Compatibility: The Bedroom Edition

That's right. Today I'm tackling the most sensitive issues surrounding couples' compatibility.

Sleeping.

People make a very big deal about the *other* stuff that may happen in the bedroom, not realizing that sleeping can be a far bigger issue than anything that happens when you're not sleeping.

For example: I steal covers.

I admit it. I do it, and I can't stop. Sven loves to tell the story of how once, when we were dating, we were curled up on the sofa watching a movie, and I took the blanket off of him and just pushed it to the side.

"If you were hot," he asked me, perplexed, "why wouldn't you just push the covers off? Why did you have to take my cover?"

"I don't know," I answered. "I was asleep."

The next time, we each had our own blanket. That time, I took the blanket off of Sven and tossed it to the side of the couch, out of his reach. Still while sleeping.

This problem didn't get better after we married. No matter what arrangements we made before bedtime, morning would find Sven shivering with cold while I clutched upwards of four quilts and a comforter to my overheated bosom.

Finally, Sven developed what I like to call defensive sleeping. When he gets into bed, he does a complex maneuver that is part Baryshnikov, part Ninja, that results in his quilt becoming wrapped around his body in a manner so intricate even he can't extricate himself.

It works for us.

Proximity is also an issue. Some people like to cuddle when they sleep. Not us. Sven and I like our space. The problem is, I often take up more space than even I would believe possible. The other night, Sven woke me up to point out my position on the bed. I was literally diagonal, with my arms and legs outstretched, as though I was deliberately trying to prevent anyone else from sleeping on our king-sized bed.

I was asleep.

Nighttime poking can also be a problem. For a very tense few months, I kept poking my fingers into Sven's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

"Mmmph?" I would hear. I would awake, blearily aware that my fingers were warm, to see them in Sven's mouth.

I was asleep.

For the record, I also snore (during allergy season), talk (during crazy season), and walk (during testing season) in my sleep. (I don't get out of the bed and walk, I just move my feet back and forth as though I were walking.)

Now I'm depressed. If Sven ever leaves me, it won't be for a younger, prettier, thinner girl. It will be for a girl who can stay on her side of the bed and keep her hands to herself.

But where would the fun be in that?

PS: I am featured this week on Sneaky Momma's Super Sneaky Friend. So click on the button below and go and check me out! It's a great blog! Not just because it's about me!

Gadgets Gone Wild (Clean Version)

We have a new vacuum cleaner.

After last week's adventure with bullets and glass, we needed one.

Our venerable bagless upright, alas, overdosed on large chunks of safety glass and died.

But check out my new machine: The Hoover Annihilator

(Actual name: Hoover Wind Tunnel Platinum. I like my name better.)

The Annihilator is such a cool machine, I haven't been allowed to use it yet. Sven is obsessed with annihilating the dirt, dust, and allergens from every flat surface in our home.

You see, the Annihilator has a feature that I have never heard of, but makes me believe that the land of the future promised to us by "The Jetsons" has arrived.

On the top of the roller-brush part, where the operator can easily look down and see it, is a small computer display. The display shows two words: "Dirty" (in red) or "Clean" (in peaceful soothing green). Fortunately, I had vacuumed the carpet in our living room that morning, so we could conduct a scientific test. Sven ran the new vacuum over our seemingly-clean floor. It said "Dirty" for about four swipes, then it said "Clean."

"Hmmm," Sven said. "Maybe it's programmed for number of swipes, with the angle calculated...hmmm." Then he turned it off.

The collection canister was full of dust, grime, and hair.

He has been vacuuming ever since. He just came downstairs and emptied the thing (again!) saying, "I don't know how it knows!"

I have to pause now, for Sven just gave me the following command: "Go smell our room." Who could resist an invitation like that?

I'm back. Our room smells great. It didn't stink before, but it honestly smells like a brand new carpet. Even the odor I convinced myself we were preserving as a memorial to our deceased cat, Incontinento, is gone.

I watch Sven with the vacuum and see a gleam in his eye that tells me he's not cleaning the house. He's conquering dust and odor, armed with his Hoover Annihilator of Doom, making the world fresh-smelling and allergen free for the oxygen-loving citizenry.

I can see the comic book now.

Considerations

When two people meet, fall in love, and decide to spend the rest of their lives together (or at least a couple of months), there are certain things to consider. I'm not an expert, but I watch them on TV, and here are some of the things they seem to feel are important:

• Common interests
• Common or compatible career goals
• Money
• Sex
• Other (children, religion, general morality, etc.)

I must say, when one of these "relationship experts" begins pontificating about how "important" it is to "get to know" the "person" you plan to "marry" in so many important "ways," I scoff. I also chortle, guffaw, and occasionally reflux. (It's my diet.) Because they never talk about the things that are really important, the things that make or break 99% of otherwise happy marriages and relationships, according to my opinion:

**THE LITTLE THINGS**

So, here is Deb's Guide to Petty Compatibility. Understanding your Petty Compatibility, on its own, does nothing. However, if you are compatible on the BIG THINGS, take a look at some of these little, petty things. These are in no way based on my relationship.*

1. Toast compatibility.

A. Toasters: some people like leaving the toaster on the counter, some prefer it be put away, necessitating one partner's hovering over the cooling toaster like an anxious mother bird, waiting for it to be cool enough to handle and/or not ignite the paper grocery bags stored in the toaster cabinet because who puts away a toaster, honestly?

B. Toast Material: some people like Pop-tarts that are hot, frozen waffles, or other toaster fare that is not, exactly, toast. Does your partner ever check the darkness setting? Or does he blindly press the button down and walk away while the last two pieces of bread are transformed into charcoal?

Solution: This problem is far from insurmountable. Visit the home of your intended. Is there a visible toaster? If not, make a casual request ("Say, I feel like some toast right about now."). Observe your beloved as he or she toasts the bread. Be prepared.

2. Bread Compatibility

A. Type: some people like hearty, flavorful, whole-grain breads or those crusty breads that are fresh-made. Others prefer the squashy, white, slightly damp plain white breads devoid of all nutritional value. Who is to say who is right? (Me.)

B. Use: some people prefer to use bread down to the last piece. Others prefer to allow the heel and the "buffer" piece to be discarded. In addition, some people eat the bread "in order," starting with a heel piece, while others save the initial heel to help keep the remaining bread fresh. This can be huge.

