we are desperate and thus resort to lying.
 
Within 5 minutes of finding our seats my daughters began fighting with each other. Earlier in the car I won the coin toss, so Danny had to sit next to them, separating me from the climbing female hysteria. I foolishly thought I would be shielded from their whining, since I was not in their field of view. Cleverly their father was pretending to sleep so they bypassed him to get to me. I had underestimated his ability to play dead....it's a true gift.
 
Not wanting to be out strategized by "Partner in Parenting" I had to act fast. Thinking on my feet I grabbed a nearby program ripped off small pieces, wet them with my spit and stuck the wads into my ears. Turning to my girls I held up my hands in a gesture of helplessness and mouthed "I can't hear you". It was a stroke of sheer brilliance!

The fighting began to escalate and I noticed looks of annoyance from several patrons. I also realized Danny had opened one eye and was trying to motion for my attention by blinking rapidly.
 
I took the makeshift ear plugs out and leaned in to hear what he wanted. “You know what to do" he said in almost an inaudible whisper. I knew immediately what he was referring to... With almost an hour still left, it was time for the big guns......time to get down to business.
 
I cracked my knuckles, cleared my throat and channeled my inner storyteller.

Show time!
 
I waited for a break in their verbal warfare and then jumped in. “Hey girls" I began. “Do you want to hear the story about the ghosts that haunt this theater?" This piqued their interests and they quieted with anticipation. Danny faked a snore in approval.
 
"Almost a hundred years ago they built this theater. It was the most famous Opera house in Idaho. The owners wanted the first show to be memorable, so they held open auditions for the lead roles in "Pier-A-Chew" ( I made up a gibberish French name that ended in what sounded like a sneeze...it was very convincing) and hundreds of people auditioned, but  it came down to just two women.”
 
“One was a famous actress from Chicago. She had traveled all the way from the windy city  to be the first actress to headline in this theater. She was pompous, spoiled and a tyrant. The other finalist was a young girl who had been orphaned as a child when her parents were killed in a terrible fire.” (Kids love tragedy, both girl were sucked right in)
 
“It was obvious to everyone that the best person for the part was the young girl. But fearing the anger of the famous actress the director gave the lead role to the spoiled evil actress and made the poor girl her understudy. This would prove to be a grave mistake.”
 
“The wicked actress hated the young girl because she knew that she had a better voice and should have been given the part. This made her crazy with jealously, so much that she decided she would do whatever she could to drive the poor girl from the theater forever!! “(My words dripped with venom and my girls coward away from me in the aisle)
 
“For weeks she tortured the young girl. She embarrassed her in front of the rest of the cast and made her do humiliating things” ( This is where Kaila, my more dramatic of my two daughters, demanded to know WHAT kind of humiliating thing.....in detail)
 
“Ummmmm..... Like having her kneel on her hands and knees so she could use her back as a foot stool!”  (Looking shocked Kaila nodded, satisfied with this explanation) “The poor girl felt like her dreams of becoming an actress were over. Every day she would hide in the prop room and sob in despair.” (With furrowed brows my daughter's eyes brimmed with sympathy)
 
“After one particularly torturous day the young girl left the rehearsal in tears and when the rest of the crew filtered back stage an hour later, they found her dangling from the rafter.....dead!” (Dun Dun Dun!!! both girls gasped in unison)
 
“Shortly after her death eerie things started happening in this theater.”
 
“The cleaning man swore he could hear a young girl singing up and down the darkened corridors late at night. The wicked actress claimed that things were moved mysteriously in her dressing room and once the words “I’m still here" was written on her mirror in blood red lipstick.”

Kaila was now on her feet. She stood poised like a Labrador and scoured the room for signs of a ghostly presence. "Do you hear that?" She squeaked “I hear a girl singing!" Makenna pulled her coat over her head and slouched down in her seat. Danny muffled a snicker and covered it with a fake snore.
 
