These are a Few of My Favorite Things...

1. GoodReads (dot com)
Love love love. Big, big thanks to my dear friend Abby, who introduced me to this website. Read a book, rate it, write a review. All your books are stored in lists, all your "friends" (simliar to Facebook) can see your books/ratings/reviews and comment. Before GoodReads, I had to ask people for book recommendations. Now I can stalk all my GoodReads friends and put random books on my library hold list. Except for Abby's weird gynecology books, so far I've been impressed with everyone's picks!

2. Almonds
They may seem a bit out of place, but my parents and I are currently on a new eating program (The Game On Diet). On this plan, I have to eat five times a day and balance my meals with proteins, carbs, and healthy fats. Apparently I can't eat peanut butter all day long, so I had to find an alternate healthy fat. Enter: salted almonds! How have I lived 27 years without these delicious little morsels of goodness?

Mmmmmm.

3. Mumford & Sons
Love. Love love love. Love every song. Love "Little Lion Man" the most. I dare you not to love their album. (And those British boys are darling!)

4. Cleaning
I'm not kidding. It's cathartic. It's beneficial. It wastes a lot of time and is better for me than watching hours and hours of television.

...which brings me to...

5. The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills
That show deserves an Emmy.

Christmas is Coming...

All families have Christmas traditions. Some families open a present on Christmas Eve. Some decorate the house the day after Thanksgiving. Some have advent calendars, some have Countdown-to-Christmas paper chains, and some trek into the snowy woods to cut down an authentic Christmas tree.

My family does none of this. My father, ever the cautious fire fighter, insists we wait until the week before Christmas to get our tree, so it won't burn our house down if it gets too dry. We do not open gifts on Christmas Eve (mostly because we're at church for 17 hours, but that's besides the point). No paper chains, no advent calendars, no snowy walks through the forest.

We have Mr. Lazy, the Donald Duck head, and the Cory Band.

Mr. Lazy is the star that tops our Christmas tree. My parents got him at an ornament exchange almost twenty years ago. The idea of the exchange was to bring a beautiful, lovely Christmas ornament. My father opened his present and saw this, in ornament form:

Shockingly, no one stole Mr. Lazy and my father ended up bringing him home. He is the first ornament to go on the tree and the last to come off. No ornament can be higher than Mr. Lazy. No ornament is as sacred as Mr. Lazy.

The sacred moment of hanging Mr. Lazy on the tree.

Mr. Lazy in all his glory.

The second ornament to be hung on the tree is the Donald Duck head. My dad found Donald Duck in a toilet at Disneyland in 1999. He thought Donald would be a great addition to our Christmas tree, so he brought him home, much to my mother's chagrin. She ran him through the dishwasher several times before he was allowed to go on the tree. Strangely, Donald seems to disappear every year as we undecorate, and it's very difficult to find him the next year. One year he was hiding in the Singing Kittens toy. One year he was in the garbage can, but my father and I rescued him.

You can see Mr. Lazy's bottom at the top of the picture. No one can go higher than Mr. Lazy.

The Cory Band is our favorite tradition...and perhaps the most sacred. This tradition has been in our family as long as I can remember. In the early 1980s, my parents heard a song on the infamous Northwest radio station KEZX. They were very intrigued by this fascinating song. Nearly a decade later, in the early 1990s, KMTT began playing the song at Christmas time, and my parents declared it as the song of Christmas. 

It has become our Christmas tradition. We cannot begin to celebrate Christmas until we all hear the song on the radio, at the same time, in the same place. It did not count when I was in a parking garage in Seattle and almost caused a major accident when the song came on and I called my parents screaming. It did not count when my dad called from work to let us know he had heard it. It apparently did not count when I called the radio station, asked when it would next be played, and had the station cued up on the radio. 

If you are not familiar with the best Christmas song of all time, please enjoy "Stop the Cavalry" by the Cory Band. And have a very merry Christmas.

(The history of this amazing song.)

The Scariest Day of my Life

Most people have one big fear in life. Some people are afraid of drowning. Some people are afraid of heights. Some are afraid of the dark and others are afraid of flying.

My biggest fear in life is "bee or spider in my car."

