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Guess what I saw outside my window this morning?
Ha! April Fool's!
Gotcha, didn't I?
Oh. Wait. That really is what's outside my window.
And my patio window.
And my car window.
Guess the joke is on me.
(Insert maniacal laughter here.)
But it's OK. Because it's April now. Even eight inches of sloppy, wet snow in Minnesota can't last with the sun at this angle. (Sorry; my inner meteorologist is hard to repress during times of extreme weather.) So I'm not going to dwell.
Instead, let's talk about April Fool's Day. In particular, let's talk about April Fool's Day 1994.
My husband and I had been married 11 months. We had just moved to Phoenix, and I was working as a food server at TGI Friday's. (I still have my flair in a box somewhere. I loved working at Friday's. Which may or may not surprise you.)
Because my schedule didn't necessitate normal hours (read: I didn't have to get up early -- ever), I was still sleeping at 9:30 in the morning when my telephone rang. Disoriented and groggy (facts I feel compelled to stress), I answered the phone.
Me: "Hello?"
Phone voice: "Hello. Is this Kelly @ Love Well?"
Me: "I think so."
Phone voice: "Hi Kelly. This is Larry. I show here that you recently bought a '94 Geo Prizm from such-and-such dealership, is that correct?"
Me, waking up: "Yes."
Phone voice: "I'm really sorry to tell you this, Kelly, but Geo is issuing a complete recall on your Prizm model. Apparently, the engine can explode without warning, which can be a bit of a problem, as you might imagine."
Me, definitely waking up: "Yes, I can see that."
Phone voice: "The recall is just now being released to the media, to get the word out. But we wanted to personally call as many Prizm owners as we can so you would know -- under no condition are you to drive the car until the repair has been made. We just don't want to take any chance."
Me: "Umm. OK."
Phone voice: "So this is what we'd like you to do. Because we want to expedite these repairs and get your car back to you in working order, we'd like you to pull your car out to the curb and leave it there for the day. We'll send a tow truck to get it and take it to the dealership where the repairs can be made. Can you do that?"
Me, starting to get skeptical: "So you want me to drive the dangerous car out of my garage and...."
Phone voice, interrupting: "Yes, we feel safe in having you drive it to the curb. But you should not drive it any further."
Me, mental wheels spinning: "OK. Well, I work at noon today. How am I going to get to work?"
Phone voice: "We'll reimburse you for a cab."
Me: "Um. OK. ... Actually, Larry, I just woke up. Can I call you back in a few minutes and finalize these arrangements?"
I hung up the phone, my hand slightly shaking. I wasn't sure what had just happened.
My brand new, pretty green Geo Prizm could explode? And this wasn't on the news yet?!?
Or -- could this just be an elaborate scam? Maybe a gang of car thieves has somehow gotten a hold of the new car registration records, and they're looking for idiots to pull their cars to the curb so they can swipe them with a tow truck and take them to Mexico.
I immediately dialed the number for Corey's work. At the time, he worked with a lot of people in the car financing industry. If this was a real recall, he'd for sure know something about it -- or at least have some contacts who could verify it for me.
Corey: "Hello?"
Me: "Hi honey. I just got the weirdest phone call. (Insert dramatic re-telling here.) Do you know anything about this?"
Corey: "No. I haven't heard a thing. That's really strange. Let me call Bob at the dealership and ask, and oh, by the way, April Fool's."
Me: "Yes, call Bob and ... (long pause). I hate you."
Phone slams down.
I sit and stare out the window for a minute then redial.
Corey, laughing: "Yes?"
Me: "Oh, and don't bother coming home tonight."
Phone slams down again.
I found out later, "Larry" was really one of Corey's employees, who had been drafted into the plot by my loving husband. He had made the call to me from his office -- so I wouldn't hear any familiar sounds or voices in the background. When he got off the phone with me, he walked into Corey's office -- where Corey and all his employees were waiting -- and said, "Expect a call from your wife any minute now." And, right on cue, Corey's phone rang with little old me on the other end.
So not only did Corey get me. But he got me in front of his whole office who was in on the scheme.
Inwardly, I was both laughing -- because, dang, that was good -- and gnashing my teeth -- because I'm not normally so gullible.
Please tell me I'm not alone in my shame and desire for revenge this April Fool's Day. Have you ever fallen for a April Fool's Day prank? Or have you pulled one that worked?
Me? I'm still waiting for my revenge, 14 years later. I'm open -- oh so very open -- to suggestions.
Wow. I have to say, I'm a little surprised at the amount of vitriol out there for Chuck E. Cheese and his cohorts. I realize I didn't show a great deal of love in my last post, either -- but I was mostly being dramatic for comedic effect. (What, moi?)
