Grown Ups

Most of the time, grown ups get a bad wrap. Let's be honest, there are a lot of responsibilities we have to face when we get to that life stage. There is the housing situation. Whether you are paying rent or your mortgage, you are still depleting your checking account. You realize that dinner didn't just magically appear on the table like it did when you were living with mom and dad. Now you find out you have to buy the food AND prepare it. This takes time and money. Clean laundry doesn't make its way back in your closets and dresser drawers. And, you have to pay taxes. You can see now why Peter Pan was such a big hit.

However, I have to say I think being a grown up is awesome. This probably stems from the fact that I have been a grown up since I was nine. As a kid I was serious and responsible. My room was always clean and organized and I was always concerned about my "future." Of course then the goal of the "future" was getting through the fourth grade. One time a neighbor came to the door and asked if I could play. I told her no because I had to work on my spelling words. She asked why I didn't just do them after dinner and I told her that if I wait that long, my heart starts to feel weird. True story. This is how a child tries to describe her anxiousness to another child. Another time, I was up late studying. My dad saw my light on and was annoyed at me for putting off my studies until the night before the test. He came in my room and told me that I was just going to have to face the music because it was time for bed. "Next time don't wait for the night before to study for your test." I gave him a quizzical look and told him I was studying for a test that wasn't until next week. When I was older he told he that had I baffled him because he was a fly-by-the-seat kind of student and couldn't figure out why you would "cram" for a test that was a week away. Like I said, I took myself seriously. I was a grown up long before the state recognized me as such.

That being said, I like being an adult because I feel more comfortable in my skin. This is probably true for a lot of people since growing up by definition is awkward, but there are still lots of great reasons why being a grown up is so awesome. Here are a few:

1. Bed Times. I can stay up as late as I want, even on a school night!! (Gasp!!) I don't have anyone telling me that it is 8:30 and I have to go put my jammies on and go to bed. It was especially aweful in the summer when it was still light out and you could hear the neighbors riding their bikes and loving life. "But Mom, Dave and Jessica are out playing still, why can't we?" Same response every time: "I'm not Dave and Jessica's mom." But now that I'm a grown up . . . I'll stay up as late as I want!!! Boo-yah.

2. Meals. I love to cook, which is handy because I also love to eat. The best part is I can make all the meals I like and leave out all the icky stuff I don't. Like creamed corn. I hate that stuff. Sometimes my mom made it and it looked like heated up puke in her Calphalon sauce pan. Or . . . (gulp) . . . kitchen kiev. Yuck. To Troy's great dismay, I can't eat that stuff. He loves it, and for his sake, I thought about making it from scratch because I really can't stand the packaged stuff. The problem is that I hate the packaged stuff so much, I can't bring myself to make it home-made. Catch 22. Finally, there were the fish sticks. Blech. My dad worked a lot of late nights so this became a staple protein for our dinners sans dad. I will never buy fish sticks, and you know what? I have that right. Why? Because I am a grown up. Boo-yah.

3. Decor. Growing up, Laura and I were drug to a lot of stores for the purchases that my parents needed to make. Sometimes it was super frustrating for us because they never wanted to take our suggestions and Laura and I felt like we were part of the family, living in the same house so we should get a say in things like furniture. Our selections were always veto-ed. The conversations would go something like this:

Kids: Mom! Dad! Look at this awesome couch that is shaped like an octogan with fuzzy cheetah print!! This would look awesome in the family room!! We could lounge around on it while we watch movies! I bet it would be good for parties and stuff!! Can we get this one?

Parents: No. We don't like that.

Kids: What?! Don't like it? But it's awesome! None of our friends have a couch like this!

Parents: When you pay for the furniture, you can get whatever you want.

Well . . . since I am a grown up, I will do just that. Boo-yah.

4. Rules. I am pretty sure that every kid has hear his/her parent say, "When you live under my roof, you will obey my rules!" The problem is that sometimes those rules were lame. Now, I make my own rules. I can spoil my dinner with ice cream, I don't have to do my cleaning on Saturdays, and my curfew is whenever I feel like coming home. And this is all because . . . . I am a grown up. Boo-yah.

