The Return of Propeller Boy, and 10 Years In

PropellerBoyandpics
Originally uploaded by TeamReed

Ten years ago as Jeff and I were unwrapping the last of our wedding gifts, we came across three presents from people we didn’t know. We’d had cleverly disguised gifts from other friends – a set of cook wear wrapped in paper designed with frogs, for example – but had no idea who had sent us a crocheted toilet paper cover, a doorstop goose and a hand-painted ceramic statue who came to be known as Propeller Boy.

Turned out it was our friend Ed Kaufman playing a little trick while unloading some unwanted family heirlooms. Five years after that, Ed bought a new house and his housewarming gifts included Propeller Boy. So when he approached Jeff at work last week bearing an anniversary gift, the gag was up before the wrapping fell away. Somehow I think PB will find his way back home again…

(Just to be silly, I added a few pics from 2-14-98. They're on your right. It's a small sampling to either take you back or join me in regretting that we didn't know you yet, for you surely would have been with us that day.)

We had a great VD lunch with Bob and Kathy Johnson. Bob was gracious enough to put aside his nerves, become judge for the day and officially send us into the bonds of wedded bliss. B&K threw us a great engagement party, too. For last week’s occasion, they presented us with a print they’d found in NYC a year ago that reminded them of us. (In addition to being absentminded, they’re shop-a-holics. We haven’t encouraged them to get cured because we like it when we benefit from their affliction.)

Some people go to Paris for milestone anniversaries. Some have elaborate parties. Others inexplicably follow that Hallmark rule and actually give each other gifts of tin and aluminum. We stayed home.

With Alison on a two-day bender with Helen, we had the place to ourselves, and I just couldn’t justify the expense, time and trouble it would have entailed to leave the state. We’d opened a bottle of Veuve Clicquot for dinner with Ali on Valentine’s Day proper. She drank her water from a champagne glass and we clinked glasses all night before descending to the family room for another game of Monopoly. We’d given Ali some Valentine Littlest Pet Shops and they were anxious to play. I discovered that the game is vastly improved when combined with champagne. And at the time, the Veuve was among my favorite champagnes.

Friday, after saying "So long!" to Ali, we uncorked that bottle of Dom Perignon we bought two years ago at a Kahn’s champagne tasting and paired it with our reception fare: King Rib and cheesecake. It was just like our reception back on 2-14-98. Except we had incredible champagne, I wasn’t wearing white and we didn’t have a couple hundred of our closest friends with us.

Somehow we managed to have fun – although we did reminisce about that day, how much fun it was and how lucky we were to have had such a great time – and to have it memorialized by our favorite photographer, David Cowan. (I scanned some of your shots, David: don't sue me.)

And now a word about the champagne: I was too cheap to go out of town, but was happy to sip some of the most expensive champagne you can buy. Here’s my justification: the stuff is crazy good. And apparently (based on Jeff’s long discussion with his favorite wine consultant – yes, they exist and Jeff found one who’s invited us over to dinner. I think he’s reeling Jeff in slowly and I’m trying to find a way to snip the line before the net comes out – who said 1998 (our bottle’s born-on date) was one of the best years for the bubbly. It was a good year…

Last night, we went to Sullivan’s Steakhouse and had an amazing meal, and then we just hung out again. The whole weekend has been great. It was just like when we were dating, but more fun in a way – no exes or wannabes hanging around looking for an opening; no worries about whether it would really work out; no anxiety over where we’d both end up at the end of the night, etc...

In short, and to spare you any other details of how else we celebrated (You’re welcome, Jen.) we had a great weekend. The birds are hoarse from all their singing. (You’re welcome, Amer.)

Ali’s weekend

Our friend John Vielee has many things in common with Jeff Reed. He’s a disciplinarian but a softie underneath and one of those people you would trust your life to. He and Lisa were in charge of Alison and Helen for most of the weekend. Their other children were with other parental units. At one point, Lisa had made turkey sandwiches for lunch and John was convincing Alison that she should try some of the turkey, in addition to the bread. Alison had already explained that she didn’t like turkey, but, gamer that she is, she bowed to John's wishes and downed the turkey. And then promptly threw it up.

“She really doesn’t like turkey” he said later.

On the way to the China Buffet for potstickers, Helen and Ali got to talking about Helen getting her ears pierced. She has to wait until she’s 7, and she’ll have to agree to keep her ears clean once she has the jewelry. Someone offered up that if she’s going to wear earrings, Helen would probably have to start wearing makeup, too. Alison who has no interest in getting holes poked anywhere on her body and only a passing interest in make-up may have tried to dissuade Helen from growing up too fast.

“Yeah, my mom has to wear 13 layers of makeup to keep her ears clean,” Ali confided.