C. Storage: some people are casual about their bread bags, giving it a twist and tuck and allowing the little plastic-coated metal wire to go by the wayside. Others are obsessive about tracking that little piece of wire to the ends of the earth, if necessary, and use it to seal the bread by twisting it both clockwise and counter-clockwise 87 times with each use.

Solution: While at the home of your intended, take a casual peek into the pantry, breadbox, cabinet, or cardboard box, provided no one is sitting on it. See what varieties of bread are available. If it is unsatisfactory, send your future partner to the grocery store to get some "good bread" and see what he comes back with. (Ladies, you should all do this anyway. It is loads of fun.)

3. Cabinets, drawers, switches, and appliances

Some people are careless about leaving cabinet doors or drawers open, or light switches on. These people are relaxed, carefree individuals who simply have more on their mind than closing some stupid cabinet or drawer. Others may not appreciate this sort of freedom and, Gestapo-like, prowl through the house ferreting out doors to close and switches to flip.

Solution: I'll just shut the cabinet.

So, there you have it. Three points of Petty Compatibility for otherwise happy couples. I haven't even made it out of the kitchen yet. There are countless points I haven't even found yet, because they haven't come up. But they will. If there is one thing I've learned from my 23 years on earth (quiet, Mom) it is this: people will find things to fuss about. I try not to do it, but goodness knows I'm not perfect. And some people don't even try!

But, compromise is possible, when two people love each other and someone is willing to change.

I put my foot down on the bread, though.

*This is totally about my relationship, as I'm sure you have not figured out by now because I did such a good job of keeping things vague and non-judgmental.

Hixploitation

It is with sadness that I reveal a shocking truth of which I had, heretofore, been unaware:

The History Channel has sold out.

Yes, my friends, that last bastion of wholesome, educational, boring television has gone the way of the sexy, go-go hipness of Discovery and The Learning Channel.

A few days ago, I was staying at the quaint Sky Harbor Bavarian Inn in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Really. Our room was nestled into the side of the mountain, with a balcony that extended into the cradling arms of the surrounding trees. As I lay on my side, the eastern window that looked out onto the balcony gave me a gorgeous view of a mountain sunrise.

That was the first day.

On the second day, clouds obscured the sunrise, Dexy was fussy, and Sven lost the remote control sometime during the night. The last thing he had been watching was The History Channel, so I was stuck. After two infomercials (Your Baby Can Read! and something about how to trick the government out of money) I watched a riveting documentary about the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Tunnel System. (Get it? "Riveting?" Because it's about road construction? And they use rivets? Never mind.)

By the time this documentary ended, we were all awake. The remote control was still nowhere to be found. Since the hotel used digital cable, we couldn't change the channel manually. Fortunately, the next thing to come on looked like something the kids would like: Uncovering the World of the Paleo-Indians. Computer animated Columbia Mammoths? Cool. Computer animated saber-toothed cats? Cooler.

Computer animated saber-toothed cats ripping the face off of a mother while her child stands there and watches? Not so much.

"Mommy?" Princess' anxious voice sounded as I ripped apart the bed in attempts to find the remote. "Mommy, what happened to that mommy? Did the bad tiger kill the mommy?"

"He bite! He bite!" exclaimed Dexy, looking concerned.

"Look! Handy Manny!" I bellowed, finally discovering the remote on the floor behind the headboard. And all was well. But it got me thinking: since when did The History Channel show such shlocky, over-dramatized pseudo-historical fare like this?

I don't know. But I'm not pleased.

And speaking of not pleased, I have something to say about remote control manners. If you and your partner go to sleep and wake at different times, it behooves the later-retiring partner to make sure the remote control is in a secure, easily accessible location for the earlier-rising partner. If it is not, the early riser is permitted to search the area around the sleeper, including ripping covers off and shoving the sleeper off the bed, if necessary.

That is all.

A Division of Labor II: Soakers vs. Non

If you recall, I recently published a very controversial post* regarding the way Sven and I divide the labor in our household.

The morning the post was published, I again attacked a sinkful of dishes after emptying a load from the dishwasher that had been placed there by Sven. It was in the sink that I encountered one of the most potentially divisive, explosive issues in a marriage:

Leaving a dirty pan or dish in the sink "to soak."

I admit, I soak. This may shock my mother and sister, but in my youth I was a frivolous soaker, choosing to leave something "to soak" just because I didn't feel like washing it. I learned my lesson. I no longer commit this heinous act.

When Sven and I went back to school, we lived in a small house we purchased with the last of our savings. We had very little. The house had no central air (in Beaumont, TX), we had no furniture, no stove, and no dishwasher. Washing dishes in that house was a matter of survival; in the spring, summer, fall, and early winter, the heat and humidity in the kitchen made soaking something simply impossible. I would get those dishes washed as quickly as possible, as would Sven.

After we had lived in the house about a year, we bought a small dishwasher and remodeled the kitchen. We did this on our own, buying the cheapest materials, but we bought the dishwasher knowing it was not strictly "necessary," but wanting our lives to be just a little easier.

It was WONDERFUL. To just take a dirty dish and put it in the dishwasher...it was amazing. I felt like the Queen. Or Oprah.

With a dishwasher, though, came the need to soak again. And here was where another startling rift was revealed between Sven and myself: Sven does not know how, or when, to soak a dish. So for him, and the betterment of all mankind, I post these

RULES FOR SOAKING

1. If you are soaking many small things, fill a sink with a few inches of hot, soapy water, then let them soak until the water cools.
2. If you are soaking big things, fill the big thing with hot, soapy water.
3. If the big thing doesn't fit inside the sink, put it to the side. Do not, to take a random example, fill a giant glass baking dish with water, then balance it precariously over the sink, so that there is no way to use the sink.

WHEN TO SOAK

If it has sticky food on it, and you can't wash it right away, soak it. Or rinse it. Or something.

Several times a year, Sven makes his famous potato salad. This potato salad is only made in giant vats; Sven claims he cannot get it right with less than 5 pounds of potatoes. When he makes this potato salad, family members suddenly discover quart-sized Tupperware in their purses, so they can "help clear out some of these leftovers!" It's a good thing, too, because we never finish it, even with the Oliver Twist-like antics of my nearest and dearest.

Sven made some potato salad on the 4th of July. The sad, lonely remainder had sat in the fridge, ready to be cleared. So Sven took care of it by moving the covered bowl from the fridge to the counter by the sink. Where I found it, sad lonely remainder and all.

