Garage door adventures

Saturday morning, Robert and I took the last official step into adulthood: we purchased our first minivan, a 2004 silver Oldsmobile Silhouette.

Our truck was on its last leg, and we were concerned about Emma’s safety with her car seat being right there up front in the cab. Plus, the truck is not easy to drive in the winter since it tends to fishtail with the slightest bit of ice on the road. And so we took the plunge. As if God was reassuring us that we made the right decision, we had our first major snow of the winter this morning. Talk about good timing.

The van is used, but we’re geeked about its many “modern” features that our 2001 Ford Ranger lacked. Things like automatic windows, a display telling me the song/artist for the radio and CDs, rear defrost and wipers, cup holders by every seat. It’s glorious.

Robert’s stoked about the fact that it can play CDs AND cassettes. So Saturday night, he was out in the van jamming to Led Zeppelin tapes he had long ago banished to the bottom of our audio cabinet.

While out there, he also messed with another one of his favorite features: the built-in garage door opener. With the greatest of ease, I can now reach over my head and open the garage door with a button built into the console. Never mind the fact that it was just as easy to open with the factory door opener. And never mind the fact that I would never ever open the garage from the van, because our mutts Midnight and Shadow would surely take the opportunity to escape into the great outdoors since they run around in the garage all day. Still, it’s pretty cool.

So this morning I was making final preparations to walk out the door, putting Emma’s shoes on.

Suddenly I heard the garage door opening. I didn't know if Robert came back home or if I had an intruder. But I threw caution to the wind and ran out there, panicked that the dogs would escape into the snow. I couldn’t think of a worse way to start my week than chasing two 60-pound dogs through the mush.

Just as I got out into the garage, the door stopped and started going back down. Luckily, the dogs were just standing there confused.

I turned to go back in the door, and the garage door started going back up again. I hastily corralled the dogs, desperately shouting "stay" while hitting the button in the garage so it would go back down again.

Then I went back in to finish getting Emma ready and heard it going up again. So I ran back out. This kept happening like three or four more times.

I was trying to figure out what to do, thinking there must be some of short with the gadget in the van as a result of the cold weather. I figured I better call in to work and let them know I wouldn't be in for a while because I needed to figure out how to get it fixed.

While trying to formulate a plan, I went back to getting Emma's shoes on.

That’s when I saw what she had her hand: the garage door opener Robert had taken out of the truck and set on the table. She'd been playing with it the whole time.

What a riot! But even more so, what a relief!

I don’t know if Robert or I could have handled the disappointment if our van’s nifty control panel wasn’t properly functioning.

A blog is a terrible thing to waste

Wow! It's been a really long time since I blogged about anything. Who would have thought I could go this long without a really thought-provoking piece to inspire the world?!!

Alas, when it comes to deep thoughts, I'm still blogstipated, so I thought I'd just share some random discoveries and ponderings from the past few weeks.

• Why do they say, "easy as pie?" I made it from scratch (mostly) last night. It's not easy.

• Which reminds me: moms and dads truly are the best kind of people in the world. At 9:15 p.m., when you realize you don't have tapioca to finish your pie and the only store in your small town is closed, only mom and dad would insist on driving the 15 miles to bring it to you.

• While sitting on the lid of my toilet waiting for Emma to "finish" going potty (which means absolutely nothing except that she's bored), I noticed that her white bath toys now have a slightly rusty tone to them from the minerals in my water. So does the shower curtain. Do you suppose I'd be even more pale if I didn't bathe in Momence water every day?

• Not everyone enjoys a good haiku. The marketing team expressed our Thanksgiving praises at a company luncheon in the form of Japanese poetry. We read with great emotion, reader's chorus style, while wearing homemade pilgrim hats and standing under a spotlight in the dark. Somehow the audience still missed the brilliance of fitting phrases like "Fat Pants," "Woody Woodpecker" and "Run, turkey, run" into 17 syllable poems. You could have heard crickets. Maybe they were more of an iambic pentameter kind of crowd.

• 8-hour drives can turn into 11-hour drives if you're traveling with the right company. But a whirlwind weekend trip to Nebraska is worth the drive for quality time with your co-pilot and to kiss a newborn nephew.

• There's nothing in the world like picking up your child after a long day and she's jumping up and down because she's so excited to see you.

• Doctors are paid to diagnose your problem, not build your self-esteem. They will not lie and say "well, you look like you've lost weight." Nor will they find it embarrassing in the slightest to ask if you're having any issues with flatulence.

