I have a good idea now

Last month my hubby turned 42. He catches up with me every year and for a time we're the same age.  We're only 5 months apart, but he likes to remind me often that he married an 'older' woman.  He's right...I was a whopping 20 (barely) when we married and he was still only 19.  Crazy.  Crazy?  Some would for sure say it was crazy.  We have a child who is currently our age when we got married.  In fact if she took after her father she'd already be married. 

Now when I look back I don't think it was crazy I just realize I had no idea what I was getting into!!  Usually when someone says that it's a bad thing....but for me it's just the opposite.  I had no idea he was even better than I thought.  (Hey this is my Rockstar's Birthday tribute...so I get to be mushy ooey gooey ok?)  So here's my Birthday list for my baby...some of the "I had no ideas"

             I had no idea...that...
~He would make me laugh as much as he does.
~He would never sing.  Not even in the shower.
~He would do projects for me at 11:00pm even when he's bone tired. All because I'm a night owl and get creative.  (see above picture)
~He would love me so fiercely.
~He would be so very, very careful with his words.

~He would not fly off the handle. Ever.  It's just not in him.  Unlike his wife...who tends to fly off the handle. 
~He would always be there to help me land after flying off that handle.
~He would be so instinctively good with our children.  A natural.

                 I had no idea... that...
~He would give of himself so selflessly...showing me what a true Godly man is all about. 

               I had no idea...that...
~He would leave toothpicks all over the house.
~He would vacuum without even being asked.
~He would not complain. He just does not complain. 
~He would slow dance with me..but only at home or weddings.
~He would be willing to chauffer me around while I shopped. And still be in a good mood.
                                   
I had no idea this one person, this man would become more than all my heart could dream for. 

Happy Birthday to you...my husband.  Your 'older' wife is thankful for you,  and tremendously joyful that you are mine.   xoxoxo (if you'd like to pick up your toothpicks though that would still be great)

Fancy Pants

I have a brother in law who's a piano player.  No, seriously...a fancy pants piano player.  I realize the technical term is 'classical performer' or 'classical pianist'.  He is that too, for sure.  But mostly I like to call him a fancy pants piano player.  He just had a really fancy pants performance last night at the school where he teaches in the Twin Cities.  It's a very well known and respected school of music.   It was one of those 'gala' type events....full of pretty people, pretty clothes and lovely music.  Rockstar and I were all set to go and then we had car trouble.  HUGE BUMMER!  I know we'll get other chances to see and hear Fancy Pants play, but still...it was disappointing. 

My Rockstar Hubby is the older brother of Fancy Pants, and the music gene decided to skip over him and land on Fancy Pants.  Sometimes I find it funny that they're even brothers.  Well, there's actually three brothers.  Fabio, the oldest.  (I call him Fabio because he's been in the entertainment industry for a long time and has acted in TV, commercials, film etc)  He's not cheesy at all like Fabio .....I just think it's funny.  Don't you? The music gene did land on him too.  Not in the same ways maybe, but he definitely got a good dose of it.   So Fabio is the oldest brother, then my Rockstar Hubby, and the baby brother is Fancy Pants.  (there are 2 sisters in the mingle...Mitzy and Muffy) but more on them another time.

Growing up on the farm Rockstar remembers many, many hours of piano being practiced in the dining room of their home.  When I say many hours, I mean MANY.  Fancy Pants was only 11 when Rockstar and I started dating, but even then he was pretty focused.  It was just a normal thing to talk above the piano, listen to the TV with the volume blaring, and take the phone into the bathroom when it rang so you could hear. 

Someone wrote on Fancy Pant's facebook wall this morning about his performance last night.  (Lots of people did...stellar reviews)  She commented on how her 4th grade piano recital kept coming to mind...how her skirt was stuck in her tights....FUNNY!!  Got me thinking of my piano recital days too.  The one time I got a piece of candy cane stuck in my tooth right before I was to play 'Dance of the Christmas Elves'. The whole time I played I could hardly concentrate as my tongue kept trying to dislodge the big piece of peppermint in my tooth.  I remember sweaty palms, the nervousness of knowing everyone was watching you.  How my fingers would feel kind of stiff and cold....like I couldn't move them to play the song.  I'll bet a million dollars Fancy Pants did not have cold, stiff fingers, and that he did NOT have a candy cane before his performance...although I do have it on record that he diligently makes sure his fly is zipped before walking on stage.  Good strategy.

I took piano lessons for 10, maybe 12 years.  My youngest daughter is taking lessons now that we finally have a piano in our home.  I'm glad my parents gave me the opportunity to learn.  I'm thinking I might even want to take a refresher lesson or two...I think I'd enjoy playing for fun every now and again.  I'll never be Fancy Pants...that's for sure...but I'll also never have to worry about getting my skirt stuck in my tights, and I won't chew on a candy cane before I play. I might check my fly though.  Seriously that's good thinking. 

It's in the genes

Is this genetic? 'Boxing out' in the kitchen I mean.  Seems like there is most definitely a boxing out gene in our house.   Sorry these pictures are kind of blurry, but when your'e trying to catch the gene in action it's quite difficult.  I'm certainly no sissy, prissy kind of girl...I grew up with two younger brothers and a neighborhood FULL of boys.  But I can honestly say I never really feel like boxing out in my kitchen.  Nope. Never.  Seriously...look at this scene closely....there is some mayo on the counter and a large vat of Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce.  (We have a big love of sauces)  So obviously there was some sandwhich making going on.  Then....what?.... suddenly....."Hey this turkey makes me want to box out?"  

UH OH....now the "wrestler gene" is making its' appearance.  See how they started close to the counter, but now we have serious hip checking, deep knee bending and they're moving down the hallway.  I did not follow them down there.  You'd have to be nuts to go after two males with high levels of wrestler gene pumping in their veins into a narrow hallway.  You may not make it out.  I stayed back in the safety of my kitchen, using the Baby Rays as a shield while yelling things like, "Hey boys...BOYS...!!'  "Whoa..hey watch the walls...the paint..." ... "Don't hurt your father he has to work tomorrow."  And just as quickly as it started, it's over.  Back to the kitchen to find the cheese and bread. 

After sandwhiches were consumed they were hanging out on the couch when I captured this moment.  I'm sure the ESPN gene was having it's full effect here.   There's nothing like some Sweet Baby Rays and Sports Center to mellow out my men.

But...no matter what their age, boys will always need to box out I guess...and wrestle.  I just wish it wasn't in my kitchen. 

Big Mean Norwegians

My husband's family is mean.  Yep, they are all a bunch of mean spirited Norwegians who make fun of me.  They get together a lot...this big group of mean Norwegians.  And me, poor little me, along with all the other "in-laws" are subjected to their cliquey elitest Norwegian behavior.  I have two sister-in laws in the immediate "mean family"  I'll  call them Mitzy and Muffy.  I actually really like M & M because they are usually just 'laughers'...meaning they don't instigate the Norwegian nastiness. The older brother and his wife, they are ok too.  We actually hang out for coffee sometimes.  We call them Ken & Barbie.  They are from CA, he has done some acting, (you can see him on TV commercials) ....she is tall and has Barbie doll legs.....we all secretly don't like them for their veggie eating ways, but we're happy they moved back to MN.  We're trying to fatten them up with hotdish and heavy whipping cream.  The staples of any Norwegian family, mean or not.    Finally we have the little brother, (my husband's youngest brother) well he's another story.  He was only 12 when Rockstar and I started dating.  He seemed so sweet back then.  Well, he became this big piano player guy.  He teaches at this school in St. Paul...he's blah blah blah....Ya, you get the picture.  Big ego piano teacher guy.  Then there are all the nieces and nephews.  Too many to count...but they all pretty much make fun of me too. 

Rockstar also laughs at me when we're all together!!!  He says that I am actually the instigator.  (See it's dangerous for him to be around them, he is prone to their brainwashing)  He says if I would not TALK so much maybe there wouldn't be so many things in which the mean family could tease me about.  I don't consider it talking, I'm sharing...I like to think that I'm transparent, open, that I am engaging and friendly.  Norwegians NEED that. I consider it a ministry to the less fortunate.  Oh, but they just wait to pounce...I tell a charming little story about myself...some quirky thing...and WHAMO !!  They remember every detail for years and years too.  All my lovely stories that are meant to inspire just end up on the chopping block.  Fodder for the Norwegians. 

It's kind of surprising with how terrible this family is that I keep going back.  For 22+ years I've been going back.  It's also surprising that I laugh sooooooooooooo hard everytime we're together.  I didn't think I was the type to laugh in the midst of pain....but I guess I am. They can be very entertaining sometimes,  I'll admit.  That little piano player guy, well he's quick witted...and Mitzy and Muffy, they know how to put in their 2 cents. Ken and Barbie join in often as well.  (when they aren't looking for something "healthy" to eat)  For as mean as they all are I find them rather endearing.  I've grown quite attached to them.  I've known some of them for over half my life....and the nieces and nephews...well pretty much their whole lives.  I think this big group of Norwegians must show love by being mean to me.  And if that's the case then I know they really REALLY love me. 

Chew on this

It came in the mail the other day.  I was just looking at it again a few moments ago.  And no, it wasn't Publisher's Clearing House so don't ask me for money.  It was a $1,600 estimate.  For teeth.  Not for actual teeth, but for the fixing of teeth.  Rockstar's poor, sad, teeth.  He's had a pretty bad toothache for much longer than is wise I'm afraid.  He's also not a big complainer, but when I noticed he was downing advil like a bag of skittles I knew it must be bad. He actually has really nice 'looking' teeth, but they lack substance.  (think The Real Housewives of Orange County)   So what are we gonna do?  We can't not fix them.  But I've been thinking of what we could do with $1,600 if we didn't have to deal with  his Orange County Housewife teeth. Ready? This is pretty fun.  I need to make it fun ok?

                     YOU COUD BUY:

1.  400 boxes of Froot Loops  (without coupons)

2.  A 1997 grey Ford Taurus with 143,000 miles on Craigslist.  Runs great, little rust.

3.  1,600 bags of Pork Rinds from the dollar store.  Well, really you can buy nearly 1,600 of anything from the dollar store.  I just chose pork rinds because who needs 1,600 tweezers? Duh.

4.  266 packs of Charmin. 400 packs of generic.  But if you're going to spend that kind of money on toilet paper I'd say quality is more important than quantity.

5.  533 McDonalds Happy Meals (with or without the controversial toy)

6.  800 cups of McDonalds coffee (with or without the controversial lawsuit)

7. And my personal favorite:  2 roundtrip tickets to Milan, Italy.  Now that is how you spend $1,600.

But alas, none of these are to be.  That's ok really.  I'll get over it.  You might be wondering why I chose Italy though huh?  Well it was my thinking that with all the soft breadsticks and pasta in Italy, Rockstar could enjoy our trip painfree.  I'm thoughtful like that.

Life's Glasses

I haven't been doing this blog business for long now.  In fact this is only my 4th post in case you've been following.  I got to thinking today that before I blogged much more I should introduce you to someone.  I know him as Babe, Babycakes, Darlin', and a few other names that I'll just keep between us. (and trust me, you're glad for that)  You know him as Rockstar Hubs (RH)  I do call him this as well sometimes.  Like when I see him display amazing feats of strength with pickle jars, and especially when he gets his vacuum groove on.  Now that's HOT!  So why Rockstar?  Well first of all it sounds much cooler than Stoic Norwegian Hubs.  Right? I mean c'mon that ain't exactly sexy.  No offense to the Norwegians out there.  Obviously I'm married to one.  A pure bred 100%  UFF DA Viking man.  And for the record he is the epitome of sexy to me...but that's not where I'm taking this post so relax.  This isn't the adult blogging channel.

