Just The Two of Us

Leaving Us in Suspense

Long, long ago (ok, it was only last summer) I decided that it would be a great idea to make a long-term, on-going bet.  I'll leave out the gory details, but the bottom line is that RW and I ended up $320 poorer, and in a coincidence of epic proportions, Karen & Nathan ended up $320 richer.  Funny how that worked.

Karen, ever the good friend, told me that she was giving it all back to me.

ME: "Of course not!  You won it.  I'm not taking it back."

KAREN: "Fine.  We'll use it for our birthday dinner."

ME: "Ummm, OKAY! Great idea."

Karen's birthday is in July, and my birthday is in August, and both of these birthdays end in a "zero", so this was the perfect year for something big.  Something we shouldn't have to plan.  Every so often, we bring it up to the guys... "Hey - what should we do for our birthdays?"  There is always some half-hearted, general discussion on the part of the guys and then topic changes to something entirely more exciting, like car lifts and wrenches.  Although - the one idea got both of them excited - 55 mph go-cart thingies.  They thought that would be grand.  We thought we'd end up dead.

Our grand outing is coming up this weekend, and as we've yet to get a plan nailed down, we brought it up to our husbands again last night.  RW caught on that we girls really didn't want to plan it, and told us boldly "Not to worry about it. We'll take care of it."  Nathan may have been looking at him like  "Dude - keep your mouth shut!"

RW went on to ask us what we wanted to do:

RW: "What I mean is - what's the THEME?"

US: "What do you mean, theme?"

RW: "Well, like "Adventure" or "Suspense".

Karen and I both looked at each other and asked at the same time:

US: "What would be a 'Suspense' theme?"

We quickly made up our minds - suspense it is.  We can admit it, we're curious.  But we have no doubt that the boys will indeed, leave us in suspense until Saturday afternoon.  Beyond that is anyone's guess.  And if anyone has any suggestions for our little activity, be sure to leave it in the comments.  I promise to pass it along.

STRIKE!

My gorgeous niece, Sarah texted me today and said that she and her husband Brad had decided that if I ever renamed my blog, I could name it Little Debbie's Cupcake Adventures.  I like it!  So in the vein of Little Debbie's Cupcake Adventures, I present to you Karen's birthday cupcakes:

 
Like I told Karen, look from afar, they look way better from 5 feet away than 2 feet.  And it didn't help much that they started melting, like a snowman meeting 40d weather for the first (and last) time.

But they did the job, she liked them and the kids ate them.  Nothing like loading the kids up on cupcakes, mini-cupcakes, donut holes and 3 lbs of frosting before an outing.  Sweet strikes.  Or in my case, spares.

Always Be Prepared

Karen was walking just in front of me on our way into the baseball stadium on Monday night.  The four of us, along with our evening entertainment, also known as Quaid (7), Ava (6) and Jentzen (4), had decided that an evening at the ballpark was just what the hot summer night called for.  Of course, when we bought the tickets we had no idea if July the 25th would be 105d and muggy or 62d and raining, or somewhere in between.  This is Minnesota, after all - the Land of Extremes.

So walking along I had nothing to stare at but the back of Karen's head.  That's when I noticed that she got a haircut:

ME: "Hey! You got your hair cut!  I love it!"

HER: "Yup, asked for 2 inches, 4 got cut off."

ME: "Did Nathan cut it?"

HER: "Yup."

That's a special feature of their marriage... she trusts Nathan enough to cut her hair.  Now to be fair, how hard can it be - there are no layers or anything.  All he has to do is cut in a straight line. So he plops her on a chair in his shop and raises the scissors in a toast to spousal support.

Apparently it's a bit harder than it looks.  An hour or so later as we were chit-chatting in the stands and right about the time I (accidentally) cheered loudly for the wrong team (coincidentally, that was right about the time that those who were sitting next to me pretended they didn't know me), Karen said:

HER: "Oops!" [running her fingers through her hair]

ME: "What?"