• And finally, your husband will never, ever admit to not replacing the toilet paper on the roll. Just accept it, replace it, and move on.

A startling discovery

It all started with a simple announcement.

Kate, our project manager, pulled me to the side and told me the graphic designers were closing in on a significant milestone. Since the official founding of our “project request forms” three years ago, they had successfully processed 1000 projects.

Wahoo! She asked if we could have a party or something, and my answer was of course, “yes.”

And so the planning began.

I went to Sweet Street and had them calculate how many pounds of Jelly Bellies I would have to buy to have 1000. When that proved too expensive, they weighed and sold me 1000 M&Ms. (Just over 2 ½ lbs, in case you’re wondering. )

Casey baked a double layer cake, and I bought a “1” and three “0” candles to put on top.

Kate searched out appropriate music over which she could do an interpretive reading of the most memorable projects, and I prepared the tackiest certificates I could concoct to honor the three people in the world who would most cringe at my horrible graphic design work.

The party was a smash. We laughed, we cried, we were interrupted two times by people outside of our office who wondered when our “meeting” would be over so that we could take care of projects 1001, 1002, and 1003.

Afterwards, in pure glee from all the sugar, Jason and Matt tossed a miniature football back and forth across the office, while Monique did her best to duck so that she wouldn’t get hit in the head.

That’s when it hit me.

There’s a reason we all like NBC’s “The Office” so much. We ARE The Office.

I’ll spare you my interpretations of who’s who among The Office characters. Partly because that will make this entry long. Partly because you probably wouldn’t care. Mostly because this would surely get back to them.

But I was left with a sincere identity crisis. Am I Michael? Is that how they think of me?

Granted, I haven’t organized any rabies fundraisers lately, and I do not have a George Foreman Grill at the foot of my bed – although that’s not a bad idea considering how rushed I am in the morning.

Yet, those aren’t the things that make Michael, well… Michael. The funniest thing about him is that he is painfully unaware with how out of touch he is. He comes up with “brilliant” ideas while everyone else is rolling their eyes in the background. Is that me?!!!

I once heard that if you don’t know a Michael, you are a Michael.

I thought I had identified who the Michael is at Olivet, but what if I was wrong?!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!

And so I took not one, but two, “The Office” personality tests online during my lunch break today. I needed to have the truth, as painful as it might be.

The results were consistent, and more startling than I would have ever imagined.

“You are Pam Beesly.”

Pam Beesly?!!!

I can live with that.

If you're happy and you know it

Today when I went to wake up Emma, I was legitimately excited. Just a couple weeks shy of two years old, she has been an explosion of personality lately, and I couldn't wait to spend the remainder of my morning with her .... even if I was running late ... again.


When I went into her bedroom, she was in her traditional sleeping position: on her belly, her legs tucked up beneath her, her little butt was sticking up in the air. I wonder if she will still be sleeping like this when she's 16, or if this little joy of mine is reserved for her toddler years.



Like her mommy, Emma takes a few minutes to orient herself once awakened, and so I scooped her up in my arms. That's when I saw it. What started out last night as a slightly red bug bite by her right eye was this morning a monstrosity. It looked like she'd been slugged, and the flesh around her eyeball was so pink and swollen that her big, brown eye was barely visible.



After putting her in a clean Pull Up, and setting her in her high chair for breakfast, I started running down my list of obligatory calls. I called dad to make sure I wasn't overreacting. I called to page the doctor. I called Olivet and then the baby-sitter to let them know I'd be late. And then I called Robert. (I'm sure when he reads this, he will wonder why he was last. My theory was that his panic would be significanly diminished if I called him once a plan of action was already underway.)



Then we waited. I finished getting ready, while Emma happily ate a generic version of Apple Jacks in her high chair. I often worry this is not nutritionally sound, but I'm appeased by the box which assures me she's getting 9 essential vitamins and minerals.


When the doctor still hadn't called me back, I joined Emma in watching Wonder Pets. I was amazed that she laughed at the appropriate moment after Ming Ming made a bad pun.



After the credits rolled, she announced she wanted to play cards, and so I went and retrieved the Bible memory card game that I bought for a buck at the Dollar General a couple weeks ago. Again, she amazed me as she recognized and called out the names of most of the characters as I showed them to her one at a time. Jesus. David. Josiah. Mary and Joseph. Jonah and the Whale. Peter. Hannah. Lazarus. I made a mental note to look up Josiah and Hannah later since I couldn't immediately recall who they are.