5. Marriage. Sometimes Laura and I would play the scenario where our Barbie would marry the Ken dolls. **Side Note: We never used the names 'Barbie' and 'Ken' for our dolls. That was lame. My girl's name usually changed a lot, but Laura's was consistently Elizabeth. ** The wedding was always as awesome as an eight-year-old can imagine, but after the wedding, Ken, or Mike, Chris, etc, would be plopped on our plastic, pink Barbie couch to watch TV for the remainder of our playing time. Real life marriage is way more fun. I mean, Real Life Ken does watch a lot of TV, but at least his arms aren't at a permanent right angle. And, my wedding was way better than our Barbie scenario. Now, Troy and I get to do all the fun things I mentioned above because we are married adults . . . and we can. Boo-yah.

Those are just a few reasons why being an adult is so awesome. Although, sometimes I look at my students and think, you are so lucky. You're seven. You don't have bills, you don't have a job and your biggest concern is whether you will get the latest Hannah Montana t-shirt. I reflect on if I were given the chance, would I trade places with them. The answer: no way, josé!! Because those kids still have to face things that I would never want to repeat. Things like junior high school and puberty. I already dominated those challenges!! I guess that would be another reason that being a grown up is awesome.

Don't get me wrong, I am a big fan of 'Yo mamma' jokes, and bodily functions will always be funny to me. I still like to play dress up except now the high heels fit me and I am not dragging my grandma's around the house like flip flops. I like to act silly around Troy and sometimes I am still just a 12-year old. But I can be. Because I am a grown up.

A big, fat boo-yah to that.

Cashier Craziness

I had to make a Target run this afternoon to get the supplies I needed to make spaghetti sauce for the family I nanny. **Side Note: I don't do that Prego crap. I am hard core . . . well, when it comes to spaghetti sauce.** I usually love Target runs because I like to go down almost every isle and touch all the merchandise . . . basically doing everything that annoys Troy enough that he hardly ever shops with me. However, today I was on a mission. There was no time for lolly-gagging. I only went down the isles that housed the items I needed and then I booked it to the cash registers. **Important Side Note: I am terrible at choosing cashiers. I always pick the really slow one who has to do a price check on pickles that takes forever which then forces me to move to another register ONLY to find out the pickle boy was finally able to complete his transaction and I got caught in another price check dilemma. My problem could also be due to my lack of patience . . . naw, let's blame others for our woes . . . ** Anywho, there was a woman in front of me who also looked as though she was on a mission. She only had a few items on the conveyor belt and was ready with her credit card in hand to swipe for her goods and move on with her day . . . or so she thought. The cashier, while polite, was also not able to pick up on her customer's urgency. Here is how the dialogue went:

(picture it as painfully slow)

Cashier: Hello. How are you today?
Woman: Fine.
Cashier: Would you like paper or plastic?
Woman: Umm, whatever.
Cashier: So, are you having a good day?
Woman: Yes.
Cashier: Anything exciting planned?
Woman: Umm, nope.
Cashier: Just taking it easy today?
Woman: Uh, yeah.
Cashier: Well, here is your receipt. Would you like to hold on to it or should I put it in the bag?
Woman: (Practically snatching the receipt out of her hand.) I'll take it. Thanks. (Mad dash for the door.)

So, now it is my turn, and after lingering her attention towards the woman who is making her way to the door, Target Girl turns her attention to me . . . and begins to have the exact same conversation with me as she did with the woman previous - and I mean EXACT. I realized it when she got to the part about having "anything exciting planned for today." I seriously almost let out one of those pretentious nasal chortles that informs the other person that they have made a comment that is ridiculous. (Thankfully I didn't. I would have been ashamed of myself for being so rude, but it was a close one.) I told her no and was met with the same response as the previous woman. Then as she is bagging my items, she tweaks her scripted dialogue:

Target Girl/Cashier: Wow, you have a lot of tomato products here.
Me: Umm, yeah, I am making sauce.
Target Girl: Hmm. What kind of sauce?
Me: (At this point I am wondering if she has been sniffing too much bleach in the cleaning section, but I still respond.) Spaghetti sauce.
Target Girl: Oh.

I was glad that I wasn't buying tampons at this particular visit. I could just see Target Girl comment on my purchases then! "Oh, I see you are currently or soon will be on your menstruation cycle. Hmm, lights, that must be nice. I see you prefer the unscented Pearls . . . ."

