In which I learn that what I want is not always what I need

We are now smack dab in the middle of our three-day weekend and I am loving it. And I have to say this because I didn’t expect to love it.

My husband is working this holiday weekend. And this is not all that unusual. If you know us at all, you know it’s not uncommon for Mark to work weekends. His job requires it of him, every other weekend, holiday or not. This is our norm and for the most part, I am just grateful that he is gainfully employed and able to help keep a roof over our heads, put food on the table, and help the last of the three kids get through college.

Obviously, I would prefer if Mark could enjoy every holiday at home with his family. I don’t feel quite whole when he’s not with us on these special occasions. I tend to feel a bit sorry for myself when it seems like most everyone I know is with their families, celebrating, or relaxing, or escaping everyday life … and we’re not.

I expected to feel let down this weekend. I expected to feel alone and a little bit bitter. Because my husband didn’t have to work this weekend. He chose to work.

Yes, there was a slight lack of communication in which he forgot to discuss this choice with me until it was too late to undo it. And I didn’t have the chance to tell him how much I would hate him making that choice.

I hate to admit this, but I … tend to … maybe be a little bit of a …


There. I said it. I’m a grudge-holder. (Hey. Everyone has a fault or two that needs continuous work. This is mine.) And if this weekend ended up being miserable for me, it would have been my own doing. But I made a pivotal choice yesterday morning when Mark’s alarm clock went off at 5:45 am.

As I lay there in bed, trying to go back to sleep, feeling disgruntled about being awakened on my day off, on my holiday weekend, I realized that returning to dreamland was not going to happen. It’s not in my early rising make-up to go back to sleep once I’m awake. Still, I thought I should have at least had the chance to continue sleeping past my norm.

Go out for a run, I said to myself.

I don’t run anymore, I reminded myself.

Well, since you agreed to run the Color Run with your daughter in seven short weeks, it might not be a bad idea to start again, my damn self said to me.

Fine! I’ll get up and go outside, I replied to myself. But I’m not running. I’ll just take Lucy for a walk.

But actually? I did run. Lucy wanted to run. Actually, Lucy always wants to run. And if there’s anyone who can melt my stubborn tendencies, (besides my daughter,) it’s my dog. So we ran. And it was good.

The sun was ablaze and the sky was a gorgeous blue. Flowering Crab Apple trees were in various stages of bloom all along the way and I breathed in deep, enjoying their floral fragrance. My legs weren’t in as bad of shape as I thought they would be and neither were my lungs. And Lucy was my motivation to keep going when I thought I couldn’t. By the time we came back home, I had a new attitude.

After our run and a good drink of water for both Lucy and me, I enjoyed a big cup of coffee with creamer and sat down to write. More therapy for my now significantly less bitter self.

Both Jake and Kacey were up early, and when Jake said, I’m going to make us some Belgian waffles, that sealed it. There’s nothing I love more than a hot, unhealthy breakfast with my kids on a lazy morning. Jake mixed up the waffle mix and I started some bacon in a frying pan. I ate too much bacon and the waffles didn’t come out of the iron in one piece, but it was all delicious.

Later, Kacey helped me do the minimum of cleaning we felt obligated to get done around the house. We watered our new vegetable plants out in the gardens, (we’re hoping to grow our own salads this summer,) and pulled Lucy’s pool out of the shed and filled ‘er up. Then we played with our crazy, adorable dog and laughed as she splashed in and out of her pool and ran circles in the yard under the warm, spring sun. Dogs really know how to revel. I could learn a thing or two from Lucy.


When Lucy pooped out after so much activity, we marveled at how cute she was, all curled up and sound asleep on the family room loveseat. Kacey and I headed back out to the patio table on the deck and  “did” our finger and toe nails with some bright pink polish. My coworker, Nick was getting married in the afternoon and Mark and I were going to the reception after he got off work. Thought I might give my fingernails a rare coat of polish to go along with the dressing up I’d be doing for the occasion.

As we sat outside soaking up as much enjoyment of  the day as we could, me polishing Kacey’s nails, she said, I just love this weather. It makes me so happy.

I said, Me too, and I thought, I really am happy. And here I had been all ready to be a pouty mess.

What a gift the day, and my kids had turned out to be. I was all prepared to be in a funk for the weekend, but instead had followed my instincts to make the best of what I had. And it did turn out to be the best. I think every day about how fast the timeline of my life is moving and I realize that I can’t afford to let the precious moments slip away while I dwell on things that aren’t all that important in the grand scheme of things. Even the wedding reception turned out to be more fun than either Mark or I expected. There was one of those photo booth type of set-ups, and my coworkers and I got in on the fun.