When we got married 22 years ago we had our rose colored glasses on like every other couple I assume who gets married.  We were going to live the fairytale. Minus the glass slipper...how uncomfortable is that?  And for those of you who know me better, also know that my parents owned several women's shoe stores for most of my life, so there was NO way I'd be caught in something like that.  Anyway...rose colored glasses...yes, they were intact on that cold day in November.

As life would have it for all people on this planet the rosey picture has had it's less than pink hue some days.  When we were married about 3 years we had our first daughter A, whom we call Ki Ki.  She was and still is the most lovely, beautiful child.  Oh the love love love....she was our WHOLE world.  We jumped into first time parenting with abandon.  There was no moment unaccounted for. Every smile, coo, and burp was admired as the 8th wonder of the world.  And for a time our glasses weren't just rosey they were downright MAUVE.  (It was the 90's remember, mauve was big)

Our Ki Ki at age 4

We noticed some things were "off" around age 2.  She could count in perfect Spanish and yet not seem to follow through on a simple command to get her sippy cup.  She could recognize her letters, numbers and colors, and yet wouldn't make eye contact with us.  She seemed to be in her own world.  Indeed she was....we were told at age 3 that she had a high functioning form of autism.  NO...NO..not our child.  Not our perfect, gentle, sweet first born baby.  Our glasses were no longer mauve, nor even rosey, they seemed pretty grey.  Cold.  Dirty. And very ill fitting.  I wanted to rip them off actually and scream "This is NOT the fairytale!!!"  I want the glass slipper!!  Really I'll wear it...I don't care if my toes turn purple...just make my baby ok.

Rockstar Husband was born that day.  I may have wanted to stay in the grey for a while but my rockstar said no.  He reminded me first of all who our God is.  And that with our God nothing is impossible.  NO thing.  So together we cleaned our dirty glasses, pushed them back up on our faces and focused on to see more clearly.  Our Ki Ki is nearly 20 years old today.  I cannot begin to tell you in this one post all of the many many things we've gone through.  The times of pure joy and elation and some points of severe sadness and grieving.  I also cannot begin to tell you in this one post how big our amazing God is.  I will tell that story one day.  For now just believe me when I say NOTHING is impossible with Him.  It's truer than any true thing.  The miraculous ways in which He has restored her when "they" said she will  'never be'...never be this...and never be that.... We would always leave those meetings and ask the question again...'What does God say?' And His answer was always different, and He proved it time and time again as she conquered this...and conquered that.  Rockstar, he was the optician in all of this.  Kept my glasses on, kept them polished, and helped to bring the rosey color back. 

   Worldly Rockstar status is sought after by so many, but not attainable for most.   Rockstars are the be all and end all of the "good life".  Women, booze, drugs, and a rock and roll band...every man's dream right?  Not my rockstar...he's one for all the other reasons...not women , just woman, one woman.  He doesn't even like the smell of beer, and Advil is his pain killer of choice.  And while he loves a great Van Halen song as much as any good 80's person should, he kinda likes Need To Breathe these days and a little TobyMac.  We've had two more children, the rockstar and I.  We've moved more times than I care to remember.  We've been broke...like dirt down in the mud busted broke.  We've argued until 3:00 in the morning.  We've given each other the silent treatment for far too long sometimes.  And we have shared thousands of hugs, millions of kisses, and trillions of laughs with each other.  I know what he's thinking when he gives me this certain look in the kitchen.  I know what he means when he sends me a text that just says "moo".  (and it's not that he thinks I'm a cow) Even I, who love to joke, would not find that funny.  He is a rockstar every day when he goes and works his ever livin' tail off so I can teach our kids at home. He is a rockstar when I've putzed around on the computer too long, and asks if he can make supper for me.  I don't know if real world rockstars are this selfless, generous and strong.  I guess I don't care, because the word 'Rockstar' has changed for me.  To me it's a Stoic Norwegian man who knows how to keep my glasses clean.  The rosey part...well... fairytales are not real...but most days my vision is clear, and definitely a pretty shade of pink.