I’m off to catch up on all the housework I ignored earlier in the week. Cheers!

Will you be my valentine?

Alison got a Valentine's Day card from her Auntie Jen today. As always, it was signed with Jen's love, along with the love of Grendel, her four-footed friend.

Alison, who like all kids, loves getting mail, opened it, read it, sighed and said, "Grendel picks out the best cards."

She was jumping up and down earlier in the week when cards from Grandpa and Auntie Methyl arrived with gifts she's already earmarked for more Littlest Pet Shops.

Aunt Margaret may have taken the cake, though. She sent a Valentine Smooch from our favorite pooch: Daisy.

Happy Valentine's Day! (I'm sending mine out early because I plan to be busy on the big day and maybe even for a few days after...)

PhotoShoot Sunday Feb 10, 2008

If it's possible to have a hang-over from having too much fun, Alison has one. Jeff and I went out Saturday night with the Ogdens and a bunch of other people, leaving the kids with our sitter, Delaney. As a former way-fun babysitter, I'm happy that the kids just love her. As the mother and keeper of the house, I'm sometimes less-than-happy, though.

The kids spent 6 hours with Delaney, having grapes, pizza, ice cream, candy, popcorn and generally tearing up the place. Someone had the idea of spitting popcorn kernels, and I'm still finding evidence of it. Even though she'd put them to bed, before we got home around midnight, they were all wide-awake like little opossums, eyes shining up from their various places on the bed and on cushions and the bean bag scattered around it.

While all seemed fine -- if a little late -- it wasn't until this morning that Alison complained of a stomache ache. At first I thought she was being dramatic, but when the first wave of vomit came, I was convinced. It's been a little like that party we had years ago at the Home for Wayward Girls that turned into a vomitorium. But without the vodka.

I think Ali's trouble is the combination of all the junk and nothing more, but if she's not better tomorrow, I'll call the doctor. None of the other little partiers is sick.

Life otherwise is pretty good. Jeff played poker Friday and ended up in the top tier, so if he asks you to play cards with him, you might want to find an excuse. He and the boys drank and watched girls while Karin and I and a bunch of other women nowhere close to needing estrogen replacement therapy saw Menopause the Musical last night. It's got its moments. Makes me shudder to think of the fun ahead. Makes me remember that I planned to be dead by the time I was 30. So much for planning.

Ah well. I have a hot forehead to cool down. This, I can manage.

Say What?

Jeff pointed out to me that it can sometimes be tricky for people to comment to the posts. I'm no techno-geek, but I'm guessing that if I can do it, so too can you.

If you're especially moved by a post or want to offer advice, click on the comment line at the bottom of the post. To your right, you'll see a box where you type in your comment, then you'll have to type in the letters the computer uses to make sure you're human. Then the tricky part: you DO NOT have to sign in. I think it's easier if you don't. You can post anonymously or you can give yourself a nickname. Don't hold back!

PhotoShoot Monday February 4, 2008

So I didn't die yesterday, although there were times I may have crossed over. I'm way better now.

Alison came home from a fabulous sleepover with the Ogdens and took it upon herself to help me recover. She had one tip and one remedy.

The tip:
"Laughter is the very best medicine, Mommy."

The remedy:
The Scooby Doo SuperDoo Marathon while snuggling.

As we indulged in Scooby Doo and bed, I asked Ali about something she'd said the previous day after she'd felt a little put upon by the parents. As she sipped her tomato soup, she informed me that she just might run away if things didn't improve for her. I asked her where she thought she would go and she thought maybe Toys R Us or maybe Florida. We talked about some other options, but she got distracted when she remembered something about her pet shops.

So yesterday, in bed, I asked her why she'd suddenly begun talking about running away from home. It was a cartoon character that had given her the idea. I asked her again where she thought she might run to and she had a different answer.

"I'd go to some rich family's house," she said.

Why? Because she could buy more Littlest Pet Shops, of course.

What made her think some rich family would take her in?

She looked at me askance and pointed to her head. "Red hair, Mom. You can't find too many red-haired girls out there."

I think that conversation was the start of my recovery. Laughter truly does have medicinal value. If you ever fall prey to sickness, let me know and I'll send her over.

The photo is from her Crazy Dress Day last week.

Best Laid Plans

Jeff and I had a date last night. It was a dress-up affair -- the biannual Mardi Gras fundraiser at Christ the King, complete with drinks before and bootleg drinks out in the parking lot. Team Ogden had Ali for the night. I'd brought "the girls" out, and I'd even downed some energy drink to ensure perky-ness all around. It was a recipe for an early anniversary night if you get my drift.

