Oh no, she didn't!

I am sure you all think from the title of this blog entry that I got in a fight at Sonic or something.  Not the case.  Although I have been known to resort to name-calling when I'm in the mood for a Vanilla Coke and there isn't a space to park.  That's a story for another day.

No, today much to my shock, horror and disappointment, my dog Elke took a whiz on my duvet cover.  It was on the floor, she must hate my guts, and the rest is history.  Then I freaked out. On her.  She's outside and doesn't even act like she wants to face me.  She should trust her instincts.

 

I think I am going to send her to the puppy jail.  Here's the picture I will give to the police when they book her and need to have something for her mug shot:

She was a baby when I shot the picture and her mischievous nature apparently hasn't changed much.  I was minding my own business taking a shower.  From our shower, a showeree can easily see into our bedroom which is where said incident occurred.  There I was, not a care in the world except whether to regular or deep condition my hair today UNTIL...out of the corner of my eye, I see a little white tail shoot straight up for the sky.  She was looking back at me over her shoulder like she knew was destined for problems.  She must have been mad at me, but if this is in reaction to me getting in the shower, than she has the most serious case of separation anxiety I have ever seen and we need to get his pooch some prozac!  

Once I realized what was happening, I screamed her name, her sister and littermate, Scout barked at her.  I knew it was too late, but I still ran out of the shower and escorted the guilty Elke straight outside.  Goofball dog.  And Scout was just as upset as I was.  She knows how I roll and I discipline just like the military.  One of you is guilty, you both get the punishment. Scout didn't even fight it, she just rolled outside right behind tail-between-her-legs, Elke.

Happy Steph-ebration, everyone!

That's right everyone, today is my birthday!  It gives me great pleasure to announce that I am just-as-close to 20 as I am to 50 today.  My philosophy on birthdays is simple, and it is, BRING 'EM ON!  I love birthdays, and not just my own.  All birthdays should be celebrated with laughter, stories, memories and the honorees' favorite dessert.  

Laughter and the telling of a good story was as big a part of my family growing up as oxygen is in most other families.  If you couldn't tell a good story, you better be a good listener.  Of course, with so many stories flying around the room at any given time, it was often hard to get a word in edgewise. 

 

I remember a few months after I moved from Nebraska to Dallas I was talking on the phone with my mom.  I have no idea what we were laughing about, but out of nowhere she says, "you know what, you are really funny."  Mind you, we hadn't just met.  I was 22 at the time.  It was just that my poor mother's attention had always been divided primarily to my dad-joke-telling father and my court jester sister, Shelley.  It was as if my mother and I had never spoken before.  I am sure it's hard for most of you to believe that I would be the shy one compared to my other family members, but it is true!

Speaking of story telling and Steph-ebration, I can't let the day go by without re-telling one of the best stories from my actual birthday.  After my parents took me home from the hospital, the nurses called the house from the maternity ward and said that they needed to bring me back right away for some additional tests.  Apparently, the hospital staff had overlooked giving me the standard test done at the time for Down's Syndrome.  To really get the full effect of this story, you need to know that my mom has always prepared for the worst because she believes that she won't be disappointed but rather happy when things turn out okay.  I joke with my parents that my dad's glass is always overflowing rather than half-full and my mom's glass is empty, just fell on the tile floor and smashed into 1,000,867 pieces, and her vacuum is broken. 

Back to the hospital story.

Of course, my mom believed the nurses already knew something was wrong, but they were simply trying to let her down easy.  So on the way back to the hospital, my mom very seriously said to my dad, "Jim, I don't care if something is wrong with her, I want to keep her."  The tests turned out to all fall in the normal range and all was well.  My parents love to laugh with each other and me as they think back to May 1974 and the drive back up to the hospital with their new baby.

So I close confirming the thoughts that you all have in your mind right now, yes, my parents have given me a tremendous amount of material for my blog.  Stay tuned for those delicious walks down memory lane.  In the meantime, Happy Steph-ebration!

I Might Have Married An Alien

There are certain things you don't ask on a first date.  I submit a few to you from personal experience:   How much do you weigh?  When do you want to get married?  and finally Are you an alien?