For those of you who've never stepped foot in a CEC -- it's not nearly as bad as you fear. It's true that crowds of kids can be -- what's the word? Oh yes! Obnoxious. But I've found that most Midwestern parents are pretty good at policing their own kids. (Which was not my experience in California, by the way.) Good parenting can go a long way toward making a gang of little hooligans a lot less hooliganish.
(Can I make up words on my own blog? Or must I pull out my AP Style Book?)
Overall, I've found CEC to be clean, bright, safe (kids and parents hands are stamped coming in, and an employee stands guard near the doors) and fun family entertainment. And if you can go when school is in session -- which was my MOD before Natalie started first grade this year -- you can have the run of the place. I've met friends for afternoons at CEC when less than 20 kids were there the whole time.
There. I've said it. Chuck E. Cheese isn't that bad.
Please still like me.
Upon further reflection, I developed a theory. I'm wondering if many of you dislike CEC simply because you can. That is, you live in a climate where you don't have to entertain your children indoors for six months every year.
For those of us in the north, an indoor diversion such as Chuck E. Cheese is a blessing too great to ignore. Consider that my children haven't played outdoors since last October. (Those two sledding play dates excepted.) No backyard playgrounds, no neighborhood parks, no riding bikes, no walks through the woods. We've been inside, at home -- playing games, making projects, watching videos, setting up make-believe restaurants and tea parties and Little People worlds. We are desperate for a departure from the routine. Chuck E. Cheese is a oasis for those of us suffering from cabin fever.
So how about it? Does my theory hold water? Leave me a comment with your general location (warm climate, cold climate will suffice) and tell me if you've ever looked forward to a visit to CEC. And be honest. After my confessions the last few days, what do you have to lose?
So it's day three of Natalie and Connor's spring break. So far this week, we've managed to clean the house, do some laundry, get sick, puke a little, do some more laundry and watch Noggin 27 hours a day.
Fun times.
That's a lie.
Today, in a last-ditch effort to escape the walls of this abode, which are caving in on me like ... well, like something that caves in dramatically and with flair, we went to Rat E. Fromage. (Hat tip to the talented Mr. Lileks.)
Purposefully scheduling a trip to CEC during spring break week might be one of the sure signs of insanity. To say it was busy would be an understatement. I think the Skeeball games might have been spitting out full-grown children instead of tickets.
But it got us out of the house. For that, I am grateful. And we got to see one of my favorite people in the world -- my friend Sonjia. She lives in the small town we left last August. I don't get to be with her nearly as much these days, which makes my heart hurt a little. I'll do just about anything to sit in a room with her for a few hours and talk face to face.
So. My observations about Chuck E. Cheese?
1. It's great training for a future generation of gambling addicts. I saw scores of kids standing near the "bonus ticket" games, feeding tokens in one after another with a completely blank look on their faces. They didn't even watch to see what or if they had won . They just kept shoving in small gold disks. It's like the little old ladies who play the slots machines in Vegas have found the Fountain of Youth, only they couldn't shake their bad habits. Now there's a horror movie someone needs to make. (Can't be any worse than "Rock Monster.") (Seriously.)
2. Did you know Chuck E. now sings classic '80s tunes during his twice-hourly shows? 'Tis true. I was slightly disturbed to realize A-Ha's "Take On Me" was being sung by a six-foot-tall mouse. But I guess CEC knows their audience -- and the age of their audience's parents.
3. The pizza at CEC is really pretty good. I'm as stunned as you are. But I'm dead serious here. (Notice how I avoided saying seriously there? Thank you.) I even took home the leftovers. If that admission makes you like me less, I'm sorry.
4. China has found a new buyer for their lead-infused toys, and it is CEC. The vast amounts of crapola they have available for ticket redemption is truly astounding. Naturally, kids love it. Natalie got the following for her 78 tickets:
Oh! And this fetching jewel in her hair.
But in the end, the noise and the chaos and the KIDS EVERYWHERE and the large rodents butchering some of the best music in the world -- none of that mattered. Because while I was talking to Sonjia, my kids crept up and placed this in front of me:
They made it for me -- blurry smiles and all -- "because we know you love us."
Yep. Totally worth it.
... Easter.
What, doesn't everyone wake up to fresh snow on Easter morning?
It's something of a tradition in Minnesota -- especially when Easter has the audacity to land in March.
Needless to say, we didn't wear our Easter dresses to church this morning. Nor did we have an Easter egg hunt outside.
But that's OK. Because spring, as wonderful as it is, isn't Easter. And pretty pastel dresses aren't Easter. And chocolate bunnies and marshmallow chicks aren't Easter.