I didn't feel like braking the mood by telling them that the singing was the choir rehearsing for tonight’s show, so I paused for dramatic effect, pretended I couldn't hear anything, and then launched back into my story.
 
“Well as they say in the theater “the show must go on" and so it did. Before long, it was opening night. Everything was ready. The music played softly and the audience sat waiting. The wicked actress took center stage....the curtains began to rise” (this part was said with slow intensity....this was the climax....I made them beg for it)
 
“Just as the actress opened her mouth to sing, a great ripping sound exploded in the theater and ( I pointed to a huge Egyptian pillar that lined the sides of the stage) that pillar came loose and crashed down onto the stage! Frozen in fear the actress was crushed under the thousands of pounds of concrete!”

 
“It took them 2 days to dig out her mangled body. That is how she became the second ghost to haunt this theater.” (The girls look nauseated, I smile in satisfaction)
 
I would have stopped there but I still had 10 minutes before show time so I added a cherry to the top of my terrible tale sundae.
 
“Ever since that fateful night many people have seen and heard spooky things while watching shows and attending events here. See that balcony (I pointed to the fake balcony that held lighting and a false door covered by flowing curtains) that used to be the actresses dressing room. After her accident they boarded it up.”

 
“No one has ever been in there since the night she died, but some say they have seen lights flicker on and the curtains swaying back and forth...almost as if someone was watching....waiting.” (both girls stared at the curtains trying to see if they could detect the slightest of movements)

 “Others have insisted that they can smell the faint scent of roses in the air after performances....rose was the perfume that the famous actress was known to wear on her all of her opening nights. “ (The girls shift uneasily in their seats, both sniffing the air like bloodhounds)
 
“Some say if you are here late at night you can still hear the singing of a young girl as she forever haunts the dark corridors of this theater….listen…can you hear her too?” (ridged with fear both girls start eyeing the illuminated exit signs)
 
Now you may be thinking that this story was too much for young children and that it's wrong to prey on the fear of other's.....and perhaps you are right. All I know is that I had successfully quieted my two quarrelsome chicklets into silence for almost an hour and the once "mortal enemies" were now clinging to each other for dear life. In my book the night was a success!
 
Almost as if on cue the lights dim around us, signaling that the show is about to begin. I hit Danny to rouse him from his fake slumber. “Oh look" I said “it’s time for the Opera to start!" I settled back in my seat glad that we had but two short hours to go until I can change into my PJ’s and call it a night.
 
Unfortunately it turns out to be a long night after all. Six times during the Opera I have to calm the fears of both of my daughters.
 
Kaila never once looked at the stage but insisted on staring at the fake balcony/dressing room the entire show. She kept repeating in my ear “Look mom the curtains are moving! And “I think the light just flickered ON! It was fast but I know what I saw!!" 
 
Makenna had a death grip on Danny's arm and after asking him to walk with her to the bathroom, changed her mind and decided to hold it for the entire duration of the show. She frantically sat rotating in her seat and made circular motions that resembled the spin cycle on my washing machine
 
After the show was over flowers were put into the arms of the main characters.

Above the fan fare I could hear the panicked shrill of my 8 year old as she loudly informed the couple next to her “Can you smell it? It smells like ROSES!?"They glanced at the stage filled with blossoms and gave her a nervous smile, no doubt fearing for her mental state.
 
I started to rethink my story. Perhaps I may have over done it a bit...
 
That night the girls insisted on sleeping with both the bathroom and hall lights on. I made a mental note to ease up on future haunting stories-Lesson learned.
 
On Monday at crossing I found myself surrounded by a large group of second and fourth graders. They all were humming with intensity. Makenna and Kaila were apparently leading this mob. Makenna spoke first “Mom we told our friends about the ghosts that live at the Egyptian theater and they have all been to that theater too and have seen the ghosts!"
 
