Sunday, November 04, 2007
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Love, True Love
You know you've been married a long time when you have a conversation like the one I had the other morning with my dear husband which went something like this...
Every moment is a Hallmark moment at the Russ household!
Me, sitting up on the edge of the bed about to start my day. Bone tired, exhausted.
Him: Where are you going?
Me: Going into the bathroom to kill myself.
Him: Try not to make a mess with the splatter.
Me: It's okay... I was going to just slash my wrists.
Him: How about I just smother you with this pillow instead?
Me: Sure, thanks dear. I love you.
Him: No problem, honey. I love you too.
Every moment is a Hallmark moment at the Russ household!
Monday, August 27, 2007
Let Their Be Ice!
It's a cliche to see a cheesy sci-fi flick in which computers, machines, or some form of technology begins to run amok to the detriment of the well-meaning humans who created them.
It may be cheesy, but truthfully, I have one of those machines.
My friends will tell you I love ice and in all my many years I never had a refrigerator that made ice until my husband and I purchased our latest model of fridge when we remodeled our kitchen. My husband understood it was imperative that the new refrigerator spit cubes out reliably and generously. I would then be free from my enslavement by plastic ice trays that took up freezer space, cracked after long use and sometimes spilled all over everything.
My handy husband installed the ice machine into the freezer and we sat back and watched in wonder for our bounty of icy goodness to commence.
Our first batch of ice was partially black. BLACK! Rob said it had something to do with the charcoal filter installed in the line. We threw out that batch and waited for the next. That batch looked normal, but all the cubes were hollow on the inside. I asked The Hubster, "Dear, is our ice supposed to be empty on the inside??" He said no, definitely not.
Another adjustment later and the ice seemed to be coming out fairly normal. This went on until we felt comfortable with our official entre into the ice making world. I felt important and proud. I'd jump at the chance to give people icy cold beverages. My life had changed.
A couple of years ago I was showing homes to a client of mine. She was complaining that the houses they were looking at didn't have ice makers. I told her it was really no big deal, the fridges in the houses she was looking at already had ice makers. She corrected me saying, no, ice MACHINES, not ice MAKERS.
I had no idea that in one's own personal home one could have a consumer ice machine. Apparently this is a "just so" thing to have if you entertain. How could I not know this? I entertain, but it turns out the type of socializing I do is not really "entertaining". I am naive when it comes to these things.
So, am reminded of it all again and tell Rob about that 8th wonder of the world over dinner.
Later that night I realized we'd been using ice all day and the ice maker had not been producing replacement ice. My husband proceeded to check into the situation and said nothing was amiss and that we were just using it faster than we were making it.
In the morning, still no ice. Once again, The Hubster heaves himself under the kitchen sink knocking cleaning chemicals aside and groaning that he's breaking his back and was I trying to kill him and use the insurance money to lure another, younger, husband into my black widow's web? (I wasn't but I have to admit I've considered it more than once since he's put the idea into my head.)
As brilliant as my husband is with various household emergencies and dilemmas, he could not resolve the issue with the ice maker. I had to break down and buy a bag of ice from the store. I slammed it around on the back porch then emptied it into the ice bin, loudly complaining.
Not five minutes later I heard the ice maker kick on and some time after that, a batch of ice was dumped onto my store bought ice. I was thrilled the ice maker was working again. It tossed out a second batch and we assumed the problem was solved.
As soon as the store bought ice was gone, the ice maker stopped making ice again.
Over the last two years we have discovered something about our ice maker. It makes ice only under these circumstances:
-- When we purchase ice from the store
-- When we threaten to replace it
The real truth is that our ice maker has a real personality and it's mad, considering me disloyal by displaying my lust for the wonder of a consumer ice machine. I can't explain it any better than that.
In fact, in order to punish me further, the little wire thing on the ice maker that tells the machine to shut off has popped off and we can't seem to get it back on where it goes. I didn't worry about it because the machine wasn't making much ice anyway. We were having friends over for a barbeque, so we bought TWO bags of ice, filled the ice bin and an ice chest on the back porch, vociferously complaining about our stubborn ice maker and how ungrateful it was for the nice home we'd given it.