My Jesus -- He is Easter. And He's alive.
Did you feel the mountains tremble?
Because Jesus was raised from the dead, we've been given a brand-new life and have everything to live for, including a future in heaven—and the future starts now!
Yesterday morning, as the kids were eating breakfast, I reminded Natalie that she wouldn't have school today.
"Because of Good Friday," I added.
"You mean Bad Friday, Mommy," she replied, between bites of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. "Because Jesus died."
"Well, honey, it's a bad day for Jesus. But it's a good day for us, because if Jesus hadn't died on the cross, we wouldn't be able to be friends with God," I reasoned. "That's why we call it Good Friday."
She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "Well, if it's a bad day for Jesus, then it's a bad day for me."
May we all take Jesus' gift just that personally this weekend.
We can understand someone dying for a person worth dying for, and we can understand how someone good and noble could inspire us to selfless sacrifice. But God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him.
- Romans 5:7-8, The Message
Here's a morning most Moms will recognize. (If you know Hebrew, insert the word yada there.)
I got up this morning after hitting snooze five times, stumbled into the bathroom, took a shower (and washed my hair, which should be an Olympic event due to the thickness and length thereof), got dressed, broke up a fight, admonished kindness, threatened no treats for the rest of the day if clothes were not procured immediately, remembered Natalie's class was celebrating pajama day today thus negating the need for said clothes, told Connor he did not have the same luxury, gathered crying baby from bed, fed crying baby, changed diaper, pushed tiny limbs into tiny onesie while cooing at tiny smiling face, directing the hoards downstairs for morning sustenance, poured Raisin Bran Crunch for Connor, pleaded with Natalie to eat something, anything, "it's the most important meal of the day," gave up trying to get Natalie to eat breakfast, resigned myself to raising a child who will most likely fail her SATs due to lack of morning sustenance, plucked crying infant out of hateful bouncy chair, tried to eat Kashi while holding infant in lap, wiped milk drips due to lack of hand-eye coordination off of infant's head , forewarned children that The Bus O' Mom would be leaving in 5 minutes, gathered last-minute school supplies and Natalie's lunch, balanced supplies and lunch and coffee and baby on trip down stairs, ran back up the stairs to get coats and snow pants and gloves out of dryer where they had been stuffed last night after a very wet and wild last-minute sledding party at Angie's, helped kids put on coats (no coat for Mom, since the Coat Boycott is already underway), buckled happy infant in car seat, steeled nerves for the wailing that was about to ensue, corralled everyone into the car, backed out of the driveway and saw that we were on time for school.
And that was just the first 90 minutes of my day.
Being a Mom is tough work. Amen?
This is a particularly tender truth to me today, because today, my Mom is celebrating a Big Birthday. I won't risk her wrath by reporting her age (although she would have no idea how to avenge herself here, since she and computers are not on speaking terms). Let's just say it's one of those birthdays when living 2,000 miles away from my family really stinks.
So instead of a warm hug from her oldest daughter, she's getting this -- a tribute on the World Wide Web. Which isn't altogether a bad thing, because it gives me the chance to brag on her a little and tell you she's my Mom Hero.
Ever since she was a little girl, my Mom has always wanted to have children. She loves children. She's great with children. In fact, before she met my Dad, she was a nurse who spent much of her time working with children.
So it's probably no surprise that her first baby (that would be me) was born only 14 months after she got married.
(First, a picture of my parents, avant moi. Aren't they stinkin' adorable?)
(Look Mom! That French I took in high school is paying off!)
Childbirth was no picnic. In fact, if you want to see my Mom get excited and my Dad stammer, ask about the time my Dad left my Mom while she was in labor in the hospital so he could go home and take a nap.
(I know!)
But it must not have been too bad. (Either that, or she has a really bad memory.) (Wait. ... Where was I? Oh yes!)
She kept having babies. Sadly, none were as cute as me. But God bless 'em for trying.
In a few short years, our family looked like this:
(Well, hello 1980. How have you been?)
(My siblings are so loving me right now.)
But here's the thing. The serious thing. The thing I sat down to say. My Mom gave birth to four children, raised us all to love the Lord, love each other and cook (well, not that last one, but not because she didn't try) and SHE LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT.
I can honestly say her family is her crown. Her family is her joy. Even on the hard days -- and with four loud children, I suspect there were more than a few -- I daresay her heart was full. She had her children and her husband around her. Nothing else mattered.
