Lovin' My Jens

Sometimes I obsess.
When I love something I love it a lot.
(See: Frozen ice pops, sunflower seeds, chewing gum, kittens, Grey's Anatomy - the early years, ice cold beer, reading good books and discovering oh so cool people.)
It's been my good fortune lately to discover a couple more oh so cool people.
My Jens.


I dream about some day saying things like, "Hey Jen, Let's have lunch,"  "I'll call you tonight Jen,"  "Do you want to come over later, Jen?"  You know, all the things I say to my real life friends.

Jen No. 1 logs in at 3'2" tall but her personality is BIG. She is funny and kind and smart and sweet. All the things I happen to like about all of my other (read real life) friends.
Her marriage seems intact, for a reality star, that is.
She has obviously overcome many hurdles in her life - because she is a doctor (which is probably a little more notable than the reality star part).
I enjoy watching her get through each episode being sweet to her husband and not pausing even once when she goes out to eat and asks for linen to sit on or toting a stool to a cooking class to stand on.
I think she would be one of those friends that tells you to just get out there and try -because you can do anything - she has. If you haven't seen The Little Couple yet dial it up. (Sigh! After the heartbreak that became Jon and Kate Plus Eight Jen Arnold is restoring my faith.)

I do not know how tall Jen Lancaster is.
I do know she is wickedly funny, sarcastic, and brutally honest, everything I like about the rest of my (real life) friends.
When I read the first one of her books I immediately hopped on line and ordered three more. ( Actually I ordered FOUR more even though there were only three more at the time - I had a couple of beers and somehow magically said I desired two of one title. Oh Jen! We have so much in common! (She shops on line with interesting results after drinking too.) However, when the royalty checks arrive - remember, I did you a solid.

This Jen might be the anti-Jen Arnold (see above).
She posesses a love of cursing that would make my mother cry. But I can guarantee you this - she would not be boring!
I'm not at red alert stalker status but when my girls were home over Christmas break I was knee deep into multiple books by my new favorite author and was busted more than once saying things like, "You know, Jen has cats, too."  or "You know, Jen really likes this reality show too." To which one of the girls I gave birth to looked at me and said, "You mean the author-of-the-book-you're-reading-who-you-don't-even-really-know?!!" 
Whatever. Non-fiction can be that way. I have a window to her world.

The fun thing is - Jen Lancaster has a new book coming out and the Captain and I do make yearly treks to Chicago (Home of 'the Bean', Navy Pier, Wrigley Field and Jeeeeeeen Lancaster) to visit friends and take in a ballgame but ... wouldn't it be fab if it was during one of her book signing???!!!!!  Cubs Schmubs - Team Lancaster!!!!
I like the Jens.

5 a.m. Aaaaargh!

I know there are people who enjoy rising out of their warm beds ridiculously early.
You revel in beating the sun out of bed, enjoying the quiet in those last few moments before the rest of the world begins its' hustle and bustle.
There are no awards for this, but you do get to say cool things like, "I've been up for hours already," or "I have all of my work done before most people even think about getting out of bed."
This week I will be one of you. Because, apparently coaches and players in the son my sport loves also love to rise early and hit the ice for a rousing pre-dawn practice.
Because this is the horrifying time my alarm will be set for tomorrow morning. And Tuesday. And Thursday.

Early morning hockey practices be damned!

Coffee pot - you have been put on notice.

Habitual early risers - you have my respect.

Early morning travelers on Hwy. 210 - Consider yourself warned: The site you may see in the grey Honda Accord will not be pretty.

It's going to be a long week.

Sub-Zero ponderings

We are about a handful of days into a cold spell where we live.
I mean a c-c-c-c-old spell.

When my alarm goes off each morning I have it set on the local radio station so I can rise from my grogginess to soak up all the information I need to start the day. 
I like to wake up to the national news, have the local news read to me from the newspaper so the surprise is gone when I get my own copy out of the mailbox and to find out what the day's forcast holds for us. This past week the on-air voice has broken the bad news repeatedly with temperatures at 6 a.m. being -27, -23, -25.  It's enough to make me put the electric blanket on high and turn the alarm off altogether.

Our cars register their own complaints when we go to start them. Errrr.... Errrrr.... Errrrrrr....and pipes that aren't insulated enough against the sub-zero readings don't have the ammunition they need to withstand the cold. Some immediately cease to dispense water to their owners.
In my own home I have noticed a draft. Between the front door and the frame. It magically appeared when the artic temperatures hit. Unnoticable before, now that the temperature has dipped this low even the cats take the long way around the area.  
An old blanket now temporarily covers the gap until the days once again rise above zero. 

I monitor the thermometer in our house these days like a Kensington Palace Guard - lest one of my kids (or my sneaky, sneaky, husband) inch the setting above what I deem suitable for the budget.
"Listen here!" I announced last night, "My friend in Chicago has taken her family down to 62 degrees!!!! Sixty-two degrees I tell you! Can't you people toughen up?! I was hoping to take a vacation this year! You can pick - One less layer now - or a picture in front of Mount Rushmore in July!!!!"

Any trip away from the house has to be weighted as to whether it's worth going out into a cold car twice.

A run out for milk? Hmmmm....as quick as ten minutes and that's if I'm in and out and nothing else catches my eye.... probably doable.

A two hour movie at the local theatre - absolutely not. My daughter and I shun a chance to see Sherlock Holmes last weekend because we knew after two hours idle in the parking lot we'd have to relive the pure agony of the warming-of-the-car, chattering-of-the-teeth-full-blast-blow-of-the-heater episode it would take to leave the house. Not worth it. (We have 100+ channels on cable where it's warm -  We found something.)

Lucky for me I have no problem abandoning fashion for comfort. Ergo the daily bundling I've embarked on this week.

I'm not sure I'd care if Brad Pitt was in town and there was every chance we might end up at the same stoplight on Washington Street - I'd still be true to my layers.... earmuffs and mittens, wool lined jeans and clunky snow boots (not Uggs - I'm talking the real deal). It is what it is. Take it or leave it Brad.

I have just six words to sum up the past week in this area.

"Respect The Power of the Parka."

  

How to break bad news to your husband - Session I

"I'll have to look for the antenna to my truck next spring when the snow melts," my husband told his father the other day while the three of us were riding in the car.
"Why, what happened to it?" My father in law asked while I paged through a magazine in the back seat.
"Every once in a while it comes loose when I go in or out of the garage. I've never lost it all the way before though," said my husband a little irked.
"Yeah, it's probably under there somewhere then," agreed my father-in-law.
"Or.....," I added, "Someone may or may not have ground it up in the snowblower yesterday."

And that's how you do it.

I'm starting to get kind of good at it.
Not long ago I had to break the bad news about this one: