He Looks Normal. . .

But, he's really not. We just love, love, love, our son and are immensely proud of his decision to be a Marine. But, I need to love him from afar. Living in our house, he's driving me crazy!! He looks normal. But, he's goofy as hell!

The scary thing is, he's not unique! Strangers and friends, alike, have related stories about their crazy kids -- mostly boys. One guy, to his wife's displeasure, told us he thought someone had beat their kid with a stupid stick when he turned 18! I still LOL whenever I think about that!

What is it about boys that makes them forego reasoning skills? Admittedly, I've been described as 'high strung', but here are a few things that make me bonkers:

• He complained the shower in the bathroom wasn't getting hot. It was ice cold (his words). I turned the knob to the 'hot' position and watched the shower steam up with the heat generated by the hot water.


• Why do you, routinely, put (1) article of clothing in the dryer?


• Could you please, for the love of good housekeeping, plug my Swiffer back in when you're done?! And don't make me look all over the house for it, only to find it (with batteries dead) propped against the wall behind your bedroom door!


• How do you make red Kool-Aid, spill some of it on the white counter tops, on the tan floor , or in the bottom of the white refrigerator, and not see it until one of us points it out to you?


• If you drink all but the last two ounces of milk, shouldn't you just finish it off and throw the empty container away, instead of putting it back in the refrigerator?

When we point out these things, we get the look from him. Any parent of teenagers knows this look. The one that begs the question, Why are you inferior mortals bothering me?

Sadly, no one I've spoken to know how to "fix" him. Everyone says, He'll grow out of it. It's just a phase all boys go through. In a word, we should just wait. Wait. Dr. M. L. King wrote an essay from jail about waiting. Like us, he was tired of it.

Well, I'm going through a phase, too. It's the phase in my life where I thought I'd be visiting my son, in his unkempt apartment across town. Maybe I'd wash a few dishes because the kitchen was a mess, then leaving to go home to my house -- where there's nothing spilled on the floor, my Swiffer is fully charged and stored exactly where it should be, and there's actually milk in the carton in the refrigerator.

"I See!", Said the Blind Man

I had an illuminating discovery. Or, an epiphany.

We had an event to attend and I thought I might buy a new dress -- if I could find something I liked and it was on sale. For whatever reason, my Sweetie decided to go with me. Nothing to0 unusual about that.

After looking and not finding anything, I was ready to leave. Half jokingly, he said, We're leaving already? You didn't get anything. I laughed and said they didn't have anything I liked. He said, I'll find something for you.

In about 2 minutes he was holding up this dress with a pretty print, but it was not anything I'd ever pick for myself. This dress was cut down to there in the front and was almost backless! This was definitely the 'freakum dress' Beyonce is talking about! I laughed and said, Quit playing!

This is where the epiphany comes in. He's not playing! Right there in the store, it dawned on me that my husband sees me as this hot chick! I'm not a hot chick. I'm a 40-something mom. Not that moms aren't attractive; I think I'm attractive. I just don't think I'm a hot chick. But he does. OMG!!

He is insisting we buy this dress. I actually do think the dress is pretty -- nice print, bright colors. I figure, Fine, I'll just return it when he's not around.

We get home and he insists I try it on right now. Right now. Ok, but then I have to finish getting packed for a business trip tomorrow morning.

I get the dress on and get everything situated -- don't act like you don't know what I'm talkin' about! He goes absolutely ga-ga! He says, Now that you have it on, we're going out. The smile freezes on my face. In my head, I'm screaming, I can't wear this dress outside with other people looking at me! But, he's not taking 'no' for an answer. I'm wracking my brain trying to think of ways to disuade him, when I remember I have a pretty wrap that will cover everything nobody else needs to see.

We had a FAN-TAB-U-LOUS time! My Sweetie was so attentive and affectionate all evening. He couldn't take his eyes off me. I was utterly shocked to realize how he sees me. More importantly, I'm shocked to realize what he doesn't see -- the figure flaws I try desperately to hide. My inner voice is saying, Hello, girlie, the man don't see 'em!!

Even the restaurant manager was complimentary -- he sent over drinks, stopped by the table several times to chat, and made unsolicited recommendations. It had to be "the dress".

For me, the takeaway from this was a new self-awareness and the realization not everyone else sees me the way I see me. I think I'll work on seeing myself through his eyes more often. I may even wear "the dress" again.

When Did That Happen?!

Where was I when Halloween became a major holiday?!

