Flashback Friday…

As I was shaving this morning I couldn’t help but smile and remember the very first time my legs were shaved…



Growing up, our family naturally split into clicks. Paula and James were in their own world, Lizzy and Cole were best friends, and John, Mike, and I were attached at the hip.

So it should come as no surprise that I wasn’t the most ‘feminine’ of the girls. John, Mike, and I were the reason mom had to enact the ‘shower at least once per week’ rule.

When I hit 13, Cole would constantly tell me that I needed to shave my legs. I was completely aware of the hour and a half it took her and Liz to get ready and I wanted NOOOOO part of that business.

Cole had started shaving at about the age of 9 declaring to mom, ‘I fell in the shower and the razor accidentally shaved my legs.’ She was a die hard fan of hairlessness.

Months went by while Cole and I continued to debate the issue.

Cole was a rather plump teen and would frequently use her weight to intimidate the rest of us.

And by intimidate, I mean… sit on us (which is probably why Liz and I have permanent serious cases of claustrophobia). She’d tell you to do something and if you didn’t, she would sit on you until you caved (literally and figuratively).

One summer afternoon, I walked into the bedroom Cole, Liz, and I shared wearing a tiny pair of purple shorts. Cole angrily glared at me while I walked by her with my defiantly unshaven legs. She calmly walked out and came back in 3 minutes later with a can of shaving cream, a razor, and a very intimidated Lizzy at her side.

She quickly cornered me, shoved me to the ground, and sat on me while screaming to Lizzy, ‘Spray her down with shaving cream and go! Go! Go!!!’

I tried to fight back but quickly realized that fighting back resulted in nicks from the razor.

10 long minutes later, my legs were cleanly shaved. I told Nicole I hated her and went into the bathroom to rinse off. As I put my legs under the cool water, I rubbed my hands on them to wash off the patches of blood mixed with shaving cream and noticed… they felt really… nice.

I dried them off and stared at them in the mirror while thinking, ‘Holy cow! I have cool looking legs!’

I never admitted to Cole that I actually liked the result but I continued to shave under the argument that I didn’t like ‘itchy, spiky’ legs.

I’m not sure when I would have started shaving. Probably when I began to think boys were cute when I was like… 20.

So, thank you Cole for sitting on me – that time and ONLY that time. I like my legs.

Silly Chris…

I got home from work tonight and noticed Chris sitting on the couch with a huge grin just staring at his TV. Near the front door was a sealed box from our cable service provider… the box containing our high definition cable box.

‘Hon, you’ve been home for an hour and you haven’t pried open this box yet?!?!?’ I asked while leaning down to pick up the package.

I flipped it over and noticed he had already tore it open, installed the HD box above the TV, put the old cable box in the package and sealed it to mail it to our cable company.

He just nodded his head in my general direction. ‘Babe, I already took care of…’ then he cut himself off, transfixed by the HD NFL network which is now showing crystal clear re-runs.

This. Is my new life.

It was nice knowing him.

Ten minutes before his class was to start, he tore himself away running out the door hoping to make it in time.

I tidied up the house, did the dishes, and started to open the mail HE brought in. In all his efforts to watch his new TV in High Def, he missed this very important letter:

Dear Christopher:

Congratulations! You have been admitted to San Diego State University for the Fall 2008 semester. Each year, our selection requirements become increasingly rigorous, and you should take pride in the fact that you are among our highly qualified admitted students…


There were a record number of applicants this year (somewhere in the neighborhood of 65,000) and he didn’t think he would make it.

But he’s in class tonight totally unaware that he made it…

So I’m celebrating by myself.

Cheers!

We’ll take that one…

For the last 3+ years, Chris has worked odd jobs on the weekends. We use this money to vacation, pay bills, pay dental bills… you get it.

He has never asked to keep any of the money for himself, he simply hands over the checks for me to deposit into our account.

This weekend, he worked Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday. He had already spent Monday through Thursday up late into the wee hours of the morning working on homework and rather than kick back, he went out to earn us some extra money.

The guilt was overwhelming.

So while he was out ‘working hard for the money’, I looked into making his fantasy into a reality…

Getting a big screen plasma HD TV.


I did a little research and made some decisions.

Last night he got home from work completely exhausted. I mentioned my idea and it took about 8 seconds for him to get into his truck and start yelling for me to hurry up.


At our destination, I pulled out my 4 pages of 10 point font research and started saying, ‘OK, this one received an 8.3 rating and this one received a 7. BUT, this one received a high customer satisfaction rating which I trust a little more because it’s normal people looking at it, not super judgmental computer geeks. And according to the average reviewer, at a distance of 6 feet, the optimal resolution is…’


Chris started laughing, grabbed my face, and kissed me.

Hmm. Two things. 1-He’s excited to get a TV. 2-He could care less about my research.

I gave in, pointed, and said, ‘In short, if you like this one, buy it.’

He loaded it onto the cart and started walking through the store. Every guy in the place was looking at him and smiling in complete envy.

I was tempted to ask him if he wanted to do a victory lap around the store but decided against it because… he probably would have.

So now I have a tiny living room with a ridiculous looking 50 inch plasma HDTV and a husband who hasn’t stopped smiling since yesterday.




Thank you honey for being the selfless man you are. You make life a joy.



Out with the old... in with the new...

Sometimes… I wish my mom wasn’t there…

When I got started in the culinary arts program and mom joined with me, I was thinking, ‘Yeah, this will be fun. We’ll be able to hang out and learn new things together.’