HER: "Looks like he missed some." [as she holds out a small chunk of hair a few inches longer than the rest of it]

RW: [suddenly ON HIS FEET, jumping quite literally and very unexpectedly into the conversation] "WAIT!  Let me get that for you."

He whipped out his pocket knife and proceeded to hack away.  Yes, he really did do that.  If you need the proof:

 
Karen looks very apprehensive, Ava looks positively disturbed by the whole thing (she is a girly-girl, after all), Nathan appears to think it's the most awesome thing he's seen all night, and Quaid hadn't really decided yet whether to lean towards the "disturbed" or the "awesome". 

I can be the first to say it... it was perhaps a little redneck. Pretty sure the nice folks sitting behind us thought so too, but they were Minnesotans after all, and Minnesotans are nothing if not very polite, so they (politely) kept their thoughts to themselves.

I'm fairly certain that RW's old (and trust me when I say he would now be very old) Boy Scout leader would be proud - RW still carries a pocket knife, and clearly, he's always prepared. 

 

 

Hanky-Panky

The other night I let ZeketheFreakRatTerrier out for his nightly before-bed outside ritual.  Seeing as he gets zapped if he wanders outside of his perimeter, I left him out there alone and went back into the house. Several minutes later I heard him crazy-barking.  I bolted out of the house, hoping he wasn't terrorizing some poor soul who had the sheer audacity to use the sidewalk in front of our house.

Reaching the front yard, I saw what he was barking at.  Our dog was seriously defending his territory from coyotes owls neighborhood dogs squirrels rabbits fireflies.  ZeketheFreakRatTerrier wanted those fireflies gone.

I hushed him, and then stared at the summertime wonder of fireflies, remembering when  we used to catch them and feed them to frogs, just to see the frog's insides light up.  I'd like to tell you that happened when I was 9 or 10, but I'd be lying.  It was during college.  I could tell you that it was for a college biology class, but I'd be lying then, too.  It was strictly for fun.

So I stood for awhile and enjoyed the show in our yard, and then called the dog to go back inside.  As I was turning to open the door, something under the truck caught my eye.  I stared, willing my eyes to decipher the object despite the darkness of the evening.  That's when I realized that there is some serious hanky-panky going on in the neighborhood:

 
Bunnies.  All huddled together and allowing me to stare and take pictures of them.

I was so glad to see that ZeketheFreakRatTerrier didn't see had a soft heart for the bunnies and left them alone, a foot from where he was standing.  The fireflies flying 5 feet over his head were, however, obviously completely unacceptable.  Go figure.

Ripe for Looking

I have a seriously bad track record of picking watermelons at the wrong state of ripeness.  They are either completely underdone, or a little too far gone.  I'll admit, it's not really a strength of mine.  Nevertheless, every year I grow some more in our garden - eventually I will get it right, don't you suppose?

So can anyone tell me if this watermelon is ready to pick?

 
Can't see it?  Let me try to get a little closer:

 

Ok, perhaps not yet, but isn't it darn cute?

Frugal Brilliance

Yesterday morning I was making Karen's birthday cupcakes.  Yes, I realize they are a smidge late, but even the fact that she's one of my bestest (yup, pretty sure that's a word - at least in my vocabulary) friends could not counteract the fact that the heat index was 115d the day before her birthday, and no amount of "friendness" could make me turn on my oven.

As I was throwing the cupcake bases into the oven, I was also reading the directions.  I'll admit it, that has been a weak point my whole life.  I'm not really a "directions" kind of person.  I'm more a "fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants", come what may, person. 