Of course, she did all sorts of "Mom" things. She got up early to pack our lunches. She made us a hot breakfast every morning, even when we all went to school at different times. (Even when one of her daughters complained bitterly of being teased for smelling like bacon at high school. Why couldn't she just dole out cold cereal like the other Moms? Why did she have to torture her teenager with French toast and syrup and bacon?!?) She did all our laundry. At one point, she sewed a ton of our clothes -- until she realized that was insanity with four kids. She baked everything from scratch (still does), created fabulous traditions and memories for our family (like the ornament one I described here), made art projects and picnic lunches and took us swimming and apple picking and sledding.
(And did I mention she's a pastor's wife?)
Even more importantly, she always took time to just be with us. When we were young, she played "Candy Land" and "Chutes and Ladders" and Hot Wheels and restaurant. As we grew, she came to every play, game, concert and court hearing we threw her way. Now that we're grown and scattered, she spends hours listening to us ramble talk on the phone. She laughs with us, cries with us and always -- always -- points us to Jesus.
Now that I have three children of my own, I'm in awe of her accomplishments. I'm in awe of her heart. I'm in awe of her love. I'm in awe of her ironing skills.
She is everything I hope to be to my kids -- and more.
A few minutes ago, when I called to wish my Mom a happy birthday, she told me that one of her favorite Bible verses has always been James I:17, which says (in part): "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father."
I know she believes her family is a gift.
I believe she is ours.
Happy (big) birthday, Mom. I love you.
P.S. Remember, I'm your firstborn. I know you love me more. It's OK. I won't tell anyone.
P.S.S. That was to help you stop crying. See? Funny stops the tears. Right?
And I don't mean the basketball variety. (I believe that's terminal, frankly.)
I mean this:
It's what happens in March in Minnesota, and it's what I woke up to this morning. It's madness, I tell you.
We're only two days from the first day of spring, and the landscape out our windows looks like a freakin' Currier and Ives painting.
Of course, it will all be gone by Thursday. And it is fascinating how a thick blanket of springtime snow makes the whole world look like a black-and-white photo.
And look -- do you see what I see? Is that a bud on the tree? (Look under the snow.)
Lord have mercy. Spring might be coming after all.
In the meantime, I'm going to use this snow day (figure of speech only, I assure you; can you imagine how much snow we have to get in Minnesota for schools to cancel?) to post the recipe for my new favorite soup. Because if it's going to be cold (still) and snowy (still), I can at least eat good food.
I was inspired by Rachel at Badgers on the Loose, who is a fellow Minnesotan, a great writer and a fabulous cook -- and not necessarily in that order. A few weeks ago, she posted a bunch of healthy and hearty soup recipes (check out her Chicken Tortilla Soup with Guacamole) that almost made me wish winter would last until May.
Almost.
Lasagna Soup
Ingredients:
1 lb. hot Italian sausage, bulk (although you could also use regular, if you're Scandinavian and think ketchup is a little too spicy for your likes) (by the way, you get bulk sausage -- which is just sausage meat without the casing -- right in the meat department; I just learned this)
2 cups onion, chopped
2 cup carrots, cut into coins
2 cups mushrooms, sliced
2 tbsp. garlic
4 cups chicken broth
1 14-oz. can Italian stewed tomatoes (I used Italian diced tomatoes, because I'd rather have bite-sized tomatoes in my soup, but it's your call)
1 10-oz. can tomato sauce
1 cup mafalda pasta (fun shape of pasta that looks like mini-lasagna noodles, but you could use bowtie or even penne, I'm sure)
2 cups fresh spinach, roughly chopped
1 cup fresh mozzarella, diced (I use the medium-sized bocconicni; you can also use provolone cheese, but I think the fresh mozzarella is divine because it melts into soft little nuggets of wonderfuleness)
1/4 cup Parmesan cheese, shredded
4 tsp. thinly sliced fresh basil (or pesto, if you don't want to pay the outrageous prices for fresh herbs in the grocery store at this time of year)
Directions:
Brown sausage in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add onions and carrots; saute 3 minutes. Stir in mushrooms and garlic; saute another 3 minutes. Add broth, tomatoes and tomato sauce, and bring to a boil. Drop in pasta and simmer until cooked, about 10 minutes, or according to package directions. Stir in spinach and cook until wilted, about 2 minutes. Place fresh mozzarella in bottom of soup bowls (that's my favorite part) and ladle hot soup on top. Garnish with Parmesan and basil.
I realize this is pitiful, but as I was typing up that recipe, Connor decided to start playing a "Clifford" computer game next to me, and hearing the birds tweet on Birdwell Island almost made me cry.
So you eat the soup and enjoy. Me? I'm off to fire up my flame-thrower and single-handedly bring spring to Minnesota.
