Tonight my husband and I went with his parents and sister to the Jim Brickman Holiday Concert. It was fabulous. It was a great mix of holiday music, romantic hits, and audience interaction. At least I thought so.
I have so much I want to say about the concert, and the range of emotions I felt listening to the beautiful music and lyrics, but as I sit at the computer and type, everything is clouded by an overwhelming feeling of sadness.
I want to share why I'm feeling this way, but even as I'm sitting here thinking about it, it's only making me sadder. I feel like if I blog the details, I'm going to fixate on it. And if I ever re-read the post, I'm going to remember how awful I feel right now and I don't want to remember this feeling.
So I know this a post of gibberish and not much else, but I just felt like I needed to say ... something. Hopefully a good night's sleep will be the remedy to all that ails me.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Spreading the Spirit of Christmas
My sister sent me this story, and I thought it was a perfect example of how I continue to believe in Santa Claus. (I'd love to give proper credit, but she didn't know who wrote it originally.) I hope you enjoy this as much as I did.
**********************************************************************
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.
I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb:
"There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.
I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me.
"No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now put on your coat and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous, cinnamon bun.
"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.
"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. ?I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.
I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that, Bobby Decker didn't have a cough. What he didn't have was a coat.
I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.
"Yes," I replied shyly. "It's ... for Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) and wrote on it, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus"
Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.
Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.
Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going." I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering beside my Grandma in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were:
"Ridiculous".
Santa was alive and well, and we were a team.
I still have the Bible, with the tag tucked inside: $19.95
*******************************************************************
Believe.
**********************************************************************
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.
I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb:
"There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.
I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me.
"No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now put on your coat and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous, cinnamon bun.
"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.
"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. ?I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.
I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that, Bobby Decker didn't have a cough. What he didn't have was a coat.
I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.
"Yes," I replied shyly. "It's ... for Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) and wrote on it, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus"
Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.
Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.
Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going." I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering beside my Grandma in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were:
"Ridiculous".
Santa was alive and well, and we were a team.
I still have the Bible, with the tag tucked inside: $19.95
*******************************************************************
Believe.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Charlotte Arts: The Nutcracker
One of my favorite Christmas memories is going to see The Nutcracker. I remember getting dressed up and going to see the ballet every year when I was little. I also remember falling asleep a few times, but I was four or five years old... can you blame me?
My husband and I have continued the tradition of seeing The Nutcracker before Christmas. We don't go every year, but we try to see it as often as we can. Each ballet company and orchestra uses different choreography and arrangements, so every time we see it, it's like new!
Last night we went to see the North Carolina Dance Theatre's production, and it was wonderful. They were accompanied by the Charlotte Symphony Orchestra, and they were truly fantastic. Of course, I'm a sucker for a great orchestra. The performance included professional dancers, of course, but also used ballet students from the community, so there were lots of adorable children too.
This was my first experience with the arts in Charlotte and I was not disappointed. I am, however, disappointed in myself for not seeing any other shows before last night. Charlotte offers a range of options, from orchestra to dance, and community theatre to professional touring companies. I love the arts and I need to do a much better job of supporting them, especially in my new home!
Thanks to the NC Dance Theatre and the Charlotte Symphony Orchestra for their introduction to the Charlotte performing arts. I'll be back soon, I promise!
My husband and I have continued the tradition of seeing The Nutcracker before Christmas. We don't go every year, but we try to see it as often as we can. Each ballet company and orchestra uses different choreography and arrangements, so every time we see it, it's like new!
Last night we went to see the North Carolina Dance Theatre's production, and it was wonderful. They were accompanied by the Charlotte Symphony Orchestra, and they were truly fantastic. Of course, I'm a sucker for a great orchestra. The performance included professional dancers, of course, but also used ballet students from the community, so there were lots of adorable children too.
This was my first experience with the arts in Charlotte and I was not disappointed. I am, however, disappointed in myself for not seeing any other shows before last night. Charlotte offers a range of options, from orchestra to dance, and community theatre to professional touring companies. I love the arts and I need to do a much better job of supporting them, especially in my new home!
Thanks to the NC Dance Theatre and the Charlotte Symphony Orchestra for their introduction to the Charlotte performing arts. I'll be back soon, I promise!
What I'm reading: On Strike for Christmas
I read On Strike for Christmas last year, but I decided to read it again after I saw the Lifetime movie based on this book.
I picked this book up for some fun, easy holiday reading for the airplane last year, and it definitely fit the bill. The premise of the book is just what the title suggests - women of the small town of Holly go on strike at Christmas because they feel unappreciated by their husbands and families, overwhelmed by the holiday preparations, and/or misunderstood by their husbands.
Each woman has a different reason for going on strike, and each husband has a different approach for handling the strike. For example, Joy wants to show her husband Bob, or Bob Humbug as she calls him, how sad and lonely Christmas would be if they did things his way. Laura wishes her husband Glen would understand how difficult it is to do everything by herself at Christmas and hopes that by making him do it all by himself, he'll appreciate how challenging it is and help her in the future. Of course, not every woman goes on strike. For example, Carol's husband and son died, and resents the women for not appreciating how lucky they are to have family to celebrate with this year. Jerri is undergoing chemotherapy and desperately wants to give her family a memorable Christmas, but simply doesn't have the strength to do anything.
The story unfolds as these women experience the holidays via their husbands' hapless and sometimes vengeful execution, and they share these experiences with each other. The women and the men learn about what is important to them, and both sexes learn they need to make compromises around the holidays. The story wraps up quite nicely, but perhaps a little too conveniently. However, Roberts' writing flows easily and allows for a quick read, and the story is relatable and funny.
Re-reading the book this year made me think a little bit about our Christmas drama, and my own need to do things "just so" around the holidays. I love the way my family celebrates Christmas, and I sometimes feel like I've forced my type of family Christmas on my husband, though he doesn't seem to mind and actually seems to enjoy it. Still, I was reminded that everything doesn't have to be done my way, and that holidays after marriage involve a great deal of compromise, but it's also my love and care that truly make Christmas special.
Friday, December 17, 2010
It's beginning to smell a lot like Christmas...
I broke down and spent the day baking. I couldn't help myself. It just didn't feel like Christmas without a few cookies.
I set aside a half dozen of each kind I made, and then packed up the rest to give away. I know it's hard to give away cookies this time of year because everyone is baking, but I found a loop hole to that rule and decided to take advantage of it. Guess who doesn't have a ton of Christmas cookies this time of year? Single guys. Who work with my husband.
I made three kinds of cookies, plus chocolate covered pretzels. I'd been dying to try the Andes Mint Cookies I read about on the 12 Days of Christmas Cookies at The Girl Who Ate Everything so I made those first. The cookies taste like cake batter, and I appreciated the mint that bumped the cookie from everyday to holiday. They were good, and I'll probably keep them in the holiday cookie rotation, but I don't know if I'll make them every year. I'm sure they'd be awesome if I could bake.
My mother-in-law makes toffee bars every year and they are my husband's favorite, so I made a quick batch of those as well. I made them without nuts because my husband is allergic to them but otherwise followed the recipe exactly. After they cooled, I popped them in the freezer because that is how my husband prefers to eat them, and I have to admit, I agree with him. Frozen toffee bars are delicious.
The other cookie I made was an Oatmeal Craisin White Chocolate Chip Cookie that I slightly adapted from this Ocean Spray recipe. The "foodie" at my husband's office said it was one of the top two cookies he's ever eaten, and I'd have to agree. If I baked it and they're good, they are truly delicious cookies. You should bake them immediately.
Oatmeal Craisin White Chocolate Chip Cookies
INGREDIENTS
I'm such a good Christmas housewife.
I set aside a half dozen of each kind I made, and then packed up the rest to give away. I know it's hard to give away cookies this time of year because everyone is baking, but I found a loop hole to that rule and decided to take advantage of it. Guess who doesn't have a ton of Christmas cookies this time of year? Single guys. Who work with my husband.
I made three kinds of cookies, plus chocolate covered pretzels. I'd been dying to try the Andes Mint Cookies I read about on the 12 Days of Christmas Cookies at The Girl Who Ate Everything so I made those first. The cookies taste like cake batter, and I appreciated the mint that bumped the cookie from everyday to holiday. They were good, and I'll probably keep them in the holiday cookie rotation, but I don't know if I'll make them every year. I'm sure they'd be awesome if I could bake.
My mother-in-law makes toffee bars every year and they are my husband's favorite, so I made a quick batch of those as well. I made them without nuts because my husband is allergic to them but otherwise followed the recipe exactly. After they cooled, I popped them in the freezer because that is how my husband prefers to eat them, and I have to admit, I agree with him. Frozen toffee bars are delicious.
The other cookie I made was an Oatmeal Craisin White Chocolate Chip Cookie that I slightly adapted from this Ocean Spray recipe. The "foodie" at my husband's office said it was one of the top two cookies he's ever eaten, and I'd have to agree. If I baked it and they're good, they are truly delicious cookies. You should bake them immediately.
Oatmeal Craisin White Chocolate Chip Cookies
INGREDIENTS
- 2/3 cup butter, softened
- 2/3 cup brown sugar
- 2 large eggs, room temperature
- 1 1/2 cups quick oats
- 1 1/2 cups flour
- 1 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 cup Craisins Original Dried Cranberries
- 1/2 cup Craisins Pomegranate Juice Infused Dried Cranberries
- 1/4 cup Craisins Blueberry Juice Infused Dried Cranberries
- 2/3 cup white chocolate chips
- Preheat oven to 375ºF.
- Using an electric mixer, beat butter or margarine and sugar together in a medium mixing bowl until light and fluffy. Add eggs, mixing well.
- Combine oats, flour, baking soda and salt in a separate mixing bowl. Add to butter mixture in several additions, mixing well after each addition.
- Stir in Craisins and white chocolate chips.
- Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheets. Bake for 10-12 minutes or until golden brown.
- Cool on wire rack.
I'm such a good Christmas housewife.
A Southern Snowstorm
I'm attempting to blog from my Blackberry today, so please forgive me in advance for the numerous typos and weird page breaks.
The reason I am blogging from my cell phone is because Southerners don't know how to handle ice. Or I should say, the idea of ice because there's not really any ice on the ground.
It rained last night, and the temperature dropped into the 20s overnight, so the water sort of froze. I say sort of because it definitely froze on windshields and sidewalks, but not really on the roads. The ground is still too warm and the traffic kept the water from settling long enough to freeze on the roads. So yes, it was a little slippery this morning when I went outside, but nothing serious. And of course, the temperature climbed back above 32 by 7am so the ice was already starting to melt.
I had an appointment scheduled for 9 this morning, and the place is about 45 minutes away, so I got up early this morning. I watched the local news, saw all the accidents and school delays, and decided to leave extra early so I could take my time. I didn't see the place I had an appointment on the list of delays and closures, and my phone call and email to check on the status of our appointment went unanswered (it was only 7:30am afterall) so off I went!
Traffic was slightly backed up, but no more than the usual rush hour backups. In fact, the roads were perfectly fine. Wet, but absolutely fine.
So imagine my surprise when I arrived for my appointment, only to find out that the office wasn't opening until ten. The windows are dark, the doors are locked, and I'm sitting here like a doofus, trying to figure out what to do.
I learned last year that Charlotte does a lot of anticipatory weather closings. They see snow or ice in the forecast, freak out, and close everything. This is because a) they don't have salt trucks, and b) they only have 8 snowplows for the entire city. Ok, I don't know the exact number, but I'm pretty sure I heard 8 last year. Anyway, everyone freaks out that the snow is coming, they make bread and milk runs to the grocery store, and generally hide out until the storm passes. Businesses close (my husband had snow days from work), schools close, and the city essentially shuts down.
The problem is that nothing ever happens. The snow turns out to be flurries (maybe) or the front goes completely north of us, and everyone looks like a bunch of idiots. And then I'm stuck waiting here because the powers that be trusted the weatherman instead of walking outside.
I'm annoyed that I got up early and left extra early to ensure I'd make my appointment on time. I'm annoyed that there wasn't any sort of message on the voicemail that they'd be closed until ten. I'm annoyed that I'm just sitting here, trying to figure out what to do - is my appointment postponed? Cancelled? Will they reschedule? Does this mean I have to drive an hour and a half roundtrip again on another day?
But mostly I'm annoyed because I have to wonder these things on a perfectly fine day.
The reason I am blogging from my cell phone is because Southerners don't know how to handle ice. Or I should say, the idea of ice because there's not really any ice on the ground.
It rained last night, and the temperature dropped into the 20s overnight, so the water sort of froze. I say sort of because it definitely froze on windshields and sidewalks, but not really on the roads. The ground is still too warm and the traffic kept the water from settling long enough to freeze on the roads. So yes, it was a little slippery this morning when I went outside, but nothing serious. And of course, the temperature climbed back above 32 by 7am so the ice was already starting to melt.
I had an appointment scheduled for 9 this morning, and the place is about 45 minutes away, so I got up early this morning. I watched the local news, saw all the accidents and school delays, and decided to leave extra early so I could take my time. I didn't see the place I had an appointment on the list of delays and closures, and my phone call and email to check on the status of our appointment went unanswered (it was only 7:30am afterall) so off I went!
Traffic was slightly backed up, but no more than the usual rush hour backups. In fact, the roads were perfectly fine. Wet, but absolutely fine.
So imagine my surprise when I arrived for my appointment, only to find out that the office wasn't opening until ten. The windows are dark, the doors are locked, and I'm sitting here like a doofus, trying to figure out what to do.
I learned last year that Charlotte does a lot of anticipatory weather closings. They see snow or ice in the forecast, freak out, and close everything. This is because a) they don't have salt trucks, and b) they only have 8 snowplows for the entire city. Ok, I don't know the exact number, but I'm pretty sure I heard 8 last year. Anyway, everyone freaks out that the snow is coming, they make bread and milk runs to the grocery store, and generally hide out until the storm passes. Businesses close (my husband had snow days from work), schools close, and the city essentially shuts down.
The problem is that nothing ever happens. The snow turns out to be flurries (maybe) or the front goes completely north of us, and everyone looks like a bunch of idiots. And then I'm stuck waiting here because the powers that be trusted the weatherman instead of walking outside.
I'm annoyed that I got up early and left extra early to ensure I'd make my appointment on time. I'm annoyed that there wasn't any sort of message on the voicemail that they'd be closed until ten. I'm annoyed that I'm just sitting here, trying to figure out what to do - is my appointment postponed? Cancelled? Will they reschedule? Does this mean I have to drive an hour and a half roundtrip again on another day?
But mostly I'm annoyed because I have to wonder these things on a perfectly fine day.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Believe.
When did you stop believing in Santa Claus?
A few nights ago, my husband and I hunkered down on the couch to watch The Polar Express. He'd had a long week of work and I was still trying to get some sympathy for being siiiiiick. The Polar Express has become one of my favorites simply because it reminds me to always believe in the magic of Christmas.
My parents did an amazing job of fostering my belief in Santa. Sometimes Santa came while we were at Christmas Eve Mass or at Christmas Eve parties, and his visit to our house while I was with my parents clearly meant that they couldn't be Santa, so Santa must exist. Santa also brought presents very quietly, like the time he moved an entire desk into my bedroom and wrapped it with Christmas lights. I've always been a light sleeper, so the fact that I didn't wake up indicated that some sort of Santa magic had been used (I still have no idea how they did that, and they don't remember doing it either...). And Santa often left evidence of his visit behind - a piece of his beard on the fireplace, footprints on the carpet, bells from his sleigh. There was always a little something to encourage my belief in Santa Claus.
I don't remember exactly when I stopped believing in Santa. I remember doubting for a while, and I remember asking my parents if Santa was real. They told me that Santa was based on Saint Nicholas and St. Nick had been real. They never confirmed or denied whether Santa existed, but I knew from their explanation that Santa wasn't real.
Even after I stopped believing in Santa, Santa continued to visit my house because I had younger sisters who believed. I think Santa's continued presence helped me through the tween and early teen years when so many of my friends lost their inner child and became cynical and self-centered. They didn't have to suspend reality and believe in Christmas magic and so they didn't. I continued to pretend to believe, for the sake of my sisters, and it made Christmas fun and helped me hold onto the childlike belief. But because I didn't give in to the cynicism, I was able to witness all the amazing things that were happening around me.
And then I started to believe again.
Oh, I know Santa isn't real. I believe in the spirit of Santa and the spirit of Saint Nicholas. I believe that God gave us Jesus as a sign of unconditional love, that St. Nick emulated this act through his own form of giving, and that Santa represents yet another form of this generosity in a way that is accessible and understandable and imitable. I believe in unselfishness, kindness, and charity. I believe that dreams can come true and miracles can happen. And I think that these miracles happen because ordinary people become filled with the spirit of Santa Claus, and realize that they too can be generous and kind and charitable and loving.
Of course I believe in Santa Claus.
Anyway, I turned to my husband during the movie and asked him when he stopped believing in Santa. He responded seriously, "Stopped? Why would I stop believing in Santa?"
Just another reason my husband and I are perfect for each other.
A few nights ago, my husband and I hunkered down on the couch to watch The Polar Express. He'd had a long week of work and I was still trying to get some sympathy for being siiiiiick. The Polar Express has become one of my favorites simply because it reminds me to always believe in the magic of Christmas.
