Waiting for Thanksgiving; TV Tray Style

What We're Thankful For on TV
The following is a cross post on Joe Jenkins' blog joeonthetube. Richie and I contribute a His/Her Grey's Anatomy Wrap Up to joeonthetube weekly.

HERS: Tony’s truth serum induced rescue of Ziva on the season opener of NCIS.
HIS: I absolutely love NCIS. The season opening was pretty great.

HERS: The Good Wife.
HIS:: Have never seen The Good Wife – don’t need to, I already have one (Love ya babe).

HERS:Tom DeLay’s broken whatever that finally bumped him off Dancing With the Stars since the judges were apparently too dumbstruck by his ridiculous old man Republican hip shakin’ booty to do it.
HIS: Ok, I’ll say it, I’m ok watching Dancing With the Stars – the women’s dance outfits are worth the time.

HERS: My husband doesn’t watch NASCAR.
HIS: I don’t get NASCAR – go straight, turn left, go straight, turn left – um, ok?!

HERS: Phineas and Ferb.
HIS: Phineas and Ferb.




HERS: Our daughter has finally outgrown Noggin.
HIS: Unfortunately, she’s picked up watching videos on CMT with her mom. :-/

HERS: PBS.
HIS: PBS is now on our radar again.

HERS: There are only a few weeks when the Mavericks and the Rangers overlap. Even fewer since the Rangers blew the last half of the season. (I’m not saying I’m thankful the Rangers blew the last half of the season. I was rooting for them. But come on, how freaking long can one season be? Oh wait, that question can be answered by the NBA.)
HIS: Yep, I love watching sports on TV

HERS: Grey’s Anatomy is good again.
HIS: Grey’s Anatomy is good again.

Image by Lorianne DiSabato via Flickr

HERS: That we only have one TV in our house and I am frequently reminded of the depths of my husband’s love. Case in point – last night, he watched Donnie Osmond take home the Glitter Ball trophy on Dancing With the Stars, even though the Mav’s were playing. I’ll return the favor, of course, when I watch seven football games with him on Sunday. But that’s why God created DVR. Which I’m also thankful for.

HIS: Yep, I love watching sports on TV

Happy Thanksgiving.

Waiting for Mo

Me & my son show off our Mo's
One of the things I love about my husband is that he did not propose by shaving "Marry me?" into his back hair*. Should that thought have occurred to him, we would not be married today for several reasons, the least of which is that we would be well into our golden years and his back would still be as bare as the day he was born. He is simply not a hairy man.

Because I am not attracted to the Grizzly Adams type, this has never been an issue for me. However, it is inevitable that all males will exercise their ability to grow facial hair at some point. For Richie, this came in the form of a goatee a few years after we were married. For some men this means not shaving for a day or two. For Richie, it was a three month process, with patches of hair here or there, and one spot where no hair would grow no matter how long he waited, how much red meat he ate or ESPN he watched. But eventually his patience paid off and he was a man with facial hair.

He kept it trimmed short, for obvious reasons and although I'm usually not attracted to men with beards, I found it very sexy.

So why would this handsome man who worked so for his goatee shave it off last night with out a second thought?

One word; Movember.

I know. That's not even a word. According to Richie's website, Movember is a moustache growing charity event held during the month of November every year that raises funds and awareness for men's health - specifically prostate and testicular cancer. The month-long campaign this year will benefit The Prostate Cancer Foundation and the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

For a minute, Richie was tempted to keep his moustache and just shave off the beard part of the goatee. After all it wasn't a huge mustache to start with, who would notice. But the "rules" of Movember are to start clean shaven and grow your best moustache in 30 days. Seems that the naked faces act as billboards that then grow Mo's to raise awareness for the cause. Richie understood this, and off came the goatee.

So I got to thinking about all those guys out there like Richie who would like to participate in Movember, but are letting their propensity for slow growing hair stop them. I became determined to encourage the "Slow Mo Growers" to unite. What better cause than increasing awareness of a disease that will affect 1 in 6 men (half of whom are probably slow Mo growers).

If you are letting fear of taunting by your family and co-workers stop you, I've prepared some come-backs for you, the "Slow Mo Growers."