Honestly, I walked out of Target kinda annoyed at this girl, and then I realized she was only guilty of being polite. Unfortunately, it came across as fake and scripted. Maybe that is why I was annoyed. I hate it when people are being fake. I mean, I didn't need her to lay down all her problems onto me, but a simple 'hello' and 'have a nice day' would suffice if you can't think of anything genuine to say.

Now, I don't mean to brag (brush shoulders off) but I was a cashier at Ace Hardware when I was in high school and . . . (ahem) head cashier at that. I know, awesome. And I have to say, I loved that job. It was fun seeing new people walking through all day. But, if I was having an off day, I wouldn't force my customers to stand there and chat with me, especially when they have a busy day ahead of them. I can't even imagine if I had a customer come through with something like a plunger and then had a 'Target Girl Conversation.' "Wow, you must have clogged up your toilet, huh? Gross. Did you maybe have Mexican for dinner last night? Maybe next time try a courtesy flush?"

There is a cashier at the Wendy's near our house and he - is - awesome. Troy gave him the nick-name Radio Man because when you pull up to the box where you give you order, you swear you've won something from a radio station. This is because his voice is so animated. We always do a silent fist pump when we hear his famously, cheerful voice and also try to choke back the laughs because he really is super excited to work at Wendy's on Central Ave after 9pm. He always enthusiastically tries to sell us on whatever the manager has decided to feature that week and I swear to you, I almost think about changing my order because of Radio Man's marketing. Now, here is a cashier who is genuine and doesn't make you want to run for the hills. One time, I went through the drive through feeling crabby and Radio Man was so awesome, he made me laugh out loud with his antics. I mean, belly laughs. I drove home instantly cured. That is the kind of effect Radio Man has.

Lessons Learned Today:
1. Don't be a weird cashier. (Obviously not applicable for those not currently working as a cashier.)
2. I was awesome while working at Ace Hardware.
3. Radio Man is better than Prozac.

Mustaches and Mullets

Oh man. That is a loaded title, right? I mean these are two fantastically famous facial fashions! Obviously, I need to talk about them.

I feel like lately I have been noticing more men sporting just the mustache. Now, this could be because mustaches are awesome and maybe that is why I have been spotting them more, but it is just the 'stache. No beard. No chin strap. No Fu Manchu. Just the furry upper lip and I mean the ones who have a substantial furry upper lip at that. I just wanted to take a minute and talk about this. Maybe they have very sensitive upper lips that are easily chilled? Maybe they feel that the look has never lost it's luster since the late seventies? I remember my dad use to support the lone 'stache. Now he has a beard because he said he doesn't like to shave. I think that's kinda funny. Although, I should mention that I have never seen my dad without his mustache. I think I'd freak if I went to visit him and he was clean shaven. I'd probably make him take a test and ask him questions that only my dad would know so I could be sure it was truly him. This being said, I feel the need to explain that I am not knocking the 'stache. I mean, how could I when it was a part of my childhood?! I am including a picture that shows off my dad's great 'stache. (Top right)

Speaking of mullets (nice segway, I know) . . . why are people still choosing the mullet as their go-to hair style? At least with the 'stache only 50% of the population can grow facial hair . . . well, maybe 52% because I have seen some women with more than their allotted share of testosterone. But the mullet has spilled over to the female gender thus creating the fe-mullet. Umm . . . ex-squeeze me? Here's a thought: I think that when hair stylists get their licenses, it should be stated that anyone performing a mullet haircut will be extensively fined and repeat offenders will have their license revoked. That is probably a violation of freedom of expression . . . blah, blah, blah . . . I think FDR was in the dark about mullets when he blurted out the four freedoms during the Fireside Chats. Thanks a lot, Frank; if only you knew the can of worms you were opening. I wonder what tête à tête goes on when the Billy Ray Cyrus wanna-be walks into Great Clips and tells Brenda that he wants the business-in-front-party-in-back look. Does she need to bite her cheeks while she is draping the smock over him to keep from laughing? Are there stylists out there who look their clients in the mirror and bravely tell them no?