In this instance, soaking would have been acceptable. It would have been desirable. Anything, I beg you.

Sometimes, a little soaking is okay.

*(It was only controversial in my house, after Sven read it and declared that I know nothing about the correct way to load dishes, and my feet stink. Ever sensitive to the way your better class of people {i.e. "celebrities"} handle personal insults, I got a Cheeto-dust spray-tan and began being seen about town with a female DJ of dubious background. The controversy has since subsided, but I owe an apology to my neighbors for the horde of paparazzi and inexplicable techno beat that has surrounded my house for the past week.)

And a big, extra special thank you to Jill at Sneaky Momma Blog Design for my awesome blog makeover!

A Division of Labor

Sven and I have a good marriage. We love each other, we get along, we enjoy each other's company, and we have a lot in common. We've been together for 15 years. I'm starting to believe it will last.

When it comes to household chores, neither of us is what you would call "tidy." Or even "bearable." We each have our strengths (ability to ignore messes for a very long time) and our weaknesses (ability to complain about messes we have been ignoring for a very long time).

Sven and I each work, full-time, outside the home. We are both teachers. During the school year very little in the way of home maintenance is done. I keep everyone in clean clothes. Sven keeps the yard in compliance with the homeowner's association rules. We each do our part to make sure there is something to eat, though I confess more often than not that means Sven picks up the take-out and I throw away the containers.

During the summer, though, we "catch up" on a number of pesky chores that we simply don't have time for ordinarily, like sweeping, mopping, organizing, vacuuming, dusting, editing, and conditioning. Sven and I do a fairly good job of sharing the labor equally. There are a few "my" jobs (folding the laundry, tidying the living room) and some "his" jobs (lawn care, carpet cleaning), but dishes, laundry, cooking, and basic cleaning are shared responsibilities.

Which leads me to my question today: if there is a chore that has separate components, is it necessary for the same person to do each part of the chore? If not, should the workers collaborate to make sure the initial part of the chore is complete in a manner acceptable to the person completing subsequent parts of the chore?

Example: Dishes.

Sven and I have different philosophies when it comes to dishes. For instance, I load the silverware tray with the "business ends" poking up, so the part that touches the food gets clean. I also put a variety of utensils in each slot, because they can't stick together if there's only one spoon, one fork, one knife, etc. Sven says he doesn't like that, because it's harder to unload. While I can respect that, I'd rather the dishes get clean. Furthermore, Sven always manages to load the dishwasher in some crazy ninja way that prevents me from unrolling the bottom rack without dragging out the top one, meaning I have to unload the whole darned thing if I want a frying pan from the bottom left. Which I should do anyway. Don't judge me.

So who gets priority? The person who loads, or the person who unloads?

But the more important question: why do I care? In a sound, happy marriage, where I love my husband and he loves me, and we have two beautiful kids and adequate money coming in, two working cars and a nice house, why was I ready to scream at Sven today because he only washed spoons and knives and left all of the forks in the sink?

Is it human nature to look for conflict? Do we naturally look for the problems? Or is it just me?

I didn't mention it to Sven. (Yes, dear, I realize I'm mentioning it now, but only in an abstract, hypothetical way, not a critical one. You do the dishes just fine and I love you very much.) I unloaded the dishes, then loaded the dishwasher my way and started it. But I wondered: is this how those couples end up on Dr. Phil? You know, the ones where the man goes out and has an affair because his wife wouldn't ever let him fold the towels, because he "didn't do it right?" How many ways are there to fold towels?

Princess and Dexy are getting to the point that they are helping around the house. Dexy does it because he loves to help. He understands throwing things in the garbage, and does it so enthusiastically that we have to dig through our garbage to find forks, bowls, bills, and toys before taking it out. Princess is beginning to help because I'm making her. I stand over her for 10 minutes so she can do a job that takes me 30 seconds, but I tell myself I'm building her character.

But, it makes me happy that I really don't care how she puts the toys away, as long as it gets done. Maybe I'm making progress. I'm going to cancel that appointment with Dr. Phil...

Cereal Killer

I had a startling realization (i.e. "antiphony") at Sam's club a few weeks ago.

We were in the cereal aisle. In front of us was an array of well-known breakfast cereals packaged in truly offensive quantities. This was a serious decision. Whichever cereal we chose to buy would be with us for a while. I scanned the aisle, and saw it:

Frosted Mini-Wheats. My favorite cereal.

"Let's get the Frosted Mini-Wheats," I said to Sven.

"Frosted Mini-Wheats?" he asked, the expression on his face indicating I had actually suggested Crunchy Grit -n- Paste. "What about Froot Loops?"

You see, Sven and I have very different attitudes about cereal. As children of the '70's (and in my case, '80's), we understand that, after our choice of Saturday morning television, nothing says more about a person than the brand of breakfast cereal they endorse. You could be Wheaties (Bruce Jenner, Mary Lou Retton), or you could be Trix (Silly Rabbit). These were important decisions, in those days.

My cereal identity was determined by my mother. A child of the '50's, my mother took the 1970's and '80's health revolution very seriously. (From everything I understand, in the 1950's a fistful of Oreos crumbled into heavy cream was an acceptable "breakfast." They didn't really start to figure out that might not be good for you until my childhood. Thanks, science.)

Our pantry contained an assortment of rock-and-twig cereals such as Shredded Wheat and Grape Nuts. When she was feeling "kooky" we'd get Corn Flakes, Rice Krispies, or Cheerios. (Rice Krispies were our favorite because the commercials featured Snap, Crackle, and Pop, the Keebler Elf's ne'er-do-well nephews.) Our "treat" cereal was Raisin Bran. My mom wouldn't buy anything containing artificial colors or flavors, or any added sugar. She did, however, allow us to add our own sugar, so when she wasn't looking we would heap sugar on our bowl of Shredded Wheat until the cereal was no longer visible. I think she knew.

Eventually, Mom softened her stance on cereals enough to allow Honey-Nut Cheerios and Frosted Flakes. There was much rejoicing.

My point is not to point out how my mother deprived me of a childhood by refusing to buy Cookie Crisp, it is to explain why I never developed a taste for "kid" cereals. I didn't taste Froot Loops until I was married, as I'm sure the Lord inended. I have never eaten a Coco Puff. I have only ever eaten one freeze-dried marshmallow, and I only did that after I learned Sven's passionate feelings toward them.

