October 28th, 2008 by Jennine

Each autumn my body decides to rid itself of some excess weight. Most people struggle with putting on the pounds at this time of year which is only natural, in Minnesota at least, since nature dictates that we actually attempt to survive the frigid temperatures of the approaching winter by padding our “pockets” with an extra layer of fat. But not me. I gain weight over the summer and lose it, without effort, in the fall.

I’m not bragging, mind you. In fact, it’s quite retarded that I spend the swimsuit months squinting in front of the mirror in complete dismay at the cruel joke my body insists on playing. It seems my body always has the last laugh as I am also one of the few people who respond to any sort of pain-relieving narcotic by becoming hyperactive and sleepless. Give me a couple teaspoons of Benadryl and I turn into a brilliant rendition of Robin Williams on the David Letterman Show.

So far this year my scale has tipped, in my favor, fifteen pounds. The last time I stepped on it, I could have sworn the digital display winked at me.

However, in recent days I’ve made an unfortunate rediscovery of a favorite childhood snack. This snack renders my self control absolutely useless, with its little squiggly white icing and creme centered filling. Unfortunately, the calorie-laden pastry is easily accessible without risking jail time in its procurement. Every local gas station seems to push it on the weak and defenseless.

Mmmmm… the Hostess Cupcake has the ability to turn me into a complete sugar whore. Once I start, I can’t stop eating them and I crave more and more and more.

After a few weeks of indulging myself, the scale is beginning to tip in favor of the squinting fat chick. The funny thing is… these are called Hostess Cupcakes but the more I eat, the less I feel like being a hostess at all and the more I feel like wearing Mrs. Roper bathrobes and watching reruns of Sanford and Son.

I think they should be renamed to “Lazy Recluse Shut-In Cupcakes”.

Seriously folks. This is my cry for help. Someone needs to check my pancreas into detox before my scale gives me the finger.

September 30th, 2008 by Jennine

Last April I went to the dentist for a root canal. It was unpleasant, for sure, but nothing out of the ordinary. I did, however, think it was unusual that I was still having twinges of pain in the tooth but chalked it up to being a big baby.

Fast forward to August when I was experiencing what only can be considered a drum-like beating in my mouth, whose epicenter seemed to mysteriously originate from the previously treated tooth.

I did what any good anti-dentite would do and began popping Ibuprofen by the handful hoping that the throbbing would just go away, like a Jehovah’s Witness after the third or fourth knock.

But no. Instead, the beating drum persisted until my only choice was to make the dreaded call to explain to the receptionist that my already root canaled tooth was giving me phantom pain.

My appointment date came just in the nick of time (at 2:30…get it? Tooth Hurty??) because I was to the point where loud noises would cause more pain and there are lots of loud noises at sporting events.

When I sat down in the dental chair, the hygienist said “So this tooth that’s hurting… it’s had a root canal?”

“Yeah, I know it makes no sense. But trust me, it’s that tooth.”

“Jennine, our records indicate that we only started the root canal. You were supposed to come back and have it finished.”

“Really!”

You see, I have no recollection of ever being told that my root canal was only partially finished. I was certainly billed for the whole procedure and usually the dentist refuses to let you out of the office without rescheduling the next appointment… so how could this have happened? And even more importantly, it seems as though I have been sporting an infection in the tooth for the last six months.

I ended up having the molar pulled today, along with a piece of my jaw bone. All because of a miscommunication.

The dentist, feeling badly about how this experience played out, gave me his cell phone number and said “If you need to call me, even if it’s in the middle of the night, please do. I’ll be up at 2 AM with my newborn daughter so don’t worry about waking me.”

“Hmmm… what could you possible do for me at 2 AM? Sing me an Irish Lullaby?”

That’s when he wrote a prescription for pain meds.

And the drumming? Well, it’s laughing and pointing at those weak, little pain pills.

It feels like I’ve swallowed Aerosmith.

September 9th, 2008 by Jennine

When we signed up for high speed internet, we also chose to switch our telephone service to Vonage, a VoIP telephone service.

We’ve had our share of equipment failures with Vonage and I’ve spent several hours with India-based customer service technicians who have shown extreme patience with my requests to repeat what they’ve just said. Minnesotan and Indian accents aren’t exactly conducive to clear communication.

And while I understand there are bound to be challenges with Vonage, my main complaint against the company is their television commercials.

I do not understand the technology which allows a commercial to dramatically increase the volume on my TV and yet Vonage, despite their struggle with equipment failures, have managed to startle me on several occasions with their deafening advertisements, most often during the middle of the night after I’ve fallen asleep with the television on.

