Operators Are Standing By!

Typically this is not the sort of blog where I do product reviews or, what I like to call them: "a complete stranger that you may or may not have anything in common with telling you what you should think of a product."  But, I like to stretch my blog-authoring limits every once and awhile and I have recently come across two very different, but equally awesome products that have really made my life better.  So I am going to tell you about them...and to make it interesting, let's do it infomercial style ;)

Hello Moms and Dads of America!!!  Now, I know that parenting leaves us with more questions than answers, but how would you like a product that could change all of that??  Well, it's finally here...for potty training anyway!!  That's right, all you ever wanted to know about the theories of, the dos (pun intended) and do nots, and the troubleshooting tricks of potty training are right here inside the book "Oh Crap Potty Training" by Jamie Glowacki!!  What's her method??  That's the secret: THERE IS NO METHOD!!!!  Am I blowing your mind yet?  That's right, for only the low, low cost of $15 you too can download a digital copy of her book and have your 20-30 month old child potty trained with little to no trouble at all!  BUT WAIT!  Call now because the next 100 callers will also receive the corresponding booklet "How to Explain to Complete Strangers Why Your Child Isn't Wearing Underwear" absolutely free!  That's a $17.99 value for just $15!  Let's get a testimonial from an actual child that was trained using this method! 

"Dah."  -Little Mister Esber

That's right folks!  Even a child with a vocabulary that rivals Charlie Chaplin's in film can appreciate just how spectacular this book is!  So call now!!  This advertisement is not paid nor endorsed by Oh Crap Potty Training or Jamie Glowacki.  Results are not guaranteed, products are non-returnable especially if used or referenced while in the bathroom.  Little Mister Esber is not a paid spokesperson, but is an extremely easy child in general so results are not typical.  Don't hold me to this endorsement if any additional child I may at some point acquire is not an easy potty trainer, as I am fully aware that I must pay the piper at some point in my parenting career.  

Before                                               After

Next up on the infomercial agenda today, we have a product just for those of us with "special" haircare needs.  Are you one of the millions of people who struggle everyday with your hair?  Has your grandmother ever bought you a hairbrush for Valentine's Day?  Does your husband put kitchen sink strainers over every shower drain in your house to prevent going broke from buying Drain-O?  Have you ever had someone say, "I saw an old picture of you, boy was your hair frizzy!!" and you're pretty sure your hair looks EXACTLY the same today as it did in the picture she's referencing??  If you answered 'yes' to any of these questions, then the Deva Curl haircare products are for you!!!  First, go to the Curly Girl website and find out what 'type' of curl your hair is...then boom!  They come through your internet connection and recommend products just for you!!  Seriously, these products are a life changer for women who have struggled with curly hair all their lives!!  For just $19.99 a bottle, your hair...and therefore your confidence...will be transformed!  Call now and we'll also include a bottle of our famous Deva Curl No Poo for only an additional $19.99 (plus shipping and handling).  Your beautiful head of hair is waiting, so don't delay, call now!!!  Deva Curl is not responsible for the content of this advertisement.  Results may vary, especially if you are currently using a shampoo above grocery store grade level (our hair model is a big fat cheap-o and was not.)  Products will not make your grandmother understand that you don't brush curly hair or your Drain-O bill any less expensive.  Offer not valid in Michigan, where the well water does not get your hair clean enough for the No Poo to work and you just end up looking like a big grease-ball for a week.

Okay, okay, so maybe these products don't warrant a 30 minute infomercial on a Saturday morning.  All I know is that my 21 month old little mister is potty trained and my hair looks respectable.  And that means at least I'll know my hair looks good the next time someone stares at me for not making my child wear underwear in public.  Yep, totally respectable...

The Q

Gonna party like it's my birthday

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEEE, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEEE, HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR QUIXX, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Today the whole earth dedicates an entire day to me!  It's kinda like Christmas...except it's for me...so it must be Quixxmas!  Yay!!  Quixxmas is here again!!!  I'm so happy and awesome I can barely stand it!!!!  Commence the wiggling!!!!

While my older (and much, much grumpier) brother chose to spend his birthday blog post complaining about whatever his current gripe-of-the-day was, I am choosing to spend it celebrating what's really important in life: me.  And my amazeballs.  And they really are amazing.  For reals.  Anyway, I figured that since it's Quixxmas and all, what the people want to know is if it's easy to be Quixx.  And let me tell you: yes, yes it is.  Mostly because I'm awesome, but also a little because I'm fantastic.  I'll give you an overview of a typical day in Quixxtown.

• I'm gonna start it at midnight, since I'm up anyway.  I'm way too incredible to sleep.  I think my ability to forgo sleep for long periods really allows me to hone my inner awesomeness.  Here's a breakdown:

12 a.m. - Bug the cats (who are awake too, but not nearly as awesome)

1 a.m. - Wake up call for Mommy and Daddy.  Can't I puuuuuulease get in your bed??

2 a.m. - Wander around the bedroom aimlessly.

3 a.m. - Obtain the toy with the loudest squeaker.  Squeak it in Mommy's face.

4 a.m. - Brief attempt to be the 'dominant' dog while standing a safe 15 feet away from sleeping Vezer.  Maybe 10 if he's under the covers.

5 a.m. - Second wake up call.  If you were as awesome as me, you'd be up already.

• During the morning I try to be a really good family / team player.  But I just can't help it that there's an 'i' in 'Quixx'.  

6 a.m. - Finally!  Daddy's up.  Now make me breakfast.  I'll settle for bacon and eggs. 

7 a.m. - I demand a tribute from Daddy's packed lunch before he leaves.  Then I get in and out of Mommy's bed 16 times.