Sven's cereal background is vastly different from mine. His father worked in the food service industry, helping to develop new recipes and foods to market. He was instrumental in the creation of "Chex Mix." He also developed the freeze-dried marshmallow, which led to Lucky Charms cereal, Sven's favorite cereal. Sven vastly prefers kid cereals to any of the grown-up varieties. Some of his favorites are Froot Loops, Count Chocula, Fruity Pebbles, and Hershey's Bowl of Miniature Candy Bars That You Just Eat.

The early days of our marriage Sven bought his and I bought mine. That meant Sven bought a box of Lucky Charms and I bought a box each of Raisin Bran, Grape Nuts, Shredded Wheat, and Honey-Nut Cheerios. I would eat a bowl of each, then wait the required 12 months to throw the opened boxes away before I bought more.

Is it any wonder that I'm not allowed to pick the cereal anymore?

Still, I couldn't have the only cereal in our house to be Froot Loops.

"What about Rice Krispies?" I offered to Sven.

"That's not a food, it's an ingredient," he snapped. What about Cookie Crunch?"

We got Cheerios. To date, I am the only person in the house who has eaten any cereal.

Good thing we didn't get something no one else likes...

Happy Birthday!

This weekend is one of the most important for our family. It is only fitting that the entire country celebrate as well.

Of course, I'm talking about the 5th of July.

Yes, you read that right. The 5th of July is Sven's birthday. This year he turns 36, the sexiest age a man can be.

Sven is a wonderful husband, but he is very difficult to shop for. This year, in honor of Billy Mays, I plan to give him many useful products As Seen on TV. I have chosen these products for their usefulness, but also for the message they send:

1. A Big City Slider station. Nothing says "I love you" like a tiny hamburger. Now, we can have our own restaurant-style sliders every day of the year! Or, once, and then never wash it!

2. The Awesome Auger. Nothing says "I love you" like a hole in the ground. Now, Sven can indulge his great love of digging. Then he can build a big fire in one of the new holes and grill sliders. It's a win-win.

3. Mighty Putty. Nothing says "I love you" like a wad of clay-like substance. Now Sven can stop all of those leaks! And I can indulge my love for hammering nails through PVC pipe!

4. The Water Jet pressure washer. Nothing says "I love you" like a tool designed to dislodge dirt, mold, and bird feces from your house. This has the added bonus of being a chore waiting to be done! Happy birthday, honey! Now get to work.

5. What Odor? odor-removal product. Nothing says "I love you" like a product designed to remove odors so offensive you previously considered throwing away/selling/euthanizing the source of the odor. I love you dear. What odor?

I love you, honey. Happy birthday.

You know this blog entry is your present, right?

I Like Mondays: End of Year

Here are the five reasons I like Mondays this week:

1. Today is the last Monday of the 2008-2009 school year. Yes, I am still teaching this week. Today some of my very special students earned a Cheeto party. The scent of corn, powdered cheese, and puberty is a pervasive, compelling odor that I'm sure to be scrubbing from my nostrils in the days to come.

2. Though I am suffering from one of the all-time great sinus infections this world has ever known, I have found a smell that breaks through to my long-abused odor receptors: corn, powdered cheese, and puberty. Ahhh.

3. Dexy is having surgery this week. I am intermittently crying and shaking at the prospect, but I'm being assured by parents, doctors, teachers, virtual friends, and strangers on the street that his health will improve greatly once the surgery is over. (Dexy is having tubes placed in both ears and his adenoids are being removed.) His surgery will be Wednesday morning, please think of us!

4. The MTV Movie Awards contained what I felt to be the appropriate amount of Robert Pattinson exposure. And who knew Jim Carrey could still be funny? Surprises all around! Except for the awards, of course- everybody knew who was going to win.

5. Princess helped her daddy make supper last night. Macaroni and cheese. Kraft. Blue box. Classic. Princess helped pour in the macaroni, stir up the "cheese," and ate FOUR BOWLS of her handiwork. Sven, showing amazing initiative, heard on the radio that one way to encourage picky eaters to eat more was to have them help prepare the food. Miss Picky ate enough for Sven to declare the experiment a rousing success.

For her part, Princess told her daddy, "This is the best macaroni and cheese I ever had!"

Swish!

Morning Person: A Photo Essay

Sven and I are complete opposites when it comes to our daily rhythm.

I am a day person. This is me during the day:

This is me starting about 8:00 at night:

Sven is the total opposite. He really comes alive when the sun goes down:

But try and talk to him at 3:00 in the afternoon, and:

What is interesting to me is how our kids have inherited our tendencies.

Dexy: "A-ba! What's that! Bye-bye! Daddy!" (at 5:30 a.m., with a huge smile on his face.)

"Is it naptime yet?" (at 9:30 a.m., spent)

Princess: "No, Mommy! I'm trying to sleep!" (at 8:00 a.m., after Dexy and I have been up for two and 1/2 hours)

"Mommy, we can't go to bed yet!" (at 10:00 p.m., after I'm a wizened skeleton trying to pass as human and Sven has gone fishing)

How wondrous is the parenting experience...

Gadgets

I love gadgets. Even as a small child, I loved pushing buttons. I remember being so disappointed that my toy typewriter only had one large button engraved with smaller buttons, so that touching one mashed down the whole thing. Cheap 1970's construction...

I digress. Gadgets make me very happy. This is something I have had some difficulty communicating to Sven, who believes that electronics make me happy. Not so, as he discovered the year he gave me a surround-sound speaker system for Christmas.

Yes, it was as romantic as it looks.

No, I don't love electronics. I love gadgets. Here are my requirements for a great gadget:

1. My gadget must be small enough to be held in the hand and carried in my purse. (My purse is pretty large, so this isn't much of a constraint.)

2. My gadget must have sufficient battery power to function on its own for a day or two.

3. My gadget must do something I never considered necessary until I saw the gadget.

4. The gadget must make one part of my life easier while making another more difficult.

My current favorite gadgets:

My Sony Ericsson phone, with walkman capability, rendered useless by my:

Purple iPod Nano. My iPod Nano has replaced almost every other gadget in my personal media arsenal: obviously, I no longer need my Discman, but I also no longer need my portable DVD player.

These are great gadgets. I don't know how I got along without the ability to receive wrong number calls while driving, or listening to The Ting Tings at a moment's notice.