My parents did an amazing job of fostering my belief in Santa. Sometimes Santa came while we were at Christmas Eve Mass or at Christmas Eve parties, and his visit to our house while I was with my parents clearly meant that they couldn't be Santa, so Santa must exist. Santa also brought presents very quietly, like the time he moved an entire desk into my bedroom and wrapped it with Christmas lights. I've always been a light sleeper, so the fact that I didn't wake up indicated that some sort of Santa magic had been used (I still have no idea how they did that, and they don't remember doing it either...). And Santa often left evidence of his visit behind - a piece of his beard on the fireplace, footprints on the carpet, bells from his sleigh. There was always a little something to encourage my belief in Santa Claus.
I don't remember exactly when I stopped believing in Santa. I remember doubting for a while, and I remember asking my parents if Santa was real. They told me that Santa was based on Saint Nicholas and St. Nick had been real. They never confirmed or denied whether Santa existed, but I knew from their explanation that Santa wasn't real.
Even after I stopped believing in Santa, Santa continued to visit my house because I had younger sisters who believed. I think Santa's continued presence helped me through the tween and early teen years when so many of my friends lost their inner child and became cynical and self-centered. They didn't have to suspend reality and believe in Christmas magic and so they didn't. I continued to pretend to believe, for the sake of my sisters, and it made Christmas fun and helped me hold onto the childlike belief. But because I didn't give in to the cynicism, I was able to witness all the amazing things that were happening around me.
And then I started to believe again.
Oh, I know Santa isn't real. I believe in the spirit of Santa and the spirit of Saint Nicholas. I believe that God gave us Jesus as a sign of unconditional love, that St. Nick emulated this act through his own form of giving, and that Santa represents yet another form of this generosity in a way that is accessible and understandable and imitable. I believe in unselfishness, kindness, and charity. I believe that dreams can come true and miracles can happen. And I think that these miracles happen because ordinary people become filled with the spirit of Santa Claus, and realize that they too can be generous and kind and charitable and loving.
Of course I believe in Santa Claus.
Anyway, I turned to my husband during the movie and asked him when he stopped believing in Santa. He responded seriously, "Stopped? Why would I stop believing in Santa?"
Just another reason my husband and I are perfect for each other.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Christmas cookie tradition
I'm having a serious problem today - I want to bake.
I'm feeling this compulsion to bake because it's Christmas and that's what housewives do at Christmas. Every single blog I read has confirmed this fact. I am supposed to be baking cookies for my family, and if I was a really good housewife, I'd exchange them with other housewives. My family is supposed to eat these cookies and drink hot chocolate and watch Christmas movies and stare at the tree and feel Christmasy.
This is a problem for a couple of reasons. First, I can't bake. Second, I have nobody to bake for which translates to my husband and I consuming dozens of cookies all by ourselves. His metabolism may be able to handle it, but mine certainly cannot.
I really do like to bake Christmas cookies, and I am a master of the sugar cookie - or at least decorating the sugar cookie. However, cookies don't travel on airplanes all that well, so I had no plans to bake any this year. And honestly, it's part of my strategy to not gain weight this holiday season. I exercise, but I'm not one of those people who tells myself that if I run for an extra twenty minutes I can enjoy a cookie. I know there are recipes that are lower in fat or calories, but those aren't ones I want to make or eat.
But somehow it just doesn't feel like Christmas without getting covered in flour and frosting.
This is the one time of year when I really, really miss being in the Midwest. I don't miss the cold at all, and I really don't miss the snow either, but I miss being close enough to my family that I could drive to their houses on Christmas with my cookies. I didn't worry about shipping presents, or whether I was going to fit all my clothes in a carry on suitcase, or last minute changes to our trip itinerary. When I lived in Wisconsin, I lived a mile from one of my sisters, so we could do all sorts of Christmasy things together.
In a lot of ways, this move to Charlotte has been similar to getting re-married in that we've had to rethink and renegotiate our Christmas traditions. I didn't shop on Black Friday for the first time since I was thirteen, we didn't decorate the outside of our place, I'm not making sugar cookies, etc. We've had to figure out how to make quality time with both families while working around airline schedules and prices. I'm not able to do the things I've always counted on to put me in the Christmas Spirit so I'm being challenged to come up with new traditions and new ways to celebrate the Christmas Season - like visiting the Biltmore. I enjoy these new experiences, but I still miss some of the old traditions.
And I miss the smell of freshly baked cookies.
I'm feeling this compulsion to bake because it's Christmas and that's what housewives do at Christmas. Every single blog I read has confirmed this fact. I am supposed to be baking cookies for my family, and if I was a really good housewife, I'd exchange them with other housewives. My family is supposed to eat these cookies and drink hot chocolate and watch Christmas movies and stare at the tree and feel Christmasy.
This is a problem for a couple of reasons. First, I can't bake. Second, I have nobody to bake for which translates to my husband and I consuming dozens of cookies all by ourselves. His metabolism may be able to handle it, but mine certainly cannot.
I really do like to bake Christmas cookies, and I am a master of the sugar cookie - or at least decorating the sugar cookie. However, cookies don't travel on airplanes all that well, so I had no plans to bake any this year. And honestly, it's part of my strategy to not gain weight this holiday season. I exercise, but I'm not one of those people who tells myself that if I run for an extra twenty minutes I can enjoy a cookie. I know there are recipes that are lower in fat or calories, but those aren't ones I want to make or eat.
But somehow it just doesn't feel like Christmas without getting covered in flour and frosting.
This is the one time of year when I really, really miss being in the Midwest. I don't miss the cold at all, and I really don't miss the snow either, but I miss being close enough to my family that I could drive to their houses on Christmas with my cookies. I didn't worry about shipping presents, or whether I was going to fit all my clothes in a carry on suitcase, or last minute changes to our trip itinerary. When I lived in Wisconsin, I lived a mile from one of my sisters, so we could do all sorts of Christmasy things together.
In a lot of ways, this move to Charlotte has been similar to getting re-married in that we've had to rethink and renegotiate our Christmas traditions. I didn't shop on Black Friday for the first time since I was thirteen, we didn't decorate the outside of our place, I'm not making sugar cookies, etc. We've had to figure out how to make quality time with both families while working around airline schedules and prices. I'm not able to do the things I've always counted on to put me in the Christmas Spirit so I'm being challenged to come up with new traditions and new ways to celebrate the Christmas Season - like visiting the Biltmore. I enjoy these new experiences, but I still miss some of the old traditions.
And I miss the smell of freshly baked cookies.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Christmas gift idea 4: Scrapbook
I was a huge scrapbooker before I moved to Michigan, and I've started to pick it up again now that I have time and the space to do it. Since the advent of the online photo centers and the subsequent drag and drop photobooks, traditional scrapbooking has fallen off. I understand the appeal of those photobooks - choose a layout, choose photos, and they get printed and shipped- and I think they can be great gifts. I highly recommend giving these to grandparents. Still, I think nothing beats a traditional scrapbook.
There are two ways to approach a traditional scrapbook as a gift. The first would be to take my own pictures of say, my hypothetical children, and make a scrapbook for someone who would like these pictures, such as their grandparents. The other is to take the gift receiver's pictures and make a scrapbook with those pictures. For example, making a scrapbook from a friend's wedding photos. Either way is a cool gift, but my intention behind this post is to highlight the latter approach.
How to do it:
I've done this as a Christmas gift, a wedding present, a birthday gift, etc. Each time I approached the gift a little differently, but my favorite way to do it was for my friend's bridal shower. She mentioned she wanted to make a scrapbook of all the things she and her fiance had done together, but she was completely overwhelmed by the six years of photographs. For her shower gift, I wrapped an album and a few supplies - a tape runner, a couple of papers, and some stickers - and included a gift certificate that said, "You bring the photos, I'll bring the supplies. Together, we will create your wedding scrapbook."
We scheduled a day (and night) to work together on her scrapbook. First, we sorted all of her photos and then decided which ones would actually go in the book. As we sorted, we created preliminary layouts so we'd know which photos and how many could fit on each page (I have a great organizer that helped us with this step, but you can do whatever works for you). This is half the battle. Then we created the actual page layouts, and cropped the photos and papers for each page. As we did this, I had my friend tell me more about the events captured in the photographs. These stories served two purposes: I got to know my friend and her future husband a bit more, and I got her thinking about what to write about in the scrapbook.
One thing I emphasize when I scrapbook is journaling. I think preserving the pictures is important, but really, it's the story behind those pictures that most needs to be preserved. The stories make the pictures come to life. It's nice to capture the moment that I got engaged, but I think my grandchildren will want to know how their grandparents got engaged - where we were, the words that were said, the emotions that were felt. All of this can be captured through a brief description accompanying the photos (check this out for some ideas).