By major, I mean, spiders the size of a small car affixed to the side of the house and roof, house and yard converted to a cemetary, a special effects haunted house in the back yard, and holographic images and scary movies projected onto the garage door.

When did we get away from a single carved pumpkin on the porch, rubber bats hanging in the window, and fake spiders and cobwebs in the doorway?

As a kid, my costume consisted of my mom making up my face, putting her big loop earrings in my ear, tying a colorful scarf around my head, dressing me in a puffy white blouse and peasant skirt, putting a fancy belt around my waist and bracelets on my wrists -- voila I was a gypsy! I was about 6.

We went knocking door-to-door on our street and in our immediate neighborhood. That was it. We didn't pile into the car and drive across town, for "good" candy. I didn't know there was "bad" candy. I got to play dress-up. People gave me candy just for ringing the doorbell, smiling, and yelling trick-or-treat! I got to stay up late. Nothing bad about any of that!

Ok, maybe anything licorice-flavored and that orange candy corn could be considered "bad".

And just how old are trick-or-treaters supposed to be? 5? 7? 9? Half the kids I saw trick-or-treating were either too young to walk (isn't candy a choking hazard?!) or in high school. If you can't say trick-or-treat, have breasts, or facial hair, you probably should not be trick-or-treating!

I'm not sayin' we shouldn't let the kids celebrate Halloween. I'm just sayin' it seems like we've gone a bit overboard. But, what do I care, we weren't even at home.

Shhhh!

Summer's over and my mini-me (that's what I call the young lady I mentor) is back in town. During one of our outings, we went to the library. I grabbed a stack of reading material from the adult section, then headed to the children's section with her.

After perusing the bookshelves, she decided on a few books to read. We settled down at a nice corner table, near a window. A few minutes later, 2 adults and 2 kids settled at the adjacent table. They started talking. Loudly. Really loudly.

IR-RI-TA-TING. I couldn't concentrate on my own reading.

I got the attention of a passing librarian and asked, "Are we in the tutoring section? Those people (pointing at them) are talking so loudly". The librarian laughed and said, "The library isn't as quiet as it used to be. It's more a place to gather socially, now". Then, she recommended a few quiet (allegedly) corners in other parts of the library.

Since when aren't people supposed to be quiet in the library?! If you want to be sociable, go to Starbuck's!

Moving wasn't an option -- the age-appropriate books for mini-me were nearby and the paranoid in me wouldn't let her out of my sight (good mentors are not supposed to lose their mentees). I thought about whipping out my cell phone and having a loud, obnoxious, conversation with an imaginary friend. But I didn't.

Fortunately the noisy offenders left. However, this situation made me wonder, Whatever became of your library voice?! I used that expression countless time when CJ was little -- in restaurants, at the movie theater, while visiting museums, etc. Use your library voice. Instantly, he would begin to speak in a whisper. Today, it must mean speak loudly and enunciate clearly, so that every syllable bounces off the reflective surfaces surrounding us.

Ok, I may be over-dramatizing, but am I really wrong for expecting the library to be a quite, soothing, place, where everyone speaks softly?

I Aggrevated What?!

Recently, I aggrevated a nerve/muscle in my boom-boom. I don't think I even knew I had a butt-muscle (that's what my friend, a nurse, calls it). The result was severe, stabbing, pain -- the kind of pain that makes a tear fall and causes perspiration to break out in the 'lady moustache' on your upper lip. I wouldn't wish this type of injury on anyone (well, maybe just one person!)

Any movement involving my leg was affected. Walking, moving to/from a standing/seated position was excruciating. As was trying to get in/out of the car. And sleeping was out of the question -- I had to sleep flat on my back with a pillow underneath my leg. I know I woke Tim up everytime I inadvertently shifted position and yelled out in pain.

The doctor prescribed some meds, recommended some stretching exercises, and said I should be fine, soon. Lucky for me I don't have an addictive personality, because the muscle relaxers (aka magic pills) are wonderful. They certainly do what the name implies. My doctor said they might make me drowsy. Yeah, right! They definitely made me drowsy, slurred my speech, and took away my reasoning abilities!

When I had to accept my neighbor's offer to borrow an unused cane, I knew I had reached the pinnacle of pififulness (is that a word?). But, you know, it really helped! As much as I wanted to resist having to use it, it was my lifeline. It's hard to be prideful, when you can't turn on your heels and walk away in a huff!

So, I hobbled around town with my cane -- took it to the movies, where the manger ushered me to a seat while Tim got our tickets; took it to a charity event where I didn't have to work quite as hard; and I took it to Sunday Brunch, where it got us a prime seat near the window and the waiter propped my leg up on an adjacent chair. I probably should have felt guilty over the preferential treatment, but I didn't. Is that wrong?!

