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.

Doin' it Kanye Style

I'm watching the VMA's, and with the first award of the night came the first jaw-dropping train wreck of the night.

No, I'm not counting the Michael Jackson tribute as a train wreck. The performance part was cool, Janet Jackson did well. The bizarre intro by Madonna, in which we were essentially told everything Madonna and Michael had in common, wasn't a train wreck, it was just weird and self-serving, and since it's Madonna, what can we expect?

No, the train wreck occurred when Kanye West decided that the wrong person won the first award.

To recap, when Taylor Swift won the first award, beating out favorites Beyonce and Lady Gaga, she was endearingly stunned and humble, earning approving applause and reaction from the crowd.

Enter Kanye.

Mr. West leaped onstage, took the microphone, and, pointing to Beyonce in the audience, said "Beyonce had the best video of the year." Beyonce was stunned, Miss Swift just stood there, and the audience gave their opinion of the whole thing with resounding boos. By the time Miss Swift had recovered the mike, the no doubt frantic production team had switched to a video short, cutting off the rest of her speech.

My adoration for Beyonce's video has been well documented on this blog. Dexy adores "Put a Ring on It" and still watches it on occasion, grinning like a man in love.

I also really liked "Poker Face," the video from Lady Gaga that was up for the award.

I don't care for Taylor Swift. Had she simply gone up and accepted the award, my reaction would have been, "Huh. Didn't see that coming."

But because of Mr. West's comments, my reaction was, "Poor thing! She got the award, let her say thank you! Get out of it! Who are you to interrupt the whole award ceremony?"

Not only that, but when Taylor Swift performed just a few minutes later, I thought, "Maybe I was too hard on her. That wasn't bad." I felt that way mostly because she was able to shake everything off and deliver a poised, fun performance.

So, Kanye West, job well done. You just earned Taylor Swift a potential new fan. And you've inspired me. From now on, I'm going to be like Kanye.

When I'm at a faculty meeting and the principal starts talking about testing, I'm going to get up and say, "All y'all listen up, this testing is bad for our kids and bad for our schools, know what I'm sayin'?" I'm sure my new attitude will earn both respect and awe.

Oh, and school board meetings...that's going to be awesome. They will love to see me come in the door.

I wonder when our next Home Owner's Association meeting is?

I can't even imagine all of the ways I can use this newfound self-confidence at church. My mind literally boggles. I'm sure they won't mind, I'm just keeping it real.

So do yourself a favor. Be like Kanye. Then, you too can become a once-beloved-now-despised celebrity who actually gets escorted out of the rowdiest, least regulated event in entertainment.

Dexy's Double Life

I was picking up Dexy from day care the other day, when I discovered something alarming.

I am the mother of an almost-two-year-old double agent.

I picked up my baby boy, brushed the blond hair out of his clear blue eyes, and watched as he popped his left thumb in his mouth so his right hand could grab a hank of my hair.

"Dexy!" his teacher said in scandalized tones. "I didn't know you suck your thumb!"

Excuse me? This child, who, if the ultrasound pictures are any indication, has been sucking his thumb since before his actual birth, doesn't suck his thumb at school?

That's right. Not even at nap time. He just lays down on his cot and goes right to sleep.

Right.

To.

Sleep.

Apparently, at school, the Dexy who requires two parents, an iPod of oldies, and seventeen carefully selected stuffed animals to fall asleep doesn't exist.

Interesting.

At school, Dexy also:

• Lies quietly when his diaper is changed (as opposed to saying, "No, Mommy! No poop!" and kicking/peeing on the diaper-er)
• Eats very neatly, using his utensils. He's the neatest one in the class, she says. You lie, I said, thinking of the spaghetti stains on my ceiling.
• Reads several major world newspapers and provides translations for some of the day care staff.

Okay, I made that last one up. But, still, I am disturbed. Who is this little boy? My Dexy is still my little baby, not this grown-up toddler about to sprout facial hair and football pads.

Then, I realized it:

He's humoring me.

He's staying my baby for me. No, stay with me on this one: he likes being the baby, he knows I like him being my baby, so where's the harm?

I promise, if he's still sucking his thumb when the facial hair and football pads appear, I'll put a stop to it.

Probably.

Epiphanies/Deep Thoughts

Lately, I've been having a lot of epiphanies and deep thoughts. I've been eating a lot of fiber, so, there you go.

In the hopes of saving you the 34 years it took me to arrive to these conclusions, I am listing them here for you.

1. If you are an optimist, you will be sad sometimes. If you are a pessimist, you will be sad all the time.

2. I have worked very hard for my happiness. But, some people work very hard at unhappiness. That is their right, as much as happiness is mine.