Companies are not allowed to change the channel I am watching so what gives them the right to increase the decibels?

I decided to protest in my latest interaction with Vonage Customer Service.

“Hello, my name is Sam. How can I assist you?” asked the man with a very heavy accent.

“Sam, I’m calling because my modem died again and I need a replacement.”

“I can help you do that. Can you give me the model number on the modem?”

“YES I CAN” I shouted and then resumed a normal speaking volume as I gave him the number.

“That’s great, Ms Johnson. Now let me troubleshoot the problem with you. Have you checked the power supply?”

“Yes, Sam. I PLUGGED IT INTO THE KITCHEN OUTLET and the power light DIDN’T COME ON.”

“I see that you are upset, Ms. Johnson. We will resolve the issue in no time, okay?”

“I’m not upset, Sam. I JUST WANT you to PAY ATTENTION TO what I’m saying by INCREASING THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE.”

He was silent for a moment and said “Is this in regard to the Vonage television commercial?”

“You mean you’ve had other complaints?” I asked.

“Yes, but never in this fashion,” he replied. “I WILL MAKE NOTE OF YOUR COMPLAINT, OKAY?”

He totally played the game with me and diffused my Vonage anger.

AND SENT ME A NEW MODEM NEXT DAY DELIVERY AT NO ADDITIONAL CHARGE.

September 8th, 2008 by Jennine

I won’t go into details but I will tell you that the next frame in this set of photos is of Peter the Cat launching five feet straight up into the air from this position while howling “Meeeohhhyousonofabitch!”

September 2nd, 2008 by Jennine

Just because Kirsten asked.

September 2nd, 2008 by Jennine

Halfway through the 2007 school year, we took Elly out of public school and taught her at home. She was having a really difficult time not being with me, although academically she was doing very well. Her separation anxiety manifested in a record number of stomach aches and “Mom, do I have a fever?” as the bus arrived at our driveway.

Darren and I went to great lengths to determine if there was a problem on the bus or with her teachers but our inquiries turned up nothing. She just wanted to “be with Mom”.

I wanted to be sensitive to her desire since the older kids had the benefit of homeschooling until they were older than Elly, and she always expressed the idea that she had somehow missed out on the circus-like fun of being taught at home.

This year we gave Elly the choice to go back to public school . Each time we broached the subject she would reply, “You guys are the parents. You decide.”

I began to suspect that she was worried that MY feelings would be hurt if she admitted she was ready to go back. She and I had alot of fun being alone together during the day. People tend to bond while singing multiplication facts karaoke-style.

When I informed Elly that I had made the decision that she was ready to return to public school, she was visibly relieved.

This morning, however, she seemed to get a little iffy about the whole thing. I reminded her that I would see her at school because I was covering the event for the paper. I kissed her goodbye and watched her shuffle to the bus stop.

I was at school, waiting, as she arrived and I watched as she found her friends on the playground. It was only after seeing this did I breathe a sigh of relief:

She’ll get by with a little help from her friends.

July 30th, 2008 by Jennine

**Due to the sensitive nature of this post, names have been changes in order to protect the guilty**

We are fortunate to have central air conditioning in our home despite the fact that the unit which came with our house when we purchased it is just a little too small to cool properly on the really hot days.

Kyle and Cartman’s room tends to be the warmest in the house so they have a large fan in their room to help keep things tolerable in the heat of the summer evening.

Unfortunately, the fan has become a great source of contention between the brothers. They both want to fall asleep with the fan blowing directly on them because then they are the winner.

Tonight the fighting and arguing was in rare form. I ignored the ever-increasing volume of debate because I was too tired to care about something so trivial. All I wanted for the remaining hours of my evening was to sprawl, bra-less, on my couch with a spoon and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. I fantasized about it all day long.

“Mommmm! Tell Cartman to turn the fan on meeeee. He’s had it on him for the last two nightsssssssss,” pleaded Kyle in the tone of voice that makes me say really bad words in my head.

“Cartman!” I responded from the couch in the living room, “It’s Kyle’s turn to have the fan on him tonight and if you say one word about it, the fan is coming out of your room!”

I used the voice that tells the kids I mean business. It’s the voice where all words are connected together and sound a lot like a machine gun being fired into the air by a member of the Medellín Cartel.