It may be self-explanatory, but the first question is one that should never be directed to me...the second question I suggest is never asked to either men or women under any circumstances even if you are both on the Queen Mary, and it's sinking...and the third question is specifically for my husband, Jay.  I have some explaining to do.

My husband Jay is from Roswell, New Mexico.  I will give you all five seconds to come up with your favorite alien joke off the top of your head.  I'll just be over here humming "The Girl From Ipanema".  5...4...3...2...1.  I will pause again as you laugh to yourself about your alien joke. Okay, are we ready to move on?  Good.  I would now like to apologize to all of you for mentioning "The Girl From Ipanema" because it's quite likely that you might all be singing the song in your head.  Lo siento.

I didn't know much about Roswell 10 years ago before I met Jay.  You probably know that it is believed by many that the outskirts of Roswell were the site of a UFO crash in the 1940s.  Full-blown cable specials on conspiracy theories and alien experts have become en vogue, but that wasn't the case when I met Jay.  Oh how times have changed. I have on occasion watched bits and pieces of these shows hoping to learn more about aliens and determine whether or not I am married to one.  Of course, having been to Roswell personally dozens and dozens of times, it's hard to miss the Alien mania all around town.   I have particular fondness for the street lights which line Main Street.  

The bottom line is, over the years I have collected evidence that could suggest Jay might in fact be an alien:

1.  He changes clothes an average of 2.5 times a day.  This could be because he is an alien and they are constantly trying to adapt and blend in. Or, this could be because I do the laundry and he is unaware how much extra work he is generating for me.  

2.  He is oddly obsessed with the weather.  With the exception of my mother who has a favorite meteorologist on The Weather Channel,  I have never known someone so aware of the weather today, tomorrow and what it is supposed to be doing this time of year.  Jay could be keeping track of weather patterns and reporting back to his home planet.  They would need to gather historical weather data to ensure they are traveling to Earth at the most opportune times.  Or, he could be the ultimate boy scout who needs to be prepared for any situation at all times.

3.  He can name any aircraft in the air, even with his eyes closed.  Granted, I am not exactly able to check his work, but he is confident about the manufacturer and model with each plane he sees or hears in the sky.  From "Above Top Secret," Jim Marrs suggests that aliens are far more advanced than humans when in comes to advances in air travel.  Jay could have gained this encyclopedic knowledge while in Alien training on his home planet.  Or, he could simply have an obsessive compulsive disorder regarding a hobby and interest that has persisted since childhood.

I realize that most people reading my blog are my friends and could be naturally concerned about my safety if Jay becomes aware that I am on to his could-be-an-Alien ways.  Don't worry, dear comrades, it is well known that Aliens don't read blogs.  

Say what, Diane Sawyer?

I love Diane Sawyer.  Good Morning America is as much a part of my morning weekday routine as my multi-vitamin and regular paste Crest.  However, this morning she threw me a complete curveball.  There I was, barely awake, praying that it was Saturday.  Jay had turned on the television which confirmed my fear--it was a weekday.  I was so tired, I wasn't sure which day it was in that nano-second of time.  Tuesday.  Then the familiar GMA opening soundtrack filled the bedroom, the colorful orange and yellow title graphics flooded my room like spotlights and Diane dropped a bomb on me.

The recession is over.  

Just like that. 

While I am thrilled that this may in fact be the case, I am skeptical.  Honestly, I was skeptical that things were quite as horrific as the talking heads claimed from the beginning. Full disclosure encourages me to admit that I enjoy the view from my perch up here in the denial tree.  In reality, I know plenty of friends and former colleagues who lost their jobs, but many have already moved on to find better and brighter futures.   I know I can be cynical, but it seems like ever since "shark attack" hysteria a few years back, the media just jumps on a story and then beats it into the ground until another headline distracts their attention away.  I think they all have ADD, or as Jay likes to say, "AD...ooooh...shiny".  I present the following example to illustrate my point:  Recession -> Susan Boyle -> Swine Flu.  Recession over.  Susan Boyle got her eyebrows done so now nobody cares, and the Swine Flu has a new name which sounds like a Talking Heads album.

I hope Diane is right, I hope the recession is going away.  Many people claim that this break in working has helped families reconnect and adults reevaluate what type of career they really want to have rather than what they were doing before a layoff.  I guess that would make some of the pain of the last few months worthwhile; knowing that there have been lessons learned and lives changed for the better.  I just am not ready to hear about it at 7 in the morning.  See you tomorrow, Diane.