For the next five minutes kids yelled over each other, each telling me stories of rose smelling perfume, lights flickering, curtains that move in the balcony/dressing room and ghostly singing. Some were very dramatic in their recalling of these experiences and one girl was convinced that she saw a pillar swaying the last time she watched a movie there.
 
With guilt I realized that later that night the parents of these children would be listening to these wild stories and searching for night lights, all while silently cursing the innocent crossing guard at their childs school.
 
 
Oh what a tangled web we weave....

Show me those Baby Blues

A few weeks ago a lady that my husband works with, asked if she could hire me to make 48 Trojan cupcakes and 40 white/dark chocolate dipped strawberries for an upcoming baby shower she was hosting. I enthusiastically said "Yes!" delighted for the opportunity.
 
She requested that I coordinate the cupcake colors so that they would match the brown and dusky blue of the shower invitation, so I immediately went to work scouring the internet looking for the PERFECT cupcake liners. After 3 hours of scrutinizing hundreds of patterns and designs I was temporarily cross eyed and had ordered 6 different kinds of liners unsure of which would match EXACTLY. I needed 48 liners so of course I ordered 300 ......seemed reasonable at the time.
 
Along with finding the perfect liners, I also had to match the frosting color to the blue found on the invitation. I'm a little obsessive about getting colors right, so I added  5 different blue dyes to my shopping cart hoping the variety would  guarantee an exact match.
 
For days I dreamed about finding precise color combinations. Every morning I woke irritated and unfortunately my family took the brunt of my color combination frustrations. " Kaila honey, I know you want to color that pumpkin purple but please use orange....just for this week ok?", "Makenna, please don't wear brown shoes with black pants....it just isn't right", "Danny white socks with dress pants....really? REALLY!?" Their creative color choices were maddening!!
 
The day before the baby shower I woke early and organized all my supplies. I hurried my loin nuggets off to be educated, did some light stretching (baking is a total body workout) and called my mom for moral support.
 
Focused and determined I grabbed my spatula and attacked the cupcakes with great fervor! 4 hours in, my mixer began to smoke and I noticed a tender spot on my right hand. A blister was inevitable. But still I persevered.
 
48 cupcakes down, 45 strawberries to go. I worked like a well oiled dipping machine! Pounds of white and dark chocolate melted with precise expertise, Strawberries swirled in lakes of chocolate goodness then adorned with coordinating drizzle. It was an unusually messy process and when all 45 strawberries were finished and sitting in an orderly line, I noticed my kitchen looked like a crime scene. My walls and table covered in chocolate blood splatter. I licked a clump off my counter like Hannibal Lecter.....it was delicious.
 
I tucked my little culinary masterpieces into their perspective cookie sheets with wax paper and prepared myself for the most difficult mission I had yet to face....transporting. With 15 minutes till departure I briefed Danny on the difficulty of our mission. We must get all goodies to the designated drop off zone without disturbing their sensitive frosting tops. After all presentation is everything!
 
I assigned Danny to be the driver with STRICT instructions- NO pot holes, NO going over 30 miles an hour (even when people honk), NO braking fast, and finally- NO rap music (nothing to do with the goodies ....I just don't like it)
 
I excepted the task of cupcake quality control manager....the Navy Seals of the pastry world. The entire trip I would be dangling over the back seats of our minivan upside down; each hand securely fastened between two cookie sheets making sure that each had their own "personal space".
 
While we drove I yelled warnings in Danny's direction. "TOO FAST! The cupcakes are sliding against each other, FOCUS MAN, FOCUS!" During one crazed corner two cupcakes smashed against each other like two horny teenagers in a mosh pit. "Hey Maniac!” I hollered "We are not racing in the Indy 500! That turn just broke off one of the chocolate hearts!!"  It was a good thing I had packed extra chocolate hearts. Boy scouts and bakers should always prepared.
 
Once he had stopped at a light, I contorted my body so that I could see what was causing him to drive so insanely. There he sat with the cell phone in his hand taking pictures of my gluteus maximus which hovered over the rear passenger seat. "ERASE those immediately!" I shrieked, helplessly frozen in my current position.
 