NickWeddingThe rest of this weekend promises to bring more picture-perfect weather. Our good friends, Paul and Megan have invited us out for a night of walking and dining in downtown Stillwater tonight, (historic and fun place). And Mark and I have had a long-overdue conversation about his choice to work. We both agree we should have had a more solid discussion about his plans. And I can now see that he was only trying to do what he thought was best for his employer, his work life and for the family. (After all, there is some serious holiday and overtime pay involved.) I can’t fault him for being a dedicated employee and trying to take care of us. He thought he was doing a good thing. And as a compromise, he will not be working on Monday, Memorial Day after all.

I really couldn’t have asked for anything more. This weekend didn’t turn out like I thought it should, but still, somehow, it has been everything I needed. Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy. But sometimes, I win the battle against myself. Perspective. It’s all about perspective. And choosing the right one. It’s a lesson I have to keep on learning.


In which my husband nearly got his asphalt kicked

We had our first snow of the season overnight, a very manageable kind of snowfall. Pretty. Didn’t affect morning traffic at all.

First Snow 20131106And it had pretty much melted by the end of the work day.

First Snow after 20131106I attended a city council meeting with Mark tonight. He’s been to a few of these over the years. I was a City Council Meeting virgin until tonight. It was … fun? Maybe “fun” is a little much, but it was certainly interesting and definitely entertaining. I thought Mark was going to get beat up!

We’re getting new streets next year. And it’s going to cost the neighborhood residents some money. Understandably, people are going to have concerns. I expected that. But there was this guy. He kept demanding to know why his street hadn’t been replaced or paved in the past ten years. He was very confrontational and I felt bad for the City Engineer who was running the meeting. He patiently explained how such decisions are made. The guy just wasn’t satisfied with the answer. Throughout the couple of hours we were there, the guy kept interrupting to ask the same question. It was annoying and uncomfortable. Around the fifth time he interrupted the presentation to ask why his street hadn’t been addressed in the past, someone finally yelled from the back, “Let it go. It’s getting fixed now!”

The guy went on to say that his street currently looked like it had suffered a barrage of bombing. “It looks like a war zone,” he complained. I am familiar with this man and I know where he lives. I knew he was grossly exaggerating the condition of his street. I also know he has the most unkempt yard and home on his block. I try not to judge. I don’t know what people’s’ financial situations are. But he does have a couple of really nice motorcycles, so I have to wonder how much of a hardship it would be to mow his lawn or trim the tree that’s spilling  all over the place. Tonight I couldn’t help but picture his run down property and find it ironic that he demanded better of the city. But I didn’t say anything. That’s just not me.

His complaints continued in spite of the explanations that were given by the City Engineer. Since the guy couldn’t get the explanation he wanted, he seemed hell-bent on continuing to express his frustration ad-nauseum. He had just finished complaining about how after the last big storm, the street’s condition grew even worse, and the city didn’t do anything about it. Suddenly, from beside me, I heard someone ask, “Did you call the city?”

That someone was my husband! I felt all eyes in the room turn in our direction, but I was watching the guy. He turned a skeptical eye to Mark. “I get sick of calling people,” he sneered. “YOU ever try calling the city?”

“Yep,” said Mark. “They’ve always been responsive and reasonable.”

The guy dismissed Mark with a scowl and a wave of the City Council meeting notice he clenched in his hand. I elbowed Mark and gave him an approving smile. Normally I would be far from encouraging of such behavior. Normally, I would probably be embarrassed. But I was proud of my husband. The guy was a bully and was using the meeting as a means to force everyone else in the room to endure his childish behavior. He was preventing the City Engineer from getting through his presentation and letting anyone else ask legitimate questions.

The evening moved on and we heard from a couple of experts about asphalt recipes, curb replacements and street lights. Periodically the guy would interject some sarcastic remark. And then he let loose again, stating that parks and pedestrian paths should never be maintained unless every street in the city was perfect. The City Engineer, clearly tired of doing battle and trying to answer to issues that were outside of his authority, simply replied, “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

Someone from the back added, “And we’ve heard it all night long. Enough already.” A murmur arose from the small crowd of attendees. Obviously, there was a shared sentiment in the room. Everyone had heard enough from the guy. Another active participant who had contributed many valuable questions and comments throughout the evening, cooled things down. He said he just wanted to commend the city for keeping our taxes low and ensuring our community was kept in good repair. There was a round of applause. I looked over to see the guy had slouched down in his chair and was scowling. He didn’t want to hear anything positive.

And there the meeting ended. I hustled out the door with Mark, a little worried that the guy would try to follow us out and beat up my husband. Not to worry, he apparently planned to hang around afterward and give more grief to the City Engineer.

