Fruitcake Anyone?

In March, when mysteriously abandoned my blog, I got a job at a Curves. (For those living in the dark ages, an excellent fitness center designed for women). It seemed so perfect and wonderful. I’d get out of the house. Earn a little spending cash. Most signicantly, I hoped to help people improve their way of life. It’s good to have a dream.

I have since learned that I do not have the temperment to work in an environment of women. My Curves has about 800 members. Any one ever tried to make 800 women happy?

I am not thick-skinned. And I’m a perfectionist (though I’d like to believe a recovering perfectionist). One very unhappy lady and a couple of very minor incidents were enough to show me that I’m not cut out for this. Much in the same way I will never do day care, be a nurse, or drive a school bus.

As a wife and mother, there have been good reasons all along for not working, but I felt like I was working for the greater good. God has showed me it’s time to be done with that.

So now I’ve given notice. My boss really doesn’t want me to leave (the ladies I worked with were really great) and I’ll be working through November. It’s hard to quit, but I believe they can find someone that will fit better than me. In fact, a student from Cornerstone came in late last week looking for an application. I really hope it works for her.

Now I have to deal with being a “mom”. For some reason, the conservative undertones of a mom just scare the crap out of me. Gotta get over that. I’m gonna be a mom for a long time.

Some times I wonder how I manage to dress myself in the morning.

Beer and baseball just don’t mix. I know it’s tradition. I know it’s expected. But how on earth does FOX expect me to enjoy a cold frosty one and manage to stay up past the National Anthem. Someone’s gotta think these things through.

And what about foul balls? How many times have I seen the nice lady in the row below get doused with half a glass while Bob behind her is scrambling to catch the gem headed his way? And what about poor Bob? He paid $10 for that glass a beer. Now his only choice is to suck the other half off the lady’s shirt. If he’s had enough of the aforementioned beverage, he just might give it a try. For $10 concession should at least provide a top and bendy straw. Is a sippy cup too much to ask for? Maybe the guys with those oh-so-sexy beer dispensing hats had the right idea.

I shudder at the thought.

Yesterday, my husband was getting twitchy about my lack of blogging, so he gave me a list of things I could blog about. Gotta love him. He means well. (And yes, he checks my email too if I haven’t done that in a while.)

I grew up on a farm. Girliness isn’t high on the list of “need to knows”. However, if you need help setting fence posts or driving a trailer, I’m your girl. My mom did her best, but I decided when I had Molly, I needed to delve more into this girliness. So over the years, I’ve gathered some good referrence books.

The first are a set of books by Paula Begoun, the Cosmetics Cop. cosmeticscop.com She has two “Don’t Go Shopping Without” books and a Beauty Bible.

One Shopping book covers hair care products and the other face care and makeup. These books review most every product on the market and tell you what your really getting. She gives you an overview of the various chemicals used and which products work on what type of hair or skin. They’re an excellent way to sort through the various prices and save your self some time, money, and frustration.

The Beauty Bible covers things like how to determine your skin type and deal with problem skin, how to do a basic makeup application, and tips on how to make your manicure last. Generally, a good starter (or primer) for those, like me, who were clueless.

She does have her own line of products, but she also recommends scores of other products. Her products are nice because the majority are fragrance free and excellent for sensitive skin.

Another set I turn to frequently are the What Not To Wear books. They’re written by a pair of Brittish ladies who use themselves as models. They’re very funny, and blunt, and make you feel comfortable with your wobbly bits because they share their wobbly bits. The books reinforce the idea of loving the body you have and how to accentuate your positive aspects and camoflage the negative. And did I mention that they’re funny.

Take a look and see what you think. They’ve been indespensible to me, but not everyone is as inept as I am.

In January, we became the proud new parents of an abandoned 6 month old Rat Terrier, or as Sophi said the other day, Rat Dog. Some, and I can only say, IDIOT abandoned this little tiny short haired dog in Northern Michigan in the coldest part of the year. Monster.

She’s amazing. She’s smart. She’s quiet (she goes days without barking). And she’s funny. She has a purple owl that used to squeak. She beat the squeak out of it in 2 weeks. She flips it and shakes it and chases it. And if you don’t realize she wants to play, she holds it in her mouth and beats your leg with it. Or, if I’m typing on the computer, my hand and the computer.

She puts up with all the abuse her loving children dish out. She’s been completely non-aggressive. And if I was her, I’d have bit those girls long ago.

She is one of the most amazing gifts God has ever given us. She’s perfect for our family. She makes us happy and brings us closer together. I was really nervous when we chose to take her in, but she is certainly a good example of how we should listen to God even if we’re scared and unsure. I am so blessed.