It was effective for about five minutes before Kyle made one last battle cry:

“MOMMMMM! CARTMAN KEEPS FARTING INTO THE FAN FOR NO REASON AND IT’S BLOWING RIGHT INTO MY FACE AND HE HAD BEAN WITH BACON SOUP FOR SUPPER!!!!”

And so one wind ruined the other.

July 29th, 2008 by Jennine

While on vacation, we did, indeed, have opportunity to wet our lines in a few lakes. The experience gave me insight on why my grandfather habitually lied in order to preserve the sanctity of his fishing hole.

Each time a child caught a fish, no matter the size, all the other children immediately beat a path to the exact location of the catch, as if all the fish in the lake were located in that one spot. I’m convinced it wasn’t an act of malice but more of an innate reaction common to all anglers.

This reaction, while humorous to observe, resulted in crossed lines, tangled bobbers and many, many verbal outbursts.

While it appears to be a mere minnow purchased from a bait store, Nathanael actually caught this fish with a common night crawler:

“Isn’t it cute?” he said as I snapped the photo.

Cute, for sure, but nothing for anyone to covet. Nothing that should have resulted in shoving or declarations of squatter’s rights. Yet the moment he caught this wee little fish, the rest of the kids cast their lines at the exact spot where Nathanael pulled it from the water. Because size doesn’t matter.

And poor Darren. He was the one who spent time untangling the messes over and over again while trying to explain that there are many fish in the lake and “Why not try over there? No one has fished there yet!”

His suggestions fell on 12 deaf ears. (Kait was tuning the whole scene out with her iPod.)

You can imagine what happened when Kevin caught this:

The resulting chaos prompted a conversation between Darren and me on whether or not to abandon the children on the shore of this remote lake.

“They can live on wild blueberries.” I offered.

“But where will they sleep?” he asked.

“I’m pretty sure someone will find the PERFECT spot and then all the others will stack themselves like cord wood on top of each other because no other spot will do.”

“What will the headlines read when we are found out?”

“Seven Children Last Seen In One 12-Inch Spot on the Shore of Lake Wobegon, Parents Enjoying the Solitude of Being in Custody”

“We could say that we left them on White Pine.”

“Oh, you are BRILLIANT! The authorities would fall for it hook, line and sinker.”

July 10th, 2008 by Jennine

I won’t lie. For a second I thought Jesus was coming back and my first thought was “I hope He likes Folgers.”

July 3rd, 2008 by Jennine

This shy, quiet farm kid, is Kevin’s best friend- Tyler.

When I say ”farm” I mean a real, working dairy farm. And by “kid”, I mean a 16 year old who does more work in one day than most full grown men do in a week.

I love Tyler and wish I could keep him, change his last name to Johnson and let him sleep in til noon for a whole year because when I see a kid work as hard as Tyler does, I can’t help but want to reward him with “Get out of work” vouchers, red Kool-Aid and M&M cookies.

There’s no place Kevin would rather be than on Tyler’s farm. There’s always machinery to be fixed, cows to be milked and hay to be baled. Mix in some dirt bikes and gopher hunting and you have heaven on earth for a boy.

At least for my boy.

So when I was dropping Kevin off at Tyler’s a few days ago, Tyler said “We had another calf born yesterday,” in the same tone you might use to say “So I see the sun came up again this morning.”

“WILL YOU SHOW ME????” I screeched in a pitch that hurt my own ears and sent two kittens running to their mothers for comfort.

You see, I’ve wanted to have a dairy cow for my family ever since we outgrew the ability to fit in a normal four-passenger car. I did the whole dairy goat thing. I pasteurized goat milk on my stove. I made goat milk soap and made goat cheese.

Unfortunately, goat milk sucks. It tastes like a barn smells. Period. The End.

But a Cow! Cow’s milk. Cow’s cream, Cow cheese and Cow butter… Do you have any idea how much potential there is in cow’s milk?

I do. I’ve thought about it for well over ten years and I’ve yet to convince Darren it was a good idea!

We have the land. We have the hands to help. We have the time. But for whatever reason (God only knows) Darren is worried that he would end up doing all the work whichissonottrue!

How does one convince their cynical, unbelieving spouse that buying a dairy cow is a good idea when it’s so blatently obvious that its the most brilliant idea ever?

I mean, come on. That little cow in Tyler’s arms? Well, she sucked on my fingers and followed me in the barn. And then, just when Kevin pried my arms from the calf’s neck so Tyler could get on with his day, she winked at me as if to say “You just keep working on Darren… even if it means making a public plea on the internet.”

That is one smart Holstein.