On Tuesday, my biggest fear came true. Often, when I tell a story, I exaggerate a bit. I assure you, there are absolutely no exaggerations in this story.

I left for work at my regular time, 8:10am. This gives me plenty of time to get to work by 8:35.I plugged in my iPod and selected the "Celtic Thunder" playlist, to reminisce about the concert I had attended on Saturday evening. I was driving along, cranking up the heat and defogging my back windows, when I noticed a flying insect in my rear-view mirror. It's probably outside, I reassured myself. I drove another block before I realized the "insect" was in fact, a bee, and it was, in fact, inside my car.

The word panic does not even begin to describe how I reacted. My heart lurched into my throat. My stomach began to hurt. My hands started shaking and I could barely see straight. The bee made one loop around my head before I decided -- in order to save the innocent lives of many, many people -- that I needed to pull over. I quickly turned into a cul-de-sac about a half a mile from my condo.

8:13am: I jump out of the car and slam all the doors. Now I am protected from the bee. I am safe. Crap, I have to go to work. I cautiously open all the doors and wait. The bee lands on my backseat. I grab a magazine from my trunk and try to shoo the bee out an open door. (Keep in mind that this entire time, I am trying not to cry.)

8:15am: The bee lands on my back window, so I start slamming the magazine on the outside of the window, hoping to scare the bee into leaving my car. The bee, probably now with a minor concussion, starts flying around crazily and lands back on the window. I repeat this several times until I realize the bee is now too brain-damaged to fly away. I am going to be late for work.

8:20am: Several people have driven past me, asking if I need help. "No, there is just a bee in my car. I'm fine." I walk around the car several times, pleading with the bee to leave. He does not. In fact, he hides. I search the car. No bee. I know he didn't leave because my eyes have been frantically watching the exits. The bee did not fly away. He is hiding in my car.

8:25am: I call the school and tell them I will be late. I neglect to tell them why.

8:26am: I call my mother. After LAUGHING at me (and suggesting things like "Open the doors," right, I hadn't even thought of that, and "Shoo it out," another great idea, thank you), she agrees to come help.

*Before you make fun of me for calling my mom, I remind you that this is my biggest fear in LIFE and I am about to pass out.

8:30am: Mom arrives, in slippers. She searches for the bee but can't find him. She actually gets IN the car to look for the bee. I am still five feet from the car.

8:35am: Mom decides that the bee is gone. (He is not. I am sure of it.) She shoves my coat against the back window, where I have decided the bee is hiding. She assures me that the bee will not be able to fly out from underneath my wool coat. I plead with Mom to trade cars with me for the day. She says no and drives home.

8:36 - 8:45am: I learn that I can safely drive all the way to school while ONLY looking in my rear-view mirror.

8:46am: One mile from school, the bee reappears. Apparently he has clawed his way out from underneath my coat. I open all the windows and concentrate on not driving my car off the road. I begin reciting out-loud, "The bee will not get you. He is in the back of your car. He will stay back there. You are fine. You are okay. You can drive to school."

8:50am: I make it to school, alive. I jump out of the car and run into the building, away from the bee. I'm only fifteen minutes late. My heart is pounding. I will not be driving home. I will live at the school until the bee is dead.

My mom came in to check on me halfway through the day. I gave her my keys and told her she had to go get the bee out of the car. (Side note: I have the best mom in the ENTIRE world.) She comes back and assures me the bee is gone. She looked in every corner of my car. No bee. He must have flown out when I opened all the windows. I must have been too busy talking to my crazy self to notice.

Thanks Mom.

Wash Your Hands Please

I hardly ever get sick anymore. My first couple years of teaching, I was sick nearly every day. I once had a cold for eight months (which was actually a really bad sinus infection, but because I refused to go to the doctor - for fear of getting a shot - I had no clue). I used almost all my sick days my second year of teaching. I was sick during the summer.

But now I'm relatively healthy. I can't even remember the last time I was truly sick. I think spending four years around children finally boosted my immune system.

However, despite my (new) overall healthiness, I still end up with the most random illnesses.

When I was 18, I got thrush. Thrush is a yeast infection in the throat. BABIES get thrush. Old people get thrush. Eighteen-year-olds do not get thrush. Especially not when they're at a Mariner's game with their boyfriend and can't swallow and start crying in the 7th inning.