I asked Sophi today if she wanted a new mama. She said, “No, she liked her old mama.” and proceded to describe some of my least favorite characteristics to make sure I knew she knew which mama she was talking about.

This year my “baby” turned 5. There’s something that seems old about having a 5 year old.

I’ve been married 7 years. 7 YEARS!! I still can’t believe that one, but then, Molly is 5 (5 1/2 at the 7 year mark if anyone cares.)

Last year I turned 28 and it didn’t seem so bad. This year, 29. (Imagine that.) It’s weird getting close to 30. It seems old, but then 30 doesn’t really seem any different from 28.

So many numbers and they mean so little. As in weather, “Feals like” (aka windchill) actually matters more. Confidence wise, I have a hard time shaking the awkwardness of high school. Sanity wise, I’m pushing 90 without the joys of senility. Energy wise, some days I’m dead and buried.

But all my little angel was telling me, in her own sweet way, was that she loved me just as I was. She wouldn’t trade me for the world. That means a whole lot more than a bunch of numbers.

(Of course, before you think I’m too full of myself, I must tell you that Molly went through the entire list of people who would have to die before she could go live with Grandma and Grandpa Cudney, in the Meijer checkout line. Loudly.)

Besides, until I’m dead, I can work on improving the other things.

For Christmas, my friend Sarah gave me a certificate for a free month at Curves. I knew a lot about it already. My mom, mother-in-law, and 2 sisters-in-law were all members. The workout is well structured and I knew it would word, but I’d always felt funny spending the money on something I knew I was perfectly able to do at home.

Finally, I bit the bullet and set up an appointment. I loved it. The atmosphere was positive, the workout was fun, and the people were normal people (as opposed to hard-bodies in matching Fila workout gear). I had only intended to use my free month to jump start my workout at home, but after I finished working out I knew I had to join. It was healthy and positive and doable.

Within the first week of going there, I noticed they were looking for someone to work afternoons. A few days earlier, I had been wondering what kind of job I’d want to have. This seemed perfect. A chance to use all my sports/workout background and help other women at the same time.

I submitted my application and waited. 6 weeks later I was called in for an interview. By then I was having a lot of doubts. Do I really want to give up my freedom for this? Will it be good for my family or is it selfish? Even though I was scared and unsure, I felt like God was asking me to do this.

At my first interview I found out I was already scheduled for a second interview. It helped me feel more confident. The second interview was with the owner and she was already talking about dress code and such.

I got the job. Now I’m employed. It’s been a week so far and it’s been fun. I get to wear sweats and t-shirts to work. How can you beat that. It’s been great so far.

As far as adventures go, it’s pretty tame. But it was hard to put my fears and doubts aside and do what God was asking me to do. I feel stronger having done that. More centered, maybe.

We have a new puppy. She’s about 7 months and her name is Lucky Dog. She was abandoned near my folks farm which is amazing. I’ve never seen a better dog. She rarely barks, she’s non-aggressive, short haired, and only about 10 inches tall. She potty trained quickly and is happy to spend most of her day lying on the heater.

We also have a new rug for the living room. I’ve been looking for one for a while. The space is an odd shape and high traffic. Also, rugs can be expensive and I wanted to make a good choice (and Toph’s really picky about soft textures). I finally decided on one, and as you know because I’m sure you read my last post, we brought it home last weekend. It’s green and soft.

Which is why I’m sure Lucky was confused this morning. I let her out of her kennel and asked if she wanted to go outside. She looked at me like I was crazy and went and curled up on the heater vent. It was 1 degree out this morning. I wouldn’t want to go pee outside either.

So, I went about my wifely duty and washed the dishes.

Imagine my surprise when I came in and my beautiful green rug had been christened by the little rat hiding on the heater, oh, excuse me, Rat Terrier.

After the initial shock wore off, and moment of abject fury, I realized that cleaning the rug wasn’t that hard. She is a small dog. It was a small puddle. And it sure was a lot warmer standing inside cleaning the rug than standing outside waiting for the dog. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

It’s funny how weather can change your perspective on an otherwise unacceptable situation. Besides, I can imagine her confussion. It’s the only “grass” she’ll find in Michigan this time of year.

As I mentioned in my initial post, we truddled off to Chicago this weekend for a spur-of-the-moment shopping spree. We left Cadillac around 11a on Saturday and stopped at our house (2 hours later) so Toph could wash some of the fish smell off of them. Once he was done primping, about 1p, we headed for Chicago. Traffic was a bit heavy, but nothing horrible.

Our first stop was Woodfield Mall, and will be until someone puts a Crate and Barrel store in GR. After prolly 20 minutes of searching, we finally found the only empty parking spot. I have never seen a mall so busy. And I do mean so.