Danny apparently couldn't hear me over the radio. It seemed he had turned it up and directed it so that the speakers blasted the rear of the van. "Is that RAP music?" I said with as much loathing as I could muster with all the blood rushing to my head in my inverted position "If I had an extra cupcake I would throw it at your head!!" I threatened. The music was loud but I swear I heard chuckling from the front seat.
 
We arrived with only one casualty. I preformed last rights....for both Danny and the fallen chocolate heart garnish, then triumphantly carried in the survivors. We were greeted by a dozen sugar deprived women. They all swarmed around with "oohs and awes" hungrily eyeing the delicacies.
 
On my way out I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder one last time at my unsuspecting cupcake babies....I gave birth only yesterday and we were already saying goodbye.
 
"You are fired as my driver" I said glaring at Danny as we headed to the van.
 
"That's ok" he grinned looking at the booty pics he had taken of me with the phone "I'm thinking of becoming a photographer and selling my art at the farmers market"
 
I punched him hard on the shoulder....which I am happy to say left a little blue bruise the EXACT shade of the cupcake frosting.....
 
I told you I'm good with colors.

St. Patty's Day Mint Oreo Truffles

Mint Oreo Truffles

You will find yourself very "LUCKY" if you have ever eaten one of these Amazing Truffles! They are decadent, melt in your mouth, deliciousness! Mint Oreo Cookies and cream cheese coated in 3 different kids of chocolate....who needs a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow? I would rather find THESE!

I dipped them in 3 different kinds of chocolate

 My favorites are the Dark Chocolate ones...what can I say, I guess I'm the type of girl that likes a LOT of Chocolate!

Here is a link with step by step instructions. http://www.bakerella.com/its-no-sham%e2%80%a6these-rock/

Only I didn't use melting bark because I like the taste of Chocolate chips better. Just remember to add 2 TBS Crisco when melting a full bag of chips so that the consistency is perfect for dipping. Also After I freeze the balls for an hour I stick them with a toothpick to help with nonmessy dipping. When Chocolate has set, pull out the toothpick and cover the hole with a little extra piped melted chocolate. Otherwise it is exactly the same as the link.

 ENJOY!

Leprechaun trap

Last night my daughter Kaila worked diligently on her “special” project for St. Patty’s day.

While I dipped mint Oreo truffles for Danny’s work she would periodically interrupt me asking for scraps of string, permission to have some toilet paper and if she could use an old pizza box she found in the garbage. I absentmindedly agreed to all her requests glad that she was distracted.

This morning after shooing all my green clad offspring off to their designated schools I returned home and came across this beauty on the kitchen counter.

It was a Leprechaun trap. Complete with a handmade bed, a nightstand, money and welcome sign.

Kaila had left it in hopes that sometime today an unsuspecting little green man would stumble upon, smell the scent of recently eaten pizza and feel the need to take a nap. It was so clever and cute I decided that I had to take a picture of it for her scrapbook.

As I took a few shots I started to notice parts of this leprechaun trap that concerned me….concerned me GREATLY…..let me explain

This was the first picture I took- notice that she wrote something on the lid next to the large grease stain? On closer investigation this is what she had written-

LUCKY LEPRECHAUNS DREAM HOUSE

Nothing to be concerned about right?

On my next angled shot I paused reading the words “HOT-N-READY” printed along the side of the box.

Wait a second….what kind of Leprechauns are we trying to attract here? Lucky Leprechaun....Hot N Ready.....Has my daughter in her Innocence accidently created a Frat House? A bachelor pad for little hairy men with who crave stale pizza and have commitment issues? This would take further investigation!

I then looked that the furnishings of this so called “dream house”.

This included a broken down single bed (notice no accent pillows and I bet it is only single ply!)

And what is this?!(gasp!)