Anyway, we spent the day and night putting together her scrapbook side-by-side. (Really, I did most of the cutting and sticking while she did the journaling). She had input on which photos, papers, and stickers to use, but she trusted me to make the album beautiful for her. She was grateful to have someone help her overcome what she perceived as a monumental task, and I enjoyed learning more about my friend and her relationship.
I've given scrapbook supplies as gifts before, and they were always well-received. However, in the case of my friend's shower, the gift was not just in the supplies I gave her, but also in helping her finish the album so she could display it at her wedding. I gave her the gift of my scrapbooking creativity and expertise, and relieved her stress about trying to finish yet another project for her wedding. In one day, we knocked out a project I'm sure would've taken her months to finish because she was so overwhelmed she didn't know how to begin.
If you want to give a gift like this, I'd suggest doing something similar to what I did - give an album and some embellishments, maybe a bottle of wine and some treats to suggest a fun girls day out/in, and gift certificate letting the receiver know that you're going to help her get all those pictures into an album. AND SET THE DATE ASAP!
When finished, the gift receiver will have a task checked off the list, a completed photo album, and great memories of the day you spent together. Every time she looks at the album, she'll remember not only the events captured through the photos in the album, but also the time spent with you, sharing and laughing (and maybe crying) as you sort through all those pictures. Those memories are my favorite kind of gifts.
There are two ways to approach a traditional scrapbook as a gift. The first would be to take my own pictures of say, my hypothetical children, and make a scrapbook for someone who would like these pictures, such as their grandparents. The other is to take the gift receiver's pictures and make a scrapbook with those pictures. For example, making a scrapbook from a friend's wedding photos. Either way is a cool gift, but my intention behind this post is to highlight the latter approach.
How to do it:
I've done this as a Christmas gift, a wedding present, a birthday gift, etc. Each time I approached the gift a little differently, but my favorite way to do it was for my friend's bridal shower. She mentioned she wanted to make a scrapbook of all the things she and her fiance had done together, but she was completely overwhelmed by the six years of photographs. For her shower gift, I wrapped an album and a few supplies - a tape runner, a couple of papers, and some stickers - and included a gift certificate that said, "You bring the photos, I'll bring the supplies. Together, we will create your wedding scrapbook."
We scheduled a day (and night) to work together on her scrapbook. First, we sorted all of her photos and then decided which ones would actually go in the book. As we sorted, we created preliminary layouts so we'd know which photos and how many could fit on each page (I have a great organizer that helped us with this step, but you can do whatever works for you). This is half the battle. Then we created the actual page layouts, and cropped the photos and papers for each page. As we did this, I had my friend tell me more about the events captured in the photographs. These stories served two purposes: I got to know my friend and her future husband a bit more, and I got her thinking about what to write about in the scrapbook.
One thing I emphasize when I scrapbook is journaling. I think preserving the pictures is important, but really, it's the story behind those pictures that most needs to be preserved. The stories make the pictures come to life. It's nice to capture the moment that I got engaged, but I think my grandchildren will want to know how their grandparents got engaged - where we were, the words that were said, the emotions that were felt. All of this can be captured through a brief description accompanying the photos (check this out for some ideas).
Anyway, we spent the day and night putting together her scrapbook side-by-side. (Really, I did most of the cutting and sticking while she did the journaling). She had input on which photos, papers, and stickers to use, but she trusted me to make the album beautiful for her. She was grateful to have someone help her overcome what she perceived as a monumental task, and I enjoyed learning more about my friend and her relationship.
I've given scrapbook supplies as gifts before, and they were always well-received. However, in the case of my friend's shower, the gift was not just in the supplies I gave her, but also in helping her finish the album so she could display it at her wedding. I gave her the gift of my scrapbooking creativity and expertise, and relieved her stress about trying to finish yet another project for her wedding. In one day, we knocked out a project I'm sure would've taken her months to finish because she was so overwhelmed she didn't know how to begin.
If you want to give a gift like this, I'd suggest doing something similar to what I did - give an album and some embellishments, maybe a bottle of wine and some treats to suggest a fun girls day out/in, and gift certificate letting the receiver know that you're going to help her get all those pictures into an album. AND SET THE DATE ASAP!
When finished, the gift receiver will have a task checked off the list, a completed photo album, and great memories of the day you spent together. Every time she looks at the album, she'll remember not only the events captured through the photos in the album, but also the time spent with you, sharing and laughing (and maybe crying) as you sort through all those pictures. Those memories are my favorite kind of gifts.
Cook Family Christmas
One of my favorite Christmas traditions is looking at lights on Christmas Eve. I think this started when my family lived in Ohio and our neighborhood held a decorating contest every year. I remember cars lining the streets to look at lights, particularly on the weekends and especially on Christmas Eve. It seems like every house was decorated. Some were beautiful, like the big green house with Santa's sleigh and a wreath and candle in every one of the 30+ windows. Others were delightfully tacky, like the house with all the chaser lights going at different speeds and in different directions. And some had a little holiday humor, like the modern house that spelled out "BAH HUM BUG" in the upstairs windows. The neighborhood just seemed full of Christmas Spirit!
Looking at lights is a tradition that I've continued with my husband. We love listening to Christmas tunes and driving through neighborhoods full of decorated houses, noting when a house has really gone all out and often wondering how exactly they got those lights on that high peak over the garage.
Friday night, my husband and I decided to head out to one of our other favorite spots - the Cook Family light display. What makes this display so amazing is not just the 80,000+ lights. Nope, this is one of those houses that has the display set to music, broadcast through the car radio! The whole display runs for about 20 minutes, and then goes completely dark for about 30 seconds so cars can move out and let new ones in. The family collects donations for charity, and this year the money is going to A Child's Place.
With an amazing light display, fun Christmas music, and the charity tie-in, it's impossible not to feel the Christmas Spirit while watching the show. It also reminds me of those Christmas Eves in Ohio, driving around with my family to look at all the lights. I can only imagine what our neighborhood would've been like if these kind of shows were around then.
Looking at lights is a tradition that I've continued with my husband. We love listening to Christmas tunes and driving through neighborhoods full of decorated houses, noting when a house has really gone all out and often wondering how exactly they got those lights on that high peak over the garage.
Friday night, my husband and I decided to head out to one of our other favorite spots - the Cook Family light display. What makes this display so amazing is not just the 80,000+ lights. Nope, this is one of those houses that has the display set to music, broadcast through the car radio! The whole display runs for about 20 minutes, and then goes completely dark for about 30 seconds so cars can move out and let new ones in. The family collects donations for charity, and this year the money is going to A Child's Place.
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| Grinchy loved looking at the lights with us |
Thanks, Mr. Cook, for helping us feel the Christmas Spirit!
Pizza craving
One thing that really bugs me about Charlotte is the abundance of New York-style pizza places and the complete absence of Chicago-style pizza places. It makes me very, very sad.
My husband and I have lamented over the lack of Chicago-style pizza places quite often, and some helpful but generally clueless soul always makes a recommendation of "the best pizza place" that ends up being a New York-style joint. We've tried to describe Chicago-style pizza to people who've never had it, but that usually ends up with people thinking it's some sort of double-dough thick crust pizza, made with two New York-style pizza crusts on top of each other. Not even close.
We have a lot of brick oven pizza, and even more New York uber thin crust pizza. It's not that I have anything against New York-style pizza, it's just not my preference. I don't like to fold my pizza like a taco and eat it, and nobody's going to change that. And the difference between New York-style pizza and Chicago-style pizza is not thin versus thick crust, or really even thin crust versus deep dish, which most of the people around here seem to think is the case. No. No no no.
I remember watching something on Food Network or Cooking Channel or maybe Travel Channel about how the water makes a difference in the flavor of New York pizza crust, and that's why each pizza joint has a slightly different flavor. Apparently New York pizza is all about the flavor of the crust, which makes sense when the pizza is pretty much just flatbread. This is also why the mistake is made when trying to compare New York and Chicago-style pizzas and the resulting misperception that the dough in a Chicago-style pizza is thicker because it's deep dish, and therefore the most important part of the pizza.
Chicago-style pizza is not about the crust.
Oh sure, the crust is distinctive because it kinda looks like a pie. And Chicago-style pizza is often referred to as "stuffed," but the reality is that if you can taste a top crust, it's not true Chicago-style pizza (and a lot of places don't actually use a second top crust either). And the crust can make a difference in the overall flavor of the pizza, but really, if the pizza is made right, you don't really taste the bottom crust.
Crust is a really funny word.
No, this pizza is all about the toppings - the sauce, the cheese, the spices, the meat - because it is almost entirely made of toppings. In my opinion, the crust on a Chicago-style pizza is the equivalent of the crust on any pie - something to hold in all the good stuff, and almost completely unnecessary, especially when there's all that good filling. Look at all that cheese! Look at all that sauce! Yummmm. I'm in heaven just looking at it. Maybe it's because I have Wisconsin roots, but there's something about how that inch of cheese is just stacked on itself that makes my mouth water. And the sauce - this is where I think Chicago-style pizza places differ. The sauce is about creating the right consistency and the right balance of seasonings to complement all that cheesey goodness.
