52 New Things -- Week 25 -- Kids, Kids, Kids

For not being a parent yet, this past week was certainly all about children. They're so darn cute (most of the time). Here are some highlights:

My dad and his two youngest grandsons. Freaking adorable.

Des Moines Zoo -- I'm not a huge fan of zoos (I just want to unlock all the cages and let the animals run free, but that would cause mass chaos, etc., etc.), but I had the chance to meet up with my fam for a couple of hours at the zoo. There was an "Australia" section with wild wallabies hoppin' all over the place, right there with no fences between us! Craziness. All three of my nephews loved it. I was shocked by how much energy and money you lose when you take your children to the zoo. I mean, there was the entrance fee to get in, but then you had to pay more to feed the parakeets, more to ride the train, more to feed the fish, more to ride the camel, more to feed the goats . . . geez Louise, it's like you've gotta win the lottery before you can take your family on vacation. And do these kids understand how great it is to just sit on a nice bench underneath a shade tree once in a while? Nope. Go, go, go. I was exhausted after two hours. Thank goodness they're all someone else's children or they might have gotten eaten by a rhinoceros or fallen into the sea lion tank under my tutelage.

Baseball -- Our friend's son was playing in the championship game of the little league tournament Wednesday night. I don't think there was such a thing as a tournament game when I was in little league. They got trophies at the end and everything. It was a big deal. I just felt so bad for every kid that got out, though. I kept wincing, and I know everyone around me thought I was a dork, but I just wanted them all to have fun and enjoy being together without the pressure of having to win. I wanted to kick one old guy, he made me so mad. A little boy struck out, and the guy (I'm guessing it was his grandpa) yelled, "You can't just stand there watching it!" as he walked back to the dugout. I know the kid heard it, because he looked right at the man, and -- here comes the bad part -- the old man looked disgusted and just shook his head at the boy. The poor kid's head dropped to his chest as he shrank down onto the bench. I thought grandparents were supposed to be all about the unconditional love? Come on, spectators . . . kids have lots of years left to feel horrible about themselves. Can't we just let them have fun for a little bit longer?

I married into a pretty cool clan. ;)

The Sound of Music -- We headed up to Willmar, MN, for the weekend to see Kevin's brother's family. His two neices were in the local community theater production of The Sound of Music. Emma, going into fourth grade, helped with props, and Caitlynn, going into second grade, played Gretl, the youngest of the Von Trapp children. We had fun with the whole family on Saturday, hitting the local pool and playing bags in the front yard after dinner. Sunday was the big show and both girls did an awesome job . . . but in reason #432 as to why I should maybe not be a parent, when Caitlynn sang "the sun has gone to bed and so must I" . . . I started to cry. Seriously. Freaking mess, sitting there dabbing the tears so no one would see. If I'm that proud of a little girl I've officially been the aunt of for only one year, what the heck would I be like if I were a mother? I'd be bawl-babying over every little thing. But then again, I suppose you parents see a lot of not-so-adorable stuff that balances out the uber-adorable, huh? Maybe I could handle it.

So to wrap this up, my big a-ha of the week: parenting looks hard. You go, guys. I'm wiped out after just a few days with the chillins, so I don't know how the heck you do it. Carry on. I'm cheering for you.

52 New Things -- Week 24 -- Our First Anniversary

I think we could pass for 32. 34? Fine. We were 37!

We got started kind of late in life. When I told someone recently that we were celebrating our first anniversary, her response was, "Oh, is this your second marriage?" Nope. Just took us a while to find each other.

Our first anniversary was pretty low-key. Kevin hates the pressure of having to buy "the perfect gift" for holidays and special occasions. He flat out begged me to tell him what to get me for our anniversary, so I said, "A hot air balloon ride." I mean, that would be awesome right? I've been wanting to go on a hot air balloon ride for years. I was kind of hoping some guy would take me on a hot air balloon ride during my 50 Dates in 50 States adventure, but no such luck.

My hubby is so cute and sweet that he tried to make it happen. He called from work one day and asked what time we'd be back home on our anniversary after my class reunion the night before. He wanted to make dinner reservations, he said.

When he came home that night, I could see disappointment on his face. He'd been using the dinner reservations as a cover up -- he'd been about to book a hot air balloon ride for the night of our anniversary . . . but in the time it took to call me and see if we could make it on time, they sold the night's flight to someone else.

"There's another company that can do it for $650. The one I was going to book was $450," he explained. "Do you want to do the $650 one?"