8 a.m. - Must find a way to get physically closer to Mommy than the little person is at all times.

For reals.

9 a.m. -  Morning cleaning of my amazeballs.  And they are really amazing.  For reals.

10 a.m. - Seriously kid, if you step on me again I *might* just have to go sit on the other couch.

11 a.m. - Get really angry at the last line of "The Price is Right."  Go spay or neuter yourself Drew Carey!

• In the afternoon, I continue the impressiveness of me at all costs.  

 12 p.m. -  I follow Vezer's lead and bark at some guy that comes by every day.  I think he wants to see me, but he gets bashful and only comes as far as the mailbox.  It's fair.  My awesomeness is intimidating.

1 p.m.- Daily meditation on my incredibleness.  Some might call it a nap, but it's not, I promise!

2 p.m. - Run around outside.  Tell woodland creatures about myself.

3 p.m. - Imprisonment while Mommy is gone. :(

4 p.m. - Quick trip to Chessie's house.  I use the short time I have to annoy her a lot.

5 p.m. - Afternoon cleaning of my amazeballs.  And they really are amazing.  For reals.

• I like to finish my day the way I started it: awesome

  6 p.m. - Wrestling match with Vezer.  Really, it's just a guise under which we knock the little person down repeatedly.  Whatevs. 

7 p.m. - Daily attack on Daddy when he walks in from work.

8 p.m. - Get in the way during bath, diaper, and story-times, making everything take 4 times longer.  Win.

9 p.m. - Sit on Mommy's lap and encourage her to tell people on Facebook about me.

10 p.m. - I'll just be over here......in your bed.......don't mind me.  Darn, that never works.

11 p.m. - Vezer growls at me to get out of his bed.  It's okay.  I'm too awesome to sleep anyway.

So, let's all celebrate Quixxmas properly today by attempting to be as awesome as I am!!!  HAPPY QUIXXMAS TO MEEEE, HAPPY QUIXXMAS TO MEEEEE, HAPPY QUIXXMAS DEAR QUIXX, HAPPY QUIXXMAS TO ME!!!  Now please excuse me while I clean my amazeballs...

Kelsey would like to, uh, thank (I guess) The Distinguished Mr. Quixx for guest blogging today.  And a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to our Vizsla Minor!  We love you and you are a valued member of our family...I'd tell you to enjoy the day doing the things you like to do best, but I really don't want you putting your amazeballs on my pillow even on your birthday.  :)

Enginerding

My son and I were recently spending a morning at library story-time.  He was doing all the things he normally does: avoiding confrontation with other children by waiting patiently for his 'milkshake' shaker (and consequently ending up getting it dead last), sorting the toys into the correct bins (ie: blocks and musical instruments DO NOT mix!!), and carefully popping individual bubbles (instead of waving his arms around all willy-nilly).  To me, this is normal behavior...but to the sweet grandmother of another child who was sitting next to me, apparently this struck her as odd.  Odd enough, at least, to make this comment: "I think you have a future engineer on your hands!!"

Uh, excuse me...what?  I mean, thanks.  I think.  No, no...thank you, you clearly meant it as a compliment.  It's just that I have a lot of knowledge about engineers, definitely more than your average person.  You see, I will be 30 years old very soon, and I have spent all but 8 months of that living with an engineer or future engineer.  And even during those rouge 8 months I wasn't too far away from soon-to-be engineers, as I lived across a dorm hallway from four of them.  I traveled across Europe with two engineers..........heck, let's just cut out the extremely long list of all-the-ways-I-know-first-hand-about-engineers nonsense and get to the real bullet-point of this paragraph - I was RAISED by an engineer and I am MARRIED to an engineer.  I am a woman who knows exactly what it means when you say that my son is a future engineer...and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

So to make myself feel better, I searched for legitimate sources that profile engineers.  Yes, yes...I know they are smart and good at math and think that they can do any other job better than the person who is currently employed doing it, but what do professional psychologists say about engineers?  Do I have a right to be concerned about my son's (apparent) future?  Let's go through the Volume of Personal Psychology's Profile of the Mechanical Engineer, Part III - Personality article point by point and dissect it, shall we?

(1) Mechanical engineers are emotionally stable. They ordinarily make compatible marriages, maintain comfortable human relations, and are usually free of neurotic and psychosomatic symptoms.

•  Fair enough.  My Dad, Patrick, and my college roommate and friend Ashley (who in an effort of full disclosure is a chemical engineer, not a mechanical) are all emotionally stable and are in stable marriages.  I *might* argue the "free of neurotic symptoms" based solely on my husband's love of spreadsheets and graphs, but it doesn't push him into being classified as unstable (yet). 

(2) Interpersonal relations are harmonious but casual. Impersonality is one of their more common traits.

• im.per.son.al.i.ty (n) -
  
  a. Showing no emotion or personality
  b. Absence or reduction of concern for other individuals' needs or desires
  c. Not responsive to or expressive of human personalities

• Or d. thinking math is cool

(3) An analytical interest in people is rare.

• But an interest in analytical chemistry is not.    

(4) They avoid introspection and self-examination. Insight is often shallow. This lack of self-understanding makes them less perceptive of social nuances and relatively insensitive to the less obvious needs of others.

• Wait, Patrick could suffer from being less perceptive of social nuances than the average human????  He might be relatively insensitive to my less obvious needs???  Stop it.  You.are.blowing.my.mind.

(5) Engineers are straightforward, direct, and self-sufficient.

•  In 41 years of marriage my mom has never had to wonder what my dad really thought of (fill-in-the-blank) or call a handy-man.  True story. 