However, now that I have mentioned these famous hair styles, I also want to offer a bit of encouragement to those who rock this fashion. Most of us may not choose to get a mullet or a thick mustache, but don't you love it when you are walking down the street, enjoying life and you see someone with a mullet or a great 'stache? I mean, it's fantastic!! The hands-down best sight would be a curly mullet with sole mustache . . . which coincidentally, my Intro to Bible professor had when I was in college. Each time I went to class I had to make valid effort not to gawk at this strange, little, hairy man.

So, let's give a shout out to all those Tom Selleck and Sonny Bono posers who grow a giant caterpillar on their lip. Stand up for the twins of Uncle Jessie and Billy Ray Cyrus who love to sport the short in front, long in back. And, no, we haven't forgotten you gals who strive to be like Florence Henderson. Thank you for the fe-mullets. God Bless America.

The Little German

It doesn't matter who you are or where you are in your walk of life, everyone has relationships. And relationships are messy. It's kind of like when you make chocolate chip cookies. You make a big, giant mess of the kitchen but when you're all done you have these yummy treats to enjoy. In case you didn't pick up on my blatant life metaphor of relationships, the moral is that they take work but are obviously worth the effort. However, regardless of how well-maintained your relationship is, you are going to run into conflict. Duh.

I know that it is prideful, but don't you wish that sometimes you could know if you were the winner in disagreements? I think it would be great if there was a ref who knew everything about each side of both point of views and then made a completely objective opinion that would then be set in stone. Then the issue is put to rest. Case closed. I remember there use to be these advertisements for a German beer and the slogan was "Take home a little German today," then there was this fantastic looking, old, German man wearing lederhosen. In my mind, he should be the ref. He lives in the pantry and when you have an issue, you just go to the pantry and ask the little German.

Are you and your spouse arguing about whether to watch a chick flick or a bloody war movie? Ask the Little German.

Are you and your brother in a disagreement about who sweeps the backyard for dog poop? Ask the Little German.

Are you and your mother fighting about side dishes for Christmas dinner? Ask the Little German.

I think if we had the Little German in our pantry, his advice would definitely be sought out. I can see Troy being frustrated with me over my anal tendencies. The scenario would go something like this:

Troy: "Little German, Pam freaked out again when I came home from work and wanted to relax in our bed. What is her deal? I've worked a long day and didn't sleep well."

The Little German: "Guten tag, Troy! The reason Pam was upset is because she just washed the sheets and made the bed; however, you are right, she has overreacted and in this case you should be allowed to lounge in your bed. I side with you."

**Case Closed**

Of course, I would also seek his counsel and it would go a little something like this:

Me: "Little German, Troy has been watching sports non-stop. If I have to watch anymore sports, I am going to lose my mind."

The Little German: "Willkommen, Pam! Here's the deal, you're right, he watches too much sports, but the fact of the matter is that he is not going to change, so you should go out and buy another pair of shoes."

**Case Closed**


Anywho, I think that would be awesome.

Well, if you insist . . .

Troy wanted a McDonald's Mocha Frappe this afternoon. We had just worked out and done a Target run, so I was really more interested in having some lunch since I was starving by this point. **Side Note: I usually become very crabby when I get hungry. My family likes to tease about this . . . only when they are a healthy distance from me.** I told Troy I didn't want one but we could still go and get him one. In a very depressing voice he declined the offer and veered the car back to the Carlson Homestead.

Why is it that we have such a hard time enjoying treats when we have to do it sans our partner in crime? I am the same way. Just last week, I wanted a Blizzard in the worst way and Troy didn't feel like one, but he was more than happy to run over to Dairy Queen and get one for me. "No thanks . . . . (heavy sigh) . . . " Maybe it has to do with the calories canceling each other out. If we both get a treat then the calories don't count, or at the very least we will both be fat cows together.

I would argue that this thought process even stems into other meals, like appetizers. Isn't it the best when the friend you're dining with suggests that you get an appetizer? Heck yes, I'll share one with you! We have friends who are like that when we go out to eat with them, and for that reason (along with enjoying their company, blah, blah, blah) we love to go out with them. You sit down in the restaurant and before you have even perused the menu, we'll hear, "You guys want margaritas? How about some chips and guac? Fried ice cream after dinner?" It is fantabulous (fantastic + fabulous = fantabulous).