Had I known these things could be so exciting, I might have attended one long ago! And in all seriousness, I actually learned a lot. Being informed is empowering. I’ll probably go to one again.

Livin’ the dream!



On Again/Off Again – The Battle for the A/C

Mark is anti-air conditioning. We have it. I love it. And there is a constant battle in this house between using it and agreeing to let the fresh air come in through the windows. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind the fresh air. I rather enjoy it, actually. But when the outside temperatures and humidity levels reach a point where it’s impossible to merely sit without sweating, I see no need to suffer.

Yesterday was the hottest, most humid day of the most summer-like week we’ve had so far this year. As the sun began to set last night, Mark came in from outside and announced, “It’s really cooling down out there! Should we shut off the air?”

I sighed and said, “Sure.”

It wasn’t really cooling down out there. But there was no point in arguing. Oh, Mark would leave it on if I’d argued, but he would be sure to let me know how wasteful he thought I was being. He wouldn’t be mean about it or anything. He would just be sure to let me know. And I would feel like I was being selfish. Sometimes I fight for the comfort. Sometimes I let him win. It was his turn to win.

So the air conditioner was turned off and the windows were opened. Our bedroom is in the lower level of the house, so the cooler air settles there anyway. And I have to admit that I slept rather comfortably most of the night. Until 5:30 this morning.

It was a combination of things that woke me. Yesterday, Mark broke the string on the pleated shade that covers our window. He took it in for repair and it won’t be ready for a few days. So the morning sunshine was coming right through our bedroom window. I tried to keep my eyes closed, but there was no pretending that I could still make it dark behind my eyelids. The air was still humid and I realized I was feeling sticky. And also? There was a bird party going on in the back yard. They were chirping and squawking like crazy! And since our window was wide open to let in the cool, fresh air, there was no way I was going to fall back asleep.

Mark was beginning to wake up too. He had to leave for work at six anyway. And Lucy was thrusting her nose in my face, wanting me to get up and play. I reluctantly crawled out of bed and went to the window to see what the bird ruckus was all about. They were scattered all over the back lawn, plucking bugs and worms from the grass. Clearly it was breakfast time in the bird world.

Mark left for work and Lucy waited for me to finish observing the Grackles, whining occasionally for me to turn my attention to her. I looked down at her hopeful face and said the magic word. “Walk?”

She became a canine ping-pong ball then, scrunching up her body and bouncing with joy. It’s always a mistake to say “the word” before the exact moment I’m ready to actually walk out the door, but I do it anyway. I love watching the way Lucy anticipates our departure. I quickly tossed on shorts and a t-shirt. Lucy danced and whined for me to hurry up. I brushed my teeth. Lucy bounced and whined for me to hurry up. I washed my face and straightened up my bed head. Lucy bounced and danced and whined for me to hurry up.

When I was ready to slip on my tennis shoes, I glanced sadly back at the bed and the early hour displayed on the clock that sits on my nightstand. Oh, well. Who was I kidding anyway? I’m an early bird even when it’s quiet and I’m not sticky and sweating.

I grabbed Lucy’s harness and leash, tied my shoes and we went off for one of those quiet, early Saturday walks that I actually really love. Lucy pulled me along sniffing all kinds of interesting smells. I appreciated the relative quiet of the morning, some blooming Asiatic Lilies and the sunshine that still feels so welcome after all of the clouds we had in recent weeks. Arriving back in our own driveway, I opened up the garage door and walked back to the house through the empty spot where Mark’s truck sits when he’s at home. Lucy was panting and I was sweating. Inside the house, I unhooked Lucy’s leash in the foyer and headed straight for the thermostat. Smiling over my own private victory, I turned the air conditioning back on!

The Corn Man

I’ve been meaning to buy some paint for a couple of projects I have planned. I needed Mark’s handyman expertise for the paint purchase, so I asked him if he wanted to accompany me to his favorite local home improvement store. Of course, he did.

“Should we go see if the Corn Man is around first?” he asked.

We were planning to grill steaks for Sunday dinner and I had twice-baked potatoes in the works too. Fresh corn on the cob sounded like the perfect way to round off our meal, so I quickly agreed.

We visit the Corn Man several times every summer and we’ve never been disappointed. Up until just a few years ago, he sold his produce from the back of an old pickup truck parked on the corner of a busy intersection. A hand-painted sign advertising “Fresh Sweet Corn” was all he needed to attract business. He must have done well all these years. He keeps coming back and we look forward to seeing him every summer. As we pulled up in Mark’s pickup truck, windows rolled down so we could enjoy the perfect summer day, Mark called out to the Corn Man, “Hey, you got yourself a stand! You’re movin’ up in the world!”