Thankfully, I got over my injury fairly quickly and could retire the cane. I don't get the preferential treatment when we go out, but I'm not in excruciating pain, either. All-in-all, a more than fair trade-off.

I Do!

This was waiting for me when I got home yesterday.

It's a wedding band. I lost mine several months ago while on a Mexican Riviera cruise. The realization I had lost my wedding band was horrible. I cried.

This one is different from my original band. This one is exactly like the one my Sweetie wears now. Funny thing, he never really liked the band I picked. I loved it. I love this one, too. We always said the three separate bands that composed his ring stood for: loving one another, trusting one another, longing for one another

My wedding band is the tangible reminder that I'm part of a team. I think I value the band more than the engagement ring. The engagement ring is a promise of what's to come; the wedding band is the manifestation of that promise.

Having that gold band on the second finger of my left hand reminded me that I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine (Song of Solomon 6:3). Those are the words I used to sign my cards and letters to him when we were apart during our engagement and those are the words I said to him on the day I became his wife.

I know not having the ring doesn't make us any less married, but the idea of someone else having that ring and not respecting what it symbolizes makes me sad. If they respected it, they would have returned it. It was, obviously, a wedding band.

My morning routine will be righted, again: brush teeth, shower, put on make-up, slip my wedding band onto my finger. Again, everyone will know, I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine.

Absolutely Speechless!

That's what this dessert did to me -- made me speechless! All I could say, was Mmmmm! Mmmmm!

All of my senses were bombarded with goodness -- it looked delectable, it smelled inviting, I could hear my heart beating with anticipation of the goodness to come, it felt good on my tongue, and it tasted incredible!! Finally, I found the words to describe this experience:

This is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth!

This must be what God has with His coffee! This pie is just that good.

NOTE: You need to stop reading this, hop on the next flight to Seattle, steal a car, and get to Dahlia Bakery, Dahlia Lounge, or Lola's and get yourself some of this pie! Seriously!

We absolutely love visiting our Seattle relatives. To commemorate our last night in town, I wanted to treat everyone to a special dinner. So, when Mary suggested we have dinner at Ivar's and coffee and dessert at Dahlia's Lounge, we said, "Cool!" Dinner was good, but dessert was PHE-NOM-E-NAL!

Our waitress delivered this fluffy looking dessert, that at first glance, I thought, "This serving is huge." I almost wanted to cry when I ate the last bite. My taste buds were actually sad. I thanked our cousins, profusely, for introducing us to this place and this dessert. On the way out, I whispered to my Sweetie, We are definitely coming back here the next time we're in town!

After we got home from our evening out, the head cold I was fighting got the better of me, so I went to bed early and slept late the next morning. When I woke up I didn't have much of an appetite, so Tim and I set out to enjoy our last day on empty stomachs.

By the time we were hungry, we were in Downtown Seattle, just a few blocks from Lola's. So we went in for breakfast. As we were finishing, the waiter asked if we wanted dessert. I jokingly said, "Who orders dessert after breakfast?" (It was about 12 noon, actually). Tim said, "Sure, we'll look at a dessert menu." Very casually, the waiter said, "Oh, in addition to our regular dessert items we have some non-published items. . .blah, blah, blah. . .and the Triple Coconut Cream Pie from Dahlia Lounge."

Instantly, my ears perked up. What was that last thing you said? He repeated himself. We sent him away to get menu's, but I was already having a hard time hiding my giddiness. Tim declined, but I knew what I was having -- a little slice of heaven!

I stepped away to wash up and when I returned it was there! The pie from heaven is waiting for me. I really think I am singing out loud -- this is going to be so good, look at it! I dig in and my whole body is made happy -- all the way down to my pedicured toes, which are now curled up in excitement.

Thankfully, it's as good as I remember. Maybe better. The shaved white chocolote is good. The toasted coconut is good. The whipped cream is fluffy and good. The custard is good. The crust is good. All together, it really is the best tasting thing I have ever put in my mouth. E-VER!

Every single bite is savored, but it's finally down to the last one. Sadly, I put it on my fork, gaze at it lovingly, then resolve to remember this sensation until I'm back in Seattle.

Lola's, Dahlia Bakery, Dahlia Lounge, Etta's, Palace Kitchen and Serious Pie are all restaurants owned by Seattle Chef, Tom Douglas. On our next trip to Seattle, I intend to eat at each of them. Oh, yeah!