This would probably be the part of my blog when I feel that power of self confidence festering in my belly and offer some kind of a message about fighting that inner conflict to enjoy desserts/mozzarella sticks/mojitos alone, but who am I kidding? I know that I won't be able to. And to be honest, there are few people out there who can fight it. Don't you love it when you are a witness to that? I love it when the idea of getting a fun treat comes up and then the offer has a negative response. You can almost see the wheels turning in the offer-ee's head and then she stands up straight and says those magical words, "I'm going to get one anyway." Don't you feel like patting her on the back and saying, "Good for you!! You fought it . . . . can I maybe have a little taste?"

All this talk makes me want something sweet. I'm going to annoy Troy until he gets a Blizzard with me and if he says no then I guess I'll go find something in the kitchen. I might still have some Swedish Fish in the pantry . . .

Neat Freak

Neat freak. Germ-a-phobe. O.C.D. Yes, I am all these things. Not in a crazy-Pam-should-be-put-in-a-straight-jacket kind of way. In fact, if you and I have any kind of interaction, you might not even know this about me. I do, however, encompass all of those traits, I just fly a little bit under the radar. Well, I guess not after this blog.

I feel like the neat freak is probably the most obvious. Growing up, I think my mom asked me to clean my room once or twice -in my life- unlike my sister who was asked almost every week and then would need a bulldozer and a few gallons of Mr. Clean to even put a dent in the room. As an adult, my house is always clean and things are neatly organized and probably labeled. I am a big labeler. Love it. When I was in high school, we had a New Years Eve party and someone brought over bubble containers in the shape of champagne bottles. I had a friend ask me when the night was over if I would put it in my box labeled "Champagne Bubbles." I thought it was funny and also realized that my friends noticed my weird neatness.

Troy does seem to appreciate it and quite possibly exploit it at times. He is what we neat freaks call "Messy" and leaves his clothes, shoes, etc. everywhere. One time I was so annoyed that his dirty clothes kept missing the laundry basket, that I told him I would not wash anything that didn't make it into the basket. Troy laughed and bet that I wouldn't be able to stand not picking the clothes up off the floor and thought I would waiver before he did . . . to be honest, I kinda thought that too, but I faked my self-confidence, looked him in the eye and told him that I was as serious as a heart attack. The laundry feud only lasted about three days and you better believe those clothes haunted my dreams for those nights that they slept on the floor. Finally, Troy put them in the basket . . . and not a moment too soon.

My sister likes to "test" the neatness. Growing up, she would leave things out in the open, like an empty pop can or a wrapper, and see how long it would take for me to throw it away. Now, she comes over to our house and will rearrange things. I have these shells in my bathroom and she will move them around, wondering if I will notice. Of course I notice. I am the Yoda of Neatness.

I am also a slight to moderate germ-a-phobe. I am always fearful that I am going to catch someone's cold or something worse. The H1N1 scare, literally scared the heck out of me. I washed my hands so often during the day, they got chapped. Whenever I am around someone who I know is sick, I always breathe through my nose. This is especially true when I am flying. I can't stand to think about how we are all breathing in recycled air. **Side Note: I really want to buy one of those portable air filters that the sell in Sky Mall.** I also wash my hands a lot, especially since I work with kids. I love it when they sneeze right in my face. Thanks a lot Little Timmy, I'll be sure to return the favor after your sick-o germs start fighting my white blood cells and I hock a lugee on your desk.

Finally, I am pretty sure I have obsessive compulsive tendencies. This is obvious in the bathroom. For example, when I shower, I have a system. Shampoo hair, rinse, Massage in conditioner, wash face, shave legs, wash body - with a loofah, this is important to a good clean - then I rinse the conditioner off. This is the same routine I do every night. Consequently, I also have a routine when it comes to drying off. Dry off face first, then right leg, starting at the ankle, followed by the left leg, left arm, right arm, midsection, back then I wrap my hair up in a turban. Bada boom, bada bing. One time, I had scraped up my knee pretty bad, so I had to alter my drying off process. It totally threw me off and I completely forgot to dry my arms. What the heck is wrong with me? Who forgets to dry their arms? Weirdos like me who have systems when it comes to drying, that's who.