We went in at Nordstrom’s. I’ve never been in Nordstrom’s. I don’t even shop at Nordstrom’s Rack let alone the real thing. But that’s going to change. I beheld the glory that is the Nordstorm’s Shoe Department. It covers a quarter of the 1st floor and is pink and shiny and strappy as far as the eye can see. As Arny says, “I’ll be back.”

Crate and Barrel had some cute things and I think I’ll be ordering the orange sheets, lime candles, and yellow oven mits in the not too distant future. However, it was a bit of a let down after the shoes.

From their, we wandered to the main attraction, Ikea. It was busy, but parking was easier than the mall, which I just couldn’t believe. After much deliberation (I’m always overwhelmed upon seeing the glorious offerings Ikea has), we decided upon a Hellum rug in green, Klippan sofa cover in bright blue, 5 toss pillows (1 yellow, 2 pink, and one green), 2 Lydia cushion covers and 2 cushions, a laundry hamper, and a cute little red glass paperweight for my mom.

For all the stress of having to decide and the glories of a twenty minute wait in the check out line, it was a fun trip that ended back in GR about 12:30 am Sunday. Toph was a real sweetie what with all the driving and toting of heavy things. But then, that’s why I keep him.

When I was old enough to drive, my dad decided it would be good for me to know how to change the oil in the car. He would take me, and the car, to the garage, show me the tools, and talk me through changing the oil. Replace the filter here, unscrew the oil pan drain thingy. It was all very informative.

Unfortunately, I’m the kind of person that needs to learn from doing. I never did “do”. My dad and I had some real quality time talking cars during those oil changes, but I never did actually learn how to change my oil. Probably wasn’t really the point of the adventure anyway.

Having a blog has been a lot the same experience. I mentioned I was interested, and truely I was, but the next thing I know I have a blog set-up with a link on my browser to it, passwords set. I’d even gotten email from my blog thanking me for establishing it.

I will assure you that the posts have actually been from me. Just in case you’re thinking Toph made those too.

Today when I came in and Toph was moderating my posts, it struck me that having a blog has been a lot like getting the oil changed. It’s not about me learning, it’s about the people in my life trying to take care of me. I can handle that. It’s wonderful to have people who want to make my life more comfortable.

And now that Toph and I have set some boundries, I can relax and enjoy the experience.

Friday, we drove to the farm to celebrate my mom’s birthday. That afternoon, Toph and I decided it was a good weekend to make the trip to Chicago we’d been considering. So, my mom agreed to keep the girls and Lucky Dog, who is technically, a girl.

Saturday morning, my dad, brother, and husband headed off to Cadillac to ice fish. I was going to pick Toph up there about 11am to head back to GR.

Traffic was fine and the roads were good. I made it to the shanty parking about 20 minutes early. I bundled up in my coat, gloves, and sunglasses and girded my proverbial loins for the brisk, i.e. bone chilling walk across the ice to the shanty (114 yards). As I walked along the path, I saw what looked like rather fresh tracks coming in off the lack, but assumed it was just one of the boys needing a pit stop.

The snowmobiles were flying around and I had to watch close to avoid them. Then I encountered two men setting tip ups. They were quite surprised to see someone walking across the lake. They don’t get many pedestrians out there and I sure wasn’t dressed for fishing.

As I got closer to the shanty, I began to feel ominous. The tracks still looked rather fresh, but it was hard to tell, so many tracks mixed together.

Imagine my surprise when I reached the shanty and it was locked. With a padlock. From the outside. I knocked anyway. Of course I knew they couldn’t be in there. But it just seemed impossible that I would walk all the way out there, in the cold, (and I don’t do cold) only to have them elsewhere.

You might be wondering where they might be. I didn’t have to wonder. I’d parked next to the Bronco. I knew they hadn’t left. So, if they hadn’t left and they weren’t in the shanty (and I knew they hadn’t fallen in, the padlock was on the outside), they were in the McDonald’s next to the parking spot warm and comfy and drinking coffee. I didn’t yell. I didn’t kick anything. I didn’t even set the shanty on fire (I didn’t have anything flamable.) Nope. I just turned around and trudged my frozen back side in past the tip ups, through the snowmobile racetrack, and over the hill of snow seperating the parking spot from the McD’s and waved at them through the window.

They assured me that they’d been watching for me. I did drive right past wehre they were sitting. My dad gave me his coffee. My brother gave me his seat. And my husband took me to Chicago.

Gotta say, it’s certainly one of my crazier fishing stories and I didn’t have to kill or skin anything.

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