 (6) They are inclined to be matter-of-fact and, outside their own field, are often unimaginative. Their attitudes are realistic, though their brand of realism deals more with surfaces than with depths.

• The only reason the second paragraph of this post makes a distinction between "engineer" and "future engineer" is because I re-read it in its original state of just saying "engineer" and all I could picture was my dad reading it and commenting that "Ashley was not an engineer when you lived with her because she didn't have her degree yet."  Yes Dad, you are right.  Just saying "engineer" wasn't technically correct.  And above all we must be technically correct, even in a creative writing type blog post (if this sounds bitter, it's because we have actually had a conversation about my need to be technically correct versus creative writing in my own blog.)

(7) Engineers are energetic. When faced with problems, they are advocates of the direct action approach. Polite diplomacy and oblique conciliatory tactics are foreign to their nature.

• While I prefer the Kelsey-patented "compliment sandwich" technique for negative remarks and the "I thought it was ABC instead of XYZ...but I don't know, I could be wrong..." wording for correcting someone; engineers prefer to get to the point and just tell you you're flat out wrong.  Not a negative necessarily, as a lot of people have mistaken my correcting phrase to mean, "I'm a dumb blonde, don't listen to me" instead of how it is actually meant, which is: "I can't believe you thought that, it is clearly wrong but I don't have the heart to tell you the truth...that I'm smarter than you."  Keep this in mind the next time you find me saying that to you...  (for those readers who might be bad with social nuances, I'm totally kidding!! Well at least mostly kidding... ;)

(8) Most of them are goal-oriented, serious-minded, and conscientious.

• Only my husband can seriously set a professional goal to conscientiously make a battery explode into a fireball...and not see what's so odd about doing stuff like that at work.

(9) They like phenomena to be definitely structured; there is a fundamental aversion to ambiguity. This fondness for structure and order may underline their essentially authoritarian approach.

• There are not words to adequately describe how correct this statement is.  I actually think the engineer's equivalent to the Hippocratic oath goes something like this: "I will apply structure to all areas of my life.  I will neither be ambiguous or uncertain, unless we are using the Uncertainty Principle of quantum mechanics.  I will not tell my spouse what she wants to hear based solely on the fact she wants to hear it as this is unethical and Socialist.  Whatever equations I solve, I will always fully believe that I do it as a benefit to all mankind.  If I fulfill this path and keep my word faithfully, I will retire with a pension and full benefits."

(10) Engineers have definitely masculine traits and interests.

• Could this be because the VAST majority of them ARE men??????  Let's file this in the "things that make you go 'hmmm??'" category.

(11) Social participation is normal in amount. The explanation is more a matter of conventionality and social conformity than any profound interest in people. It is not true that engineers are usually introverts. What sometimes makes them appear so is their characteristic impersonality.

• Yes, see, it's not that they're so much into self-introspection as it is that they just find everyone else uninteresting.  I would also argue that marriages between two engineers HAVE to be incredibly rare (like, never-seen-it-in-the-wild rare) and therefore I can only use my own marriage to extrapolate that this "normal amount of social participation" engineers are having is directly related to their spouse saying things like, "You know what'll be fun????  Inviting tons of people over for a dinner party!  Yay!  Let's do it!!"  There's a word for this.  It's called "forced socialization."  I think they do this with lab rats too.

So after a thorough review of the literature, I've come to the conclusion that if my little mister wants to be an engineer, I suppose I will support that career choice.  After all, there are professions that require far odder personality traits than the love of order and math...

 

Works Cited

CLAUSS, ASHLEY.  College Roommate and Understander of Kelsey Quirks.  Years of watching Adult Swim every night instead of studying: 2003-2005.

ESBER, PATRICK.  Husband and Partner in Crime.  Years of happily married bliss: 2007-present.

HARRISON, R., TOMBLEN, D. T. and JACKSON, T. A. (1955), Profile of the Mechanical Engineer III. Personality. Personnel Psychology, 8: 469–490. doi: 10.1111/j.1744-6570.1955.tb01224.x

"LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS (PG)". British Board of Film Classification. 1987.  If you haven't seen the dentist scene in this movie, please click here for a funny 2 and a half minutes. 

PAULUS, KURT.  Father of the Year Winner 30 years in a row.  Years of putting up with me / keeping me on the payroll: 1983-2002, 2005-2007.

Movin' on U.P.

For the last 30 summers, I have had the pleasure of vacationing at my family's cottage in Frankfort, Michigan.  To save you the trouble of Google Mapping that, here's a diagram of Michigan with Frankfort clearly marked in blue ink:

Please ignore the confused expression Quixx is giving me, he must have failed geography

As you can tell, Frankfort is fairly far north, and it is officially part of "northern" Michigan.  However, there is a lot more Michigan north of Frankfort...but in 30 years I have never seen it.  Every year we say we're going to go, but then we get to the cottage and we start doing all the fun things you do at the cottage (like go to the beach, drive the boat, climb sand dunes, eat ice cream, watch dumb shows like Storage Wars and Duck Dynasty...annnnnnd, that completes the list.)  But Patrick and I decided to take a trip to the U.P. earlier this year, and for once we actually followed through with our plans.  Well, almost.

Due to some circumstances out of anyone's control, we had to shorten our planned trip down to just a day trip to Mackinac Island.  But what a day it was!  Here are the highlights:

Mighty Mac vs. the Antique Tractors

During our 3 hour trip up the coast of Lake Michigan, the radio station we were half listening to mentioned something about tractors on the Mackinac bridge.  It was one of those things where you kinda hear part of it and think, "I wonder what that means?"  Well when we hit I-75 and saw the bridge in the distance...we also saw tractors.  LOTS of tractors.  Apparently the regional antique tractor show was being held in St. Ignace (the town across the bridge) the next day, and those tractors have to get there too, right?  Patrick spent most of the ride across the bridge with his head out the window taking pictures of the tractors and telling me how much our son would love this.  Like father, like son...