I have been doing some reflecting and I am pretty sure that some of these tendencies are genetic and I definitely get them from my dad. He is also a neat freak, constantly coming up behind my mom and sister picking things up and putting them "away." It's kinda funny because it drives my mom crazy because then she can't find anything he has put away. Hmm . . . I seem to recall Troy mentioning something similar to that effect when I put things "away." My dad is also a germ-a-phobe. Sometimes Laura and I would visit him at his office and when he would leave the room, Laura would lick the phone receiver. Then when my dad would come back in, she would sweetly look at my dad and say, "I licked something in your office." At this point, I have usually fallen off my chair because I am laughing so hard I have lost motor functions. My dad in the meantime has dashed off to his stash of Clorox Wipes (which he probably kept for this reason because this was a game Laura would play often) and frantically start wiping down all the surfaces in his office. I thought about this earlier today and actually laughed out loud. I am laughing right now just thinking about it.

I really shouldn't make fun of my dad though, after all, I am his protogé when it comes matters of OCD. This might be a great time to do a shout-out to all my Neat Freaks, Germ-a-phobes, and OCD friends. For those of you who are not like us, you know . . . messy, sloppy, non-hand-washing friends, please try to understand that we can't help it. We were born with these tendencies, so don't be offended when I take your plate out of the dishwasher, rinse it off and put it in the correct spot. (Yes, I do that.) And don't take it personally when you are helping me out with the wash and then when you're not looking I refold the laundry. (Yes, I have done that too.) I appreciate your help, but what I would really like for you to do is go wash your hands with the antibacterial soap I have in the bathroom and put a coaster under your cold beverage which has condensation running down the glass and onto my polished coffee table.

So much for flying under the radar now . . .

There's No Place Like Home

Dorothy may have had it right when she spoke those now famous words. Even though she lived in Kansas . . . no thank you. But home is definitely a feeling of comfort, regardless of where you actually live. I have lived in Minnesota for four years (not including my college time) and even though I love our cozy townhouse and could really be happy living almost anywhere with Troy, sometimes Minnesota doesn't feel like home to me. When we go home to Chicago to visit family, it is always a whirlwind of events and though it is sometimes really stressful, I tear up almost every time we leave. I have usually composed myself by the time we get to the Belvidere Oasis - or on good trips - Medieval Times. Troy is a great sport about it too; he'll pat my knee and let me have my moment until I can behave like a grown up again.

To be honest, I don't even know if I would want to move back to Illinois, much to my parents' dismay. Sometimes I think it would be fun to live somewhere other than the Midwest, much to Troy's parents' dismay. However, I have tried to make the best of living in Minnesota. I have made some great friends, we belong to a fantastic church and we have good jobs. There are just a few things that I can't get over that are Pure Minnesota:

1. Popcorn Ceilings. Umm, what are you trying to hide up there? Mold, cracks, little critters? Not to mention what a major pain it is to paint the walls when you have these little balls of who-knows-what hanging for dear life in an unnatural, upside-down state.

2. Hunters. Everyone hunts here, expect for Troy and me. I actually know people who take time off of work to go get Bambi, strap him to the hood of the truck and mount his head on the family room wall! I went to a friend's house and hung up my coat in the closet. There was this weird looking duffel and I teased him about it being a body bag. Then he told me that was where he kept his hunting riffles. Umm, what? In your front hall closet? Weird.

3. Crappy Pizza. Trust me.

4. Passive Drivers. Oh man, I am really opening up a can with this one. The thing of it is, that Minnesotans are just too darn nice and this extends into the driving. No, really, it's not my turn, just go already.

5. Blizzards over Spring Break. There is always a snowstorm near the end of March/beginning of April that puts me over the edge.

6. Ice Fishing. Let me get this straight, you want me to drive out in the middle of the lake in your truck, drill a hole in the ice and sit there all day? Just because you call it a "house" doesn't mean I want to hang out there. I don't care how thick the ice is, I would rather stay in my real house,and drink hot chocolate without fear of going for an impromptu polar swim.