Age 20: Ringworm on my neck. I went to Hawaii with my mom for a wedding and we went snorkeling every day. What I thought was an itchy bug bite on my neck turned into a round, red rash a few days later. It's very fun to have a red circular rash on one's neck...which most people thought was a hickey. My friend Tim diagnosed me by noticing that my rash looked very similar to the ringworm he saw on his COWS.

Twenty-two was a fun year. I had kidney stones. During a trip to Disneyland. During my first month of student-teaching. After suffering for five extremely excruciating months, my doctor finally decided to schedule surgery to yank the little bugger out. (Look up "lithotripsy" and cringe.) While I was under, the doctor searched and searched for the non-existent stone, which I had unknowingly passed that morning. His overzealous prodding led to a nicked ureter, which led to the passing of quarter-sized blood clots. Bring it on, childbirth.

I'll skip the fun-filled incident last year where I spent a few hours in the hospital with four bewildered doctors trying to diagnose a strange growth that eventually disappeared without any explanation (or diagnosis).

The point of all this is to bring up the fact that I have ringworm YET AGAIN, this time on my thigh. My parents adopted a baby kitten who, along with an adorable meow and a penchant for biting our hands, brought ringworm into their house.

"I've already had it. I won't get it. I'll wash my hands. It's not that bad anyway."

The culprit.

I want to cut off my leg. I can't even describe the itching. The non-stop itching. The painful itching. Who gets ringworm twice?! I'm not a wrestler!

Did I mention that the at-home remedy for ringworm is to put VAGISIL all over it? At Bartell's, I felt the urge to explain why I had to purchase Vagisil.

"I have ringworm...not a problem down there...my parents got this cat...no, I didn't put the cat on my thigh...I swear...it's for my ringworm."

I'm not sure the cashier was impressed with my story. Either way, gross.

The Stepford Wives of Wysteria Lane

We're finally finally going to have our first Emerson Crew* baby. My dear friend Amy is going to burst any day now and I simply cannot WAIT for the arrival of little Baby Ludwick.

But before the little is born, Liz and I wanted some time with our ex-roomie, so we headed down to Bend for a "relaxing" weekend at Amy's new house on Wysteria lane. (Seriously, the houses are perfectly spaced apart with ample street space for bike riding, Bob-pushing, and dog-walking. Also, all three of Amy's best blonde friends live within shouting distance of each other.) Lizzy and I flew on the teeniest airplane alive and I'm surprised Liz made it. The 10am cups of champagne certainly helped.

We stepped off the airplane into 95-degree heat and into the arms of our 8-months-pregnant friend, who had sent us an itinerary a few days before with detailed activities for our weekend. I was really looking forward to the FIVE MILE HIKE in NINETY DEGREE WEATHER on Day Four.

Over the course of four days, our pregnant friend (who is still more fit than me, but not Liz, who runs half-marathons) took us for miles-long walks to coffee shops, led us on a marathon shopping trip, blew up a gigantic raft for a float down the Deschutes River, and coerced us on a five-mile hike through the woods and along the river. Our flight home was the first time we sat down all weekend. We ate dinner at Matthew Fox's favorite restaurant (probably), were massacred by scary male pedicurists, fell in love with Kourtney and Khloe, and felt the little bugger kick kick kick. 

Our teensy plane.

All dressed up for Amy's Bend Baby Shower.

Coffee walk!

Waiting for Matthew Fox.

Waiting for Baby Ludwick!

Sunshine. Finally. Thanks a LOT Seattle.

Floating.

Good job ladies -- no thanks to Grant who took the electric pump.

The last days with Amy before she becomes a Mommy.

On the way home we flew right over Mt. Hood!

And Mt. St. Helens!

And Mt. Rainier! This was probably my favorite part of the trip!

You will notice there are no pictures of the hike. We foolishly forgot our cameras at home and didn't get to capture the breathtaking beauty of Bend. I am not being sarcastic. But if you would like to have a mental image, picture two VERY pregnant ladies sweating and two not-at-all pregnant ladies sweating and then picture the most pregnant lady pushing a stroller. I will stop complaining about working out and no one died on the hike.