Headed To My Homeland

Ahhh...fresh air.  I am fast forwarding four days when I will actually be able to take a deep breath without fear of inhaling the latest pollutant clouding up the DFW skies.  I am headed to my homeland, the mothership, the good life, Nebraska.  Some may accuse me of planning this trip just to put a few more state lines between me and the Swine Flu, but I can tell you all with certainty, that is not the case. 

 

It's time to visit the friends and the family.  I am embarrassed to admit in writing how long it's been since I have traveled north on I-35 to see my people, so I won't mention it.  Just trust me when I say that it's been too long and this is a much overdue adventure.  And what an adventure it will be.

My husband Jay and I will load ourselves and our two miniature dachshunds up in our car.  One of the two (impossible to say which one) has a tendency to get a little car sick but I will be prepared this time.  We discovered her aversion to long journeys on our way through West Texas last December and our situation was so dire that I ran into an Allsup's Gas Station to buy paper towels and 409.  For those of you who are fortunate enough to not be familiar with Allsup's, essentially I took one for the team.  Big time.  I sacrificed my hair, clothing and skin knowing that I would exit Allsup's smelling like a human fried burrito.  Nasty.

I have always enjoyed the road trip, and I am looking forward to this one as well.  I have 1,000,684 memories of taking family vacations in the car.  As the older sister, I always had dibs on setting the ground rules.  Territory was always the top priority.  "This is the line," I would say to my sister as my index finger ran down the middle of the back seat.  "You stay on your side, and I'll stay on my side, and we should get along just fine."  Yeah right.   Immediately treaties and agreements were violated and all hell broke loose.  My mom pretended to sleep as we argued and my dad turned up the volume on the stereo and sang along to his favorite Bruce Springsteen song of the moment hoping we would work it out on our own.

Road trips are different now.  Jay and I have started our own traditions to pass the time during our 10-hour trek to Lincoln.  We often play the popular "how many meth addicts did you see at that gas station?".  I always win if I am first in the QuikTrip in Wichita.  Dog vomit and Meth addicts...you can see why I am looking forward to the fresh air.

Extra, extra!

"Dad, I need a new bike."  I commanded to my father attempting to steal his attention away from the television, his evening reading material and whatever thoughts he was having at the time.  He put the newspaper down, gave me the look and replied, "Steph, what you really need is a job."  

Surely he misunderstood what I was talking about.  My plan had been that I would let my parents know of my deficiencies in my bicycle department, and they would fix my problem by providing the bike to me. Simple enough.  

Unbeknownst to my dad at the time, this conversation was simply a technicality as far as I was concerned.  I had been eyeing my new 10-speed for weeks at the Coast-to-Coast hardware store.  It was bright red with padded handle bars and a portable bike pump clipped to the frame.  Who in their wildest dreams could even imagine that such an accessory was widely available in 1985?  Not this side-ponytail-wearing pre-teen.  This bike was my destiny, and I knew it.  My dad wasn't so sure.  

"Yes, you need to buy the bike yourself and you can start working this week," he insisted.  I wasn't deterred. Knowing that I was too young by a few years for babysitting, I figured my dad had miscalculated my age again and would soon just cut me a check once he double-checked his math.  "I am too young to babysit," I helpfully reminded him.  "Who said anything about babysitting?  You are going to get a paper route."  I paused waiting for my dad to start laughing. He's always had a great sense of humor and I was sure he was pulling my leg.  Three seconds passed...four seconds...five...six, this is weird, I thought, we were now having a staring contest. He didn't crack a smile, but he did circle the HELP WANTED ad for me and then sent me on my way.

While my mom was in agreement that this paper route would be a good exercise in responsibility for me, the idea of her oldest child canvassing the streets alone in the dark to scatter newsprint did not jive with her motherly instincts.  Solution-she would drive me on my paper route every morning.  In retrospect, it sounds like cheating.  But in all seriousness, it was 5 in the morning and it was winter in Nebraska. 