Corn Man 2“Yup,” said the Corn Man with a big smile.

We got out of the truck and approached the stand. There were some tomatoes on display, fresh blueberries, asparagus, and muskmelon. There were a few ears of corn, but not many.

“Ya got more corn?” Mark asked.

“Sure do,” said the corn man, reaching down behind his produce displays to pull out a crate stuffed full of big, fresh ears of summer corn.

“Where’s it from?” Mark asked. “Is it good?”

“This here’s from Georgia,” said the corn man, dumping the crate of corn into the bin. He picked up an ear and peeled the husk back and took a bite.

“Mmmm,” he said and handed the ear to Mark. “Try it.”

Mark took a bite and handed the ear to me. They both looked at me, expecting me to follow suit and all I could think was, “I don’t want to bite off of that now!” But, I did anyway. I just peeled the husk back a little more and bit out of a lower section of the ear. And it was good! I couldn’t believe how sweet and juicy the corn was, even before it was cooked.

“We’ll take a dozen,” Mark said. Other customers lined up behind us while the Corn Man filled a plastic bag with ears. He and Mark chatted about how soon the corn might be coming from Wisconsin and Minnesota. Not for a while, yet.

The bag was filled to full when the Corn Man said, “I’m giving you an extra, in case one of the ears is poopy.” In reality, there were a few extras. “Don’t cook it too long,” he added. Mark took the bag and handed over some cash, tossing in a few “extras” himself.

“Need any strawberries?” the Corn Man asked. Mark looked at me, and I shook my head. I didn’t really, and there were others waiting to buy things. We thanked him and Mark pulled his truck door open. Before I made my way around to the passenger side, the Corn Man handed me a big, red, ripe tomato.

“Here. A tomato for the tomato,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks,” I said, laughing. I wasn’t sure what he meant by calling me a tomato. I’d become a little sunburned earlier in the day. But when he added, “Don’t tell your husband I said that,” I was pretty sure he wasn’t referring to the color of my skin. Out of curiosity, I looked it up when I got home. The Corn Man’s comment was apparently meant as something of a compliment. Good thing I didn’t know to be offended, and he’s really such a good-natured,  friendly guy, I’m still not!

It had been a picture-perfect summer day and we ate our dinner under the shade of the canopy out on the deck with Kacey and Connor. The food was spectacular and everyone raved about it, eating until we could eat no more. We will definitely be visiting the Corn Man again this summer!

While the boys are gone fishin’

I bowled last night, really badly. I would mentally go over all of the mechanics of throwing my ball, position my feet in my spot, stay low, roll the ball forward while following through, hit my mark… Everything should have been perfect, right? Or at least respectable, right?

But it was far from perfect. I can’t tell you how many times I watched my ball head for the pocket, just where I wanted it, and then it would suddenly hook in the opposite direction. Instead of hitting the head pin and taking down the rest of the pins, I was hitting the ten pin. Or worse, landing the ball in the gutter. At one point, I stood there after throwing my ball, just looking down the lane and thinking, “How in the heck did I even make the ball do that?”

Almost to the end of our first game, I threw up my hands in defeat, looked at my teammate, Preacher Dave as if it was his fault and said, “I give up. I hate this game!” Dave said, “No you don’t. And lemme see your ball.”

He inspected it quickly while I pouted and in an exasperated voice, informed me, “Your fingertips are coming loose.” (Fingertips are rubber inserts that fit inside the finger holes.) I was aware of their looseness, but had simply been pushing them back down in the holes for several weeks with no ill effects. But last night, they began inching up over the edge of the finger holes, enough that my ball went sailing in the other direction when it rolled over them. I got the guy in the pro shop to glue them back in after game one. He brought it back to me in time for game two, told me I should be good for the night, but to come in early next week to get new ones put in. I then threw two strikes right off the bat! Too bad I didn’t realize this before I threw my first game in the trash! BUT… as always, I had fun. And that’s all that matters. (Translation: We lost.)

Meanwhile, Mark and the boys have gone off on a man vacation. They’re spending a few days fishing on Lake of the Woods, way up north where I suspect it’s still cold. I suspect that because Brad sent pictures and in them, it looks cold!  But it seems apparent that there is some male bonding going on as evidenced by the good humor being displayed by the subjects in the photos.

Brad says: "Dad's fish... Excuse me... Dad's sorry excuse for a fish."

Brad says: “Dad’s fish… Excuse me… Dad’s sorry excuse for a fish.”

Brad says: "Jake's fish. Look, I got him to smile and show his teeth!"