You Wanna Take on My Mo?
TAUNT: What's that on your upper lip?
COMEBACK: I call him Mo. What do you call that bald spot on the back of your head? Jenny?

Image by davesag via Flickr

TAUNT: I think you have some crumbs or something on your face.
COMEBACK: My Mo is finding a cure for cancer. What's your uni-brow done for you lately.

TAUNT: How long do you think it will take before we can see that thing without a magnifying glass?
COMEBACK: Let's race. My Mo turns into a handlebar moustache before your beer gut turns into a sixpack.

TAUNT: My sister could grow a better moustache than you.
COMEBACK: Awesome. Tell her to sign up for Movember. And, in December, she might want to start bleaching, just saying.

Now you're out of excuses. So go, grow, Mo!

*Footnote - Gentleman, this is not a suggestion, I saw it on AFV in the late 1990's.

Waiting for tricks or treats

Image by carbonated via Flickr

Growing up, few nights held as much anticipation in our house as Halloween. My earliest memories of costumes were the plastic aprons that tied in the back, kind of like putting your arms through a Hefty bag, only the plastic didn't hold up as well as a trash bag. The accompanying masks were formed of a thicker plastic with edges sharp enough to be used as a weapon. I speak from experience. The eye holes never seemed to go right over your face, and the holes for the nose were so small that your breath was recycled through the mask all night. In cold climates, like Montana, at least that meant your face was warm.

Speaking of cold, this added another element to the costume. It was nothing unusual for temperatures to be at, or below freezing by the Devil's night (oh how we wished the Devil would show up with fire and brimstone some of those nights). Because we were determined to be Barbie, Darth Vadar, He-Man, or whomever, our mothers would put our heaviest winter coats on first, and then try to put the plastic aprons on over the coats, inevitably tearing them before we got to the first house.

No matter. With pillow cases in hand, we started out for a night of doorbell ringing, candy eating (because who waited until we got home to check for razor blades), and praying that somebody would give out quarters or better yet, coupons for a Frosty at Wendy's. It was almost better than Christmas. In fact, there were years when I think it was.

I understand that neighborhoods may not be as safe as they used to be and childhood obesity is on the rise. I get that my 5 year old wants to be Taylor Swift and that little boys probably don't dream of being fire fighters any more. But don't you just wish you could give your kids one Halloween like you had it? Plastic masks, pillow cases and all?

What are your favorite Halloween memories and new traditions that your family loves?

Waiting for Julio

One of my five year old daughter's greatest loves is singing and her favorite artist is Taylor Swift. Usually I am pretty good about keeping up with my daughter's current trends. But this one threw me. She had just turned four we were riding home from school and Taylor S

Image via Wikipedia

wift's Love Story came on the radio. From the back seat I heard my daughter singing along. When I asked how she knew this song, she replied, "Kristen taught me. We love Taylor Swift."

We do?

From that day on, every time Love Story came on in the car, the grocery store, an elevator, or the dressing room at the mall, our princess sang every word . . . kind of.

For those of you not familiar with the song, it is a modern day story of Romeo and Juliet.

For our little princess, it is the story of Julio and Juliet.



Every time someone new hears her sing they look at her dad or me and mouth, "Did she say Julio?" We smile and nod, but it's so darn cute that no one can bear to tell her that Juliet's forbidden love was a Montague not a Mexican.

I feel her pain. I sang my own share of wrong lyrics. Most were hymns and Sunday school songs. Here is a sampling.

- Roll the old cheerio along (Roll the old chariot along)

- In the song "Mr. Noah Built an Ark" I was sure the line was "Down came the rain in Torrence" thinking that Torrence was the city where Mr. Noah lived. It was only a few years ago that I learned that it was actually "Down came the rain in torrents."

- And my favorite misunderstanding. Although it's not a song, it comes from a musical, so I count it just the same. For about a decade I thought that in Grease when Rizo said she "missed a period" that she just skipped a class. I was amazed how much trouble people could get into in high school for skipping school. That movie didn't teach me much about pre-marital sex, but it definitely taught me important lessons about truancy.