3. I can't fix anyone but me. Fortunately, there is a lot of work to be done.

4. Air freshener fools no one.

5. Watching cooking shows on TV does not make me a "foodie," any more than watching Project Runway makes me a fashion insider. When I refer to undercooked spaghetti as "a failure of execution," I am being pretentious and silly.

6. I do not need to apologize for taking time for me sometimes. But when I take that time, I need to do something with it that I will be happy about.

7. Just because I love my children doesn't mean I have to always like them. I usually do. Just not always.

8. The best thing I can teach my students is to love learning.

9. If I am going to complain about something, I should be willing to step up and take responsibility for it. If I don't want to do it myself, I should shut up and be grateful someone else has taken on the job.

10. I think too much.

Have a good day, everyone!

A Victim/A Miracle

Today, my blog ventures into the land I swore my blog would never go: politics. Because last night, my family and I were the victim of a crime that touches on a major political issue. Today's blog isn't funny, it's true. You will be back to your regularly scheduled hilarity and hijinks with our next entry.

At approximately 11:30 p.m. on the night of Sunday, September 6, 2009, a person or persons unknown entered a vacant field directly behind our house. These people sounded like they were riding personal recreational vehicles (AKA "Four-Wheelers") and at some point began firing guns.

One of those shots went into the window of our home. The window shattered, showering glass fragments over the entire room, including the bed where our little boy, Dexy, lay sleeping.

If there is any humor to be had in this situation, it is in the fact that Dexy slept through the entire thing.

When we woke up the next morning, there it was: a hole in our window, with a .22-caliber bullet lodged in the window frame.

The deputy who examined the scene said it was probably a deer rifle, the kind anyone here can buy at Wal-mart.

How lucky are we? Dexy is fine. He didn't even get a scratch, even when he walked over the glass to get out of his room. The next time someone wants to debate the existence of God, please let me know.

Our county has written the incident up as "deadly conduct," which means someone was engaging in conduct which could result in death, even if unintended. But the deputy also did not give us much hope that the case would ever be solved.

My opinion is that this was probably some kids, in varying states of inebriation, who decided to shoot off their deer rifles where they believed no one would get hurt.

So here it is: my political statement.

If you can't be a responsible gun owner, you shouldn't own a gun. "Responsible" gun owners to not discharge their firearms in vacant lots directly adjacent to a residential neighborhood. "Responsible" gun owners don't shoot off their guns in full darkness in a vacant lot directly adjacent to a residential neighborhood.

Okay, that's over. I still love and respect you if you disagree, but this is an issue about which I find myself now feeling very passionate.

Dexy is fine. I am still shaking. When I saw the hole and the glass, I had a moment of the most crippling, debilitating fear I've ever known. I cried, and held Dexy as he squirmed to get out of my arms and play, and thanked God that He was watching out for my kids as they slept.

I know that tomorrow will be a new day, a better day, and that we will be fine.

But I won't be sleeping tonight.

Semantics, Shemantics

Deb: I hate it when we fight.

Sven: That wasn't a fight.

According to Sven, we have never had a fight. We've been together 15 years. How is that possible?

It depends on the definition. While we may discuss, bicker, and even argue, Sven and I never "fight," depending on your definition of "fight."

Screaming at each other, saying intentionally hurtful things to each other, threatening to leave, throwing dishes...if this is fighting, then Sven is right, we've never had one.

Here's what we do have:

1. Bickering: This is meaningless verbal play about things that do not matter to anyone, anywhere, at all. Example: Sven and I had a long-running dialogue about Debussy's place in the canon of Composers That Matter. I took the position that Debussy "Matters" because he not only revolutionized harmony, he set the stage for the major musical developments of the 20th century. (And he wrote music I can play.) Sven replied that Debussy shouldn't "Matter" because he was just a lazy rich boy who wrote what he did because he didn't bother to learn the rules. This went on for years, to the point that my mother would visibly blanch when either of us said "Debussy."

A friend of ours, Danny, attempted to broaden the discussion by randomly shouting "Jodeci," but it wasn't the same. It did, however, cause me to shoot my beverage out of my nose.

(Explanation of above terms: Jodeci was a popular music group in the early- to mid-1990's. Debussy was a composer of the late Romantic or "Impressionist" school. Danny is a stand-up comedian.)

2. Heated Discussion: This is when Sven and I begin discussing something of mutual interest, then devolve into attacking the merit of each other's arguments, often switching sides shamelessly just to win the point.

Sven: I hate our garage. It should be behind the house.

Deb: Well, if they were going to do that, they would have to change the floor plan and enlarge the lots.

Sven: No, all they would have to do is move the garage.

Deb: I don't understand how they could do that without changing the entire layout of the kitchen, or at least enlarging the lot.