I remember one time in 8th grade, Mrs. Johnson gave us an assignment.  It was a sheet of approximately 20 instructions on it - she told us to just follow the directions, it wouldn't be hard to complete.  The very first direction stated that we were to read the instructions all the way through.  Yeah yeah yeah... yada yada yada.  I skipped down to #2, figuring I'd get a jump on everyone else in the class (I was a bit competitive that way).  Reading #2, I boldly followed the direction, got up from my desk, walked up to the front of the room, and wrote my name on the board.  I was the only one.  This should have been a clue, but I was smug in my 8th-grade knowledge of the world, which included the fact that I was exceptionally gifted.  HA.  I turned around to go back to my desk, and all other 8th grade eyes were upon me.  Curious.  Ever confident, I moved on to #3, #4, and so on.  Just about the time I was on #5, Mrs. Johnson asked if we were all done?  Huh?  Come to find out that #20 stated to skip instructions #2 - #19.  Oops.

Given that, I had forgotten that in addition to the other foodie things that I needed to make these particular cupcakes, I also needed donut holes.  Irritated that I would now have to run up to Target to purchase donut holes, and thus interrupting my cupcake-making effort, I was suddenly struck with a brilliant, brilliant idea.  Running upstairs, I shouted to RW:

ME: "Hey Babe!  Want to save us 80 bucks?"

RW: [looking skeptical] "How?"

ME: "Run up to Target and get some donut holes for me!" [batting my eyes]

RW: "And how does that save us 80 bucks?"

ME: "Because I wouldn't be stepping foot into a Target store!"

He went to get the donut holes.

 

Stepping Up to the Mike

One of the more difficult things about making birthday cupcakes is picking out the perfect cupcake for the specific birthday girl.  They have to fit her personality, and it's not always as easy as it seems.  Good thing I have Karen to help me choose them, as she knows the ladies, too.

Picking out the perfect ones for Jodi was easy.  I knew it was for her as soon as I saw it. I channeled my inner American Idol and went to work:

 
I wish I had a picture of the giant Styrofoam microphone that RW helped me make, it was the perfect centerpiece for the musical treats.

One small snag in the perfect cupcake plan - the microphone "balls" tried diligently to unattach themselves from the microphone "stems", which made the thought of transporting them to work somewhat... undesirable.  But score one for me, I talked Karen into taking them for me, which clearly absolved me from any cupcake mishaps along the way.

They made it to work in one piece, and Jodi spent the day singing their praises.  Sweet songs.

Rap Rap! Anybody Home?

We were watching something one doesn't see very often (or in my case, pretty much ever)  - a group of tap-dancing rappers on So You Think You Can Dance.  This fascinated me more than a little bit, I mean - silly me for never considering that those two activities could actually be combined.  All of those other rappers in the world don't really know what they are missing - how much further they could be in their careers, if only they would add tap-dancing to their act, right?

I wish I could remember the actual rap "song" (are raps actually songs?  I mean, rappers are called "vocal artists" and all, but I'm fairly certain there is no "song"), but my very small brain only remembers these words:

TAP-DANCING RAPPER: [referring to the tap-dancing] "And ANYONE can do this..." [rap rap rap, clickety clack clack clack]

I commented to RW:

ME: "Do you think that's really true - that anyone can do that?"

ME: "I mean, we for sure can't."

ME: "Remember that Christmas party where we had to learn line dancing?"

ME: "That didn't work out so well for us."

ME: "We were the worst line dancing couple there."

ME: "It was embarrassing."

I was, for good reason, beginning to believe this was a one-sided conversation.

ME: "Are you listening to me?"

ME: "Hellllooo?"

RW: [barely glancing up] "I'm pretty sure a one-legged person would have difficulty with that tap-dancing."

It seems he was listening after all.

As Iron Sharpens Iron..

"...so a friend sharpens a friend." (Proverbs 27:17)

10 years ago I started praying for a "back-door friend."  You know the kind.. the kind that doesn't have to knock when they show up at your house, the kind that feels comfortable zipping into your home on the way home from work to pick up a box of pasta from your pantry because it's more convienent than having to stop at the grocery store.  The kind of friend that will speak truth into your life, even if you may not want to hear it. That kind of friend.  The kind of friend that you can just do life with. 