Brad says: “Jake’s fish. Look, I got him to smile and show his teeth!”

Jake is smiling! With his teeth and all! I know he’s having fun if he’s smiling with his teeth.

Kacey and I didn’t get to go on a vacation this week. We’re consoling ourselves by eating pancakes for dinner, watching girl shows on Netflix and we’ll probably throw in a little retail therapy for good measure. Maybe I should buy a new bowling ball.

Twenty Five Years

Twenty five years has made us who we are. We tend to deal with life and each other with a bit of sarcasm softened with humor. Sometimes minus the humor, but usually with humor.

Due to some significant expenses both recently and in the near future, I declared this a cards-only anniversary. On Saturday, while doing some boring domestic-type shopping, I remembered to look for an anniversary card for my hubby. I thought to myself, “Mark never gets me a flowery, romantic card. He always gets me a ‘funny’ card. I’m not gonna get him a mushy-gushy card. I’m getting him a ‘funny’ card.”

I browsed through the cards, contemplating what said “Mark” to me the most. I finally picked one that seemed the most Markish.

Meanwhile, Mark was picking out a card that seemed the most Terri-ish.

Today’s the big day. Twenty five years. While Mark was still sleeping, I went to get the card I had bought him. And as I was getting ready for work, I found the card he’d left out for me to find when I awoke today.


I guess this means we’re compatible.

Anniversary Card

Those three little words? “Let’s eat out!”

Off to a Decent Start

Two days into January and I’m happy to report that I’m making good on all of my resolutions so far this year! I only hit the snooze on the alarm clock one time this morning. Resisting the temptation to give in to the desire for an extra hour of sleep, I ventured out from under a pile of warm blankets and warm dogs and braced myself for the cold morning air. I got dressed in my workout clothes, pulled up my hair, grabbed the iPhone and some ear-buds and drove off to the gym.

There is typically only a handful of vehicles in the gym parking lot when I arrive at 5 am. Today there were many more cars than usual. Normally, I recognize the same familiar faces during my early morning gym visits. Today there were new and ambitious faces. Said my friend Scott, who chats with me for ten minutes or so while he warms up on an elliptical near my treadmill before he heads off to the weights area, “It will be interesting to see how many of these people come back tomorrow or even next week.”

I knew he was probably right in his expectations but I secretly hoped that the New Years Resolutioners would stick it out. I remember how hard it was for me to keep going back at first. Some sort of encouragement would have made it a lot easier. I think everyone should have a friend at the gym to help keep them motivated. Maybe there should be an online service to match people up with a gym buddy. You know, you never feel as awkward trying to figure out how to adjust a foreign piece of weight training equipment when you have someone there to feel dumb with you or to laugh with you as you give it a go and realize just how out-of-shape certain muscles are.


I'm here to PUMP you UP!

I’m here to PUMP you UP!


I didn’t run today since I’m still nursing a pinched nerve or muscle strain or whatever it is in my back that I am impatiently waiting to move on. So far the ache has only moved down the back of my leg. But it felt good to move while I was moving, even if it felt tight and painful again as soon as I stopped. I hope I’ll be running again soon. And since I’ve yet to try out my new racquetball racquet, and since my pal, Lori just got one for Christmas, we’re both anxious to get back to our new sport.

As for doing more reading, I read a good bunch of a new book before going to sleep last night. My blog pal, Kimberly McKay recently published her second book, Facing Redemption and kindly sent me a copy to read. So far, I’m loving it and plan to post a review here when I’ve finished reading it.

And I cooked! Well, technically I cooked. As we drove home from our joint chiropractor appointments this evening and spying the golden arches, Mark said, “Should we just swing through McDonald’s and grab something to eat?”

“Eh,” I said as he turned the corner.

“Do you want McDonald’s,” he asked?

“Not really,” I replied and so he drove on by.

At home, without a meal plan and it already being dinner time, I offered to make pancakes. He turned me down. I offered to make omelets. He turned me down. (All this turning me down and yet he offers up no suggestions as to what he would actually like to eat. Typical. And what is wrong with breakfast for supper? I love breakfast any time of the day!)

But since Mark was turning up his nose at all my ideas, I went to the downstairs freezer to browse the selection of foods within. I spied a container of White Chili that I’d made and frozen a while ago. I hollered to Mark, “Do you want chili?”

“I would eat chili,” he agreed.

“You’d better,” I warned him! And so I cooked heated up the chili, sprinkled on some shredded cheese and added some heat and eat dinner rolls smeared with butter on the side. And it was way better than McDonald’s, I’ll just say.

Two days down. Only 363 to go!