The Suburban Life

Have you ever noticed that the Christmas holiday brings with it the expectation that all those who celebrate will do so with creativity and imagination?  There are cookies to bake, Christmas cards to craft, gingerbread houses to construct and candy to make.  Your neighbors are decorating their front porches with wreaths and adorable little candy cane lanterns and possibly dropping by with baskets full of homemade goodies.   You are expected, in turn, to do exactly the same thing…and enjoy yourself.  After all, expending your creative juices is all part of the yuletide cheer, is it not?

Well, I’m here to attest that not all folks are cut from the same cloth. There’s your “crafters” who can construct an entire Nativity diorama out of 3 pipe cleaners, 2 tongue depressors, some cotton balls,  and a jar of glitter.  And then there are the other people who, quite frankly, wouldn’t know a diorama if it came up and introduced itself.  I guess I’m one of those people. I just don’t do crafty things. And trust me, I’ve tried.  For instance, you may have read my post about my sewing machine.  I had all kinds of grand plans for that little magic maker.   I was going to make pillow covers and doll clothes.  I even had this idea that I would try my hand at crafting Christmas table runners and throws.  Well, I can’t.  And please don’t try to throw me comments of encouragement like, “Yes you can, Mindy.  Once you figure it out it’s sooo easy.”  No, it isn’t.  And quite frankly, if I try even one more time I’m pretty sure that I will cause bodily harm to the machine.  Ugly bodily harm. 

Even though I have long known I belong in the “non-crafter” class of citizen, last year I decided to deliver Christmas cookies to my surrounding neighbors.  I bought these adorable little tins that I lined with wax paper and planned on adorning with raffia I bought at the craft store.  Me…at a craft store.  Wow.  So I baked this kick-butt cookie aptly named “Ranger cookie” for its likeness to a trail mix bar.  They have c’raisins and oatmeal, coconut and chocolate chips.  And they’re huge.  Which I hadn’t thought about.  Which I’m pretty sure if I were the “crafter” type it would have been first and foremost in my mind when planning out my attempt at being all neighborly.  I shoved and sorted those cookies at least a dozen different ways and finally was able to fit into each adorable little tin…two.  Two frickin’ cookies.  Not even enough to supply dessert for the typical “nuclear” family.  Can you imagine delivering a Christmas tin with two cookies?  I can.  And I did.  I also beat feet back to my house before any of the neighbors could open their tins and say something like, “Wow…you really shouldn’t have.  This is…great.  Um…thanks.”

I don’t think I’ll be delivering Christmas cookies this year.  Quite honestly, I’m still recovering from the humiliation of last year’s debacle.  I’m fully expecting to be paid back in turn by each neighbor any day now with chunks of coal and decade-old candy canes. 

I bought a Gingerbread house kit this year because my daughter, Avery, has been begging me all season long to build one.  It’s the easy type too…the Gingerbread house for Dummies…if you will.   But you know what?  It intimidated the heck out of me.  That packaging was staring at me for a week and a half before I finally gave in and assigned the job to Jer.  You know why?  Because I’m not a ”crafter”.  Because I would have found the one loophole in the “easy to assemble” instructions.  My royal icing would have went all to hell which means the house wouldn’t have stayed standing upright, the candy would have had nothing to glue to and the finished result would have probably made both of my kids cry.  But, Jer?

Yeah, he pretty much rocked it out.  Figures.

Okay, so when God was handing out skill in the crafts department I’m pretty sure I was too busy talking to raise my hand for my fair share.  But that’s okay.   We can’t all be skilled in this particular area because otherwise nothing would be appreciated for the time and effort it deserves.   Some of us have to purchase our crafts from Target attempting to pass them off as “homemade”.   Hey, there’s a place for all of us in this big ol’ world.  Embrace who you are and move on.  I have.  And you know what?  Hairspray does wonders at removing those sticky pricetags.

Mindy

Okay, I’m nervous.  Why am I nervous?  Because I have an assignment.  Like an actual “do this or you will let down all of mankind.”  Okay, not quite so dramatic but in my little sheltered existence where the biggest expectation I face most days is making sure that everyone has clean underwear (a task at which I have miserably failed at times) this assignment has rocked my world a tiny bit. 

What is this super important assignment you ask?  Get ready to be super impressed.  My blogging talents have been recognized.  I know, right?  My cyber-friend, the blogger-extraordinaire a.k.a “Spot” with What Passes for Sane on a Crazy Day has tagged me to answer 35 questions with one word because she thinks I’m “Over the Top!”  Which, all I can say is, that speaks volumes coming from her.  She’s flippin’ hilarious and authors one of the blogs that I find myself looking forward to reading on a daily basis. Read it.  You’ll be glad you did.  So, anyway, obviously she recognizes my burgeoning talent and feels it her responsiblity to acknowledge all of my hard work and properly introduce me to the world.  (Or, she’s just following the rules of the award which states she has to tag 6 bloggers to answer some questions and she knows I would have nothing better to do. Which I don’t.)  Although, I prefer to think it’s the former and not the latter. 