 Money left on the nightstand!!! And LOOK there are strings attached to this relationship (I bet it would include clipping his troll like toenails and waxing his hairy back!)  

So let's review-

Living out of a pizza box….grease stains on the walls….calls his home “lucky dream house”….single bed….money on the nightstand with strings attached….

Oh yes I have seen his kind before in bowling alleys and gun shows!

The only kind of leprechaun that would make his home in this trap would be the one doing the TRAPPING and my daughter would have NOTHING to do with that kind of degenerate!

He is the A typical “love em” and “leave em” type of Mythical Creature!

The only pot at the end of his rainbow would be the kind you grow illegally!

Don’t believe me? Just look at the picture kaila drew of him and his last girlfriend

Yes that's him all dressed up in his pimp attire doing NOTHING while SHE is left doing all the heavy work. And just look at his pompous grin and fancy hat! Disgusting!

I decided to take immediate action! I needed to protect my naive delicate daughters!

So I grabbed a nearby pen and paper and added my own note to her trap this one says-

Sorry Danny…it is for the greater good.



Picture Day

Yesterday was picture day. Twice a year my daughter’s elementary school  sends  home an envelope announcing that a professional photographer will be visiting the school and taking class and individual pictures.

Alongside the package descriptions there are several sample pictures depicting what your child could look like if you purchase these memorable keepsakes. Well dressed children stare back from these pages perfectly groomed and stain free.
 
I found myself caught up in the possibilities of displaying such nice works of art in my children's scrapbooks. I couldn’t help but think that with a little preplanning and a lot of luck, my own girls could look as perfect as theses “wax like” dolls that stared back at me from the page.
 
I'll probably want to send grandparents some, I decide, and opted for one of the larger packages. Heck, they might be so good the photographer may request to use a photo in an upcoming studio ad! The idea inspired me and I immediately started to make preparations for my perfect pictures.
 
The next morning came early and I pried the sleeping children out of their beds and dragged them to the bathroom already steam filled from the shower I had started for them to share."Wash your hair well" I instructed over the sound of the running water "and scrub off all the tattoos and pen marks or else no one is getting breakfast this morning!"
 
After 10 minutes, I returned with clean towels and tripped over a sleeping Kaila. It was clear that she never made it into the shower but rather crumbled to the floor as soon as I had left. She was now fast asleep in a puddle of her own drool mere inches from the toilet.
 
I hoisted her rag doll body over my left arm and proceeded to remove her PJ's and yesterday's hair bands one handed. This unfortunately created a huge rat’s nest in her hair and resulted in me having to rip the rubber bands out taking big clumps of Kaila’s hair with them!
 
This exercise definitely woke her up and put her in a delightful mood. Ignoring her over dramatic shrieking, I heaved her twiggy body into the air, lifted the shower curtain, and deposited her at Makenna's feet in the shower. I then gave them both a look of warning and held up one hand indicating that they had five minute to wash and get out. I left them arguing over which would get to use the shampoo first and started my search for matching shoes and 'non-holey' tights.
 
After returning to the bathroom for cleanliness inspections, I insisted that Kaila re-enter the shower and finish removing the soap from her hair (apparently she had used 10 times more soap them necessary). I then led them to their individual piles of coordinated and freshly pressed outfits.

 Makenna nodded approvingly at her black dress pants, shirt and trendy black vest and began to dress obediently.
 
Kaila, on the other hand, wrinkled her nose as if she has suddenly caught whiff of a decomposing body nearby and shifted her glare in my direction "I am not wearing this!" she announced defiantly pointing at her clothes. "Yes you are!" I called over my shoulder on my way out the door. "And I want you in the bathroom in 3 minutes so I can style hair”. I was confident from the loud growling emanating from Kaila's wet dripping body that she had heard me.

 I smiled at how successful the morning had gone so far.
 