Clearly this isn't a pizza that just any place can make - it's a special dough, cooked in a special pan, and nobody in Charlotte knows how to do it right - I don't think anyone even understands it, let alone attempts it. Charlotte has all sorts of amazing restaurants but not one Chicago-style pizza place to satisfy my craving, and that is definitely a drawback to Charlotte. On the other hand, it gives me something to look forward to when we head back to the Midwest for visits.
If someone wants to franchise a Giordano's down here, you'll make a fortune. And I'll love you forever.
My husband and I have lamented over the lack of Chicago-style pizza places quite often, and some helpful but generally clueless soul always makes a recommendation of "the best pizza place" that ends up being a New York-style joint. We've tried to describe Chicago-style pizza to people who've never had it, but that usually ends up with people thinking it's some sort of double-dough thick crust pizza, made with two New York-style pizza crusts on top of each other. Not even close.
We have a lot of brick oven pizza, and even more New York uber thin crust pizza. It's not that I have anything against New York-style pizza, it's just not my preference. I don't like to fold my pizza like a taco and eat it, and nobody's going to change that. And the difference between New York-style pizza and Chicago-style pizza is not thin versus thick crust, or really even thin crust versus deep dish, which most of the people around here seem to think is the case. No. No no no.
I remember watching something on Food Network or Cooking Channel or maybe Travel Channel about how the water makes a difference in the flavor of New York pizza crust, and that's why each pizza joint has a slightly different flavor. Apparently New York pizza is all about the flavor of the crust, which makes sense when the pizza is pretty much just flatbread. This is also why the mistake is made when trying to compare New York and Chicago-style pizzas and the resulting misperception that the dough in a Chicago-style pizza is thicker because it's deep dish, and therefore the most important part of the pizza.
Chicago-style pizza is not about the crust.
Oh sure, the crust is distinctive because it kinda looks like a pie. And Chicago-style pizza is often referred to as "stuffed," but the reality is that if you can taste a top crust, it's not true Chicago-style pizza (and a lot of places don't actually use a second top crust either). And the crust can make a difference in the overall flavor of the pizza, but really, if the pizza is made right, you don't really taste the bottom crust.
Crust is a really funny word.
No, this pizza is all about the toppings - the sauce, the cheese, the spices, the meat - because it is almost entirely made of toppings. In my opinion, the crust on a Chicago-style pizza is the equivalent of the crust on any pie - something to hold in all the good stuff, and almost completely unnecessary, especially when there's all that good filling. Look at all that cheese! Look at all that sauce! Yummmm. I'm in heaven just looking at it. Maybe it's because I have Wisconsin roots, but there's something about how that inch of cheese is just stacked on itself that makes my mouth water. And the sauce - this is where I think Chicago-style pizza places differ. The sauce is about creating the right consistency and the right balance of seasonings to complement all that cheesey goodness.
Clearly this isn't a pizza that just any place can make - it's a special dough, cooked in a special pan, and nobody in Charlotte knows how to do it right - I don't think anyone even understands it, let alone attempts it. Charlotte has all sorts of amazing restaurants but not one Chicago-style pizza place to satisfy my craving, and that is definitely a drawback to Charlotte. On the other hand, it gives me something to look forward to when we head back to the Midwest for visits.
If someone wants to franchise a Giordano's down here, you'll make a fortune. And I'll love you forever.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Christmas Town, USA
One of the best places in Charlotte to visit during the holidays is McAdenville, NC aka Christmas Town, USA. The entire town decorates and transforms into a Christmas light bonanza, and it's a great place to go get in the Christmas Spirit.
My husband and I went last year and were just amazed by what we saw, so we decided to visit again last Saturday night. There was a long line of cars to get into the village, but eventually we saw the first lights on the tree and knew we had made our way into Christmas Town!
We loved looking at all the beautiful lights and were amazed by how well coordinated the decorations were. It reminded me of my childhood, when my neighborhood association held a contest so the entire neighborhood went all out with decorations. We always had lines of cars driving slowly through the neighborhood, checking out the lights. Just driving home from school or swim practice put me in the Christmas Spirit.
I loved seeing all the lights of the town, and I think this will be an annual tradition for us as long as we live in Charlotte. It's amazing that such a small town in North Carolina could get together to express all this Christmas Spirit.
My husband and I went last year and were just amazed by what we saw, so we decided to visit again last Saturday night. There was a long line of cars to get into the village, but eventually we saw the first lights on the tree and knew we had made our way into Christmas Town!
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| Photos from Christmas Town Facebook page |
We loved looking at all the beautiful lights and were amazed by how well coordinated the decorations were. It reminded me of my childhood, when my neighborhood association held a contest so the entire neighborhood went all out with decorations. We always had lines of cars driving slowly through the neighborhood, checking out the lights. Just driving home from school or swim practice put me in the Christmas Spirit.
I loved seeing all the lights of the town, and I think this will be an annual tradition for us as long as we live in Charlotte. It's amazing that such a small town in North Carolina could get together to express all this Christmas Spirit.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Gym PSA
Along the same lines as my college search PSA and my Corporate Wife PSA, I now present a Gym etiquette PSA.
But first, an update on my workout plan: Success! Well, sort of.
I went to the gym with no intention of running. I'm feeling a thousand times better and I'm pretty breathing normally. Still, I didn't want to push myself because I'm still not 100% healthy. And yet, I got on the treadmill, turned on my "work out" channel on my Pandora blackberry app and somehow convinced myself that I could do it today. I could run! I could run far!
AND I DID!
Ok, it wasn't far. But it was longer than I'd done, and it was exactly what my program had told me I was supposed to do. Well, almost.
And here's where the PSA comes in.
I'm running along, twenty seconds from finishing my last interval, and I'm in pain. I was tired and starting to get a cramp, but I wanted to finish. Jog, jog, jog, fifteen seconds to go and then all of the sudden...
SLAM
I hit the front bar on the treadmill right below my ribs. My treadmill had just come to a complete stop. At the same time, a woman had jumped onto the treadmill next to me (actually one foot still on my treadmill) where her son (or so I thought) was just starting his workout.
Had I hit the stop button? Had I dislodged the little magnetic thing? Nope.
The little whore had knocked out the power cord when she jumped on the treadmills. The ones people were already using.
In knocking the cord out, she also bent the prongs so there I was squatting on the ground, huffing and puffing, and bending the prongs back in place so I could plug it back in. It took her a good minute to realize that when I slammed into the bar and immediately started checking everything on my treadmill to see why my treadmill had suddenly stopped, it was because that pesky thing she kicked was in fact the plug to my treadmill, and not because I like injure myself. When she did recognize that I hadn't voluntarily thrown myself into the front of the treadmill, she said, "Was that me?"
And here's my PSA.
When I responded, "Yes" to her question, the proper response should have been a sincere apology. What did she say?
"Oh."
And that's why I'm writing a PSA about gym etiquette. And posting it as my Facebook status. And maybe I'll tweet something too. How long before #gymwhore becomes a trending topic? I'm kidding. About the trending topic thing, not about facebook. I had that posted before I even finished my cool down.
Oh, and I'm calling her a whore and not some other derogatory name because the guy I thought was her son was actually her husband, and cougar seems to be a badge of honor rather than an insult. But they had to have at least a twenty year age difference. He was probably younger than me, and she was... well, my mom's age. Gross.
Anyway, I'm calling this trip to the gym a success. I may not have run the final fifteen seconds, but I would have. And I didn't call the woman a whore to her face, so that's also success on my part.
Go me.
EDIT:
While I was running and feeling really proud of myself, I thought about a post in which I would discuss how the music I was listening to really inspired me and got me through the horrible, horrible running. Then the whore ruined my day. Oh well. I still want to share because these fun songs really picked me up, put a smile on my face, and got me to run (or kept me running) when I really, really didn't want to. Oh sure, some of them might not be "cool" according to people who have bad taste in music (ahem), but it worked for me. So there.
Hot n Cold by Katy Perry
So What by Pink
Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus
Hey Soul Sister by Train
Gold Digger by Kanye West
But first, an update on my workout plan: Success! Well, sort of.
I went to the gym with no intention of running. I'm feeling a thousand times better and I'm pretty breathing normally. Still, I didn't want to push myself because I'm still not 100% healthy. And yet, I got on the treadmill, turned on my "work out" channel on my Pandora blackberry app and somehow convinced myself that I could do it today. I could run! I could run far!
AND I DID!
Ok, it wasn't far. But it was longer than I'd done, and it was exactly what my program had told me I was supposed to do. Well, almost.
And here's where the PSA comes in.