Don't get me wrong - I have been blessed beyond measure with several deep friendships.  Joy has been as close as a sister from the time we were 4 and 5 years old.  Cami came along during my teenage years, and has put up with me ever since.  And then in college, Beth came alongside me, and we've laughed together and cried together for the past 22 years.  None of these beautiful and wonderful women live anywhere near me.  And so I started praying for yet another friend, one that lived nearby.

Within a few months, Nathan and Karen came into our lives in a somewhat unconventional way.  Karen started working in the department in which I was the trainer at the time.  Nathan was just moving here from Australia to marry her.  And a friendship was slowly born -  a gracious God answered my prayer.

Not all friends would make dessert for my extended family Easter, because I was too busy to do it.  Not all friends would trust me with their tender, young children.  Not all friends would offer me a place in the delivery room, because she knows I will never experience childbirth for myself. Not all friends would hand me a bag of freezer meals, just because.  Not all friends would play games with me long into the night.  Not all friends would play cards with me all day.  Not all friends would laugh with me at the silliness of life.  Not all friends would cry with me over the pain of an aging parent.  Not all friends would challenge me to do life better.  Not all friends would allow me to challenge them to do life better. Not all friends would chit-chat about everything and nothing all at once for hours at a time. 

Karen is that friend, and today is Karen's 30th birthday.  Happy birthday to an inspiring friend, amazing mother of four, and a great wife.  I can't wait to see what the next 10 years brings!  And just so you know, I'll always, always be willing to beat you in a game of Hand and Foot. 

"Steaking" Out One's Position

RW and I were sitting here, trying to decide what to have for dinner, as campsite cooking was feeling slightly repetitive. In addition,  we were feeling a bit lazy.  As we were looking at the menu, RW announced that he was hungry for some good chicken.

ME: "What are you going to get?  The chicken platter?  A chicken sandwich?"

RW: "No, I'm getting the Chicken Fried Steak."

ME: "Ummm, that's not chicken."

RW: [giving me the 'you don't know what you're talking about look'] "Yes it is."

ME: [giving HIM the 'I so know waaaay more what I'm talking about than you do' look] "No, it's not.  It's just what it says it is... Chicken Fried Steak.  Steak that's breaded and fried like chicken."

RW: "Oh you are just so completely wrong about this.  It's CHICKEN." [I have to hand it to RW, he was very confident in his position]

At this point the couple sitting in the booth behind us started giggling a bit, and glancing furtively over to the people who cannot agree on what Chicken Fried Steak is.  The guy finally leaned back over the booth and said to RW:

RANDOM GUY: "She's right - it's steak."

RW was not to be deterred from his position.  He was convinced that I had no idea what I was talking about, and neither did the couple in the booth behind us.  I attempted a different angle:

ME: "Seriously - I can promise you it's STEAK.  'Chicken Fried' is an adjective describing the noun  'steak'.  They even served it to us at Lost Valley Ranch! It looked exactly like fried chicken breast - but it was steak."

RW: "Honey - you are so wrong about this.  We'll ask the waitress."

Now usually asking the waiter/waitress would be a grand idea, however, this particular waitress was a summer worker from a different country.  A country far, far away, and clearly unacquainted with both the English language and the nuances of our regional diets.

RW: "Excuse me.  Can you tell me if Chicken Fried Steak is chicken or steak?" [at this point the couple sitting in the booth behind us was fully invested in this conversation, being as convinced as I was that he was wrong]

WAITRESS FROM A DIFFERENT COUNTRY: "Uhhh, ummmm.. Chicken Fried Steak?  Ummm, [clearly making up her mind], that's ... CHICKEN."

RW: [to me] "SEE?  I told you so."

ME: [to WAITRESS FROM A DIFFERENT COUNTRY] "Would you mind checking with the cook and getting back to us?"

Several minutes later the WAITRESS FROM A DIFFERENT COUNTRY approached our booth and informed us that it was [drum roll please] actually STEAK.

RW, possibly trying to save some face, and perhaps still mightily convinced of his position, ended the conversation with this:

RW: "Well,  That's very weird.  In California, Chicken Fried Steak is actually chicken."

He went with the chicken platter.