Makenna entered the bathroom dressed and chatting up a storm. She is a morning person like her father so obviously I can't relate to her. Silently I held out a pair of my silver hoop earrings for her to borrow for the day. She was ecstatic and displayed her appreciation with enthusiastic hugs and loud squealing. This was way too much noise for 7:30 am and it took everything I had not to duck tape her mouth shut. After an excruciating 15 min of listening to "who has a crush on whom in the 4th grade” and straightening hair, she was now a perfect reflection of the photographer models. Success!

One down one to go
 
I called for Kaila next. After the 4th call and numerous threats she dragged her forlorn body up the stairs. I gasped at her attire. She was decked out in what could only be described as “Las Vegas meets Pippi Longstocking!”

Bright multiple patterned psychedelic leggings peaked out from a brown and pink plaid wool skirt. Her top was an oversized pink glitter tee shirt, screen printed with a large dog head. She had a scarf tied around her waist and a baseball cap on her head. To say I was horrified would be an understatement.
 
I like to think of myself as a convincing debater but all my years on the debate team never prepared me for the tenaciousness of this particular 8 year old. "You just don't understand my style" she argued. "I need my friends to see the real me and this is the real me!" she swept her hand dramatically down the front of her elaborate outfit. I tried to explain to her that she could “express her style” on Saturday's or when I'm out of town and her Dad is in charge…or perhaps on Halloween.

Nothing seemed to satisfy her and I was running out of time, so we made a deal. I picked the outfit - she picked the hair style. I won the battle but not the war. She ended up in my 'photo perfect' outfit with stringy frizzy ponytails. It was the best I could do under the circumstances.
 
After all of my efforts, sweat and tears, both daughters prepared to leave the house in picture ready form....more or less. I lovingly kissed them on their heads and left them with warnings of torturous punishments and horrible consequences if they messed up their hair or muddy their clothes before they had their pictures taken.
 
With minutes to spare I triumphantly opened the front door and…… gasped, then closed my eyes in despair. It was pouring rain.
 
Apparently the universe hates me.
 
I took one last look at my pristine daughters, let out a long sigh and asked for their picture packets back. I erased the big package I had earlier selected and just ordered a single 8x10. No need to order extras,  I was doomed.
 
 
“Well” I sighed....”At least I will have some embarrassing ammo to bribe them with once they’ve started dating.”
 
And Danny says I'm not an optimist.

Cold Feet

My husband totally and completely loves me....Would you like to know how I can tell?
 
There are several ways Danny expresses his feelings for me. It is in the way he kisses my forehead anytime I lean in towards him, the way he rubs my feet with lotion every night when I am pregnant and the adorable way he saves me the gooey center of a cinnamon roll (his favorite part).
 
But the most amazing way he displays his love for me is something I don't even think he realizes he does....because when he does it he is completely unconscious
 
I have poor circulation so my hands and feet are ALWAYS cold. I'm talking inhuman cadaver cold. In the middle of a summer heat wave I still wear socks to bed, no joke.
 
On the opposite end of the spectrum I married a small celestial entity, as in- a molten bubbling mass of lava resembling the sun which runs at a body temperature of 27 million degrees Fahrenheit. This seems to work out well for us since our opposite temperatures balance us like magnetic forces.
 
My favorite thing to do when coming in from the cold is to search out my unsuspecting husband and lovingly rap my arms around his neck. Then as soon as he has relaxed into my embrace I quickly slip my handsicles inside the nap of his shirt collar and plant them snugly in-between the dip of his shoulder blades...ahhhh Ecstasy!

Locked in a WWF strong hold he eventually gives up the squealing and writhing around until my hands warm up and I remove them. It is not that he specifically enjoys me feeding off his solar energy like an unwelcome parasite but after 11 years together I've exhausted him into submission.
 
This brings us back to how I know he loves me.
 
Every night after the house has settled and silence has tucked itself around slumbering dreamers, I lay awake reading to the rhythmic pattern of my sweethearts breathing. He has long sense turned in for the night and is lost in visions of football and Carl’s JR bacon burgers. It is during this time when the depth of his love is expressed so unknowingly.
 
