The Way in Which Things are Done

Today's prompt:  Describe a person you know who does everything slowly and methodically.
Oh, do I know someone.  He wears a belt at all times, has a seating chart for all articles of clothing in his dresser, gets his hair trimmed every three weeks without fail, makes mathematical calculations on paper before hanging pictures in the living room, and takes pride in the fact that his lawn is the greenest and most lush on the cul-de-sac.  He's industrious, tenacious, and exceedingly careful.  Yes, he's my husband.
I prefer to depend heavily on the pictures in the instructions to guide me, and look for tools as I need them.   When I get stuck, I just look back at the directions and hope that I haven't already ruined something beyond repair.  This is how I was raised, and so far it has worked out just fine for me - with the exception of a few mishaps.

The man I married is the polar opposite of me when it comes to project planning, implementation, and thoughtful summarizing of said project.  Example A:  One Christmas, we were up late putting a play kitchen together while the kids were sleeping.  My sister was also present for this event.  We let the "Head Engineer" snap all the big components together - after an agonizing hour of watching him lay out all the instructions, Allen wrenches, and stickers - all in the order in which they would be needed. (Smart - right?)  As my sister and I were starting to tire, we thought, "Surely, we could help out (and expedite the process) by slapping a couple of the stickers of play food and microwave buttons on their designated spots."  We were mistaken.  We were not-so-kindly asked to leave the premises.

Little did I know at the time of matrimony that this would be the way with everything: the assembling of garden hose reels, lawn care sprayers, and kickstand attachments to bikes. As well as with the installing of smoke alarms, shelf building, and my favorite - the blowing up of inflatable pools with all of their accouterments.   I shouldn't complain, everything is done with precision and care - and stays put together for a long time.  And if I were just a bit more methodical, I might not have as many nail holes in my walls where I miscalculated and I might have actually added the chicken to the Chicken Tettrezini before I served it to my guests. 
It just seems that there ought to be a happy medium between the two worlds of paying no attention to instructions and reading all instructions as if they might hold the key to immortality or world peace. Right?

Campfire

This past weekend, my children were on cloud nine!  They had the company of our neighbor's grandchildren who come to visit several times a year - they love those three boys - it's like a Lego, water-fight, trash our garage bonanza for 72 hours straight!  What more could a mom ask for?
Each of the boys has a very unique personality: The oldest is more reserved and sensitive but thinks my son (who is a year older than him) is the "bomb!"  So he follows my son around and hangs on his every idea of what they should do next. By the way, this is pure euphoria for my son - as his sister does NOT engage in that type of behavior with him.  Then there is the middle child, who has a twinkle in his eye and a story on his tongue at any given moment.  Such as: "My Dad climbed a tree even though there was a bear in it and now we have a bear rug.  Really.  But we sold the bear rug and now we are really rich.  I mean, I have some quarters - you want one?"  This is the child my daughter schemes with all day when we have the privilege of his presence.  And then, there is the youngest boy.  The twinkle in his eye is double the size a regular twinkle and his duty is to follow my husband around as he tries to do his weekly yard work.  The conversation is usually one-sided ( my husband has to say very little - which works for him) and goes something like this:  "Can I come in your house?  Do you have a dog?  Do you bite your fingernails or are they just red like that?  Can I light the grill?  Do you have a kite I could use? We have a ghost in our house - but he's nice.  Are you older than my mom?  We have a boat that flies.  Do you have a grandma who makes cookies and buys you shirts with bananas on them?  Can I have a popsicle?"  etc. etc. etc.  This line of questioning continues up until nap time and then reconvenes as soon as nap time is over.
What made this past weekend just a little more special is the fact that our neighbors (their grandparents) just finished an elaborate landscaping project that is complete with fountains, stony rock paths with waterfalls, statues, a firepit, a pergola, and several areas for sitting.  The fire pit has been of particular interest to the grandsons and they decided on their own that there would be a campfire - that we are ALL invited to.  There would be s'mores and beer (their words, I swear).  So after we ironed out the details of the beer announcement, we told our children that it would be fine if they wanted to have a campfire with our neighbors - assuming adults would be present.
As dusk arrived and my husband was finishing up his chores, we both took a glance toward the neighbors to see if there was a gearing up of the campfire.  No action yet, but it wasn't very dark yet - and heck, it's the weekend, they can stay up a little later if they want.  Kids are still running wild between the two yards and the proclamation of a campfire is still alive and kickin'.  Now it's getting a little bit later and the mom wants to get the details.  So I head over to the neighbors to see if there will indeed be a "kid's campfire" or not.  I get sidelined into checking out some of my husbands handiwork of the day... and the night gets later.  Now I am finally on my way to the "land of fountains and expensive wicker" to nail down a time and a curfew.
Here's the kicker:  not only is there no planned campfire... our neighbors are not even home!  There is a young babysitter who sleepily comes to the back sliding door - all drugged out on Wizards of Waverly Place and says, "Oh...yeah... where are the boys?  They should probably come in now.  I think the parents will be home soon."
Later, as I am putting to bed my very tired, disappointed, bug-eaten children to bed, my son groggily and sadly says, "I really wanted s'mores an "abeer."  What's "abeer?"