"Holy crap!" I replied in disbelief. I had no idea hot air balloon rides where so pricey! I love this man and wanted to celebrate our first anniversary in a memorable way, but geez . . . that's three times what I paid for my wedding dress. No thanks!

A test of how well you know me: guess which one I got.

We had a quiet dinner in a funky little place in downtown Iowa City instead, and Kevin had flowers delivered to the restaurant before we got there. He's a keeper. We ordered one of each entree and tried each other's food . . . and anyone who knows my germ issues will see how much I've grown, being married. A few years ago, if anyone tried to eat off my plate, I would have stabbed them with my fork. Marriage has been good for me in more ways than one!

When we got home, we ate our little first anniversary cake. The bakery that made our wedding cake bakes fresh little one-year cakes for their couples, which is awesome. I like the tradition of eating your top layer on your first anniversary, but not the idea of it taking up space in my freezer for a year.

Cake and roses. What more does a girl need?

We kicked back on the couch with cake and milk and watched our wedding video for the first time ever. It was taken from the balcony up front and shows our faces, but it also captures the entire congregation!! If you laughed during the ceremony, we saw it! You yawners? Busted!! It was fun to watch and to remember . . . we each have different memories of the best parts of the day, but we agree that it was beautiful and we loved being surrounded by friends and family.

So . . . onto another year of bliss!! I joke around a lot, and poor Kevin has to endure my over-sharing on his behalf sometimes, but I really do love this man. We laugh together so much, and I think that's what makes us click. We're two big dorks, and when you find someone as dorky as you are, you best just hold on for the ride. He really is a gift from God. I often wish God would have given him some stronger gifts in the cleaning-up-after-yourself department before gifting him to me, but hey, I've got quirks that sometimes make me hard to live with, too. As long as we keep laughing, I think we'll be okay.

52 New Things -- Week 23 -- Twenty-Year Reunion

First off, the big question: how on earth can it be possible that I've been out of high school for twenty years? I mean, back when I was 18, I never thought about things like a twenty-year reunion or how my classmates might look twenty years after graduation. Oh, the ignorance of youth.

I've seen plenty of movies about reunions, all of which generally have the same theme: looking good is the best revenge (or something like that). Two things though: one, I had a pretty great high school experience and don't feel the need for revenge, and two, I've never quite grasped that whole "looking good" trend, so I wouldn't even know how to use it if I wanted to.

Nevertheless, I stopped by the mall on Friday, the day before the class reunion. It was on my way home from the library. I can't remember the last time I stepped into a mall -- probably because I generally hang out at places like the library instead -- but I popped into Dillard's and was taken aback by what I saw. There seemed to be just two options: 1) clothes for older ladies (I picked up one shirt and honestly said to myself, "Eldona Hornor (my high school BFF's mom) would just love this!" and 2) clothes for strippers. (The sign over that section said, "Juniors," but I didn't see a single shirt that wasn't see-through, so you tell me. You poor parents of teenagers.) 

Which of those two sections are thirty-eight-year-olds supposed to shop in? We're stuck between a rock and a hard place -- too young for elastic waistbands but too old to be strippers. I didn't even bother trying anything on. Leaving the mall, I remembered that people also freak out about their weight before reunions, but since I wasn't going to wear a see-through stripper shirt, I wasn't too worried. The only part of me I'm semi-ashamed of are my starting-to-look-like-bat-wings upper arms. I thought about doing some sort of tricep exercises, but I didn't figure they'd make much of a difference twenty-four hours before the event, so I didn't bother.

I'd say we look pretty darn good for as old as we are!

So anyway . . . the reunion itself was really fun! We toured our old school and relived happy memories. I'd forgotten the power of collective memory -- we instantly rebonded, sharing stories of what happened in this classroom or that one: a stapler flying through a window, paint thinner flicked into a teacher's coffee mug, a student running away from the teacher and out to the playground. Fourteen years together, from preschool through twelfth grade, gives you lots of options for reminiscing.

I heard a story about me being part of a three-person prank that I have absolutely no recollection of. Supposedly we snuck into the teacher's lounge and opened the door of the old-fashioned glass-bottle pop machine, popped the lid off a bottle, drained the contents, jimmied the cap back on, then closed the door and left an empty bottle to surprise the next teacher who came along and paid for a pop but got nothing but an empty bottle. How would I not remember being a part of that? I insisted it must have been someone else, but Bryant and Carrie both insisted I was bandit number three. Maybe I've wiped any wrong-doing from my memory in preparation for a career in politics someday?