What Julio songs do you remember from childhood? Do you and your family still sing the wrong words? Share your stories here because let's face it, we could all use a little less Romeo and a little more Julio in our lives.

Waiting for fashion to destroy the world

In 1989, leg warmers, stone washed jeans, and parachute pants ruled the runway. But perhaps nothing defines the decade better than big hair. And how did we get our hair so big? Come on ladies - do it with me - flip your head upside down and blow dry our hair while spraying it with aerosol hairspray (Rave was my preference). Tease it sky high. Once more with the spray. Perfection.

Image by | El Caganer via Flickr

At 13, I was not an environmentalist. I cared about more important things like Kirk Cameron and Bon Jovi. Unfortunately, they weren't included in the curriculum at East Junior High. Instead my seventh grade honors biology teacher introduced me to two words that would change my life, and fashion sense, forever - ozone layer.

More specifically, he implied that my hairspray, my aerosol hairspray, could be depleting what seemed to my 13 year old brain to be a pretty necessary part of our little planet.

Dang!

Middle school was not kind to me. Those years were filled with braces, over-sized glasses, and a few extra "baby weight" pounds still hanging on a decade after I had shed the last inkling of babyhood. Not being athletically inclined, honors classes and band filled my days, which, as you can imagine, made me quite a catch with the middle school boy.

Big hair was kind of all I had.

Except a conscience.

And so it began. After a week of researching chloroflurocarbons (the chemical in aerosol cans that damages the ozone), my Rave went in the trash and my big hair went flat. Several months later I went on to win in the local and state science fair with a project that showed the negative effects of CFC's on kalanchoe plants.

Looking back it may seem that my sacrifice was small compared to what others have given for the cause, and I agree. I didn't leave my family to study climate change in Antarctica or become a vegan to protest animal cruelty. But for a 13 year old girl with rockin' bangs, my sacrifice made me more aware of how one little change can impact the place I call home.

Have you ever taken a small step toward improving the environment? This is the place for you to be proud. Face it, we aren't going to Africa or giving up bacon (can I get an Amen?), but maybe we can turn off the light in the closet in the morning.

Waiting for the St#%id Birds

The following is a conversation that took place between me and my five year old daughter while driving home from church. The background information will put the conversation in context.

Background

1. Every fall approximately one million grackles descend on Fort Worth. Grackles are nasty black birds whose soul purpose in life is to ruin what would otherwise be the best season in Texas.

2. I hate birds. I believe they can, and want to, poke out your eyes. I have not seen Alf

Image by Digika via Flickr

red Hitchcock's movie, The Birds. There is no reason for me to see it. I am already scared of birds. The only thing I hate more than birds is clowns. A hawk flying at me dressed like the clown from It; that is my idea of hell.

3. To our daughter, stupid is a four letter word.

My daughter's initials are AK.

Conversation

AK - Mommy, look at all the birds!

Me - Yep. The stupid birds are back.

AK - Mommy, why did you say stupid?
My husband nudges me and smiles - Yeah honey, why did you say stupid?

Me - Mommy doesn't like. . . Well, you see, mommy is afraid of. . . Mommy is sorry.

AK - Will you promise never to say stupid ever again?

I pause. I think of all the birds, those darn birds. I also think of the Texas Legislature.

Me - No. I can't promise never to say it again. But I will try harder.

Waiting for Answers

At a young age we are trained to believe that questions come with answers.

- Who's the cutest baby in the whole wide world? You are.
- And what is your name? Kristen.
- What is two plus two? Four.
- How do you spell Czechoslovakia? Ummm . . . Chec . . .No, wait, Czek. No, Czeh. Is that even a country anymore?

Even questions to which our own political, religious, or philosophical beliefs bend us on

Image by Oberazzi via Flickr

e direction or another still have an answer. For example, the question of whether the earth was created by an intelligent designer or by sheer chance may have different answers depending the textbook, professor, or preacher with whom you are speaking, but each would, no doubt, offer you an answer of some sort.

With our comfort rooted deeply in questions coupled with answers it is no surprise we become anxious when we find ourselves holding one without the other.