Sven: Look, just imagine it. The house is the same, but instead of the garage being in front, it's in the back.

Deb: Well, how would the car get in? It would have to drive around the side, right? How would they do that.

Sven: They would just make the lot a little bit bigger, and flip the floor plan around.

Deb: Oh.

(Imagine the above discussion extended to about 20 pages, and you've got the gist.)

3. Arguing: this is when we disagree about something fairly major. These are rare. I subscribe to the "rather be happy than right" school, so I'm pretty easygoing about most things. We argue sometimes about activities we want to do, projects we want to undertake, or places we want to go.

There have only been four times in our fifteen years together that I thought we had a "fight." Three of those times were completely my fault, usually caused by my mouth saying something my brain hadn't processed yet. It's an awful feeling, hurting someone you love because you just didn't think your statement through. Fortunately, I'm getting better about waiting to speak until I think about it. The fourth time was caused by my misunderstanding, but Sven made it worse by "fixing" my hurt feelings by being angry that my feelings were hurt. (Imagine, him yelling at me that I was being silly didn't instantly make me feel better!)

I think how you fight, and how you make up after a fight, is an important part of every relationship. Sven and I subscribe to the "pretend it never happened" school. It works for us. Here is how it goes when we try otherwise:

Deb: Hey, about that fight we had earlier-

Sven: We never fight. Now how about some sammiches?

Deb: Yes dear.

Okay, not really. But neither of us is really comfortable talking about our feelings in-depth. I don't know how Sven handles it, but when I need to talk to someone about my relationship, I have an imaginary interview with Oprah. Unsurprisingly, Oprah is patient and kind, and believes that I am always 100% right. I can only hope Sven is going to Dr. Phil, who will agree with Oprah that I am right, since she signs his paychecks.

So, to my delight, I've discovered that I am in a relationship completely free of "fighting."

Lucky, lucky me!

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there was a magical forest populated entirely by large jungle cats.

The lions and the tigers shared the leadership according to the will of the rest of the cats. Sometimes there was a lion in charge, but tigers served in other key positions. Other times, the leadership was mostly lions or tigers. Since the cats were a fickle bunch, lions and tigers changed positions frequently.

It had not always been thus. When the jungle was first discovered, lynxes and ocelots were the two ruling cat classes. Leopards and cheetahs had also made brief appearances. Still, it became obvious to most that the lions and the tigers would be running the show for a long time.

The lions had been in power a particularly long time, and many of the cats were tired of it. "The lions have ruined everything," they grumbled. "It's time for a change."

"You can't say that," the lions said. "That's disrespectful of us, your leaders. After all, if you hadn't wanted us to lead, you wouldn't have chosen us to lead you."

"Wait until next time," the cats said. "We'll have a tiger in there and show you all."

"Play nice," the lions said. "We can all get along. After all, we're all cats."

When the time came to elect the next leader, a marvellous and strange thing happened. A rare white tiger appeared in the jungle, and his beauty captivated everyone. In a stunning landslide, the white tiger became the leader of the jungle.

"Hooray!" cheered the tigers. "A leader we can all believe in!"

"Boo," said the lions. "He's not my leader."

"What do you mean?" asked the tigers. "When the lion was in charge, you told us we had to respect his office and play nice. The last time there was a tiger in charge, you all played nicely with us. What has changed?"

"Nothing, nothing," said the lions in unison. "It's fine."

There came a day when the white tiger wanted to gather all of the young cubs to him and talk to them about how important it was to learn how to be a good cat.

"Boo," said the lions. "I don't want him talking to OUR cubs. He's not our leader. Boo."

"What?" asked the rest of the cats. "He's our leader. Why can't he talk to the cubs?"

"We don't support this leader, so he can't talk to the cubs," said the lions.

"Is this because he's a white tiger?" asked the tigers.

"No, no," the lions hastily said. "Of course not."

So the leader of the jungle never got to talk to the cubs. And the cubs learned that a leader is only your leader if you voted for him.

Confessions: How I Blog

"Deb, how do you do it?" they ask me.

"Do what?" I reply.

"You work full-time, have a husband, two children, and a church calling...how do you do all of that and still find time to blog?"

My response varies, but it doesn't matter what I say. It's all a lie.

The truth: I stockpile blog entries. I might get inspired one night and write four or five of them, then set them to auto-publish so that it looks as though I'm writing an entry every couple of days. Earlier this summer, while on vacation in Branson, MO, I got so inspired that I wrote nine or ten entries over the course of two nights. That got me through most of the summer.

It's over now. I've run out of my stockpile. As of today, I'm blogging by the seat of my pants. It's day-to-day, all-Deb, live action, baby.

Hold on for the ride.

I'm sure it will start soon.