When the doctor still hadn't called me, an hour-and-a-half after the answering service paged her, I called her office again. "Yes," I told them. "I can be there by 9:30" (fully aware there's no way I could be there in 25 minutes since I live a half hour away.)



On the way to the doctor, we sang our ABCs and we talked about going to Mary's house later. Then as we sat for another half hour in the waiting room, we flipped through the pages of a magazine, and Emma made the sounds of the animals we saw.



After we were called into the examination room, Emma pranced around in her Pull Up and socks identifying the objects and creatures pictured on the wall. Then, she started throwing her fist up in the air, and declaring "Amen" at the top of her lungs over and over again. Yes, that's right: she's was happy, she knew it, and so she was shouting "amen." I tried to persuade her to focus on the clapping or stomping verses, but of course, the yelling won out since that was much more fun.



So finally the doctor walked in, and of course, Emma instantly transformed into a mute. The doctor knows a nervous baby when she sees one, and so proceeded to calm her fears by checking out the ears and nose of Emma's Care Bear first. It worked. Despite a few wimpers that she wanted her mommy (which of course melted my heart) she stayed perfectly still while Dr. Batish examined her eyes, nose, throat, and ears.



The diagnosis? It's a bug bite. Not even a spider bite, just some random bug. She prescribed an antibiotic to avoid infection in the eye and said to pair it up with Benadryl.



If I thought Emma was in pain, I would wish the bug never bit her. But she seems oblivious to the whole ordeal. She just knows she had a really fun and happy morning.



And I did too.



So I'm thankful that little critter, wherever he might be. He changed what could have been a run-of-the-mill Monday morning. Because of him, I was blessed with a fun, happy, bonus day with the coolest almost-two-year-old in the world.



(P.S. The picture is from tonight -- the swelling has gone done significantly, but it still looks like she's got a shiner.)

Two reasons it still matters to me

So I was reading this article the other day, featuring the political viewpoints of four different Christian women. It was an interesting interview, and there was one particular quote that stood out to me.

The young woman said that she just didn't want to one of those "narrow minded" Christians who based their whole election day decision on one or two issues.

I get where she's coming from, and to a certain extent, I agree.

Should Christians protect the environment? Absolutely. Should we be concerned with the economy? No doubt. Should we be actively seeking solutions for the energy crisis, corruption on Wall Street, access to health care and even the war in Iraq? Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

But as narrow-minded as it makes me, there will always be one political issue that trumps all the others. Yes, you guessed it... protecting the unborn.

Some might be tempted to ask, "Does it even still matter?" Truth be told, I've asked myself the same thing. Short of a miracle, I don't see Roe vs. Wade being overturned any time in the foreseeable future.

But there ARE very important discussions taking place in the political arena related to abortion, and I, for one, think it's critical that we elect leaders who will champion the cause of the unborn.

So here's what that means to me in this election...

I'm not among those who think that McCain is the perfect candidate for our next president. I like him a lot, and he's got some really great traits. He's also got some real hang ups. Most importantly to me, he is pro-life.

Obama, on the other hand, has said that defining where life begins is above his pay grade. As a senator in Illinois, he has voted against the "Born Alive Infant Protection Act" which would providing basic health care to babies who survive abortion -- four times. Then there's the speech he made at a Planned Parenthood event where he said "The first thing I'd do as president is sign the Freedom of Choice Act." The Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA) is legislation Obama has co-sponsored along with 18 other senators that would annihilate every single state law limiting or regulating abortion, including the federal ban on partial birth abortion.

Again ... call me simple, or close-minded, but those facts alone make the choice a pretty easy one. I can't, in good conscience, vote for anyone who would introduce legislation --- or appoint Supreme Court justices -- ultimately leading to more innocent lives lost.

But I guess since I titled this "My top two reasons it still matters to me" I should tell you my top two reasons why I'm so unashamedly pro-life: Katie and Caleb.

Katie, who will be seven in November, is evidence that God can make something beautiful out of a very ugly situation.

Deanna considered aborting her after finding out that she was pregnant at 17 by someone who had forced himself on her. Then Deanna felt God reassure her that He was still in control and had a plan for her life.

Katie is spunky, creative, and has an incredibly tender heart.

Caleb, who will be three in October, is evidence that God knows better.