What risk?

So I was reading my Real Simple magazine and came upon their annual writing contest.  The prompt for this year's contest is "I never thought I'd..."  and then the thought is that you are to write about a time when you took a risk.  This is how my entry starts:  I never thought I'd have to read about a writing contest in a magazine to realize... I've... well.... not really taken any risks - or so I thought.
So I thought really hard and realized that the word "risk" is relative.  Maybe I haven't jumped out of a plane or say, bought something that wasn't in the back of the store on close-out clearance.  But I have taken risks - in my own way.
Risk #1:  Dressed up in a homemade mouse costume in high school and did a Chinese fire drill with other costumed friends in one of the busiest intersections (for a town of 30,000) on a Friday night.
Risk #2: Tried out way too many times for the high school musical - only to be rejected every stinkin' time.
Risk#3: Went away to college and ... well... had a really good time.  Enough said.
Risk#4: Bought a shiny unitard.
Risk#5: Fell in love with the wrong guy.
Risk#6: Fell in love with the right guy - who knew I would love a Republican?
Risk#7: Fell in love with two children born on the other side of the world and brought them home.
Risk#8: Became a mom.
I haven't entered the contest... because that would be a risk.  But then again, so is preparing carrot ginger soup (only 1 week post-op from a major surgery and still in a "medicated" state) with a malfunctioning blender that sprays the entire delicious puree all over my entire kitchen.  Not that I know anything about an incident such as that...  So maybe we all take risks - just not the kind you hear about on the evening news... or in writing contests... I think risks are all in the eye of the risk-taker.

Welcome back to school!

So the summer is coming to a close... it seems like we just started.  How does that happen every year?  It seems as though we were just looking forward to June - the month filled with anticipation of a great summer: no schedule, being with friends and family, vacations and day trips, projects, aspirations of learning something new... and before we know it, that darn Target is already stuffing the patio furniture back on to trucks and making room for huge displays of school supplies - why do they do that?  Am I the only one who refuses to even walk by the stacks of wide-ruled notebooks and buckets of dry erase markers until I am good and ready somewhere around the middle of August?  Either way, here we are. 
As I was standing in the backpack aisle, debating whether or not to buy a new lunchbox for each of the kids, I started smelling something rather funky.  "What is that stink?" I mention to my almost 4th grader.  I get the usual shrug of the shoulders, "I don't know...."  I follow my nose downward and realize that this stench is emanating from my son's feet and shoes.  Ick.  It's a cross between forgotten sour cream and sweaty hands - lovely... I am now guessing that the shoes I had thought would be "just fine" for inside wear are now a force to be reckoned with, and would likely kill a good sized rat.  So... onto the shoe store.  Another "favorite" place.  But now, because I have waited until this late date of August something, I get to witness a whole mess of moms shoving shoes onto their children's feet - shoes they don't want.  I believe this was one of the comments I heard, "If you don't get this shoe on and walk up and down the aisle right now, I will NEVER buy you another pair of shoes!!" I'm assuming that was an empty threat because as I turned to look, a child seeming to be all of about five years old whizzed by me, running for the door wearing an ill-fitting pair of non-character, non-lighting-up shoes.  Is that a DHS call?  Hmmm...
Ahhh.... and so it begins.  No more hiding from the notebooks and markers... welcome back to school!

Another Rite of Passage

Today my little one graduated from Kindergarten - what a grueling year it's been - having to count bottle caps, stir up dirt pies, finger paint with whipped cream, sing silly songs, build bobsleds out of milk cartons, pick flowers, listen to fantastic books, count to 50 by 2s, learn to read.... my oh my... I can only imagine what they will make her do in first grade!  And the friends... she had to make friends, and learn how to be a team and even hold hands with her buddies as they skipped through the woods on new adventrues.  The expectations... what more can be asked of a 6 year old??  Oh - and here's the kicker: she has her first wiggly tooth!  I guess the teachers are expecting her to leave body parts behind as well...
I'm so proud of her - she even kept her polka dot dress down at lady-like length as she sang "We're startin' today, here we come, first grade first grade!" (sang to the tune of New York, New York).

No one ever told me how heart-breaking ....or inspiring it would be to watch my babies grow up...

Anyone for chopping, dicing, or shredding?