7. Peppermint Bon Bon Ice Cream. When anyone else in the country orders this delicious treat, they are expecting to receive pink ice cream with candy cane or peppermint bits swirled around. When Minnesotans order this, they expect to get what the rest of us know as Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream. I have had many a disappointed desert experience due to this.

Now, before all you die-hard Minnesotans come after me, I thought it would only be fair to also list things that I like about Minnesota. Tonia, this is for you.

1. Long Summer Nights. It seriously doesn't get dark until after 9 or 9:30 in the summertime. I can definately tell a difference between a summer night here and a summer night in Chicago. It is awesome. It is also the reason why things don't get done at my house because I am always thinking, "It can't be that late, it's still light outside."

2. Minnesota Accents. These are the best, and if you can find a grandpa or grandma with one, it's even better. Be warned, it is addicting and I find myself dropping the long "o" more often than not. If you have not heard a Minnesotan accent, enjoy this clip. Bobby's mom has a great one.

3. No Sales Tax on Clothes. Awesomeness. Enough said.

4. Skyways. For those of you who don't know, these are enclosed hallways that are connected to the buildings in Minneapolis which makes it awesome for walking around downtown in the winter.

There, now that I got that off my chest, it is important to realize that even if we moved to Hawaii tomorrow, I would probably still be homesick for Chicago, WGN and Italian Beef sandwiches, and still have a list of things that I thought was weird about my new habitat . . . granted, if we moved to Hawaii, that list would be much shorter and might only have the crappy pizza comment.

Gym Rat

I have been working out consistently since I was fifteen. There is probably a lot of things wrong with that statement, but whatever, running, stretching and lifting weights has always helped me relieve stress. Usually I am a cardio girl. I have to do at least 30 minutes on the elliptical, cross trainer or treadmill. Then I spend about ten minutes stretching and if I am feeling really ambitious, I do maybe two muscle groups of weight lifting. (I can hear you yawning, that's okay, I am moving on from the boring background knowledge.)

Lately though, Troy and I have switched up our workout and are focusing more on lifting weights and less on cardio, which at first was a weird transition for me. Troy has been our trainer and finding all these great exercises to dominate. **Side Note: Best thing about having your husband as your personal trainer: you can picture him naked and it is totally okay . . . maybe even encouraged.**

Yesterday we were focusing on our arms and back and I have to say, I felt super cool. Like A.C. Slater-just-pumpin'-iron-with-my-curly-mullet-before-the-big-game cool. First of all, I was sweaty, which I think makes you look hard core or like someone you would hate to sit next to on a crowded bus. Secondly, I realized that I was checking myself out in the mirror like a gym rat. Yeah, that's right. You know those guys who spend all their time by the free weights, and wear those big tee shirts that they rip at the sleeves so that the arm holes stretch down to their waist. That was me. Except I was wearing my Sufjan Stevens' Come on and Feel the Illinoise shirt, which I didn't rip because I love that shirt and it would be a crime.

I don't really have a point to this blog, I just thought it was really funny and completely ridiculous that I was checking out my [ripped] arms yesterday in between sets. By the way, if you want to fight me, I will destroy you, that is unless you throw me a right hook while I am admiring my forearms . . . then you might have a chance, since it seems as though I have turned into a gym rat, and that's what gym rats do - gawk in the mirror. Wow, all this typing has me really hankering for a protein shake . . . Muscle Milk?

Baby Fever

Why is it that when you are married, people assume that once you take off your wedding dress, the immediate process of procreation should begin? I mean, I think you should at least be allotted time to return the tux and maybe make it to the airport for your honeymoon. I had a lot of people ask me about our non-existent baby right after we were married. Usually I don't mind because sometimes I think it's fun to think about, as long as it doesn't become excessive. Then there are other times when I find it a bit annoying . . . like after a baby shower. Ten bucks says someone will come up to me and say, "Sooooooo, when are you going to have one?" Trust me, you don't want to take that bet. You will lose because it happens every time. I actually had a person I work with ask - and I quote - "Pam, when are you going to get knocked up?" First of all, gross. Who says that? Secondly, it's none of your beeswax so get back to work.