These gadgets, though, pale in comparison to my new ultimate-item-I'm-coveting-but-will-never-get-until-it-is-obsolete:

The Kindle.

The Kindle is Amazon.com's wireless reader. Past generations of the kindle have been small but were a big enough hit that they could continue to improve upon them and render them obsolete, rewarding those early customers with the opportunity to drop another few hundred dollars on a better wireless reader. This one, the new generation Kindle DX, is the real deal. Look how thin it is!

This bad boy can handle something like 3,500 books, magazines, and/or newspapers. It also has a web browser and links wirelessly to a 3G network, so no need for WiFi or computer interface. You can buy books and download them to the Kindle without any additional hardware. Current bestselling titles average $9.99, older ones are even cheaper. An optional attachment (called the Starbucks Knob) dispenses foamy hot chocolate at the press of a button.

(Okay, I made that last one up. But wouldn't that be cool? And impossible?)

Imagine how wonderful this is for someone like me: I buy a ridiculous amount of books every year. With the Kindle, not only would I save money, I would be saving resources. Buying a Kindle would be my way of saving the earth. I know, it's selfless, but that's just how I'm made.

Sven, insisting on not seeing the forest for the trees, balks at the price of this gadget tailor-made for my lifestyle. I figure, at a paltry $489, it will pay for itself in just a few short decades. But Sven insists that since we're "schoolteachers" who make a relatively low "salary" we should live within our "means" and not spend "ridiculous" amounts of money on things that are "stupid." (You can supply your own air quotes, if you want. It's "fun!")

It's a shame, really. Summer is coming, the ideal time to test out a Kindle. We travel every summer and I'm always "forgetting" essentials like clothing to make room for the books I want to bring with me. Having a Kindle tucked away in my bag would mean I could have literally thousands of books tucked away and ready to access at any time.

So, Amazon.com, if you're reading this blog, I would be willing to accept a complimentary Kindle DX in order to test it and review it on this blog. Literally dozens of people could be influenced by a mere mention here!

Sorry, I meant "dozens." And "literally."

My Musical Legacy

I often reflect on how different my two children are from each other.  I have a three-year-old daughter, Princess, pictured below:

I also have a 16-month-old son, whom I have been referring to as Sven, Jr., pictured here:

I have been reflecting on Sven Jr.'s blog name, looking for a defining characteristic that can be summed up in one descriptive term.  This weekend, I believe I found it: Dexy.  As in, Dexy's Midnight Runners?  As in, the band that recorded one of the greatest '80's songs ever, "Come On Eileen?"  Let me explain.

I believe I have referenced before on this blog my love for countdown-type shows, often featured on VH-1.  I Love the '70's, I Love the '80's, I Love the '90's, I Love Toys...these all fill me with varying degrees of delight.  However, I really love the ones with titles like "100 Greatest Songs of the '80's."  Those occupy me for days, as I track down song after song on iTunes.  I especially love the '80's countdowns because they show video clips, which bring back memories of me sneaking out to the living room to watch a brand-new station called MTV, which only showed music videos, and which my mother was convinced would send the entire nation into a seething mass of immorality, hence the sneaking.  Fortunately, my dad really liked MTV, too, so I got to watch a fair amount of it after Mom went to bed.  (Sorry, Mom.  In his defense, Dad only let me watch if I was quiet enough that he could legitimately say he hadn't noticed me there.)

The newest compilation countdown to appear on VH-1 could only have been designed for me, so rapturous was my reception of it: 100 Greatest One-Hit Wonders of the '80's.  So this weekend, Sven, Jr. and I sat together and watched commentary on some of the best music ever produced.

Sven Jr. loved it.  Remember his instant reaction to Beyonce's "Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)"?  That paled in comparison to his instant affinity to the song "Mickey".  His thumb popped out of his mouth as a wide grin stretched across his face, and his little foot began to stomp as those timeless lyrics wafted out over us:

"Oh, Mickey, you're so fine,

You're so fine, you blow my mind,

Hey Mickey!  Hey Mickey!" 

         -(William Shakespeare, As If You Liked It Or Something, Act IV, Scene 25)

Okay, so it's not Shakespeare.  It's Toni Basil, a choreographer who still works with such red-hot celebrities as Bette Midler and Reese Witherspoon.  The point is, as each of these songs from my youth spun out, Sven Jr./Dexy got more and more excited.  The high point, though, was that song that VH-1 determined was the greatest One-Hit Wonder of the 80's: "Come On Eileen."  That song has always just made me happy.  I remember when I was in my early 20's, I would listen to that song (which was already an oldie) just to feel good.  I actually made a mix tape that featured that song four or five times per side.

It would seem, then, that little Dexy's affinity for '80's music is come by honestly.  I plan to encourage this, as I have encouraged Princess' love for Andy Williams and the score from Hairspray.  I think I'll have a lot more fun encouraging Dexy, this time, though...

Folksy Musin's Flashback Episode

As a legend in my own mind, I am accustomed to hearing praise wherever I go. The fact that said praise occurs mostly in my head is, to me, irrelevant.

However, since beginning this blog, I have been hearing actual words of praise from people who take time roughly every other day to read my blog. They say things like, "You're so funny!" or "How do you think of these things!" I always smile and demur, not wanting to admit that I really have no idea what I'm doing and, furthermore, the first draft of almost every entry contains the word "booger" at least six times. And poop. Don't get me started on poop.

There is one question I've been asked many times, though, that I can answer: "How did you get started writing a blog?" Come with me through the blurry lines of the flashback episode....

Folksy Musin's: The Sitcom

[Kicky sitcom opening sequence, with a cheesy montage of me juggling groceries and trying to walk a dog. The song would be something like a cross between "Ride of the Valkyries" and the theme from "Maude."]

Tonight's Episode: The Beginning

Cast:

Deb, a thoughtful, quietly attractive mom with a sharp wit and impeccable sense of style (played by Anne Hathaway)

Kristina, the adorable, wacky social worker with a heart of gold, with a wildly popular blog (played by Reese Witherspoon)

Sven, Deb's handsome loving cool talented amazing husband (played by Rob Pattinson or Seth Rogen, depending on who is available)

Act I: Pre-Blog Deb

Deb: Hey, Kristina! It's good to see you.

Kristina: You too! It's not at all strange that this script shows us having a face-to-face conversation even though we've never met!