Okay, so here’s the thing.   As I stated, I’m supposed to answer 35 questions using one word, right?  Shouldn’t be a problem, right?  Wrong.  I’m horrible at these kinds of things.  So you know those “get to know me” emails that circulate around periodically (and they’re usually from the same people and you’ve gotten like 10 of them and you’re like, don’t you know me by now?  Why do you care what my favorite polka song is?).  Here’s the thing.  I lie.  Through my teeth.  Favorite memory?  Oh, easy…the birth of my children.  Truth:  Getting drunk one night and getting hit on by that hot (albeit smashed) twenty-one year old.  Dream man?  No problem…my hubby.  Truth:  George Clooney.  I also lie on my Facebook quizzes to get a better result.  You get the picture.  Pathetic, but true.  So this time I am resolving to use the utmost honesty when answering the following questions.  Maybe.

1. Where is your cell phone? Purse
2. Your hair? Semi-fro
3. Your mother? Strong
4. Your father? Fighter
5. Your favorite food? Pizza
6.  Your dream last night?  Embarrassing
7. Your favorite drink?  DietCoke
8. Your dream/goal?  Security
9.  What room are you in? Kitchen
10.  Your hobby?  Sleeping (See?  I’m trying here…I was going to say attaining World Peace)
11.  Your fear?  Fear
12.  Where do you want to be in 6 years?  Blogging
13. Where were you last night?  Home
14.  Something that you aren’t?  Shy
15.  Muffins?  Blueberry 
16.  Wish list item?  Money (I almost went with World Peace, again.  I’m growing.)
17.  Where did you grow up?  Podunk-ville
18.  Last thing you did?  Exercised  (Seriously, I’m not lying on this one.)
19.  What are you wearing?  Nothing  (Okay, I lied again.  PJ’s)
20.  Your TV?  Xbox
21.  Your pets?  Strange
22.  Friends?  Loyal
23.  Your life?  Slapstick
24.  Your mood?  Sarcastic (Pray for Jer)
25.  Missing someone?  Nope
26.  Vehicle?  BMW (God, I can’t stop myself.  Sorry.  Expedition)
27.  Something you’re not wearing:  Bra
28.  Your favorite store?  TJ Maxx
29.  Your favorite color?  Green
30.  When was the last time you laughed?  Today
31.  Last time you cried?  Yesterday
32.  Your best friend?  Sandee (and Sara…and Jodi)
33.  One place that I go to over and over?  Walgreens (I’m addicted.)
34.  One person who emails me regularly?  Dr. Jones from the UK (he wants to wire me $395,000 – I’m still thinking about it.)
35.  Favorite place to eat?  SnoCap

So, there.  I did it.  Whew.  I’m exhausted.  This honesty crap takes work.

Love to all, Mindy

A little while back I posted (in shame) about Avery’s last soccer season.  You can see that here.  To recap quickly:  her shoes were too small and it all ended horribly.  So when Avery told us that she wanted to play soccer this fall season, needless to say, we were very apprehensive.  

We weighed the pros and cons. 

Pros:  She’s 6, going on 7; we have new shoes; she’s actually excited about playing.

Cons:  Well, she’s 6, going on 7; her ability to cry at the drop of a hat; they still haven’t reformed the “no snack at practice” policy.

It would seem the pros outweighed the cons so we signed her up!  Practice went off without a hitch.  She approached everything with a positive outlook and sportsmanlike conduct.   And get this…she didn’t even bat an eye when we left practice without the required sliced apples and CapriSun!  I was actually looking forward to the jamboree games that following weekend.

Saturday morning we are getting ready for the game and Avery slips on her cleats.  She winces.

“What’s wrong, Avery?” I ask.  Oh. God. Here. We. Go. Again.

“It doesn’t feel right.  My shoe.  It feels weird.” 

Crap.  Last year comes rushing back at me.  “Take it off and let’s look,” I say.  Please, please let that shoe fit her foot!!

She takes it off and lo and behold her sock is bunched up at the toe.  Stupid sock.  I straighten it up and shove her cleat back on. 

“How’s that?”

“Feels good,” she answers.  She smiles at me, winks and gives me a thumbs up.  “I’m pretty sure this is going to be my best game ever,” she says.

Well, since this is the first game of the season and I’m pretty sure she mentally blocked last season I think she might be right.  And I tell her so.  She smiles, grabs her soccer ball and heads out the door.  Her father and I look at each other, grab the camera and follow her out. 

You all, Avery was amazing out there.  She hustled and followed that ball all over the field.  I was so proud of her commitment to the game all the while keeping a big ol’ grin on her beautiful face. 

And check out this kick!

There’s no getting past this kid.

David Beckam…eat your heart out.