Five hours later, I left Albert City, Iowa, feeling grateful. I know a lot of people can't imagine having a graduating class of just twenty-five people, but those guys were like brothers and sisters to me. You couldn't keep a secret from anyone, but you always had someone to talk to. We fought like siblings sometimes, but someone always had your back. For all I've seen in the world, it's pretty clear that our upbringing was unique. I wouldn't be who I am without that foundation. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Oh, and guess what? I didn't look at anyone's arms to see if they were bat-wingy or not. I don't know if anyone looked at mine. And really? It wouldn't matter if they did. I was blessed to have been raised up in a place that made me feel good about who I was, even when I didn't feel good about how I looked. I don't know how you ever repay that. How do you thank every teacher who encouraged you? How do you thank every towns-person who cheered at your game? How do you show gratitude to a community that has changed so much in twenty years that folks you used to know have moved away and you don't recognize many of those who took their place?

Volleyball, school play, and drill team...with all-purpose bangs.

I guess you just go with the "pay it forward" concept. Those people who lived in Albert City twenty years ago may not have any idea how it made my heart swell to hear them clap during our school musical, but I know, and I can be the loudest clapper in the auditorium next time I go to a school play. Some of my old teachers may not know if I'm successful or living under a bridge, but I can make a kid today feel great about herself. And if someday I'm on the wrong end of a high school prank, I'll remember that I was a kid once, too . . . even if I don't exactly remember the details of it.

52 New Things -- Week 22 -- Tiffin!!

Eh, fine. It's not all that exciting, but I didn't really have time to go out and do something new and exciting with all the boxes to unpack, so here are some fun facts about our move:

Our U-Haul had a Viking ship on it, which made it way fun for Kevin-the-wannabe-Viking to drive. 


We had help unloading the U-Haul this time, which means Kevin did not get dirty looks the entire time we were moving in. Yay!

 
We now have a washer and dryer in our unit, which means no more walking outside and around the building and down to the creepy basement every time I want to do laundry. Double yay!

Bowchickawowow

 
Before starting his new job, Kevin shaved the beard he'd been working on during his time off between jobs . . . but not before having a little fun with it. He's gonna kill me for sharing this, but I find it so incredibly funny . . . 

 
We're living in Tiffin, which is just one syllable off from Tiffany, and forty-five minutes down the highway is Malcolm. Coincidence? I think not.

 
Iowa City is only about eight miles away, and they've got fun things to do -- we went to a big street festival/arts fair kinda thing this weekend. They had a photo booth with a Viking helmet. Kevin was in heaven.


 
And finally, Clear Creek Amana High School, the school in our town, is Ashton Kutcher's alma mater, so I'm sure I'll run into him at the gas station next time he's home for a visit.


Yep, that's all I got. Sorry. I'll try to do something more fun and exciting next week . . . 

52 New Things -- Week 21 -- Open Mic Night

Of all the new things I've tried in the past five months, this was the scariest . . . scarier than facing a room full of kindergarteners . . . scarier than finding a tick near my girlie parts . . . scarier than having my eyebrow hairs ripped out en mass . . .

I sang at open mic night.

If you're one of my old camp friends or church friends, you're probably thinking it's no big deal, but I haven't really played guitar since I left my job at Ascension back in 2010. Ditto with public singing.

But I saw my trivia buddy Nick playing guitar in a picture on his Facebook page, and I said we should do a guitar trio (including the Delecta Daddy, too) at a local coffee shop's open mic night sometime. Nick was all over it and started sending me song suggestions almost immediately. Kevin? Not so into the idea. He's pretty darn good on guitar, but it turns out he's not so fond of playing in front of people. Bummer.

The show must go on, so Nick and I decided on a song and practiced for a whopping half hour the night before.

We got there half an hour early to sign up. We took slot number four, not wanting to be first but not wanting to be nervous for too long.

The first guy up was a wanna-be comedian. Second? A girl who I'm guessing was just learning to play her guitar. Going after either of those two would have been awesome. But the third act to go up had three people playing guitar, mandolin, and accordian. Crap! They were going to be awesome and we were going to be boring comparatively.

Turns out they were not awesome, just okay, and barely audible. Yay for us! So up we went with my nervous stomach and shaking knees . . . Nick appeared to be calm, cool, and collected! I figured it didn't really matter if I screwed up royally because we were packing the U-Haul and leaving town the next day . . . I could drive my embarrassed self away and never look back!