Deb: I know, right? But we've been "talking" on the discussion board for such a long time, I feel like I know you!

Kristina: Me, too!

Act II: Kristina Makes a Suggestion

Deb: Hey, Kristina! I noticed you're not posting on the discussion board as much as you used to.

Kristina: You're right, I'm really into my blog right now.

Deb: You have a blog? Really?

Kristina: You should check it out. Have you ever thought about doing it yourself? You'd be really good at it.

Deb: Wow, you think so? Thanks!

[As laid-back acoustic indie rock plays, we see Deb sitting on her bed with her Macbook. She is reading Kristina's blog and chuckling to herself. She looks up, thoughtful, and hits "Create Blog" on the menu bar at the top of the page.]

Act III: After the Blog

Deb: Kristina, I can't thank you enough for helping me start my blog. It is so much fun and I'm having a great time.

Kristina: No problem. You know, we still haven't met. This isn't fact-based at all!

Deb: Look!  Angelina Jolie!

Kristina: Where?  [Deb runs away.]

Ending 1: if Sven is played by Rob Pattinson

[Deb sits on the bed, typing on her Macbook.]

Sven (entering, shirtless): {in a British accent} Deborah, love of my life, reason for my existence, have you seen my shirt?

Deb: No.  [She unobtrusively uses one foot to ease the pile of shirts out of sight.]

Ending 2: if Sven is played by Seth Rogen

[Deb sits on the bed, typing on her Macbook.  Sven enters.]

Sven: Are you writing that "blog" again? (Grimaces, waves hand in air behind him)

Deb: [gasping for air] What did you eat?

Sven: (laughing) Put that in your "blog." [Screen fades to black.]

Fin.

So today, if nothing else, we have learned: thank you, Kristina. This is all your fault.

A Quest, Continued

Sven's contest is over. It was not the triumphant, against-all-odds Oscar contender I hoped it would be. It was more like a Very Special Saved By the Bell (in which: Zac learns that you can't win 'em all). I suppose Rob Pattinson wouldn't have guest starred on Saved By the Bell...



To recap, Sven took his band to Contest yesterday. They were the second band, the non-varsity band, the young band with eyes full of dreams. Contest has two parts: concert (prepared music) and sight reading (music never seen before). Each part gets a rating. Here is the official rating system:

• I: Excellent, really good, I was actually glad to hear you.


• II: Not bad, still needs some work, but my ears aren't bleeding.


• III: Okay, I understand why you came, but you still need a lot of work.


• IV: Bless your heart.


• V: Go away.

The good news? Sven's band made a III in sight-reading.

They received a "Bless your heart" on stage. :(

Sven says he knows why. One of his very young trumpet players "freaked out" under all the pressure and really bungled the first piece, the march. Sven said he recovered after that, but the judge's minds were probably already made up after that.

Furthermore, Sven's buddy, R-Dog, who helped organize the contest, says that the judges were unusually harsh on non-varsity bands this year, judging them by the same standards as the varsity groups. R-Dog said that many of the non-varsities got III's and IV's on stage. Especially the non-varsity bands from large schools, and since Sven's school is one of the largest in the region...

So Sven feels the IV was perhaps a little harsh, but he understands it. His primary concern, though, is for the kids.

The kids had a BLAST. They had a great time. They heard they got a IV and cheered. When Sven called me from the band hall after returning to town, I could hear the laughter in the background. It really made me see things from Sven's point of view: sometimes it is good to just go do things the kids will enjoy, and not worry about the scores. In 20 years, they may not remember the score they received, but they'll remember the trip and the good time they had.

(Your comments of encouragement have been very well received, as well. Perhaps, in the future, when Sven asks me if I'm going to turn something into an entry for my blog, I won't see the eye-rolling and sarcastic "air quotes" anymore.)

Sven is probably going to get a fair amount of "I told you so" from the more experienced teachers who told him not to go. But, being the man that he is, he will continue on his path, never ceasing from his endless quest to improve the lives of his students.

This does sound like a Very Special Episode. We've got to get a decent guest star for this one...what television actor can accurately portray the anguish, the decency, the...gravitas of Sven?

I've got it:

Sven's Quest For Glory

For the secondary music teacher in Texas, there is no quest greater than Contest. (We always say Contest with a capital "C.") Once a year, our ensemble is judged on prepared performance and sight reading, earning a score from I (Awesome!) to a V (Seriously, what is it you do? Because you don't teach music.). The rules are strict, the standards are high, and every director, no matter how experienced, quails before the challenge, but they do it every year, some because they are required to, but most because of the thrill of competition.

I confess that I have a problem with Contest. Before Princess was born, I taught secondary level choir for several years. I took students to Contest almost every year, and we generally did well (I's and II's, mostly). However, the attempt to objectify and quantify something very subjective and intensely personal, like music, does not sit well with me. I recognize that we have to do something to hold our profession accountable and make sure curriculum is being taught, so to Contest we go, but I still don't like it.

Sven, on the other hand, has, in my opinion, a dream situation. He's an assistant band director, which means he's responsible for the secondary ensemble, or "non-varsity" group. (A third group is "sub-non-varsity." We're all about official terms here.) The second group can go, but doesn't have to. It's up to the directors to make that call. Early in the school year, it began, as it always does:

"I don't think my band is going to make it to Contest this year."

"I have no trumpets. No trumpets. There's no way we can go to Contest this year."

"I can't find music for Contest this year. I guess I'll have to write my own."

My response, as always, is a hopeful, "So maybe you won't go to Contest this year?"

Ha. Let me repeat: Ha. Because Sven ALWAYS goes to Contest. In his professional life, it is his reason for being. He always goes. He always does okay. This year, though, there have been several signs that perhaps he shouldn't go:

1. His best players have been pulled to fill out the top band, as usual
2. Several kids failed classes who usually don't, making them unable to participate
3. His mother is in the hospital, improving but still ill, and he's the one who makes decisions for her
4. We haven't done our taxes yet
5. He is still rewriting some of the music for his players, some of whom he has pulled from the beginning band
6. The contest is in Jasper, a 3-hour school bus ride away. Blech.
7. The contest is tomorrow. April 1. April Fool's Day.

Sven was able to ignore all of these signs and perservere, as he always does. However, last night he received a phone call. I watched his face go from a smile to solemnity. I thought, "It's his mom. She's taken a turn for the worse." He continued to listen, his expression clouding more and more.