In true form, the ice maker, under the threat of replacement began to produce ice. It heard my final and powerful threat, "I mean it this time, darling, the ice maker has to GO. I'm so sick of this thing not doing its job!" It had to prove itself to me, that it could truly be the ice maker we had adopted. It made ice. And made ice. And made ice. There was no off switch any more. The ice flowed. It flowed over the bin, spilled out the side, erupted from the freezer each time we opened the door.
Despite the amused guffaws of our friends, we know the ice maker has a personality. Now in order to control the ice, I offer a varying mix of praise and scorn to lessen or increase the amount of ice it dumps into the bin.
Call me crazy, but it works.
Rob mentioned that he wanted to replace the ice maker on Saturday and I found myself talking him out of it. I said it was only about the money and it seemed silly to spend extra money on a new ice maker when this one seems to be working. But the truth is I feel that the machine and I have come to an understanding, a real working relationship, and I just can't give up on it after all this time.
Now, I just hope it's not reading my blog after I go to bed at night. I'm not buying one of those Internet-ready fridges, that's for sure.
It may be cheesy, but truthfully, I have one of those machines.
My friends will tell you I love ice and in all my many years I never had a refrigerator that made ice until my husband and I purchased our latest model of fridge when we remodeled our kitchen. My husband understood it was imperative that the new refrigerator spit cubes out reliably and generously. I would then be free from my enslavement by plastic ice trays that took up freezer space, cracked after long use and sometimes spilled all over everything.
My handy husband installed the ice machine into the freezer and we sat back and watched in wonder for our bounty of icy goodness to commence.
Our first batch of ice was partially black. BLACK! Rob said it had something to do with the charcoal filter installed in the line. We threw out that batch and waited for the next. That batch looked normal, but all the cubes were hollow on the inside. I asked The Hubster, "Dear, is our ice supposed to be empty on the inside??" He said no, definitely not.
Another adjustment later and the ice seemed to be coming out fairly normal. This went on until we felt comfortable with our official entre into the ice making world. I felt important and proud. I'd jump at the chance to give people icy cold beverages. My life had changed.
A couple of years ago I was showing homes to a client of mine. She was complaining that the houses they were looking at didn't have ice makers. I told her it was really no big deal, the fridges in the houses she was looking at already had ice makers. She corrected me saying, no, ice MACHINES, not ice MAKERS.
I had no idea that in one's own personal home one could have a consumer ice machine. Apparently this is a "just so" thing to have if you entertain. How could I not know this? I entertain, but it turns out the type of socializing I do is not really "entertaining". I am naive when it comes to these things.
So, am reminded of it all again and tell Rob about that 8th wonder of the world over dinner.
Later that night I realized we'd been using ice all day and the ice maker had not been producing replacement ice. My husband proceeded to check into the situation and said nothing was amiss and that we were just using it faster than we were making it.
In the morning, still no ice. Once again, The Hubster heaves himself under the kitchen sink knocking cleaning chemicals aside and groaning that he's breaking his back and was I trying to kill him and use the insurance money to lure another, younger, husband into my black widow's web? (I wasn't but I have to admit I've considered it more than once since he's put the idea into my head.)
As brilliant as my husband is with various household emergencies and dilemmas, he could not resolve the issue with the ice maker. I had to break down and buy a bag of ice from the store. I slammed it around on the back porch then emptied it into the ice bin, loudly complaining.
Not five minutes later I heard the ice maker kick on and some time after that, a batch of ice was dumped onto my store bought ice. I was thrilled the ice maker was working again. It tossed out a second batch and we assumed the problem was solved.
As soon as the store bought ice was gone, the ice maker stopped making ice again.
Over the last two years we have discovered something about our ice maker. It makes ice only under these circumstances:
-- When we purchase ice from the store
-- When we threaten to replace it
The real truth is that our ice maker has a real personality and it's mad, considering me disloyal by displaying my lust for the wonder of a consumer ice machine. I can't explain it any better than that.
In fact, in order to punish me further, the little wire thing on the ice maker that tells the machine to shut off has popped off and we can't seem to get it back on where it goes. I didn't worry about it because the machine wasn't making much ice anyway. We were having friends over for a barbeque, so we bought TWO bags of ice, filled the ice bin and an ice chest on the back porch, vociferously complaining about our stubborn ice maker and how ungrateful it was for the nice home we'd given it.