I'm running along, twenty seconds from finishing my last interval, and I'm in pain. I was tired and starting to get a cramp, but I wanted to finish. Jog, jog, jog, fifteen seconds to go and then all of the sudden...
SLAM
I hit the front bar on the treadmill right below my ribs. My treadmill had just come to a complete stop. At the same time, a woman had jumped onto the treadmill next to me (actually one foot still on my treadmill) where her son (or so I thought) was just starting his workout.
Had I hit the stop button? Had I dislodged the little magnetic thing? Nope.
The little whore had knocked out the power cord when she jumped on the treadmills. The ones people were already using.
In knocking the cord out, she also bent the prongs so there I was squatting on the ground, huffing and puffing, and bending the prongs back in place so I could plug it back in. It took her a good minute to realize that when I slammed into the bar and immediately started checking everything on my treadmill to see why my treadmill had suddenly stopped, it was because that pesky thing she kicked was in fact the plug to my treadmill, and not because I like injure myself. When she did recognize that I hadn't voluntarily thrown myself into the front of the treadmill, she said, "Was that me?"
And here's my PSA.
When I responded, "Yes" to her question, the proper response should have been a sincere apology. What did she say?
"Oh."
And that's why I'm writing a PSA about gym etiquette. And posting it as my Facebook status. And maybe I'll tweet something too. How long before #gymwhore becomes a trending topic? I'm kidding. About the trending topic thing, not about facebook. I had that posted before I even finished my cool down.
Oh, and I'm calling her a whore and not some other derogatory name because the guy I thought was her son was actually her husband, and cougar seems to be a badge of honor rather than an insult. But they had to have at least a twenty year age difference. He was probably younger than me, and she was... well, my mom's age. Gross.
Anyway, I'm calling this trip to the gym a success. I may not have run the final fifteen seconds, but I would have. And I didn't call the woman a whore to her face, so that's also success on my part.
Go me.
EDIT:
While I was running and feeling really proud of myself, I thought about a post in which I would discuss how the music I was listening to really inspired me and got me through the horrible, horrible running. Then the whore ruined my day. Oh well. I still want to share because these fun songs really picked me up, put a smile on my face, and got me to run (or kept me running) when I really, really didn't want to. Oh sure, some of them might not be "cool" according to people who have bad taste in music (ahem), but it worked for me. So there.
Hot n Cold by Katy Perry
So What by Pink
Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus
Hey Soul Sister by Train
Gold Digger by Kanye West
Happy Anniversary
December is a favorite month for one obvious reason - CHRISTMAS! But December is also special because of my husband's birthday and also because we started dating in December - fourteen years ago today.
We met in September and quickly became friends, but it wasn't until December that we finally started dating - during finals week of our first semester of college. Great timing, right? It sure made finals memorable - in a good way!
Though I share personal thoughts on this blog, my memories of that day and my feelings as I reflect on that day feel incredibly private, so I'm not going to share any of those thoughts today. Sorry. But I will say this - I am incredibly lucky. I have a wonderful, supportive, doting man who has been by my side for fourteen years, who has loved me despite and because of my flaws, who treats me like a princess every day, and who I love very much.
Happy Anniversary, sweetie!
We met in September and quickly became friends, but it wasn't until December that we finally started dating - during finals week of our first semester of college. Great timing, right? It sure made finals memorable - in a good way!
Though I share personal thoughts on this blog, my memories of that day and my feelings as I reflect on that day feel incredibly private, so I'm not going to share any of those thoughts today. Sorry. But I will say this - I am incredibly lucky. I have a wonderful, supportive, doting man who has been by my side for fourteen years, who has loved me despite and because of my flaws, who treats me like a princess every day, and who I love very much.
Happy Anniversary, sweetie!
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Fail
Because I was sick last week, I did not visit the gym as often as I probably should have. However, Saturday morning I was feeling a little better so I (reluctantly) went to the gym. I told myself that I was just going to do a brisk walk on the treadmill, just to get my heartrate up and get my blood flowing, but not over-exert myself since I hadn't been to the gym in a few days.
That was the plan.
Instead, I convinced myseld during my warm up that I should continue with the exercise program I've been following so that I didn't lose momentum (I'm not actually training for anything, it's just a program to follow because I was in a rut). And so I did. And at first, I thought I was going to die, but then I remembered I always feel like I'm going to die when I have to run, and so I kept going. After a few minutes, I felt like I was working hard, but felt fairly confident that I was not going to die on the treadmill.
I admit, I was really proud of myself. I was still sick, but I had pushed through my stuffy nose and general fatigue to do a good work out. I may have even asked my husband for a high five. He may have given me one and then mocked me for the rest of the day.
So Sunday when I went to the gym, I had somehow convinced myself that I could move on to the next phase of my exercise plan as scheduled. I'd had a great workout the day before and I'd gotten a good night's sleep, so I was feeling pretty confident that I could step up my intensity despite the fact that I couldn't breathe through my nose.
I don't know what I was thinking.
I started off feeling like I was going to die, as usual, but that feeling did not go away. Instead, I was pretty sure that I was going to collapse. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move my legs, and I couldn't believe I'd even considered taking the next step in my work out plan. Why did I think I could run longer than I had ever done? Did my snot have magical powers?
Clearly my illness made me delusional.
Oh well. I'll try again tomorrow... or whenever I feel better.
That was the plan.
Instead, I convinced myseld during my warm up that I should continue with the exercise program I've been following so that I didn't lose momentum (I'm not actually training for anything, it's just a program to follow because I was in a rut). And so I did. And at first, I thought I was going to die, but then I remembered I always feel like I'm going to die when I have to run, and so I kept going. After a few minutes, I felt like I was working hard, but felt fairly confident that I was not going to die on the treadmill.
I admit, I was really proud of myself. I was still sick, but I had pushed through my stuffy nose and general fatigue to do a good work out. I may have even asked my husband for a high five. He may have given me one and then mocked me for the rest of the day.
So Sunday when I went to the gym, I had somehow convinced myself that I could move on to the next phase of my exercise plan as scheduled. I'd had a great workout the day before and I'd gotten a good night's sleep, so I was feeling pretty confident that I could step up my intensity despite the fact that I couldn't breathe through my nose.
I don't know what I was thinking.
I started off feeling like I was going to die, as usual, but that feeling did not go away. Instead, I was pretty sure that I was going to collapse. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move my legs, and I couldn't believe I'd even considered taking the next step in my work out plan. Why did I think I could run longer than I had ever done? Did my snot have magical powers?
Clearly my illness made me delusional.
Oh well. I'll try again tomorrow... or whenever I feel better.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Happy St. Nick's Day
Do you celebrate St. Nick's Day? I've met people from different religions, ethnicities, and geographical areas who celebrate St. Nick's Day, all in a similar way, but I know it's not a universally recognized holiday.
Perhaps because my family is from Milwaukee (a city of strong German heritage), or maybe because we're Catholic, or maybe because we're of Eastern European descent, or maybe it's a combination of all three, but my family has always celebrated St. Nick's Day. We leave out our shoes or stockings on the night of December 5th and awake with our shoes or stocking filled with treats on December 6th. Based on stories from friends and family, this is a fairly common way to celebrate St. Nick's Day (in the United States).
Even if you're not familiar with the history of St. Nick, you probably are familiar with his most famous derivative - Santa Claus. But the real Saint Nicholas was a raised by wealthy parents who died while Nicholas was still young. He dedicated his life to Jesus, became a bishop, and used his inheritance to help the needy. There are many stories about him - that he rescued a young boy who had been kidnapped and the boy was returned to his family on December 6th; that he tossed gold through windows that landed in the shoes of poor, young girls and this money was used as a dowry so they could marry instead of being sold into slavery; that he entered homes in the middle of the night and left fruit, candy, and/or small toys for poor children. These stories built his legend, and his generosity and good deeds are celebrated and honored by sharing candies and small gifts on his feast day. In parts of Europe, St. Nicholas day includes dressing as bishops and begging from neighbors (kind of like trick or treating in the US, but for money for the poor). Of course, some believe kids now keep the money for themselves but let's not ruin the nice story with cynicism.
At least not today.
Like I said, my family celebrated with treats in our shoes or stockings. When we lived nearby, my Grandma also gave us a stocking. After we moved away, my Grandmother sent us a gift, and often that gift was an ornament. She would go to Hallmark in October when the ornaments were released, or hit up the craft fairs throughout the year to find the perfect ornaments for each of her grandchildren. My one male cousin (on that side of the family) received a classic car every year since he turned sixteen, and even after my grandma passed away, my aunt (not his mom) gave him one last car ornament because it was the last in the series, and my grandma had told my aunt that she wanted to finish the series for him. Grandma listened to what we were interested in, and always tried to find ornaments that reflected our interests at that time in our lives.