Thank you Miss Amy for a wonderful weekend! We're not coming back until you have that baby!

_____________________
*The Emerson Crew is our ridiculously inseparable group of friends from college. Four girls and four boys turned into roommates and friends and husbands and wives and bridesmaids and groomsmen and our group keeps growing with the addition of spouses and finally finally we're going to have a baby.


**Henry already has a baby, but he moved away from us sophomore year, so Amy's baby really counts as the first Emerson Crew baby. Clarification. 

Birth Control

Everyone always asks me, "Because you're a teacher, does it make you not want to have children?" 

Of course I want to have children, but I'm not so sure I want more than one. I don't think I'll ever be able to understand the dimensions of sibling rivalry. I don't know how to share. I don't know how to compromise. I don't know how to NOT be the center of my parents' attention. (These are not faults.) Figuring out the dynamics between siblings is something I have never been able to do. More than one child would just confuse me.

And today happened. As if I was even thinking about inching toward the idea of having more than one child.

Background: I have a favorite student. C-Man. We're not allowed to have favorites, but he's transferring to a new school in the fall and I have no idea where I'll be come September, so now I can shout it from the rooftops. Favorite Student's mom asked me if I wanted to spent four days and three nights with the little bugger and his younger sister while she went on a business trip to Santa Cruz. I jumped at the opportunity, packed my yoga pants and very washable t-shirts, and prepared for the best babysitting gig ever.

Day one: 90 degrees, pool time for three hours, sunburned shoulders, mac and cheese for lunch and dinner.

Day two: Woken up by C-Man in a Buzz Lightyear costume, rain rain rain, endless movies, swim lessons.

Divine, right?

We're just closing up shop on day three. It started out well. I actually slept seven hours last night, as opposed to the (maybe) four that I got the night before. Took little sister to preschool, so C-Man and I played some Rock Band at my parents' house and ate rice krispy treats for lunch. Then we picked little sister up from preschool. We probably should have left her there.

We came home and she promptly stole the Toy Story 3 DS game from her brother, ran upstairs, and locked herself in her bedroom, which drove the little guy up the wall. He flew down the stairs, sobbing, and flung himself at my feet. "Leeeeeeena took my game." I calmly walked up the stairs to see little sister sitting in front of her closed bedroom door, looked extremely proud of herself.

"I put the game on my bed, locked the door, and shut it."

Her door locks from the inside, which meant we were now locked out of her room. And we had three hours until her baseball game. After an hour of sticking bobby pins and paperclips in the teeny hole in the doorknob, I texted Mom, who advised me to take the doorknob off the door. Which takes way longer than you'd think. Once inside, I confiscated the DS game which made me the most popular person in the house. I left the doorknob off, just in case she decided to lock her brother in her room (he wouldn't be able to unlock the door...fine motor skill).

About an hour before her baseball game, I asked little sister to go upstairs and change into her uniform. Not two minutes after I'd sent her upstairs, C-Man comes racing down the stairs. "Leeeeeeeeeena's stuck." Again, I calmly walked upstairs.

Little sister had LOCKED herself in her room. The doorknob was off the door, but the latching mechanism and the bolt were still in the door (I looked those two words up...I typed "door knob removal" into Google Images and browsed through pictures until I found what the little thingys looked like). By closing the door, it had latched shut, but without a knob, she couldn't unlatch the latching mechanism.

Do not panic do not panic do not panic. One hour til baseball and she is TRAPPED in her room. My father is AT WORK and cannot come take the door off its hinges. My mother is as useless as I am. My only helper is trying to climb all over me and stick his hand in the doorknob-hole. Little sister is throwing her body against the door. Do not panic do not panic.

After 15 minutes of coaching from my mom ("Just jiggle it? Are you staying calm? Push hard?"), I finally jab a screwdriver into a hole in the latching mechanism and push with all my might. The door popped open and she was free! 

I barely had time to pull myself up from my exhausted collapse onto the floor because C-Man immediately raced into her room screaming, "Me next!" I managed to shove my hand in between the door and the wall just as it was closing. 

We made it to baseball on time and I will be having one child.