In true form, the ice maker, under the threat of replacement began to produce ice. It heard my final and powerful threat, "I mean it this time, darling, the ice maker has to GO. I'm so sick of this thing not doing its job!" It had to prove itself to me, that it could truly be the ice maker we had adopted. It made ice. And made ice. And made ice. There was no off switch any more. The ice flowed. It flowed over the bin, spilled out the side, erupted from the freezer each time we opened the door.
Despite the amused guffaws of our friends, we know the ice maker has a personality. Now in order to control the ice, I offer a varying mix of praise and scorn to lessen or increase the amount of ice it dumps into the bin.
Call me crazy, but it works.
Rob mentioned that he wanted to replace the ice maker on Saturday and I found myself talking him out of it. I said it was only about the money and it seemed silly to spend extra money on a new ice maker when this one seems to be working. But the truth is I feel that the machine and I have come to an understanding, a real working relationship, and I just can't give up on it after all this time.
Now, I just hope it's not reading my blog after I go to bed at night. I'm not buying one of those Internet-ready fridges, that's for sure.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Goodbye Reggie
My neighbors, Reggie and Mags, live right across the street. They don't have much of a front porch, but they do have a couple of kitchen chairs that they have in their carport and that's where they sit during the summer. They like to watch my husband and I putter around in the yard. It's a funny feeling being someone's pasttime. I don't mind it except when my bottom is up in the air because I'm weeding the flowerbed. I'm sure they are just sitting over there talking about how wide it is. My husband insists they have more important things to talk about than my posterior side, but I just don't know.
Reggie was sick off and on, but an old, good natured guy. A couple weeks ago a big van came by and dropped off a hospital bed and some oxygen stuff. Hubby said it wouldn't be too much longer now. Mags looks like she's in a roller coaster car that's about to roll down the big drop. She sees it coming but can't do anything about it. I hold my husband a lot tighter at night than I have for a while.
Sure enough, Sunday we were out in the yard and Mags's sister Louella was sitting there in the carport where Reggie usually sits. Reggie was gone for good.
It's harder to sit on the porch now and not see anyone in that carport. A "for sale" sign went up in the yard two days ago. I'm gonna miss them both. We always had fun yelling stuff across the yard. Mags and I often stood at the mailbox and talked. From our porch we could see across their yard to the garden. Every year they had a huge garden and often brought us extra produce. The year before there was a drought and because they were on Social Security they could not afford the water they needed to keep the garden up. This year Reggie was sick. Again no garden. The fenced in spot is choked with weeds and rife with neglect.
There's probably a metaphor for life in there somewhere.
Reggie was sick off and on, but an old, good natured guy. A couple weeks ago a big van came by and dropped off a hospital bed and some oxygen stuff. Hubby said it wouldn't be too much longer now. Mags looks like she's in a roller coaster car that's about to roll down the big drop. She sees it coming but can't do anything about it. I hold my husband a lot tighter at night than I have for a while.
Sure enough, Sunday we were out in the yard and Mags's sister Louella was sitting there in the carport where Reggie usually sits. Reggie was gone for good.
It's harder to sit on the porch now and not see anyone in that carport. A "for sale" sign went up in the yard two days ago. I'm gonna miss them both. We always had fun yelling stuff across the yard. Mags and I often stood at the mailbox and talked. From our porch we could see across their yard to the garden. Every year they had a huge garden and often brought us extra produce. The year before there was a drought and because they were on Social Security they could not afford the water they needed to keep the garden up. This year Reggie was sick. Again no garden. The fenced in spot is choked with weeds and rife with neglect.
There's probably a metaphor for life in there somewhere.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Yesterday and Tomorrow
There are little boys sprouting up all around me.
Yesterday, Tristan walked three or four steps from the coffee table to the couch. He got about halfway between the two and stopped when he realized what he was doing and he chuckled his signature "heh heh" then took another couple of fast steps before he could lose his nerve. Yesterday he was 9 months and 9 days old and will probably walk a couple of months earlier than his brother did. I was hoping his common sense would catch up with this speed for movement, but it doesn't look like it will happen!