It is my experience that the most frequent flier in the answer-less question arena is "Why?" This three letter word can apply to events as profound as life threatening illnesses, job loss, deaths, catastrophes, acts of God, and wars, or things as simple as failing a test, ending a relationship, bad hair days or being stuck in traffic.

In his book The Case for Faith, agnostic journalist turned Christian Lee Strobel investigates what he calls "The Big Eight" objections to Christianity. Of these, the first one he tackles deals with unanswered questions about pain and suffering in the world. To help answer his questions Strobel interviews Billy Graham's former evangelist partner who became a self-proclaimed agnostic author, Charles Templeton. When asked if there was one thing in particular that caused him to loose his faith in God, Templeton answered that it was a photograph in Life magazine.

"It was a picture of a black woman in Northern Africa. They were experiencing a devastating drought. And she was holding her dead baby in her arms and looking up to heaven with the most forlorn expression. I looked at it and I thought, 'Is it possible to believe that there is a loving or caring Creator when all this woman needed was rain?'"*

That is a question without an answer if I've ever heard one.

Over the past year I have had a lot of conversations with God that started with the word "Why?" These conversations stemmed from a string of seemingly endless health problems that resulted in chronic pain. My life, which admittedly was somewhat charmed up to that point, was literally turned upside down. We paid thousands of dollars in medical bills, which was complicated by the fact I had to resign from my job. I became unable to care for my children and some days was unable to care for myself.

As I sunk deeper into what I'm sure was a mixture of depression and narcotics, I felt confident that if I could just find some reason, some answer as to why this was happening to me, it would give me the strength to get through it. Looking at it now, written out in black and white, it seems almost silly.

I guess God could have posted this on my Facebook;
Hey Kristen; Just wanted to

Image via CrunchBase

let you know that your ovaries will be adhered together for the next five months. The doctors aren't going to be able to figure it out and you are going to be in chronic pain. I know it's a bummer, but hang in there because you are going to learn some really important lessons in patience and especially in humility. You will also resign from your job - I know that's going to be tough because you are going to have to trust that I will provide for your family, which will be hard, especially with the thousands of dollars you are going to rack up in medical bills, but this is the only way that I will ever teach you to totally trust me. Big lesson there. Get your Blockbuster card ready - you will be spending lots of time on the couch. Love ya! Oh, and don't forget to take the Wizard of Oz quiz and find out which character you are. I'm betting you're the Lion :-)

Having a reason for the pain wouldn't have lessened the pain, it would have just made me argue with God whether or not I thought his reason was worthy of the pain I was experiencing at that moment. Would a lesson in humility constitute a trip to the ER or did improving my integrity equal a pint of my blood and so on a so forth. How does one begin to argue those reasons. Looking at it now I understand why God didn't answer my Why's.

Not that it mattered. I didn't get any FB posts from God and I didn't know what was coming a week in advance, a day in advance, or even an hour in advance. My husband uses this analogy; We wish God would give us a floodlight, but instead he gives us a flashlight. Some days, he gives us a candle and not even one of those big roman candles. One of those sad little flimsy birthday candles that barely gives off any light at all.

I promise you if God would have sent that FB post, I would have been booked in the next OR and signed up to have those ovaries removed. Yes, I would have missed out on the pain, but I would have also missed out on the path that was set in front of me and the lessons I have learned and I would not be the person I've become. And even through the pain I can tell you, the person I have become is a better person. I have learned lessons in patience and humility that I would have never signed up for of my own volition. I've become passionate about helping people who are suffering from chronic illnesses or chronic pain and their caregivers. Although I resigned from my job, it allowed me to follow my dream of writing. I think there are still more answers to the Why question down the road, some that I may not see for years or maybe even decades.

I've also noticed that I very rarely ask Why on the good days. Like, why do I deserve a roof over my head and three meals a day? Why do I have a family who loves me? Why was I born in a free country while others are oppressed?

I guess there are a lot of good Why's out there too.

What do you do with the Why's you can't answer?

*The Case for Faith, A Journalist Investigates the Toughest Objections to Christianity; Lee Strobel: Zondervan Publishing House. 2000