So it's my mom's birthday last week and we are out doing what birthday girls do - you know, things like schlepping around a department store trying out hip reading glasses, putting on silly winter hats that are on clearance and my all time favorite - bra shopping.  So you already know this day is going to rock!  With a start like that?  Can't go wrong.  Well, while my mom and I are giggling and making fun of each other, my dad is actually doing some worthwhile shopping.  When we are reunited at the cosmetics counter, my dad says, "Hey, I think I know what we should get for your birthday!  How about a new 7- cup Pro Food Processor??"  Oh, yeah - now we are giddy - this is gonna be great!!
So, with eyes all aglow, we purchase the heavily attachment induced appliance and head out the door with smiles all around - what could be better??!"
The moment we hit the front door, we are unpacking and inspecting, looking for fantastic new recipes and envisioning ourselves as the next Martha Stewart of Easy One Step Food Prep!  A-ha!  There is even a DVD!!!  Well, we must watch this - it surely is our ticket to an easy street life complete with no-hassle, one touch button operation, easy clean-up, and a happy family!
So now I have my recently purchased food processor out as well and we are ready for a chop-o-matic fiesta!  We watch the 7- Cup Pro Food Processor Chef carefully as he shows us the proper use of each attachment with all of its wonders.  Then we are quick to decide what we are going to make and who will do what.  A trip to the grocery market is in order, and then we are quickly back to work.  Here is the menu: basil pesto for the salmon and new potatoes we will prepare for supper, delicious, fresh salsa made with fresh ingredients, and for the piece de resistance: apple, pear, blueberry pie made with light as a feather, flaky pastry - that we will create on our very own with our 7 Cup Pro Food Processor!
The whirring begins.  There is slicing, shredding, chopping, dicing and julienning - it's a sharp item addict's dream!  Presto! The pesto is complete - now on to the salsa!  Yum - another item finished!
It seems there is a bit of confusion with the pie recipe - yes, we will refer to the DVD.  No problem - we are back on track.  OK, our pace has begun to slow, but we are not beaten.  We press on.  A little more distress with the pie - no matter, we are champions of chopping - we will persevere.  The phone rings - and I am now officially on break... for about an hour.
I return to the kitchen and this is what I find: my mom dusted with flour from head to toe, a mountain of several sliced fruits piled on the island, pastry dough that looks as though we made it out of play-dough lopped over a "pie" of epic proportions, and an array of attachments strewn from one end of the kitchen to the other.  And worst of all, my mother is on the brink of tears and politely asks me if she can just lie down for a moment.
As any good daughter would do, I graciously excuse my exhausted mother from the kitchen and begin my comedy routine - because as we all know - there's no crying in baseball and there's certainly no crying while making pies!  At the end of it all my mom and I are laughing so hard that we are crying - as we mock the
 "I Couldn't Get a Job as a Real Chef "actor with the stupid chef's hat on who can supposedly use just one finger to prepare a feast fit for gods!  The laughter continues as my rather subdued mother proclaims where she'd like to "stick that hat!"
As you can probably guess, the 7 Cup Pro Food Processors have been shoved far back into the depths of darkness in a cupboard where they can cause no consternation... until of course, we choose to amaze our friends and family once again with the one step wonder.

Silver Lining: I do love a good laugh served with sliced food! And the pie was a nice dessert diversion from our regular "have a piece of fruit for dessert" routine.

Pictures

Today I was sorting through some photos in my over-stuffed "My Pictures" file on my computer and came across a rather interesting picture.  The photo was taken during a special family celebration where many friends and loved ones are standing around and near to the food table eating and cheerfully conversing.  Happy smiles on everyone's faces and glasses of wine being precariously held on to while eating delicate bites of delicious food.  That's the scene.
However, upon closer inspection, I realize there is a small. chubby little hand reaching into a bowl of some exotic, delicious goodie - just a hand... what is this hand connected to you ask??  From under a fancy lace table cloth there seems to be a small child who is hiding his body carefully, but then reaching up and around with his arm to bring his treasures down carefully into his lair. He is very stealthy and obviously thinks he is invisible.
 Yes, this is my 3 year old son in the photo.
Here's the issue:  he has now grown into a respectable, bright and lively 3rd grader who occassionally suffers from the rare and impulsive form of DTDBNYB - otherwise known as Dumb Things Done By Nine Year-old Boys.  This past week has been one raught with serious flare-ups of the disease - and as most moms do at one time or another, I have been beating myself up over his antics with questions like, "What have I done wrong?  Have I not been a good role model?  Have I fed him too much corn syrup?  Does he think I can't see him and that he thinks he... is ....invisible... hmmm... or something?"  Ah-Hah! he must have the latent form of DTDBNYB - you know, the one that makes the "inflicted" have lapses of typical three year old behaviors.

Silver Lining: Medical breakthroughs such as the one mentioned above don't happen every day!!