Each morning my alarm clock screamed at me at 4:30 AM. The regional manager whom I 

worked for delivered my bundles of "The Lincoln Star" to my door.  I immediately started the ritual of folding the papers to optimize space in my bag covered in reflective tape.  If it had rained or snowed overnight, I had to bag each paper in a beautiful plastic orange wrapper that would make a 2009 environmentalist cringe.  My hands were covered in smeared black ink and our house smelled like the combination of newspapers and fresh Folger's coffee as my mom prepared for our departure with her first cup in hand.

My mom was a trooper.  She knew the route as well as I did.  We were partners in crime and I look back on those early morning hours with nostalgia now.  I proved to myself and my parents that I could follow-through on a goal and be responsible enough to be trusted with a job.  The best part was I got the bike eventually, it was the sweetest $90 I ever spent.  I test drove the bike around the block to make sure we were meant to be together, and my instincts were correct.  I started humming the tune "Born Free" as I turned the corner back to the store.  It was time to pay.  I counted out a combination of newspaper tip money and allowance.  I basked in the glow of my accomplishment.  Handing that cash over to the owner of the hardware store, it seemed only fitting that some of the bills were smeared with newspaper ink. 

Ahhh...Spring

I love spring.  Naked trees become covered in green veils, flowers appear and explode in color and fragrance and tornado sirens scream in the distance.  As a girl from the Midwest, more specifically, Nebraska, I can't separate spring from Tornado season.  The two go together like peanut butter and jelly and in my family, we were always aware of even the slightest tornado threat within a 150 mile radius of our home.

My father was and continues to be fascinated by tornadoes and all storms for that matter.  He has very vivid and happy memories of sitting on his family's front porch with his grandfather watching a storm roll in as lightning would strike in the distance.   I wasn't there with my father and his grandfather obviously, but I envision them both trying to be the first to point out the next ominous dark cloud or flash of light at the 2 o'clock position.  That was not my mom's childhood experience.  As the daughter of a farmer who raised livestock and crops, tornadoes meant that my grandparent's ability to support the family was on the line.  Hail often accompanies aggressive storms and the combination can wipe out that season's hard work in an instant.  

When I was in high school, my mom was in a horrible car accident and we celebrated her release from a wheel chair with dinner out one night.  During the day, the weather was wonderful.  The skies were cloudless and the most beautiful color of sheer blue.  Streets were filled with bicycles, and everyone drove with their windows down.  Spring had officially sprung.

It wasn't long into our celebratory dinner that the weather quickly changed.  The owner of our favorite restaurant yelled to all patrons that we had to leave immediately.  There wasn't enough room in his facility for everyone and there was a tornado headed right for us.  This was my mom's living nightmare.  She wasn't entirely mobile as she struggled with crutches and a cast that extended to her knee.  We were eight miles from the safety of our basement.  We quickly got into our car.  The sirens howled warning us that we were tempting Mother Nature.  Run for your life.

The sky was now pitch black to shades of muddy green.  There was no motion in newly-bloomed trees, no chorus from the birds.  We were vulnerable in our vehicle trying to outrun the storm.  Once we were on the highway, the winds picked up to violent levels.  The heavy rain followed.  Windshield wipers at the highest setting could not come close to clearing the windshield for my father's eyes.  We were the only car on the road.

I remember thinking that we had to keep my mom calm.  She started reciting the Lord's Prayer. Silently nudging my sister to look behind us, we could see the wall of the tornado when lighting flashed in two-second intervals.  It couldn't have been more than a half-mile away from us. Knowing that this sight would throw my mom into complete panic, my sister and I were quiet about what we were witnessing.  I simply asked my dad to go faster.

As I looked toward my dad and the steering wheel, I noticed that he was fighting to keep the car on the road.  Then the orange glow of the "low fuel light" lit up the console like a Christmas tree. You've got to be kidding me.  Our car moved faster now, the wind was letting up a little.  I heard the next day in school that several families lost barns and buildings and I was keenly aware that I had probably seen it happen as I watched the tornado move across the farmland behind us.  

We got to our house safely.  My mom disregarded all instructions from her doctor's visit that day and ran into our house directly to the basement.  My sister and I followed.  My dad stayed upstairs to watch the sky and call around to check on his business.   Needless to say, we were all okay, and without any suggestion to the contrary, we celebrated my mom's next healing milestones in the comfort of our own home close to her weather radio and steps away from our basement.