Our friend and fellow Roaring Cheetah trivia teammate A.J. put together an awesome video (either she's amazingly skilled or has too much time on her hands, I'm not sure), but I cannot for the life of me get this blog to show it. You can go watch it on my Facebook page or cut and paste this link into your browser:

https://www.facebook.com/video/embed?video_id=10100258964570179

I know you're probably disappointed that I didn't royally screw it up -- I can see how many people read my blog posts each week, and I get way more hits on the ones where I write about hurting or embarrassing myself! I bet you all watch America's Funniest Home Videos and Wipeout, too, don't you? You just looooove laughing at the misfortune of others! ;)  Don't worry -- I get it. I'm a fan of laughing, too. I'll try to find something funny to write about soon. 'Til then, rock on, friends.

52 New Things -- Week 20 -- Tick Checks

Warning: This post is rated PG-13 for mentions of undergarments and private areas. Read at your own risk.

The short story:
Brad Paisley is a liar.

The long story:
I've been hiking for what -- fifteen, twenty years now? It wasn't part of my childhood, but ever since I got a summer job as a camp counselor in Colorado, I've loved hiking. And how many ticks have I gotten on me in those fifteen, twenty years? Exactly zero.

Kevin, Jenny, and Adam . . . getting infested.

So I wasn't horribly concerned on Saturday when our friend Jenny said she had a bunch of ticks on her shoelaces. We'd just completed a two-mile hike at the Ice Age Center near the cabin up in Northern Wisconsin. I rolled up my pant legs, pulled off my shoes, checked my socks -- nothing. I did find one crawling up the outside of my pants leg, so I felt like I could empathize with her at least.

Jenny declared she was going to the bathroom to take her clothes off for a more thorough investigation. I thought that was a little over the top, but after she'd been gone for five minutes, I got bored and went in to do the same.

"Ew, there's one on my bra!" I hollered over the stall dividers. Then I pulled down my pants.

"Aaaaah! There are three on my underwear!" So much for over the top. Yikes! I plucked each one off my undergarments and dropped them into the toilet. Then I pulled down my underwear, starting to get a little freaked out . . . and for good reason: a tick was crawling toward my privatest of private areas. Yuuuhhuuhuhhh. I flicked that sucker off and got totally naked in the Ice Age Nature Center bathroom. Holy cow. From zero in a lifetime to six in one hour?

I couldn't see any more, so I got redressed, stomped out, and declared we'd be doing tick checks the minute we got home.

Kevin didn't want to. He thought I was crazy when I dragged him into the bathroom and commanded he get naked (in a totally non-hot, non-sexual way). I stripped everything off again and told him to check me. After approximately three seconds -- THREE SECONDS! -- he muttered that I was fine.

"LOOK CLOSER!" I barked. "YOU COULDN'T HAVE EVEN LOOKED AT MY WHOLE BODY YET."

"You're fine," he said again, this time after ten seconds. Sigh.

"Alright, let me check you," I commanded.

"I think you're over-doing it a little," he complained as I thoroughly inspected every inch of him. I told him to turn around, and pretty soon he let out a howl I'm pretty sure half the lake could hear.

"I doubt there are any ticks in there!" he yelled, jerking his buttcheeks away from me.

"They like warm, dark places!" I argued. He huffily started putting on his clothes. I got the giggles so bad I actually snorted. Twice.

Back upstairs, Adam asked if we were in the clear.

"Yes . . . but I'm pretty sure I know now what happens on your first day in prison," Kevin whined.

Obviously his check of me was half-hearted, since I found a tick two hours later when I went to the bathroom.

"KEVIN!" I screamed out the bathroom door. The door opens out onto the lake, right where Kevin, Adam, and Jenny were on the dock. "There's another one, and this one's not coming off! It's already attached! Help me!"

Jenny snapped a picture of me peering out from behind the door, my uncovered half hidden.

He's gonna need matches, I thought, waiting for him to come in. Isn't that how you get ticks off? Burn them? Holy crap, he's gonna start my pubic hair on fire. And we are far, far away from a hospital.

About the time I was ready to launch into hysteria, Kevin came in, squeezed the head of the tick that had implanted itself in my dark, warm upper inner thigh, and plucked it off. Phew. Crisis averted.

The next day, I handed him a comb and made him check my hair again.

The day after that, I made him do another full-body search.