Without thought or pretense he extends his leg closest to me and blindly searches through sheets, and sometimes children, until he makes contact with my frozen feet.

He shivers slightly at the corpse like contact and then sighing, he places his foot firmly against mine drawing the cold within himself and replacing it with the love only he can give me....his unconscious sacrifice for my comfort and well-being warms my wanting feet and my tender heart.
 
If you take away the words "I love you" (a phrase that can be said as part of routine and added as an afterthought) and if you take away premeditated actions (these can be rooted in obligation) what you have left is impulse. And from impulse you find simple undeniable truth.
 
And so it is that this playful, tender, wonderful man (who is endless in his tolerance of my flaws and insecurities) continues nightly to keep the promises he made 11 years ago on our wedding day....to protect me from a broken heart, the depth of loneliness and my ever constant cold feet.
 

 

Smurfsville

Today was a quiet day. Danny and I had argued this morning about his excessive xbox playing and the discussion ended in neither of us relenting, so we settled into playing the popular married game of "the first one that contacts the other must be wrong" AKA the silent treatment. I have a nearly perfect score at this game and although I love to talk, I love to win arguments even more. 

It was 2:00 in the afternoon before I heard a word from him (a new personal best time for him holding out) and I smiled at the FB message he left me indicating he would like to chat with me online. 

His message was all the reassurance I needed that my side of the argument was valid and once again all was back to normal in my sheltered little world.

That was until we began our conversation. "Hi" he typed, waiting to make sure I was really online. "Hi" I answered back (I didn't want to seem too eager so I left off the smiley icon) 

I could see that he was typing again by the conversation bubble and waited for what I was sure would be a sweet and remorseful apology about being sensitive to my feelings and ending with a promise of repentance. I was already planning a gracious acceptance and an expression of gratitude at his remorse. In my mind it was a total hallmark moment and my eyes moistened with premeditated emotion.

Finally his message posted "Hey will you go on the iPad and harvest my crops and then replant them on smurfsville" 

My fingers hovered frozen over the  "<" and "3" keys preparing to reward his sweet apology with a heart icon..."What did he just say?" I asked myself out loud in the solitude of my bedroom.

 I reread his entry 3 times before responding. "Did u just ask me to harvest and then replant your imaginary SMURF plants?" even though we were online chatting my typing dripped with disbelief and sarcasm. 

Where was my heart felt apology? My validation of rightness?  Was this some kind of new Jedi mind trick? And what the heck was Smurfsville?!

Moments later this was his response, "Yes, they have to be harvested or they will Wilt and die and I'm helping Makenna get to level 7" not even a please accompanied his request.

A storm cloud settled over my computer. Who did he think I was....a cyber farmer?  Did he believe I had nothing better to do all day then harvest imaginary plants?! Had the pressure of being wrong made him INSANE? 

I stomped down the stairs like a pouting 2 year old and snatched the iPad off it's dock grumbling under my breath like a psycho maniac. I rambled on about how my acceptance speech was going to include a few lines about appreciating his levelheadedness, that recognizing his fault and taking action quickly showed real maturity....maturity my ARS! ( I tend to only swear with an Irish accent....it is more effective that way). He was spending his time tending a garden for little blue cartoon characters for heaven sakes! 

I found the smurfsville icon/app on the iPad desktop (it was listed at the top of his importance list...even before his sweet wife's blog...grrrrr!) and harvested his precious little imaginary crops, then replanted like the obedient wife I was. I then reported back that his request was completed. Venom dripped from my now extended fangs forming a puddle on the keyboard.

I gave him one final chance to redeem himself before I started planning his funeral "Anything else my DARLING?" I spelled out with such force that I completely removed the letter G imprint from the key pad. 

"Yes, actually" he began...

I stopped sprinkling itching powder into his jock strap and waited for him to finish....what he would type next would either be his savings grace or the nail in his coffin....