"Thanks," he said, hanging up. He looked at me, his face grave, and said this:

"A fat kid fell on my baritone player."

Apparently, in PE yesterday, his lone baritone player was getting a drink of water when a much larger student stumbled out of bounds and fell on him, forcing him into the water fountain and cutting his head quite severely. It seems that the student will be okay, but stitches were necessary and the cut made it necessary to cover an eye. No baritone player for contest.

Sven's going anyway. He's pulling a 6th grader up to take the wounded baritone player's place. I've told him this will either be a historic triumph (perservering against all odds) or a horrible cautionary tale (ignoring the signs).

I'll let you know Thursday which one it is. Either way, I think Rob Pattinson should play Sven in the movie.

Spring Break Adventures III: Galveston

I had totally planned to stay home on Friday, the last real day of Spring Break, and clean house.  I had laundry to do, dishes to wash, and cheese cracker residue to scrape off of every non-permeable surface in the house.

This did not get done.  Princess announced after breakfast that she wanted to go to the beach, so Sven prepared to take Princess to Galveston for the afternoon.  Sven Jr., seeing them leave, began to cry.  Sven sighed dramatically and put shoes and socks on his son.  In other words, Sven was preparing to take both children out of the house for several hours, leaving me there alone.

Like a complete and utter fool, this prospect filled me with dread.  I wanted to be there if Sven Jr. got to walk on the beach for the first time.  I wanted to know if Princess said or did something adorably precocious.  So, instead of taking advantage of the solitude and cleaning the house or napping, I said, "Wait for me!" and joined them in the car.

It was totally worth it.  Galveston still shows a lot of damage from Hurricane Ike, but it's coming back.  Here's a picture of Princess and Sven on The Strand, the historic district next to the pier on the bay side of the island:

The mark above Sven's head is the water mark from Ike's storm surge.  Sven is about 6' tall, so you can imagine how much damage there is to repair.

The good news for me: Galveston Bookshop, my favorite used book store, located on 23rd Street right off The Strand, is fully re-stocked and looking great.  GB had 7' of water in the store, completely wiping out the first floor, but they now have brand new shelves, a beautiful new tile floor, and replenished stock.  Anyone who reads my blog who goes to Galveston needs to check out this excellent book store.  (If you click on the link I provided, you can see pictures of the new look as well as right after the storm.  Very impressive.)

The better news for me: I got to see Sven Jr.'s first time on the beach, as he played in the sand with his sister:

I guess it's okay that the house is a mess.  I think I made the right call.

Spring Break Adventures II: Sea World San Antonio

Or: Deb Discovers She Cannot Heckle Shamu

It began weeks ago: Princess approached me and laid her adorable head on my knee, and, bottom lip quivering, said:

"Mama?  I want to go and see Shampoo."

"You want a bath?" I asked, thoroughly confused.

"No," she answered, rolling her eyes at my stupidity.  "I want to see Shampoo the WHALE."  (You must imagine this last word spoken in 3-year-old Texan dialect, so it comes out WAY-yull.)

"Ah," I said, throwing a helpless glance at Sven, who, helpful as always, shrugged.  "Well, sweetheart, we have some vacation coming up, so we'll see if maybe we can go and see Shamu."

"Not 'Shamu,' Mommy," she patiently corrected me, "Shampoo.  Shampoo is the whale.  Shamu is the baby brother."  My misinformation sufficiently corrected, Princess went on her merry way, satisfied that her mommy would take care of it, so there would be no need to bring it up again.

Ha, ha!  Clearly, I jest.  Princess has mentioned Shampoo and her need to see him at least thrice daily for the last three weeks.  Last year it was caves.  I'm thinking this year may be the Year of the Whale.

So, like any parents with a firm and reasonable grip on their children, Sven and I planned a trip to Sea World: San Antonio because we wanted to go.  Not because Princess made us.

I must confess: I truly, truly wanted to heckle the Shamu show.  It's called "Believe!" and it is the cheesiest, most cliche "story" imaginable.  It starts with a movie.  There's a little boy who loves killer whales, so he looks at them in a book, then whittles a whale tail out of wood and wears it as a necklace, then goes to the beach and sees a killer whale, and canoes out to meet it, and the whale says, "What's up?" and the music swells.  Then, the real-life trainer walks out, and he's wearing a wooden whale tail pendant!  Which is also available in the gift shop for $15!  How inspiring.

The problem is, I am literally awed to tears by the magnificence of those animals.  Before the show, the whales are all swimming around the pool, warming up or something, and the moment I see them I just start bawling.  When the necklace-wearing trainer points across the water and Shamu leaps up, I am genuinely moved, despite the cheesiness.  They are amazing to watch, and Princess and I were very happy, though I think Princess was a bit embarrassed by my enthusiasm.

"Mommy, stop it," she said to me as I sobbed into my souvenir Shamu bath towel, a bargain at $10.

"Did you see that?" I asked her, tears streaming down my face.  "Did you see the whale give him a kiss?"

"I want to sit with Daddy," she replied, edging away from me.  

After I had sufficiently recovered from Believe! we went to Viva!, billed as an amazing interaction between acrobats, dolphins, and beluga whales.  This, I could have heckled.  Unfortunately, Sven Jr. was so emotionally drained from Believe! that he was asleep in the stroller, making it necessary for me to stand at the back of the theater and only glimpse the show between the heads of children who were standing on the seats to better see the show.  However, I think I caught the gist...several vaguely fish-costumed acrobats fall in the water, and they bring out the dolphins/whales every ten minutes or so.  I won't mention that the fish costumes were skintight and very unforgiving, particularly on some of the auxiliary fishes.

Princess was soon bored with Viva!.  I wanted to go and see the Penguin Encounter!, so we did.  We stepped on an automatic walkway, the kind you see in major airports, and very slowly went by a room full of penguins.  It made you say, "Wow.  Look at the penguins."  I bet they think we're idiots.  In fact, I bet the penguins think that walkway is there for their amusement, and if we could understand their language, we would here snarky comments from them about fashion choices and hairstyles.  

After the Penguin Encounter! we went to Dolphin Cove! where we can feed and pet real live dolphins.  Except it was so crowded they had cut off the food, and the dolphins were not interested in being petted by Sven Jr., much to his dismay.

"Hoo dey?" he demanded, pointing imperiously at the dolphins.  "Eee ta."  Translation: Bring me a dolphin to pet, and I shall reward you with a moist kiss and pull your hair for an hour.