Now, I have been to the Robert Brown Center, so I know all about the birds and the bees and that the stork doesn't actually deliver babies. Plus, as an added bonus, I got "the sex talk" from my mom the night before my class went. For those of you who are not from the Chicago-land area, the Robert Crown Center is a life-scarring event for fifth graders. It was (at least at the time) a field trip that every fifth grade student took to learn about all that stuff that made a ten-year-old want to shrink in his Nirvana concert tee, and just when you think you can't take anymore . . . they show you the birthing video. I was convinced for a good ten years that I would just adopt - that is the kind of effect the Robert Crown Center has on you.

That being said, sometimes I think you can "catch" pregnancy like the H1N1. Every time a friend shares with me that she is pregnant, three other women come out of the woodwork and share the same news. About two years ago, I personally knew five pregnant women, three of which were really close friends of mine. Then there was a lull. Apparently, the epidemic was on a down hill slope, until the snow melted and low and behold, the fever was running rapid again. We have two friends who just delivered babies within the past two weeks. Two friends from church are due this fall. Two woman I work with are also "with child." I think the Robert Crown Center forgot to mention that conception may be an airborne virus. I am seriously thinking about wearing a Sars mask in public. I already don't drink the water at work . . . it's too risky.

This kind of attitude has people like my sister and my mother-in-law fearful that Troy and I will never have kids, but some day we too will catch the virus. I know that parenting is rewarding, so before all the moms wag their fingers at me, know that the reason we are putting this off is because of how hard you work - well that and the few families that we know whom have children that make my uterus shrivel up . . . which reminds me, I need to go buy those medical masks . . .

Goggles

Yesterday I was enjoying the pool at our health club and there was a grandma there with her grandson. Their interactions were really sweet as she was teaching him how to swim. When it was time to go, the grandma said something about doing one more lap. With much gusto and seriousness, the boy said, "Alright! Let me get my goggles!" It made me smile to myself because as a kid, goggles are the light sabers of the summer. You need them to fight the force . . . the force of clear vision through underwater adventures.

Every summer my sister and I went through a pair of goggles each and we were pretty big water bugs, spending almost the whole day in the pool. Those of you who were as hard core as we were would probably remember those summer evenings when you would throw your goggles up on the deck and forget about them until the next afternoon . . . but by then the heat of the sun melted the rubber head strap to the wooden planks of the deck and you had to carefully peel it off. I will admit, some of my goggles never made it through the "peel back." Those suckers would just snap in two. Of course the next step is to tie the rubber pieces together which then made the goggles so tight on your face that your eyes would bug out, and when the whole strap finally disintegrated -- I was at the mercy of Laura. Hoping I could sneak a swim with her goggles and relive the glorious view of the bottom of our pool without any visual hindrance.

Ever forget your goggles when you went on vacation? Worst nightmare right there. There are only two outcomes: 1. you whine about it long enough and your parents realize that in order for them to enjoy their vacation, they need to find another pair - and stat, or 2. you whine about it long enough and get a time out in a lawn chair while your sister gets to swim gracefully around the pool, enjoying her goggles which she happened to remember to pack. Trust me, the second outcome sucks.

How about those goggles that are really made for snorkeling, but they were so cheap that the tube didn't come with it, or you lost/broke it? I love how no matter how lose the strap is or how you adjust the mask on your face, your upper lip is still going to curl up in a way that would make the Grinch jealous. I personally never liked those masks because when I swim under water, I blow the air out my nose and blew many-a-mask right off my face. (I have powerful sinus cavities.) However, if it was a choice between mask or no goggles at all, any kid in their right mind would go mask! Duh! How else are you going to see those quarters or washers that your dad throws at the bottom of the pool for you to hunt?!

Weren't those diving games fun? I remember my mom and dad throwing stuff at the bottom for Laura and me to collect. We pretended like we were pirates looking for buried treasure. (By the way, I can hear you laughing at us and I am not ashamed one bit. I know you're jealous of the pirate game.) Then there were a few summers when they bought those real divers for us. The fish or sea horses or tubes that have weights in them. Those were awesome. The pirate game was way better with those.

Anywho, this is an old-school shout out to goggles. As an added bonus, I have added some pictures of Laura and I, circa early 1990's, enjoying our goggles during the swims of summers past. (Laura, by the way, I apologize in advance for not getting your permission to post these pictures. You can sue me. But then I will have to body-slam you at Thanksgiving.)