Around 9 p.m., I started to yawn. I cursed my Bunco sisters for the late Friday night I'd spent with them and got myself some coffee. I wandered around the room blinking a lot. A bald guy winked at me and a lady with short hair and tight pants gave me a long look up and down. I checked my dress for slippage, but realized I was probably coming on to people with every stroll around the gym what with my blinking and hiding yawns behind my head.

I whispered to Jeff that maybe we could slip out early. I'm fairly certain that my escape labeled me as the lamest girl at the dance, but by the time we'd gotten home, swallowing was painful. (not a good omen for the rest of the night's entertainment...) and I felt like dying wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Jeff's at basketball and Alison is gone. The house is as silent as a morgue. I think someone put a layer of sandpaper in my throat. I have to pee but the floor will be really cold when I get up.

I'm only awake now because I just had a dream that Gwen Stefani's little baby Kingston had just told his rocker mommy that he would make me some hot tea and help me feel better.

It's hell being me. Light a candle for me this morning.

The Apple Never Falls Far from the Tree

Thanks to an early dismissal and parents' picnic lunch with the kids of Christ the King, Alison and I got to play hooky this afternoon. I asked Ali if she wanted to go shopping or go to Blockbuster or do something fun, but she wanted to just come home. She's been desperate to buy the Littlest Pet Shop's Biggest Littlest Pet Shop, but we've told her that she'll have to use her own money for the $38.99 item.

Ali doesn't have an allowance yet, so she's been trying to talk us into odd jobs around the house. Coming home from school, I had a feeling she had a pitch for me, and she didn't disappoint.

"Hey, Mom, got any jobs for me?" she asked.

I told her I'd pay her $5 if she helped me with the laundry and cleaned up the family room. She thought that would be ok, but first, she thought she'd watch some television. One episode turned into three, which was fine with me because I was working in my office while she watched TV. After an hour, though, I asked her about that job and we set about doing the laundry. She helped me sort and load the washer and even fold and put away the load I'd forgotten about from last weekend that was still hanging out in the dryer.

While she allowed that the family room looked just fine to her, she picked up her stuffed animals and watched closely as I showed her how the vacuum worked. She started sweeping as I tried to make some sense of Jeff's desk. His work area takes up at least a quarter of the family room and his filing system is rivaled only by that of Bob Johnson and those people who live in houses with small paths between towers of old National Geographic magazines. I found a receipt from 2006 among his piles and piles of paper...

I look up from organizing Jeff's stacks, and hear her muttering, "This is lame. This is so lame. Have I earned my $5 yet? Man, this is so booooooorrrrrrrinnnng."

"That's why we call it work, honey," I chirped.

After a while, still knee deep in ancient paper, I asked her to go to the laundry room and put the clean clothes in the dryer. After a few minutes, I went in to check on her to find her method was to climb INTO the washer and toss the clothes into the dryer next door.

This is funny for many reasons, chief among them the fact that when I was just old enough to walk, I found my way into my mother's laundry room and climbed up to investigate the noise that big white thing was making. I don't remember this, but based on the family legend, I tipped myself into the working washer.

I think it was a wringer-washer. It must have been because all the washers I know about won't work unless the lid is closed -- right? Anyway, my mother walked into the laundry room to find my little blue body bobbing around in a circle along with my sibling's dirty underwear. I'm not sure how I didn't expire -- good luck and probably she was so scared she pushed the water right out of me when she dragged me out. It was only the first of many near-deaths by water. The others were at the hands of my ever-loving siblings, but those are stories for another day...

Anyway, after working on the laundry, Ali got out the Swiffer and dusted the whole house -- an extra chore not negotiated in our earlier agreement. She proposed that I add a dollar to her fee. Jeff will be unhappy that I didn't haggle a bit, but I thought she deserved it. She's now got $22 toward her big purchase.

And of course she's now resting from her day on the job-- in front of the television, messing up the family room and clutching her six dollars.

I'm going to have to get back to work soon, but was nudged into updating the blog by my good friend Jackie Meyers-Thompson. Jackie grew up in Chicago. She's heard of small towns and country life, but hasn't actually spent much time in either. She's never seen meat outside of a grocery story and has never really believed any of my stories about home. She may be the biggest fan the TeamReed blog has.

My dad would have loved her. He would also have loved to laugh at her. At a recent visit to her in-laws in Appalachia, she was told setting on a tour of the place that everyone on the mountain was kin. When she she met the first relative, she brought out her very best manners, stuck out her hand said, "Hello! I'm Jackie. You must be Ken!"

BillyRayBob was confused, as was Jackie. Jackie's husband just closed his eyes and shook his head. My dad would have laughed even harder than I did when Jackie recounted her story.

Anyway, I'm back to work now. Playing hooky is fun!