The Grandest Grand Hotel

There is a historical hotel on Mackinac Island which is simply called "The Grand Hotel."  They charge you (and according to this sign, maybe judge you a bit too) to even walk on the property.  Since I love to act fancy and put on airs (come on, every girl likes to do this occasionally, right???) I decided that we were going to spring to not only walk around the grounds, but also to eat lunch in the Main Dining Room.  It was totally worth it...but perhaps the best part of the whole experience had nothing to do with the hotel itself.  The elegance of the hotel is a little overwhelming, like perhaps they made a mistake by letting riff-raff like us in here...so while I was busy feeling like we didn't belong, the hostess tried to seat us at a table far away from the windows (I am sure not intentionally).  If you know either Patrick or me, you know that we are the type of people who do not like to draw attention to ourselves and hate to "bother" others by making requests.  But on this day, knowing how special this experience was to me, my typically anti-boat rocking husband spoke up and asked politely if we could have a window seat.  We are not romantic, but it's times like this that I know why I married this man.  *Swoon* 

Thanks to Patrick, this was our lunchtime view!!

When the desserts are this small, you know it's fine dining.  They probably didn't mean for me to get 3 platefuls though...

 

Tandem-ness

The island has no motorized vehicles; only bikes, horse-drawn carriages, and your own two feet are allowed.  I have always wanted to try a tandem bike, but alas Patrick and I are the most uncoordinated couple in America, so he kept insisting it was a bad idea.  Once we got to the bike rental place however, I started begging and he eventually gave in after I pointed out that renting two bikes for an hour would be $10, but renting a tandem would only be $9.  Sometimes you just have to know which buttons to press...

As soon as I snapped this picture Patrick said, "What are you DOING?!?  Stop it NOW and hold on please!!"  To be fair to him, we weren't doing a particularly good job of balancing...to be fair to me, I was having a blast and I wanted picture evidence of him riding this bike.  So I took a few more pictures and then stopped.  We eventually got the hang of it and peddled the perimeter of the island.

 

 *Departure Time Will Go Under the Bridge (weather permitting)

This asterisk accompanied the 6:30 pm ferry on the printed schedule we received before we took the ferry over...and it was the only asterisk that appeared that day.  So of course, I wanted to be on that ferry.  Despite the fact that we easily could have made the 5 pm ferry, Patrick acquiesced and we stuck around the island until 6:30, filling the time with activities that Patrick loves, like shoe shopping and eating over-priced fudge.  And then at 6:30, we boarded the ferry with the other 12 people who decided to visit northern Michigan on a 50 degree Friday in September and off we went!

 

 

 

The middle 2 lanes of the bridge are grating...those black things are cars!

In conclusion, I had a fantastic day and I think Patrick did too (even if he won't admit it).  Maybe I should learn from this and not wait 30 more years to make it up farther north to the next place on my list.  But if there happens to be a Duck Dynasty marathon on, I wouldn't bet on it...

  

Power In The Blood

As I posted about several months ago, I am doing a "30 for 30" list; which (in summary) is a list of 30 things I am trying to do to show others Jesus' love in a tangible way.  I am making good progress on it, and hopefully will have some sort of inspiring post to write when I am finished (don't hold your breath though...)

My format of this list was 25 predetermined things and 5 blank spots for spontaneous do-gooder moments.  When I sat down in January and made my list, number eight looked like this:

8.  Give blood

Sure, even in January it made my palms sweaty to type that; I attribute that in no small part to the one and only time I did attempt to give blood, which consisted of two people hovering over me trying (unsuccessfully) to get the needle in my vein and ended in me passing out in the high school wrestling room and having my English teacher pull me out of class afterwards because I was crying over a poem I didn't understand (losing consciousness apparently makes me very emotional).  I believe his exact words to me as he walked me across the hall and plunked me down into an empty office chair were, "Settle yourself down and then you can come back to class.  Oh, and don't eat the candy on my desk."  Ahh, memories.  

But that's not all, turns out it's not the needle at all...it's my body's reaction to losing blood (or a traumatic event) that causes me to pass out.  Now as an adult, I can proudly declare that I have passed out or had unsuccessful blood draws (from people being unable to hit my "thin AND roly-poly" veins) more times than I can count.  But those were all in medical offices and the blood draws were small vials...a whole pint?  I can't imagine.  Can you see why my palms were sweaty? 

Despite all of this, I really felt a prompting from God to put it on there, and I was sure I could somehow muster up the courage to do it over the course of the next 10 months.  

Time went by, and I steadily worked on the list.  Every time I opened up the app that contained my list however, there it was.  Old #8, staring me in the face.  And making my palms sweat.

I finally got to a breaking point...and cheated.  I had an encounter with an OSU student at Costco who stopped me and asked if I had 20 minutes to complete a survey she needed for a economics class.  Typically random strangers who interrupt me while I am trying to simultaneously wrangle my son and buy a 1000 pack of toilet paper do not get 20 minutes of my time, but the mix of desire to do-good and memories of all the stupid class assignments I had once upon a time got to me and I did her (very confusing) survey.  Once I got home, I scanned my list and decided that I felt that this encounter should go on it, but I didn't want to use one of my spontaneous spots for it.  Out came the backspace key, and magically Old #8 looked like this:

8.  Help a stranger with a school project - COMPLETED

And just like that, no more palm sweat.  Right?  