Doctors wanted to talk to Stephanie and Ben about their "options" when his tests came back positive for a serious birth disorder. He arrived a little early -- 10 weeks to be exact, but otherwise perfectly healthy.

Caleb is sweet and funny, and quite possibly, the smartest little kid I've ever met.

Looking at my niece and nephew, I have to wonder ... how many Katies and Calebs has this world been deprived of simply because they were never given a chance at life?

My knight in rain-drenched armor

Tonight, on my way home from work, I called Robert to see if he'd get something thawing for dinner. One step ahead of me, he said it was already under control, and that he was going to lay down for a quick nap until Emma and I got home. (He was up late last night fixing something around the house and then had to leave at 6 a.m. for work).

Not even 5 minutes after I hung up the phone, I suddenly felt the truck sputtering. "Uh oh," I thought and then slapped my forehead in punishment as I looked at the fuel gauge. Sure enough, I was out of gas. And of course this was happening in a torrential downpour. Really, how dumb am I?

So I called Robert, who of course was already asleep. "You're not going to believe what I did," I said and then explained my predicament. With not even a hint of grumbling, he reminded me to put on my hazard lights, make sure we were out of the way of traffic, and to stay safe until he got there.

Emma and I passed the time by reading "The boy who cried wolf." Kinda ironic, I thought.

Up rode my knight in a black Hyundai Elantra.

Robert covered his head with a t-shirt, doing his best to stay dry while he poured gasoline into my tank. Then, knowing the truck has a leak, he dug through the cab to find a quart of oil and topped me off. Finally, he insisted on following me to the nearest Shell station and on pumping the gas for me. Each time I tried to apologize for my stupidity, he just said, in the sweetest tone imaginable, "Don't worry about it."

Yeah, that's my guy. Always there to rescue me.

As if I weren't smitten enough already, Emma gave me another reminder of Robert's endearing qualities later this evening.

Somewhere along the line, we each developed our "specialty" chores we take ownership of. It's not like it was a negotiated thing, he just started taking care of some things while I took over others. For example, one of Robert's chores is keeping up with the vacuuming -- no small task with two big, black dogs notorious for shedding.

Anyway, tonight Emma was pushing around her popper toy, and it kinda looked like she was vacuuming. She turned to Robert and said, "Look! I play daddy."

Ha! I'm not sure Robert was thrilled with this being his legacy, but I thought it was funny how even she notices all the small (and big) things he's always doing for us. I feel sorry for the guys who will try to date her someday -- he's set the bar and her expectations pretty high.

Sometimes, after ten years of being together (3 dating, 7 married), it's easy to take Robert for granted. I just wanted to put it on the record how incredibly blessed I feel to have him in my life.

He is a caring husband, and an incredible father, and I love him with all of my heart.

Burning political questions

Phew! I am SO glad the Democratic and Republican national conventions have finally come to an end.

Don't get me wrong ... it's not because they've bothered me. No, it's because I've formed an unhealthy addiction to the coverage of them. Election 2008 is like the world's greatest reality show, and I am hooked!

Except unlike marathons of America's Next Top Model or Project Runway, it's not just the occasional Saturday wasted on couch potatoitis. The house is an absolute wreck, we've had far too many frozen pizzas for dinner, and it's only through massive amounts of caffeine that I'm able to stay coherent at work after flipping between CNN and Fox into the wee hours of the morning.

Reflecting on the DNC and RNC, I'm still left with a few burning political questions:

1. What's with all the hats? Does wearing a a Stetson, a Dr. Seuss top hat, or a stuffed elephant on your head REALLY indicate more support for your candidate?

2. Is the credibility of delegates defined by how many pieces of flair they are wearing? And wear can I buy one of those snazzy, sequin star vests?

3. Does Kool and the Gang get paid residuals every time "Celebration" is played during a rally, or somewhere along the line, did they donate the unlimited use of this classic for the betterment of their country?

4. Can someone please get Donna Brazile some coffee? She's pretty grumpy, and I'm pretty sure it's because someone wakes her up right before the end of the speech so that she can give her obligatory "it was terrible" review.

5. Is it really that hard to make sure your political sign is right side up?

6. What can we do to get these delegates to stop dancing? I admire their enthusiasm, but the arm flailing and booty shaking is somehow lacking. Seriously.... it's embarrassing.

7. Balloons are cool and all, but why don't we try dropping something different from the ceiling just to shake things up? How about 10 percent off coupons to Jewel Osco, or what about Jello Snack Packs? Those always make people happy.