"Honey, they just want to swim," I answered.

"Oooo," he answered disapprovingly.  Translation: Those rude dolphins.  Don't they know they exist, as does everything else, for my amusement.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," I said, wincing as he grabbed my hair.

"Pa bo," he replied.  Translation: You're all right.  I may kiss you later.

After Dolphin Cove! and the Coral Reef! Princess demanded to go back and see the Sea Lion Exhibit! and fell asleep before the sentence was out of her mouth.  Sven and I raced to the car as quickly as we could while Sven Jr. poked princess with impunity, and we headed home, exhausted.

I can't wait to go back.

Spring Break Adventures: We Go To The Zoo

Since Sven and I are both teachers, we have a lovely "bonus" week of vacation every year: Spring Break.  We pull the kids out of day care for the week and spend every waking moment together, reminding me why I work outside the home.

Kidding!  Really, I am.  I love my husband and my children and the time I spend with them is very precious.  The kids are growing so fast, sometimes I'm afraid I'm missing so much by having to leave them in day care, so any chance I have to spend time with them I take.

Today, Sven and I packed up bright and early (10:00-ish) and took the kids to the zoo.  This is an outing we rarely tire of, and since we purchased a zoo membership this year, we can visit as many times as we like for "free."  (The zoo's definition of "free" is, of course, free admission, which is wonderful, but food, drink, souvenirs, parking, and miscellanea usually put us in the $500-$600 dollar range for a three-hour visit.  Yes, I am exaggerating, but only slightly.)

Among other highlights: we saw a 46-day-old baby giraffe, and Sven Jr. snacked nonstop for almost 5 hours.  I'd like to think it's due to teething...

Mindful that I am the keeper of my family's memories, I took the camera.  Here is our visit, as it will live in the annals of my increasingly demented mind:

Princess, at the duckpond shortly after arrival.

"Mama, there was a duck!  I saw it!"

"I don't trust that bear."

"That bear is definitely up to something."

Sven and Princess look for the baby elephant.

Princess shows her love...

...and Sven Jr. goes in for a kiss.

Maybe it's time to go...

We out.

Living Up to the Hype

Does anything in life ever live up to the hype? Anticipation, though delicious in and of itself, often ruins the exact thing we anticipate. Expectation, anticipation's spinster aunt, is even worse: it is anticipation without the joy.



I recently wrote a blog entry about how I can find anything. I have now failed to live up to my own hype for almost a week. I came home Saturday afternoon to find that Sven had lost the remote control to the downstairs TV. (Sven claims one of the children took it, which is possible, but if Sven had only taken the common-sense precaution of tying the remote control to his left wrist, none of this would have happened.) I have looked all over the house, but my fabled psychic find-all is broken. I think the problem is that I wasn't there when it was lost, hence I cannot be there when it is found. It is but the way of the world. I have now taken the step that will guarantee that the remote will be found: I have ordered a replacement, which means that ten minutes after we open the replacement, the new one will emerge, chuckling heartily, from its hiding place.

Another lackluster hype-fest was last night's finale of Top Chef. I don't watch a lot of reality TV, understand; I fully recognize that reality TV is the total downfall of our civilization, so I only watch the really socially redeeming ones, like:

• Top Chef
• Project Runway
• America's Next Top Model
• Hell's Kitchen
• Flavor of Love
• Keeping Up With The Kardashians (which I watch ironically)
• The Girls Next Door (which I only watch so I can pass righteous judgment)
• The Real Housewives of Atlanta (which I view as straight comedy)

So, I have come to expect a certain level of professionalism and quality from the reality shows I watch so selectively. This season of Top Chef disappointed me on many levels by stooping to the "romance among contestants" ploy so often employed by less me-worthy shows, thus keeping two lackluster contestants around longer than they deserved so the romance angle could be played up. And, worst of all (spoiler, so highlight to see): one of them won.

Fortunately, some things do live up to the hype. Lost is having a great fifth season. I enjoyed all of the Twilight books. My stuffed Evil Monkey came yesterday, and it looks almost exactly like the one on Family Guy.

I'm on the lookout, though, for things that aren't pre-hyped for my entertainment pleasure; things I can discover on my own and nurture until they become so popular that I give them up in disgust for selling out to all of those fans who only liked them after they became "popular."

As it is supposed to be.

Lost and Found

In every relationship, tasks inevitably become divided into "his" and "hers." He takes care of the cars and the lawn, she does the dishes and the laundry. He cooks, she cleans up after. He takes care of the money, she changes the diapers. You get the idea.

In my relationship, Sven and I have developed what I feel to be a truly remarkable division of labor: Sven is responsible for losing things, and I am responsible for finding them. I know this sounds mundane, but trust me: what I am describing here is something special.

Sven's ability to lose things amazes me. At first, I thought it was a logical outgrowth of his difficulty seeing: when we met and began dating, Sven was legally blind, with severe astigmatism and myopia. When we became very poor married college students, we couldn't afford his contact lenses, so he went about in a pair of the thickest glasses invented by man. These glasses were so thick they were almost opaque, so of course I understood that he couldn't see things that were right in front of him. If he called plaintively to me that he had lost his shoe, I would of course jump into action, knowing that he would find it himself if he could only see, the poor dear.

Then, he got the lasik eye surgery. A miracle! He could see! Now I no longer felt so sorry for him when he plaintively called to me to find something six inches from his right hand. I couldn't understand how he could lose things so easily, when they were right in front of him!

Now I know, it's my fault. You see, when Sven asks me to find something, I always assumed he had looked first, so I jumped into action, finding the object in question. My illusions were shattered the day he stood in the middle of the living room, holding Deb Jr. in his arms, stating that he had looked all over the house and couldn't find her shoes.

Where did you look? I asked. I was very calm.

Everywhere, he answered, nostrils akimbo.

Did you look down? I asked. For there they were, each shoe mere inches from his own.

In psychology, they call this "learned helplessness." I have taught Sven, by always finding everything, that he doesn't need to look. He knows I will be there, using my amazing finding skills, somehow knowing that the air pump for Deb Jr.'s travel bed is on the floor next to the piano, or that Sven Jr.'s diaper ointment is in the video games cabinet, or that Sven's phone is in the trunk of dress-up clothes in Deb Jr.'s room.

With great power comes great responsibility, and this is mine.