Wrong.  Turns out that when God prompts you make a list to try to show Jesus' love to others and then you don't trust Him enough to help you complete one of the items on the list, you start to feel guilty.  And things come up that show you He is prompting you to trust Him and just do it.  Things like...

• My in-laws give blood on a regular basis, and one day early this summer I came home from work and they told me all about the fun at the library my son had while they took turns donating blood.  Uh, there goes my excuse for having to care for him on my days off.  This got my palms sweaty all over again, but it did not prompt me to change #8.

• Back in the spring, I ran across a mother from Michigan on a babywearing support Facebook page (keep the comments about my love of granola Facebook pages to yourself please, ha!) who has twin boys that were born just 11 days after my son in January of 2012.  Her older son Micah struggled with health problems, and eventually they lost him in December.  To read more about their story (as I know I did a very poor job summarizing such a tough battle into two sentences) please read this article or visit the Micah Smiles page on Facebook.  http://www.annarbor.com/news/ann-arbor-family-starts-library-at-cs-mott-childrens-hospital-in-memory-of-infant-son/  or  https://www.facebook.com/MicahBabySmiles  I was extremely touched by her story for a few reasons.  One, I feel incredibly blessed to have a healthy child.  Two, I feel VERY strongly that just because I have a healthy child in no way means I can turn a blind eye to others who have children who are not as healthy.  Mamas need support, especially those whose hearts are hurting for their little ones.  Three, you can just see her love and pride for her boys in every picture they post; their organization is called Micah Smiles, but it could just as easily be called Micah's Mommy Smiles.  Four, they were asking for donations of books to start a library in honor of Micah...and you know we are a family who loves their books!  I 'liked' the Micah Smiles page on Facebook, so the posts automatically show up in my newsfeed.  In early July, Micah's mom posted that the library was running well, so they were kicking off a blood drive to organize 214 donors to give in honor of her boys, who combined received 214 units of blood throughout their stay in the hospital.  Sweaty palms.  Really sweaty palms.  I started to entertain the idea of putting it back on the list.

• In early August, the radio station I listen to on my way to work on Friday mornings had their annual "Blood Drive for Chickens."  Normally I would switch to another station for music, but this time I listened.  And I heard a Red Cross worker give a staggering statistic.  Only 3% of the population of eligible donors have actually donated blood.  3%.  And I am not one of those 3%.  This bothered me.  A lot.  I wipe my sweaty palms on my work pants and leave a huge wet smear.  Typical.

• Two weeks ago, I had some downtime while my son napped and a random thought (prompted, no doubt, by the Holy Spirit) entered my mind to look at the Red Cross website.  Hmmm, blood donations in my area.  I'll just peruse around here.  Too far, too far, I work that day, too far, errr...one in the lobby of my Grandmother's nursing facility.  Which is 2.7 miles away from me.  On my day off.  In the afternoon after my little mister takes his nap.  Okay God, I get it.  At least...I think I do.  My palms are still sweaty though.

• I try to forget to ask my mom to watch my little guy that Monday, secretly hoping that if I wait long enough she'll be busy that day.  But literally as I'm talking to her on the phone one day a picture pops up on Facebook of Micah's mom donating blood.  OKAY GOD, I GET IT.  (Seriously though, thank You for being patient with me...you know I am one of Your kids who You have to whack over the head, and I love (in hindsight at least) that You don't hold back on doing it when necessary.)  I ask my mom the next day, and preface the request with, "No comments about this please, I want to try."  There may have been a "from the peanut gallery" thrown in there to include my brother who was also in on the conversation and also an "I'm an adult!" thrown in there too. Mostly for emphasis and to prove that I am reeeealll mature.

I start to plan.  I pray like crazy for courage and a successful draw.  I check the "Tips for Blood Donation" page on the Red Cross website at least 6 dozen times.  Per the tips on the website (which I now have memorized) last week I planned dinners high in iron.  Red meat (which we eat so infrequently my son didn't know what to do with it), spinach salads, fish, and raisins.  Just to be safe, I started hydrating 8 days prior to my donation, but 24 hours before I really kick the hydration up a notch.  I carry my 32 oz. cup they give you in the hospital around and drink a full one every hour.  I start to wonder whether you can actually drink too much water.  I download In Christ Alone (my favorite song) and several other songs to my iPad to distract me, and then scour the house looking for headphones (the only ones I could find are in the picture below...can you tell we're not particularly musical?)  I pack a huge bottle of orange juice and one of my son's easy squeeze pouches of applesauce just in case.  I am as ready as I'm ever going to be.

My mom drives me and stays in my grandmother's room with my son, and I head up to the third floor.  I'm so nervous, I ask the lady dumb questions like, "I'm a dentist, does that mean I've come into contact with another person's blood in the last 12 months?" (answer: yes) and when she tells me to read a paragraph I say, "Do you mean outloud?" (answer: no).  My vitals, which typically are low low low due to running, are actually average for heart rate and high for blood pressure.  High blood pressure?  Sweaty palms.  Deep breath.  Quick prayer.  Let's do this.

I told you those headphones were cool!

The first lady misses my vein, but the second lady gets it (a miracle, I am stoked) and they quickly lay me back and I start my music.  It's going great.  I even try to play Angry Birds and find that it is nearly impossible to do one handed.  Eventually though, my blood supply starts slowing down, and with about 30 grams left to go (out of the 560 in a pint) it pretty much all but stops.  But I feel amazing, aided by the mental boost I have because I was planning on NOT feeling amazing...and I am not going to let this effort be for naught.  The lady repositions my arm and literally milks my arm with her finger while I squeeze the heck out of the stress ball.  It seems like these last 30 grams are taking longer than the previous 530...and the minute it hits the 560 gram mark, they stop and ask if they can take the blood for the testing vials out of the other arm.  I tell them I don't care what they do as long as I am conscious, and I have never meant a statement more in my life.  They could have told me to yodel in front of an audience and I would have done it...in that moment I am that proud of myself.  And just like that, the whole thing is over and I'm drinking my OJ and eating an oatmeal raisin cookie.