"Try to be nice to me today" he wrote "You have been really grumpy lately" 

I think he might have typed something after that but if he did, I missed it. I was too busy gathering his xbox games and sprinting to the garage in search of the hammer

Don't feel too bad...he always has Smurfsville.

Doggie Bag Dilemma

I have not eaten leftovers from a restaurant for over 10 years now.

It is not that I wouldn’t like to place the remainder of my pasta or Panini in a doggie bag- Oh no, I have every desire to reheat and devour my unfinished meal as a late night snack or a mid morning treat, but alas it’s a silly girls farfetched dream. Let me explain.

I come from a family of 6 kids. Dinner time resembled a scene from the book "The lord of the flies". The older kids pushed and shoved grabbing the biggest and best of whatever happened to be on the menu that night. The smallest of the family were saved from certain starvation by my mother who had portioned and precut their meals separately allowing for extra cooling time.

It was my sister and I (the middle children) that had to resort to tactical measures, such as creative distractions and booby traps, which provided us precious seconds to snatch handfuls of whatever food was within arm’s length and flee as a way of survival. In my early years is where I learned to eat as much as I could as fast as I could….oh and how to run a thermometer under hot water to fake sick and play hooky…two very important lessons.

Dating was a great change of pace for me –no longer did I have the need to wolf down my meals with lighting speed. Something I realized by accident, when I observed the shocked look on my date’s face after I unhinged my jaw and consumed half a hot pastrami sandwich in a single bite on our first date. Lucky for me he saw passed this flaw and provided me several more practice meals in return for sparkling conversation, oh and maybe a kiss or two.

I quickly fell into a comfortable routine of daintily eating at restaurants while maintaining my feminine exterior and then finishing whatever I had packed home in the comforts of my flannel Pjs and late night talk shows.

And so years passed and my casual cuisine routine settled into second nature…until I married Danny. I love my husband that goes without question. I have never met another human being that does not take to heart the saying “what mine is yours, and what yours is mine”  The only problem is when this comes to food I do not agree with his enthusiasm for sharing.

He is and will always be a FAST eater. One time I was privy to him eating a 1lb fully loaded hamburger at Fuddruckers in under 3 minutes (see pic below). Most people would want to hurl or at least lie down after such a meal marathon but not Danny, within 30 minutes he was suggesting they order dessert. He is the star of his own “Man Verse Food” episode and more often than not in his case ‘MAN’ wins.

This weekend was a perfect example of my delimma. Within seconds of Danny finishing his meal I could feel the predatory stare of his inner carnivore shift in my direction. His plate held nothing but a parsley sprig and a lone tomato but mine was still filled with delicious food.

“Umm are you going to eat that?” he asks eyeing my steak, his fingers inching towards my side of the table. I quickly move my plate 2 additional inches out of his line of vision, using my arm to cover my food protectively and continued my sensible reasoning on why it was important to have heels in both Black AND Brown.

The longer it takes me to finish my meal the more desperate Danny gets . Before long he has finished off what remains of the bread basket and asks for his water glass to be filled 3 more times, much to the annoyance of our waitress.

 I pick at my seasoned mashed potatoes and tell him about my amusing mix up between fabric softener and laundry detergent earlier that day- Hilarious!

He fidgets, eyeing my pink steak hungrily like a red eyed vampire. His posture resembles a low crouching puma ready to pounce.

Feeling full…and slightly scared that he could snap at any second, misjudge the distance and sink his teeth into my arm, I take pity on him and slide my plate across the table.

 Innocently he looks surprised “You’re done? Are you sure?” He asks barely audible through a mouth full of medium rare steak and potatoes.  I nod amused.

 Exactly 2 minutes later we are signing the check and preparing to leave. There is no doggie bag in site, no late night meal or mid morning treat in my future.  But none-the-less we have everything we need- full bellies and each other (Plus a roll that I hide in my pocket while he went to the bathroom, Shhhh!)