My ornament collection from my grandma is very reflective of who I was growing up - softball players, Olympic medals, violins, and roller blades. These are all incredibly special to me, and remind me of my Grandma every year when I put them on the tree. Perhaps the most special to me are the last ornaments she gave me, weeks before she passed away.
My grandma was in the hospital that Christmas, so imagine my surprise when I, as a second year graduate student, arrived at my parent's home on Christmas with my fiance to find a gift from my Grandmother that contained an entire set of Sesame Street characters. I immediately burst into tears, and sobbed, "I can't believe she remembered."
Months earlier, my Grandma had asked me if I collected any ornaments. In retrospect, I think she was asking because she had forgotten whether she got me a series every year, like she did for some of my cousins. I told her I didn't collect any, but that I wanted to collect all the Sesame Street characters. My high school class mascot was Elmo (just for our class, not the school), and I had collected a few Elmos through the years. (In fact, my nephew and then my niece have both cuddled with one of my Elmos, and I'm pretty sure they think he is theirs - he's not and I want him back!). Aside from Elmo, I had great memories of watching Christmas Eve on Sesame Street as a kid, so Sesame Street always had a special place in my heart. When I told her that I'd always wanted the Sesame Street characters, I had no idea she would remember or even think about getting them for me.
My Sesame Street characters have not faired so well over the years - poor Burt has a broken nose - but my husband doesn't even suggest that we toss him out. He knows how important the whole set is to me, and he'd never ask me to give them up, broken pieces and all.
This is the reason I have continued this tradition, passed down from my Grandma. I've always bought ornaments for my husband and me every year, but now I also get ornaments for my family too. It started with just my nephew, but then grew to include an ornament for everyone - something special that reminds me of that person or couple. There have been Star Wars, engagement rings, Starbucks cups, gym bags, cell phones, and Packers ornaments, Batman, ballet slippers, baking tools, Peanuts characters, and Sportscenter Santas. Each special, each representing the receiver.
I'm sure giving ornaments isn't exactly what St. Nick had in mind, but I believe the spirit of St. Nicholas is alive every time I find a perfect ornament to give to my family - a small gift given to show them that they are loved very much.
Perhaps because my family is from Milwaukee (a city of strong German heritage), or maybe because we're Catholic, or maybe because we're of Eastern European descent, or maybe it's a combination of all three, but my family has always celebrated St. Nick's Day. We leave out our shoes or stockings on the night of December 5th and awake with our shoes or stocking filled with treats on December 6th. Based on stories from friends and family, this is a fairly common way to celebrate St. Nick's Day (in the United States).
Even if you're not familiar with the history of St. Nick, you probably are familiar with his most famous derivative - Santa Claus. But the real Saint Nicholas was a raised by wealthy parents who died while Nicholas was still young. He dedicated his life to Jesus, became a bishop, and used his inheritance to help the needy. There are many stories about him - that he rescued a young boy who had been kidnapped and the boy was returned to his family on December 6th; that he tossed gold through windows that landed in the shoes of poor, young girls and this money was used as a dowry so they could marry instead of being sold into slavery; that he entered homes in the middle of the night and left fruit, candy, and/or small toys for poor children. These stories built his legend, and his generosity and good deeds are celebrated and honored by sharing candies and small gifts on his feast day. In parts of Europe, St. Nicholas day includes dressing as bishops and begging from neighbors (kind of like trick or treating in the US, but for money for the poor). Of course, some believe kids now keep the money for themselves but let's not ruin the nice story with cynicism.
At least not today.
Like I said, my family celebrated with treats in our shoes or stockings. When we lived nearby, my Grandma also gave us a stocking. After we moved away, my Grandmother sent us a gift, and often that gift was an ornament. She would go to Hallmark in October when the ornaments were released, or hit up the craft fairs throughout the year to find the perfect ornaments for each of her grandchildren. My one male cousin (on that side of the family) received a classic car every year since he turned sixteen, and even after my grandma passed away, my aunt (not his mom) gave him one last car ornament because it was the last in the series, and my grandma had told my aunt that she wanted to finish the series for him. Grandma listened to what we were interested in, and always tried to find ornaments that reflected our interests at that time in our lives.
My ornament collection from my grandma is very reflective of who I was growing up - softball players, Olympic medals, violins, and roller blades. These are all incredibly special to me, and remind me of my Grandma every year when I put them on the tree. Perhaps the most special to me are the last ornaments she gave me, weeks before she passed away.
My grandma was in the hospital that Christmas, so imagine my surprise when I, as a second year graduate student, arrived at my parent's home on Christmas with my fiance to find a gift from my Grandmother that contained an entire set of Sesame Street characters. I immediately burst into tears, and sobbed, "I can't believe she remembered."
Months earlier, my Grandma had asked me if I collected any ornaments. In retrospect, I think she was asking because she had forgotten whether she got me a series every year, like she did for some of my cousins. I told her I didn't collect any, but that I wanted to collect all the Sesame Street characters. My high school class mascot was Elmo (just for our class, not the school), and I had collected a few Elmos through the years. (In fact, my nephew and then my niece have both cuddled with one of my Elmos, and I'm pretty sure they think he is theirs - he's not and I want him back!). Aside from Elmo, I had great memories of watching Christmas Eve on Sesame Street as a kid, so Sesame Street always had a special place in my heart. When I told her that I'd always wanted the Sesame Street characters, I had no idea she would remember or even think about getting them for me.
My Sesame Street characters have not faired so well over the years - poor Burt has a broken nose - but my husband doesn't even suggest that we toss him out. He knows how important the whole set is to me, and he'd never ask me to give them up, broken pieces and all.
This is the reason I have continued this tradition, passed down from my Grandma. I've always bought ornaments for my husband and me every year, but now I also get ornaments for my family too. It started with just my nephew, but then grew to include an ornament for everyone - something special that reminds me of that person or couple. There have been Star Wars, engagement rings, Starbucks cups, gym bags, cell phones, and Packers ornaments, Batman, ballet slippers, baking tools, Peanuts characters, and Sportscenter Santas. Each special, each representing the receiver.
I'm sure giving ornaments isn't exactly what St. Nick had in mind, but I believe the spirit of St. Nicholas is alive every time I find a perfect ornament to give to my family - a small gift given to show them that they are loved very much.
Damn you, Trader Joe's
Remember when I decided to just say no to Trader Joe's? Yeah. I can't anymore. They win.
The apple cider was addictive and I'm pretty sure they put some sort of drug in it to keep me coming back. But the apple cider is gone now, and I thought I was free from Trader Joe's hook. Wrong. They have a new cider - pear with cinnamon - that is also quite good. It's not quite as good as the apple cider, but it's still festive and delicious, especially when warmed. But this has moved far beyond frivolous cider, into world of real life needs.
Saffron.
Have you ever bought saffron? I haven't, and it's because it costs $17. I'm not exaggerating. I don't care if a little goes a long way, that's a ridiculous price to pay for a little spice that turns food yellow. Unfortunately, it's also a key ingredient in Spanish cooking. Ever since we returned from our trip to Spain, my husband has been asking me to make paella. I told him I would, with the caveat that I was sure it would never taste anything like what we ate in Spain and that would have to be okay. It was okay, and every now and then he asks when I'm going to make it. My one hesitation was the cost of that darn saffron.
Last week, Real Madrid and FC Barcelona played against each other. Oh wait, I should translate that: A soccer team from Madrid and a soccer team from Barcelona played against each other. These are the two best professional soccer teams in Spain, and probably two of the best professional soccer teams in the world. They also happen to be the two teams we saw play (not against each other) when we were in Spain, so watching them play against each other brought up a lot of memories from our Spain trip. And inevitably, paella came up again. Thankfully, I was sick last week so I didn't have to make it. I really did not want to pay $17 for a stupid spice.
Enter Trader Joe's.
I went to Great Harvest to pick up bread for my husband's birthday french toast, and I picked up a couple of other remaining ingredients at the Trader Joe's next door. While I was there, I looked at the spices because I was running low on a few things and they usually have good prices on spices. And there it was, in all its flowering glory - saffron for $5.99.
I knew at that moment that I could no longer be mad at Trader Joe's for making me spend money on things I don't need. Don't get me wrong, they still have plenty of that, but they also had the one thing I did need at a much lower price than I had ever seen, and I knew it would make my husband so happy to finally have his paella.
Damn you, Trader Joe's!!!
I kid. You win.
The apple cider was addictive and I'm pretty sure they put some sort of drug in it to keep me coming back. But the apple cider is gone now, and I thought I was free from Trader Joe's hook. Wrong. They have a new cider - pear with cinnamon - that is also quite good. It's not quite as good as the apple cider, but it's still festive and delicious, especially when warmed. But this has moved far beyond frivolous cider, into world of real life needs.
Saffron.