But it's not really myself I should be crediting here, is it?  God is so good and so faithful...but I am human and I forget this sometimes.  He put this desire in my heart and He followed through by giving me the strength to do it.  And when it comes right down to it, I don't think the lesson here was that I can successfully give blood.  It's that I should realize by now that He always follows through when we put our complete trust in Him.  I could almost feel His pat on the back when I got out the backspace key again...

8.  Give Blood - COMPLETED

 

Micah Smiles asked each donor to send a heart representing his or her donation.  Seemed only fitting to send a Buckeye heart since it's going to Ann Arbor!

This doesn't count as "heavy lifting" right???

    

 

Twig By Twig

Patrick and I decided to buy a house in the summer of 2009.  The actual purchase of our house occurred in the spring of 2011 (have I mentioned our tendency to make simple things unnecessarily difficult?)  When we moved in I started a list of things I wanted to do.  It had 29 things on it.  It currently has 43.  So we are making progress, just not the good kind.

I would describe my relationship with home related projects as extremely bi-polar.  So much so, that if there was a homeownership mental hospital Patrick would have me committed.  I have "depressed" times where I don't really feel like lifting a finger...and so I don't.  Annnnnd, so...nothing gets done. Don't misunderstand me, I am not depressed during these times (more like lazy) but the house just might be.  And then I have "manic" times where I have six million things I want to do and Ineedtogetitalldonerightnow.

Probably in no small part due to the fact that I am studying Proverbs 31, I am currently in a manic state.  Contrary to what you might think, I firmly believe that Patrick likes me (if not the house) better in the depressed state.  That is because manically motivated Kelsey's projects go a little something like this:

• I get an idea.  Usually this occurs at a really busy time when we already have zero time in our schedules.

• I excitedly tell Patrick about this idea.

• Patrick tries to act excited, while dreading the inevitable outcome and contemplating how much this will cost.

• I obtain the paint/L brackets/joint compound/pavers/2x2/wallpaper steamer/whatever other materials needed to do said project.

• I get home from the store and immediately get started on the project, completely neglecting whatever else might need to be done at the moment (dinner, changing a diaper, etc.) and also completely neglecting to plan out the project at all.

• 10 minutes into the project, I am either bored or frustrated with my lack of planning from 10 minutes earlier, since now it is (somehow always surprisingly) not going well.

• Patrick stops by to put his (typically completely logical) 2 cents in.  I get mad...can't he see that this is my project????

• 15 minutes into the project, I stop.  I leave everything out however, because I will clearly go back to it to finish.

• I start another project, this one will obviously be faster and turn out better (cycle starts again here).

• 6-10 days later, Patrick finishes the original project.

• I tell Patrick that I wanted some minute detail a different way and he must change it or I will never be happy again.

• I take credit for the project (it was my idea).

Let's see this in action with some real life examples, shall we?

Before

Our loft:  When we moved in, I wanted to paint an accent wall and hang lots of vacation photos.  One week before I hosted a wedding shower, I decided to start.  Two days later (after ordering all the photos, buying all the frames, taping off the edges and getting the paint) I discover I am pregnant.  Patrick tells me to give it up, nobody cares if the loft's not painted.  What?!?!?!?

After

I ignore him and start cutting in with the paint (with a mask on), only to discover that being on a ladder is making me lightheaded.  And now the bottom half of the wall is red around the edges.  Patrick finishes painting, and my mom assists hanging the photos.

Before

 Our laundry room:  Patrick comes home from work about 10 days after I had our son to find that I have stripped 2 sheets of wallpaper off the walls and then decided to take a nap.  What else would I be doing on maternity leave????  Oh yeah, taking care of a baby.  Patrick strips the rest of the top wallpaper and border, and meticulously adds a white chair rail to hide the seam of the bottom wallpaper.  After the chair rail is up, I decide I want it to be black, not white.  He gets right on that...

After

Our landscaping:  I decide that I want to put a little retaining wall in around a flower bed.  I watch a thorough YouTube video on it, and declare that I can do this myself.  I weed the bed and make a trip to Menards.  But I didn't measure anything and apparently the guys working in the garden center are not intimately familiar with the dimensions of my backyard.  We make a second trip and finally purchase our materials.  Patrick decides to step in and be responsible and look up in our Suby's owners' manual to see how much weight we can haul.  Whoops. Patrick makes a third trip for the rest of the blocks.  I insist that I will dig the trench out this week (ha!).  This puts us solidly in the 6-10 day waiting period.  I assume Patrick will get started on this soon.  

Won't a flower bed look awesome here??

Well what are you waiting for, an invitation??

The list could go on and on.  And on.  So what have I been working on this week instead of the retaining wall?  Distressing this window, of course.  It is currently sitting in the backyard, waiting its 6-10 days before Patrick decides to finish painting it and puts the faux stained glass in its pane.  I mean, before I decide to paint it.  And I will, just as soon as the acid dye I ordered gets here and I finish dyeing my son's wool pants...

Dinosaur vs. The Library

Most kids have some books.  Some kids have many books.  Only a few kids have most of the many books.

My kid is one of those kids. 

Read it NOW!