"You're being ridiculous," he said.

"Would you rather do this now or take care of my ever-degenerating body for the rest of my life when I get Lyme's disease?" I countered.

Brad Paisley? You suck and you're a liar. There is absolutely nothing hot about checking for ticks.

52 New Things -- Week 19 -- Colombia (Part Dos)

A continuation of new things I saw/did/tried/endured while in Colombia . . .

Backseat Barfing

Wilson: salsa teacher, comedian, and future Indy 500 racer

Despite the fact that I'd decided it probably wasn't a great idea to take non-FDA approved pharmaceuticals, I took another one when we left El Cocuy. Those winding roads were soooo nauseating . . . and after about half an hour, even with the anti-nausea pill, I made use of the Delta airsick bag I'd snagged before leaving the plane. Kevin -- sweet, stupid new husband that he is -- actually asked, "Do you want Wilson to stop?" I moaned "yes" into the barf bag, then followed up with barks of "open my door" and "seatbelt" -- short commands were all I could manage at that point. I stumbled out of the back of the SUV, still in the long dress I'd worn to church, but stopped abruptly when Kevin said, "Watch out -- that's an electric fence." Ughhhhh. I got back in the car a few minutes later . . . and puked again after another half hour. I warned Kevin that I only had one plastic bag left, but luckily I didn't fill that one. He wants to retire in El Cocuy someday, but unless they start helicopter service so I can avoid those winding roads, I'm not doing it.

Arepas and eggs -- yum!

Arepas
We ate a lot of good food in Colombia -- I have pictures of most of the new dishes since I'd never seen anything like them before. Kevin had warned me before we got there that we would be fed and fed and fed. He usually ended up eating his food plus half of mine since I just can't eat that much! My favorite thing, though? Arepas. I think it was kind of a bread dough-ish thing, rolled out and cut into little squares before being fried up in oil. Man. I think I ate about 50 of them for breakfast one morning. Moo.

LOVE this girl!!

Disney Monopoly in Espanol
We stayed a couple of nights with Kevin's old host mom and sister and the sister's husband and three kids. The eleven-year-old and the five-year-old challenged me to Monopoly. Have you ever played Disney Monopoly in Espanol? Let's just say thank goodness there were pictures! I also had to trust they were honest when they advanced after drawing a Chance card or told me I had to go to jail. The kids were adorable and enjoyed practicing their English with me. They tried to teach me Spanish but didn't have much more luck than Mrs. Hauge back in high school Spanish class. Sigh.

Sadness for American Schools
We walked Valentina to her bus stop before school the day we left. She was so adorable in her school uniform. I asked her what her favorite subject is. Mind you, this child is eleven. Her answer? Chemistry. I about fell over. It's no wonder America falls further and further behind in education statistics. Chemistry at eleven!!

Cheapest Pedicure Ever

Check out that pedicure...and the amazing hem on those pants!

My toes hadn't seen polish since last summer, so I was pretty excited that Laura had a friend who did pedicures. It was just like an American pedicure, but at the end, she said (in Spanish) I didn't have to pay anything! I balked and left the equivalent of $10 under a bottle of hairspray, saying, "You can't support a family by giving away free pedicures!" I'm sure she didn't understand a word I said, so I hope I didn't offend her by leaving money if she was trying to give me a gift. When we got home, I asked Laura how much it should have cost -- the amount of pesos was equal to roughly $4. Holy cow!

Dependence

Best travel buddy ever. ;)

The biggest new thing on this trip? I was not in charge. I've never really thought of myself as bossy . . . a bit independent, yes, but that's what happens when you are single until you're 37 and travel alone a lot. Kevin booked the tickets. Kevin made the arrangements with his old host family. Kevin did the talking, being fluent in Spanish. Kevin paid for everything, knowing the currency. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. I tell ya, it was strange. I may have done some complaining. And some pouting. And then some more complaining. I guess I'm a little bit used to being in charge. :) But big kudos to Kevin, because we had an absolutely fabulous time in Colombia!!

And finally . . . Broken Stereotypes
We spent ten days in Colombia, and guess what? We were not kidnapped, murdered, or even offered cocaine. A part of me wants to keep this a secret, because the beauty of this country was that it wasn't flooded with tourists. I'm afraid if people find out the Colombia of the 80's is long gone, they'll all go and destroy the pristine landscapes . . . but yeah, you should definitely go visit sometime. Just don't invite too many people to go with you. ;)