Tomorrow, Julius is starting school. First day of school. I've been saying that to myself over and over today as if saying it over and over will make it more real. I keep worrying I'm going to make a big doofus of myself tomorrow. It seems weird that I can take my son to the hospital for 10 surgeries and make it through that, but dropping him off at school seems like it will send me into orbit. I'm not ready for my little boy to grow up.
We've taken this life transition as an opportunity to get him to be more independent and sleep in his room all night and go to bed consistently at 8PM. We were expecting hysteria and arguments, but it's gone really well. The first night he asked his dad, "Why do I have to be in bed and Tristan doesn't?" My husband explained that Julius would have the opportunity to do lots of firsts in his life... be the first to go to school, drive a car... and Julius interjected, "And go to college." Dad said, "Yes, go to college, too." And, beaming, Julius said, "I can move far away!"
So, already my 4 year old son is planning his escape from home. Is he mature or does he hate living with his mother? I can't decide. :-)
His teacher is an old schoolmate of mine. We were in the same graduating class. That also seems exceptionally weird to me. Several times today my mind has drifted back to our high school days. I thought about the way we were back then and I wonder if someone had come back in time and told me that one day I would have two children and Lisa would be their teacher I would have never believed it in a million years.
I would have thought it was a life too ordinary for me. And some days, the dark days, I do think my life is too ordinary. But on other days I marvel at my good fortune. I live in a great place, modest but nice home, wonderful countryside, two adorable boys, hard working hubby, my own business, great friends.
All in all, I really couldn't ask for any better yesterdays and tomorrows.
Yesterday, Tristan walked three or four steps from the coffee table to the couch. He got about halfway between the two and stopped when he realized what he was doing and he chuckled his signature "heh heh" then took another couple of fast steps before he could lose his nerve. Yesterday he was 9 months and 9 days old and will probably walk a couple of months earlier than his brother did. I was hoping his common sense would catch up with this speed for movement, but it doesn't look like it will happen!
Tomorrow, Julius is starting school. First day of school. I've been saying that to myself over and over today as if saying it over and over will make it more real. I keep worrying I'm going to make a big doofus of myself tomorrow. It seems weird that I can take my son to the hospital for 10 surgeries and make it through that, but dropping him off at school seems like it will send me into orbit. I'm not ready for my little boy to grow up.
We've taken this life transition as an opportunity to get him to be more independent and sleep in his room all night and go to bed consistently at 8PM. We were expecting hysteria and arguments, but it's gone really well. The first night he asked his dad, "Why do I have to be in bed and Tristan doesn't?" My husband explained that Julius would have the opportunity to do lots of firsts in his life... be the first to go to school, drive a car... and Julius interjected, "And go to college." Dad said, "Yes, go to college, too." And, beaming, Julius said, "I can move far away!"
So, already my 4 year old son is planning his escape from home. Is he mature or does he hate living with his mother? I can't decide. :-)
His teacher is an old schoolmate of mine. We were in the same graduating class. That also seems exceptionally weird to me. Several times today my mind has drifted back to our high school days. I thought about the way we were back then and I wonder if someone had come back in time and told me that one day I would have two children and Lisa would be their teacher I would have never believed it in a million years.
I would have thought it was a life too ordinary for me. And some days, the dark days, I do think my life is too ordinary. But on other days I marvel at my good fortune. I live in a great place, modest but nice home, wonderful countryside, two adorable boys, hard working hubby, my own business, great friends.
All in all, I really couldn't ask for any better yesterdays and tomorrows.
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Sign
Still in our pajamas, fresh from a date with dreams, Selah and I sat on the swing in the front yard. We thanked God for the moist grass, the yellow sky, the watermelon crape myrtle in the neighbor's yard, the coffee brewing inside, Hamlet, Zoe, Nic, Moxie, Elsa and Daddy. Always Daddy.
I sang softly. Jesus loves me. This I know. The breeze from our swinging swept my hair in tickles across our cheeks. I was holding on to the moment as snugly as I held the girl.
A small, beat-up, red truck turned the corner onto our street, gliding past the houses at a sleepy pace. A petite, olive-skinned woman sat in the passenger seat. The ragged, straw cowboy hat perched on her head shadowed her eyes, but not her dazzling smile. Her window was down. She was enjoying the cool morning, too.