Granted, most kids don't have a Grammy that sends a grocery bag full of books home with them every time they visit (which is several times a week, given that we live 3 miles away).  These books have been accumulated during my mother's years of teaching - all purchased with her own money, so when she left, they left with her.  I don't know what she thought she was going to do with them, but I'm guessing that when I told her I was pregnant her first thought was something like this:

"I'm going to have a grandchild!  Thank goodness those books won't be stored at my house!"

And so, with the exception of two enormous tubs that remain at Grammy's house, the Esber Family District Library was formed.  As the de-facto Head Librarian of this establishment, I'd like to take a moment to give you a tour.

This is the shelf we keep handy for diaper changes, mealtime entertainment, and short bursts of reading.  These are not arranged in any order whatsoever as we typically see them all pulled off the shelf and re-shelved approximately 496 times a day.

   

This is the bin of currently-in-use books.  We have different topics in here, but generally speaking the common thread for this bin is "books that the Little Mister likes to read on a regular basis."  It sits next to the couch and is pulled from for our morning and evening reading sessions.  Books are rotated in and out as needed.
 

These are our before bed books.  They includes bedtime stories and our Bibles.  As you can see, our main patron is showing off currently using this section. 

These are the same books, after our patron decided that sitting nicely in front of the camera is BOOOOOORING...

  

 These are our stalling-before-bed books.  Used primarily to guilt one or both librarians into reading one more story before bed.  Always one more story.

Now you are probably thinking, "That's not so many books.  What kind of library do you think you're running here lady?"  But before you go into a tirade about tax payer dollars being used to fund public services like a library, please allow me to show you our archives:

 

Each bin is individually labeled with the subject of books that it contains.  For example, our Junior Librarian's (yes, I totally just called Patrick our Junior Librarian) favorite:

The archives are where we pull new books from and where we search if we want a book on a specific topic.  They are pretty extensive.  The main problem is getting them back in the proper bin, as the Master Librarian and philanthropist of this project (my mom) has had to tell me on multiple occasions that books about money go in the math bin (not science or American government), books about habitats go in the science bin (not non-fiction animals), and under no circumstances are the units on insects and birds allowed to be grouped together in a "flying things" pile.  Sheesh.

Patrick and I are both big readers, so I know we are both looking forward to sharing each and every book in the Esber Family District Library with our son over the years.  Patrick has already outlined a reading plan to ensure we read all of the books before the Little Mister goes to kindergarten (I suspect he has a spreadsheet, but he won't own up to it).  And that plan should work beautifully...if we can somehow become the first parents to ever convince an 18 month old NOT to just re-read the same 5 books over and over and over and over...

Bonus points to whoever can guess what his favorite subject is!

And the winner is...

A few posts back, I mentioned that Patrick and I were planning on racing each other in a 5k on the Fourth of July.  After weeks of procrastinating, the stakes finally got set: the winner would have ONE FULL DAY TO THEMSELVES.  No chores, no work, no child rearing responsibilities.  Um, sorry Patrick, but you're going down.

For the child-less among you (I figure those with kids don't need an explanation) please allow me to clarify that I love my son more than I have ever loved anything on this planet.  He is precious and dear to me, and my time with him is treasured.  But the job of motherhood is all-consuming like nothing else, and as much as it truly is the best job ever, it is also the most frustrating/tiring/weary one...and a day off sounds like nirvana.

Now, I am 100% sure that if I asked Patrick, he would give me a day to myself.  But a day off that I haven't earned through any means but whining comes with a lot of guilt for me.  But a day off that I earned by leveling my beloved husband's rear in a race?  Bring it.

So I ramped up my training.  I did speed work: tempos, farleks, repeats.  All while pushing my son in the jogger and sweating like a wildebeest.  I started to think that I could really beat him.  Never mind that he's a guy...he wasn't training at all.  Victory was beginning to look assured.

And then, the week before the race, he decided to go running with me.  I was doing 3 one mile repeats, and since I am benevolent, I let him push the jogger on the first one.  After all, I am clearly in better shape and it only gets harder...so go ahead and take the 27 pound little mister and the 29 pound stroller first and I'll take them second (and probably the third, right?  Since I'm in better shape and all.)

After the second repeat, I am dying.  It is hot, and doing speed work while pushing 56 pounds is not my idea of fun.  But hey, at least I know Patrick will be down for stopping, right?  Wrong.  "I'll take him, let's just finish," he says.  What?!?!  NOOOOOOOOOOOO!  I'm supposed to be the one killing this workout!  I'm supposed to be the one laughing in your face as you finish in back of your wife!  I'm supposed to be the one getting a day off!  Especially that last one!  Halfway around that third repeat, I snatch the jogger back out of pure stubbornness and barely finish.

I am bummed for the next 5 days.  How do men do that?  Are they THAT much more naturally athletic?  Is all my hard work going to be for naught?  Even worse, if I win how will I know that Patrick isn't just letting me win?  That would be worse than losing.  So I turn to my only option left: to intimidate him and hence gain a competitive advantage.  Commence the trash talking.

I tell Patrick it's too bad he's going to lose to a girl.  I threaten to punch him in the kidney if he passes me.  I talk up how incredibly long this one hill of the course is (I have run this race before, he has not).  I remind him numerous times of all that time he hasn't been running.  I tell the people at the packet pick-up that he is going to lose to his wife.  I attempt to stuff him full of yummy vacation food like pretzel bread and ice cream.  I assure him that even though we're spending the entire week with my parents, I'm sure they'll understand him beating their one and only daughter in a race.  I earnestly try to get him to run with Quixx as the 6 million potty stops would surely slow him down.  I even think seriously about not waking him up the morning of the race.  Can't win if you don't run, right??