Have you ever bought saffron? I haven't, and it's because it costs $17. I'm not exaggerating. I don't care if a little goes a long way, that's a ridiculous price to pay for a little spice that turns food yellow. Unfortunately, it's also a key ingredient in Spanish cooking. Ever since we returned from our trip to Spain, my husband has been asking me to make paella. I told him I would, with the caveat that I was sure it would never taste anything like what we ate in Spain and that would have to be okay. It was okay, and every now and then he asks when I'm going to make it. My one hesitation was the cost of that darn saffron.
Last week, Real Madrid and FC Barcelona played against each other. Oh wait, I should translate that: A soccer team from Madrid and a soccer team from Barcelona played against each other. These are the two best professional soccer teams in Spain, and probably two of the best professional soccer teams in the world. They also happen to be the two teams we saw play (not against each other) when we were in Spain, so watching them play against each other brought up a lot of memories from our Spain trip. And inevitably, paella came up again. Thankfully, I was sick last week so I didn't have to make it. I really did not want to pay $17 for a stupid spice.
Enter Trader Joe's.
I went to Great Harvest to pick up bread for my husband's birthday french toast, and I picked up a couple of other remaining ingredients at the Trader Joe's next door. While I was there, I looked at the spices because I was running low on a few things and they usually have good prices on spices. And there it was, in all its flowering glory - saffron for $5.99.
I knew at that moment that I could no longer be mad at Trader Joe's for making me spend money on things I don't need. Don't get me wrong, they still have plenty of that, but they also had the one thing I did need at a much lower price than I had ever seen, and I knew it would make my husband so happy to finally have his paella.
Damn you, Trader Joe's!!!
I kid. You win.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Birthday nap
Today is my husband's birthday. He generally doesn't get excited about his birthday, though I'm not exactly sure why. For weeks I asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday, made several suggestions that were rejected, until last night I finally got his list of things he wanted to do.
1. Work out
2. Play "my game" (that's his PS3 FIFA 2010 video game)
3. Watch Arsenal (soccer) game
4. Watch or listen to the Marquette basketball game
5. Take a nap
6. Have Maggiano's lasagna for dinner
He finished the first four, is now in the midst of number five, and we have a reservation for Maggiano's at seven tonight. As an added bonus, I made him french toast with cinnamon chip bread topped with blueberries for breakfast, so he thinks this may be the best birthday ever.
Everything I suggested to him was much more extravagent, but in the end, all he wanted to do was relax. Sometimes I forget that as much as I need to be stimulated after doing very little during the week, my husband needs to withdraw and relax after hours of constant stimulation at work. Even though I feel like I should be doing more to celebrate how awesome he is, he wants to spend the day doing the things he enjoys - watching sports, playing video games, eating good food.
Happy Birthday, Hubby! I hope you get all you asked for, and more!
1. Work out
2. Play "my game" (that's his PS3 FIFA 2010 video game)
3. Watch Arsenal (soccer) game
4. Watch or listen to the Marquette basketball game
5. Take a nap
6. Have Maggiano's lasagna for dinner
He finished the first four, is now in the midst of number five, and we have a reservation for Maggiano's at seven tonight. As an added bonus, I made him french toast with cinnamon chip bread topped with blueberries for breakfast, so he thinks this may be the best birthday ever.
Everything I suggested to him was much more extravagent, but in the end, all he wanted to do was relax. Sometimes I forget that as much as I need to be stimulated after doing very little during the week, my husband needs to withdraw and relax after hours of constant stimulation at work. Even though I feel like I should be doing more to celebrate how awesome he is, he wants to spend the day doing the things he enjoys - watching sports, playing video games, eating good food.
Happy Birthday, Hubby! I hope you get all you asked for, and more!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Thanksgiving leftovers 3: Thanksgiving Braid
In my family, I am the queen of braids. I'm referring to the edible kind of braids, made with crescent rolls and stuffed with all sorts of deliciousness. My husband would eat the chicken and broccoli braid three times a week if I'd make it for him.
Last year I created the Thanksgiving braid. I made it before Thanksgiving, using ingredients that reminded me of Thanksgiving rather than leftovers. This year, I reworked it to use some leftovers and some readily available ingredients with similar results.
Thanksgiving Braid
Ingredients:
1 package crescent roll
2 cups diced turkey
1 cup diced brie, divided
3/4 cup craisins
1 cup frozen green beans, thawed
1/3 cup fried onions
1/3 cup low-fat mayo
1/2 tsp dried thyme
1/2 tsp dried sage
1/2 tsp dried rosemary
1/2 tsp lemon pepper
1/2 tsp marjarom
1/4 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp salt
Substitutions:
- If you have poultry seasoning, substitute about 2 tsp poultry seasoning for all the spices, but still add lemon pepper or lemon zest
- If you have leftover green bean casserole, use that for the green beans and onions and reduce the mayo to 1/4 cup.
- If you don't have leftover turkey, substitute chicken or pork or cook a few turkey cutlets or tenderloins. I recommend seasoning them with the poultry seasoning or all the spices for even more flavor.
Last year I created the Thanksgiving braid. I made it before Thanksgiving, using ingredients that reminded me of Thanksgiving rather than leftovers. This year, I reworked it to use some leftovers and some readily available ingredients with similar results.
Thanksgiving Braid
Ingredients:
1 package crescent roll
2 cups diced turkey
1 cup diced brie, divided
3/4 cup craisins
1 cup frozen green beans, thawed
1/3 cup fried onions
1/3 cup low-fat mayo
1/2 tsp dried thyme
1/2 tsp dried sage
1/2 tsp dried rosemary
1/2 tsp lemon pepper
1/2 tsp marjarom
1/4 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp salt
Substitutions:
- If you have poultry seasoning, substitute about 2 tsp poultry seasoning for all the spices, but still add lemon pepper or lemon zest
- If you have leftover green bean casserole, use that for the green beans and onions and reduce the mayo to 1/4 cup.
- If you don't have leftover turkey, substitute chicken or pork or cook a few turkey cutlets or tenderloins. I recommend seasoning them with the poultry seasoning or all the spices for even more flavor.
- Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
- Mix together the turkey, 1/2 cup brie, craisins, green beans, and onions (or green bean casserole).
- In a separate bowl, mix together the mayo and all the spices.
- Unroll the crescent roll on a baking stone or cookie sheet, press together the seams, and press into a single rectangle.
- Spread about 2 tbsp of the mayo mixture lengthwise down the center of the braid.
- Mix the remaining mayo with the turkey mixture.
- Dot the mayo on the crescent roll with the remaining chunks of brie.
- Evenly spread the turkey mixture over the mayo and the brie.
- Cut the dough into 1 1/2 inch wide strips on each side, leaving about 3/4 inch from end of the cut to the filling. Lift each strip to the center of the filling, twist once, and tuck the ends under the filling. (This describes the braiding process pretty well).
- Bake at 375 degrees for about 25 minutes. The top may brown before the bottom is cooked completely. If this happens, put some aluminum foil over the top and bake a few minutes more, until the bottom of the braid is cooked through.
I don't have an after picture because my husband cut into and devoured half of it before I got the camera out again.
With all the spices, the mixture tasted a lot like stuffing, but the green beans and craisins sweetened it up and kept it from being too savory. I considered substituting cream of mushroom soup for the mayo, and I bet that would provide even more flavor and amp up the green bean casserole element of the dish. Overall, I liked it and would probably make it again. It's definitely a good use of leftovers, or in my case, a good use of ingredients that are available cheaply this time of year.
I sick.
I'm sick. I just have a cold, but it's the kind that is not yet a full-blown cold and is currently concentrated in my sinuses, leaving me with a painful sinus headache. I hate sinus headaches.
I was a firm believer in Airborne, but they've changed the formula and now it doesn't work for me to stop colds. I still use it before I go on airplanes, especially this time of year, but it doesn't have the same effect when I'm on the ground. Zicam and Cold-eze don't work for me either. And Sudafed and those types of drugs seem to prolong my colds so I try not to use them if I can help it. Instead, I suffer. And by suffer, I mean whine and let everyone around me know that I'm sick.
I'm siiiiiiick.
Will someone make me chicken noodle soup, pleeeeeeeease?
Because I'm siiiiiiiick.
Ok, time to get on with my day. It's just a cold afterall.
I was a firm believer in Airborne, but they've changed the formula and now it doesn't work for me to stop colds. I still use it before I go on airplanes, especially this time of year, but it doesn't have the same effect when I'm on the ground. Zicam and Cold-eze don't work for me either. And Sudafed and those types of drugs seem to prolong my colds so I try not to use them if I can help it. Instead, I suffer. And by suffer, I mean whine and let everyone around me know that I'm sick.
I'm siiiiiiick.
Will someone make me chicken noodle soup, pleeeeeeeease?
Because I'm siiiiiiiick.
Ok, time to get on with my day. It's just a cold afterall.
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