She spotted us on the swing and leaned forward. She raised her arm and pulled a closed fist against her heart. She brought it to her mouth in a kiss and back to her chest, where she drummed it gently, firmly.
"Yes, I am. I will." I spoke to the air. But she heard and nodded. And left me with her beautiful, knowing, teaching smile.
I sang softly. Jesus loves me. This I know. The breeze from our swinging swept my hair in tickles across our cheeks. I was holding on to the moment as snugly as I held the girl.
A small, beat-up, red truck turned the corner onto our street, gliding past the houses at a sleepy pace. A petite, olive-skinned woman sat in the passenger seat. The ragged, straw cowboy hat perched on her head shadowed her eyes, but not her dazzling smile. Her window was down. She was enjoying the cool morning, too.
She spotted us on the swing and leaned forward. She raised her arm and pulled a closed fist against her heart. She brought it to her mouth in a kiss and back to her chest, where she drummed it gently, firmly.
"Yes, I am. I will." I spoke to the air. But she heard and nodded. And left me with her beautiful, knowing, teaching smile.
Your Chicken is Under the Microwave
"Selah, your chicken is under the microwave."
I believe those were the first words I said this morning as I placed Selah in her Johnny-Jump-Up. Just to clear things up-- I was referring to her felt finger puppet chicken, the one that 'sits' (no pun intended) on her SoftPlay Farm book and puppet theater. I can't tell you where Sheep and Cow are.
I find myself saying some very interesting things these days. Things I'd have to explain to the inexperienced ear.
There's : Do do nee un didie change? That's baby talk for 'Do you need a diaper change?' I try to keep the baby talk to a minimum. You know, to keep myself from slipping into motherhood insanity and, well, to ensure that Selah has at least the IQ of Einstein. (Did I spell that right?!)
There's: Let Mamma get that boog. I gently coo this as I wrangle with WWF champ Selah to remove an unsightly formation from her precious little nose.
How about: Which side do you want? Hint: Nursing mothers will get this in an instant!
And then there's: Will you hold her a sec so I can go to the bathroom? You may be wondering what one has to do with the other. Try taking care of business with a 20-pound, wriggling creature attached to your hip, tummy, chest...then we'll talk!
There is one that needs no explanation. One that fills the chatter between me and Selah more often than any other. One that makes perfect sense to all who hear it. I love you, Selah, my joy, my sweet.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
My Girl
I've got sunshine on a cloudy day.
When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May.
I'd guess you'd say--what can make me feel this way?
My girl, my girl, my girl.
Talkin' bout my girl. MY GIRL!
(Westlife lyrics)
Making Choices
I've decided to ask myself some questions when deciding how to spend my time, energy, money, resources. In my quest for a richer, more meaningful, productive life, I will ask myself --
Does this serve God, my family, friends and community?
Will this improve or strengthen my relationship with God, my family, friends and/or dogs?
Will this improve or benefit my health and well-being and that of my family, friends and/or dogs?
Will this create or support a loving, nurturing, joyful environment for me and my family?
Will this provide inspiration, focus and time for writing and other creative endeavors?
Will this eliminate stress and help me to be a happier, healthier, more whole wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend?
Will this lead me closer to the accomplishment of my dreams in regards to working with/helping animals, writing and acting?
If I can honestly answer 'yes' to at least four of these questions regarding a decision, I can do it. If not, I will say 'no' and reevaluate it another time. Let's see how it changes my life and the lives of those around me!!!
Does this serve God, my family, friends and community?
Will this improve or strengthen my relationship with God, my family, friends and/or dogs?
Will this improve or benefit my health and well-being and that of my family, friends and/or dogs?
Will this create or support a loving, nurturing, joyful environment for me and my family?
Will this provide inspiration, focus and time for writing and other creative endeavors?
Will this eliminate stress and help me to be a happier, healthier, more whole wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend?
Will this lead me closer to the accomplishment of my dreams in regards to working with/helping animals, writing and acting?
If I can honestly answer 'yes' to at least four of these questions regarding a decision, I can do it. If not, I will say 'no' and reevaluate it another time. Let's see how it changes my life and the lives of those around me!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