But I’ve learned that having dear ol’ mom there isn’t so great sometimes.


Going to class with mom is like going to class with Jesus.


At the end of our lab session, we have to sign out. On Tuesday, the crowd surrounding the sign out sheet was thick. I was next in line but a guy came out of nowhere and attempted to take the sheet from my hands. Fortunately, one of my lab partners grabbed it back and gave it to me. I signed the sheet and the sign out stealing guy expectantly jabbed his hand in front of me and grunted for my pen. No ‘Please may I use your pen?’, or even a ‘Do you mind?’, nothing. Just a belittling grunt, like I don’t even deserve to be spoken to like a real human being. I stopped and stared at him with complete indignation then clicked my pen shut and said, ‘Actually, it’s my pen and I’m leaving. Use your own!’ with all the attitude of Kanye West at the Grammy’s.

Mom just looked at me and nodded her head in shame.

Sure my tone wasn’t exactly friendly but I followed it with a fake smile. That has to count for something!

Mom! He was a jerk!

I swear I heard her moral police say, ‘Turn the other cheek’ and ‘Do unto others’.



Then…

The teacher was in the middle of explaining kitchen safety and said, ‘In case of fire or if you get burning liquids spilled on you, these chef jackets are meant to be ripped right off’ then proceeds to demonstrate by tearing his jacket off, exposing a tight t-shirt clinging to his obviously well toned body.

Drooling in class? Bad idea?

All the girls blush and giggle, meanwhile, mom leans over and whispers, ‘I didn’t know that. What great jackets.’


Uh. Yeah mom. The jackets are great.


So is the chef’s chest.

But I can’t say that. I’m forced to stare at my notebook and say, ‘Jackets. Yeah. Great. Whatever.’



Paula, you should really be in this class.

Sure, he sets off my gaydar but let’s see… he rides a motorcycle, he’s a super great chef, he works out, and…he’s the only teacher I’ve ever had that makes me want to pray for a grease fire.

Happy Anniversary...

... to James and Stef!

Hope it was a good one!!

If you missed it...

Go check out Lizzie's BLOG. Apparently naming kids is a difficult thing but I'm so glad we have the wisdom of our Ozark family members.

http://www.cherishingthelittlehands.blogspot.com/

Flashback Friday…

I’ve decided to flashback to some very dark years in my life. Dark years our family rarely speaks about.

But I can’t stay quiet forever.

I need to break the silence.


I’m talking about…….

Mexico.


Mom and dad never had a lot of extra money lying around. Perhaps that’s because anyone with 7 kids is bound to be broke for life. But somehow, we always had the things we needed and a few extra things we wanted.

Life was good.

Well. Until about 1993 when mom and dad traded hardware supplies with a world renowned orthodontist for braces for 5 of us kids.

The guy was an orthodontic genius who frequently traveled the world training others. Though American, he practiced dentistry on the other side of the border.

Those were the 2 ½ longest… darkest… years of my life. Once a month, we crossed the Mexican border and forever it will haunt us…

I’ve tried to block it out but the occasional nightmare filled with children screaming ‘Chiclets, Chiclets’ while chasing me down the dirty streets of Tijuana wake me and flood my tortured mind with memories.



Our car insurance stopped at the American border so we’d park on the US side and walk across to Tijuana. The big, metal, gates that only spin one way somehow promise that once you leave the United States… you’ll never get back.

Those same gates almost claimed John’s life (This said with the dramatics of a Mexican Soap Opera).

We were walking through the massive metal gates and into Mexico when we heard a long ‘BONG!’ We looked back to see John’s head lodged between the bars on the gate. His flailing body was in Mexico with his screaming head stuck in California.

Once we stopped laughing *cough* I mean, once we ‘assessed the situation’, we recruited some friendly border crossers to hold the gate while we yanked John-E’s head out. He didn’t think it was funny, but the snickering Border Patrol Agents did.



A few months later, John and Mike were required to wear head gear. If you’ve never seen head gear (since most people are ashamed to been seen in public with it) it looks like this:

The orthodontist wouldn’t let John and Mike leave without wearing it so they were forced to go outside… in public… with headgear on. Rather than chalk it up to, ‘These are the embarrassing years in my life and I’m just going to have to deal with it’, they decided to pretend the headgear was a government issued communication device. They would stick their fingers up to the metal protruding from their braced mouths and say, ‘Copy that home base we are on our way’ while busily walking down the streets in Tijuana.

I’m very sure that 13 year old boys with head gear were believable as CIA agents.



Our family group was predominantly female and my two older sisters were gorgeous skinny blonde model types. Unfortunately, this prompted a lot of male gawking and frequent dirty words and gestures. Trying to avoid this, mom would tell us to look at the ground and keep walking – fast.

What she didn’t say was… ‘Watch where you are going’.

That would have been helpful.

As we were walking home one afternoon, I walked full speed into a street sign and knocked myself off my feet.

Sitting on the littered sidewalk, I was suddenly surrounded by tiny children taking advantage of my incapacitated state. ‘Chiclets! Chiclets! Chiclets!’ they yelled. I tried to scream for mom but she took her own advice and kept her eyes down while ‘walking’ about as fast as an Olympic marathon runner.

Thanks.



We survived those years… barely… and we all have beautiful straight teeth but we will forever be haunted our Mexican past (and forever laugh about them over Sunday dinners while mimicking John’s head stuck sideways in the gates – arms flailing).

Thank you Mexico?

And here are some pictures from mom. A fluke storm hit San Diego...

All in favor of global warming say 'Aye'...