Finally, race day is upon us.  And like all things in scenic Benzie County, it starts at 8:11 (even though the paper said it would start promptly at 8 am.  Actually, 11 minutes past might still qualify as prompt up there.)  I try to take the pace out fairly brisk in the first mile as I have decided that my best chance is to tucker him out early and hope he lags behind.  He does not, but I do have a glimmer of hope around the 1 mile mark as we ascend a medium-sized rolling hill and he pants, "is this the big hill?" and I gleefully respond, "no!"

I continue to push the pace up the actual hill, but then we turn down a seasonal road.  Oh no, I forgot about this part.  Patrick is better than me on trails AND on long downhills, and this is both.  Crap crap crap.

I stick fairly close to him, and get the benefit of a road crossing to catch all the way back up.  We are neck and neck for the last half-mile...and then with about 200 meters to go, I start to sprint.  I can feel him behind me, but I literally say out-loud, "a.full.day.off...you.can.do.this."

With about 50 meters to go, I start to fear that I used my kick too quickly...and Patrick is right there again.  But, wait.  The chute is backed up.  THE CHUTE IS BACKED UP!  All I need to do is get slightly in front of him and...

BAM!  I spread my arms out like I am boxing him out, and show Patrick once and for all that I might not be the faster racer, but (for today at least) I might just be the smarter one...

Kelsey Esber          F 25-29    29     27:43.18

Patrick Esber         M 25-29    29     27:43.34 

The Doctor is IN

They're all good sides.

Nine years ago today, I was born in a humble mansion in Powell, Ohio.  I knew from the beginning that I was destined for more, for greatness, and I decided that I needed a way out.  So when that blonde girl came to visit, as my other siblings were running around playing and acting like fools, I did what I had to do.  I'm almost ashamed to talk about it, but you know what they say about desperate times.  So yes I, the soon-to-be Dr. Vezer Paulus Esber, groveled.  I sat quietly in her lap. I looked soulfully into her eyes.  I did my absolute best to convince her that I needed her.  And she totally bought it...ate it up in fact.  What a sucker.

And so she became my Mommy.  And for the first three and a half years, I had her all to myself.  And it was awesome.  I didn't have to share her, I slept in her bed, went everywhere with her, and generally did whatever the heck I wanted to do.

Where's my shirt?

And then, boom: she got married.  And I had a daddy.  Now, don't get me wrong, two parent households are okay for some people.  But I'm not one of those people.  We were doing just fine on our own, thankyouverymuch.  Daddy tried to do things like sleep closer to Mommy than I was or sit on my chair at the table.  He even ignored me once when I was having an allergic reaction to a spider bite.  Good thing Mommy got home in the nick of time and rushed me to MedVet.

I eventually made peace with the Daddy situation.  I mean, it is nice to have four hands to pet you and 2 people to feed you.  And Daddy snuck me food that Mommy would never give me, like entire cheese slices.

Sitting in a hat?  Really?

And then, Mommy let a cat in the house.  A CAT.  They go to the bathroom inside for goodness sakes.  I don't even know what to say.  And the vet tried to blame it on ME!!  "A cat that had a home wouldn't willingly come in a house that has a dog" she said.  Don't put this on me, lady...I am a perfectly good dog.  I growled at it and tried to chase it out.  Maybe the cat is the defective one, did you think about that?!?  The only good part about it is that The Honorable seemed to be too busy with his plans for world domination to pay much attention to me, so life went on as usual.

Oti doesn't even deserve a caption.

And then, Oti the cat's condo burned down.  Now, I am nothing if not a humanitarian; so I suppose I can excuse housing a displaced fire victim every now and then.  Especially when that victim weighs half a ton and mostly cowers in fear of everything.  The part I don't get is why he's still living here, mooching off my Mommy, 3 years after the fire incident.

Please get this thing off of me.

And then, Mommy did the unthinkable.  She got me a BROTHER. Did I want a brother?  No.  But...maybe it could be cool to have someone who looks up to me, someone to teach all of my Vizsla wisdom to and who would otherwise worship the couch I lay on.  Yes, that would be cool.  But that's not who we got.  We got Quixx.  Now, I tried to make him a good Vizsla, I really did.  I tried to get him to listen to me and treat me like a god.  But he must have a learning disability, because he mostly just thinks that HE is the awesome one. And suddenly, the bed is too crowded.  Mommy and Daddy decide that Quixx and I have to sleep in the little bed...that's right, a TWIN SIZED bed that is pulled right up next to Mommy and Daddy's bed.  I called the ASPCA, but they were clearly negligent in this matter as they didn't even return my call.  Losers.

I hope you kept the receipt.

And then, a little person suddenly appeared.  And this one didn't just use the bathroom inside the house, he used it in his pants.  In.his.pants.  Gross.  So I did the only thing I could do.  I had to, and I'm not sorry about it.  I had an allergy attack.  Yep, I made my Mommy prove her love to me by making sure the first place she drove herself after having a baby was to the vet.  And you know what?  She did it.  And she proceeded to cook me special meals on top of caring for Daddy, The Honorable, Oti, Quixx, and the little person for the next 5 months.  And take me to lots and lots of doctors' appointments (I told her we didn't have to do that, but she insisted.)


So despite all these changes, and people that I now have to share my Mommy with, I know she still loves me the same way she did when I turned on the charm 9 years ago.  Which just goes to show you that I knew exactly what I was doing when I picked her.  I am so smart, it scares me sometimes...

Kelsey would like to thank her guest blogger, Dr. Vezer Paulus Esber, for taking time out of his busy schedule to fill in for her today.  And a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to our Vizsla Major.  We love you and you will always be my first baby and founding member of the family...so enjoy the day lounging on the couch and licking the sticky baby.  You deserve it ;)