And she had skill.  Well, some skill.  Okay, marginal skill but there’s a lot to work with there and she’s got youth on her side.

I’m actually pretty excited for this soccer season.  I’ve already anticipated bawling my ever-lovin’ eyes out in the chance the little champ makes a goal.  But I’m not even worried about that, not even setting my sights that high.

I’m just glad her shoes fit.

Go Wildcats!  

Mindy

Whew, doggie!  I am sitting here typing on the one and only brand new electronic gadget I’ve ever owned.  Seriously.  With the exception of a Sony discman I bought in 1993 (which, by the way, had a very bad habit of skipping at the best part of all my favorite songs), an iPod Nano (which still has the same exact songs I loaded on it the first day) and a few ill-fated cell phones, this is my very first substantial piece of electronic equipment. Although I should consider my first cell phone substantial since it was about the size of a small house and weighed almost as much.  I’m pretty sure I can attribute most of my neck issues to packing that phone around. 

But this newest addition to my family is kind of exciting.  I’m sitting here all a-twitter with my pink Samsung NC10.

So far, so good.  If you’re not familiar with this type of laptop, more specifically a netbook, it’s tiny, sporting a 10.2 inch screen.  It’s definitely noticeably smaller than your standard laptop but that doesn’t really bother me as the screen resolution is bright and sharp.

And, man, is this thing lightweight.  I wanted this model specifically for the portability of it.  I can easily slip it into my handbag for travel, although I should divulge that I could probably slip an entire family of Pygmies into my handbag.  It’s rather large.  And even weighing in at only 2.8 lbs, there is still a heft to this machine.  It doesn’t feel like it will fall apart if I sneeze on it.  (Although, due to the swine flu scare, we’re trying to cover our sneezes around here.)  

The Samsung NC10 comes standard with a 6-cell Lithium Ion battery.  This promises up to 8 hours of continuous running battery power.  Plenty of time for me to step away for various food needs, bathroom breaks and toxic spill cleanups.  I also love that it comes equipped with a memory card reader for uploading pictures.  Now this feature…I believe this will save my marriage.  No more sending Jer on fake emergencies so that I can hijack his computer.  This method is certainly a lot healther. 

And, the piece de resistance…it’s pink.  A beautiful, sophisticated kind of pink.  Not a ”Why is that 33-year old woman carrying around a Hello Kitty purse” kind of pink. 

And a little unexpectedly, I have this overwhelming urge to settle into a coffee shop, pull out my handy dandy netbook and start writing a college paper on the Fundamentals of Feminism in the late 20th century.  Except I’m not in college.  And I don’t know much about feminism in the late 20th century except things are pretty darn Equal Opportunity around my digs. If anything, my husband is probably trying to speerhead a machismo movement to reverse all of that “EO” and bring back “June Cleaver” to the female world.  Good luck. 

So you can be sure and expect some pretty amazing, heartfelt and introspective blog posts from here on out as I’m quite certain my tiny new friend is going to bring out the inner writer in me.   And, if not, well, expect a lot of the same as before.  Just know that these posts will be cranked out on a fashionable little netbook.  Did I mention it’s pink?

Love to all, Mindy

It’s football time folks!  Thursday marks the very first game of the season with the Ducks playing the Broncos at Boise State and Oregon up against Boise’s home advantage at 64-2. Oregon made quite a showing with victories in the first three games of the 2008 season.  Unfortunately the streak ended too soon with a loss to Boise State…

Who am I trying to kid here?  I don’t give a crap about football. 

Now, I am an Oregon Duck’s fan because I’m quite certain my family would disown me if I were to pledge my allegiance to any other team.  But, that being said, football season is really more of a hindrance than a benefit.  It’s a lot of sitting around and watching young men in tight pants with bulging biceps and ripped thigh muscles pummel each other in the name of sport.  Wait…I actually have no problem with that part of it.

What I do have a problem with is the sudden urgency in my household to “watch the game.”  I have witnessed my husband transform into a thick-necked, beer-drinking, nacho-inhaling football fan right before my very eyes.  Here’s the funny thing…between the months of January and September, I never hear a “football-ey” word uttered and then all of a sudden my husband gets bitten by the bug and watching the Ducks play becomes a necessity for living, akin to requiring oxygen to breathe.  Oh, brother.

And just forget about it if the whole family gets together to watch a game.   The women?  We’re multi-taskers.  We’re capable of discussing world events, catching up on local gossip, reconciling our bank accounts, bringing about world peace and we still catch most, if not all, of the game.  The men?  They’re neanderthals.  If a fruit fly flits past their heads causing a distraction to their view of the TV they yell, loudly.  And don’t even think about asking them a question mid-play.  You’re met with a disgusted look and sneer of the upper lip.

So, I welcome this season of Oregon Ducks football for what it is.  A giant pain in my ass.

Go Ducks!

Love to all, Mindy