Officially Technological

I was raised by the kind of mother who substitutes honey for sugar (because honey has more nutritional value than sugar). She would also substitute yogurt for sour cream and she absolutely never, ever, ever used heavy whipping cream. Not that we were ever hurting for anything because we weren't, but we led very healthy childhoods.

When we went shopping for groceries and we went down the cereal isle at Meijer, we would (like all other children) grab Lucky Charms, and Fruit Loops, and Captain Crunch. My mom would shake her head and point to the Nutrition Facts on the side of the box and say, "Unless sugar is at least the 3rd ingredient, I'm not buying it." I doubt I even have to tell you that that eliminates all the good cereal. In most of the good cereals, sugar was either the first or the second - which means, of course, that it is the largest or the second largest ingredient. No Lucky Charms. No Fruit Loops. And definitely not Captain Crunch. Instead, we got Raisin Bran, and Cheerios, and when she was feeling imprudent we would get Kix. We loved Kix weeks. We devoured Kix.

We spent one weekend a month with my Grandma Ramseyer, because she had had a stroke and needed to be taken care of all the time. It always amazed me that this woman had raised my mother, because this woman made things like lard sandwiches, and had a pie at almost every meal. My grandma liked food. She was not afraid of sugar. My mom said she remembers my grandma getting up early every Sunday morning to make ice-cream, just in case someone new would be at church and then she could invite them over for ice-cream. Now to me, that sounds like a lot of ice-cream that would have to be eaten on the non-visitor days. But that's the way she was. She liked food. When we went to her house for the weekend, she always had Velveeta cheese, whole milk, and peppermints. Always. And sometimes she had movie theater butter microwave popcorn. She often had lots of cookies, and was never without Schwann's Chocolate Push-ups in the freezer in the garage. On hot summer weekends, Jeff and I would have about 3 or so a day, and throw out the sticks and wrappers in the trash can in the garage so no one knew how many we ate. Of course, they probably wondered why every time Jeff and I were over, they were suddenly low on push-ups. To this day, however, I find comfort in Velveeta cheese and whole milk. Sometimes, when milk is on sale, I'll get one gallon of that watered-down 1% garbage that we normally drink (for Brian), and one gallon of whole (for me).

Having been raised by my very healthy mother, I have taken on more of her tendencies than my grandmothers. Although, I won't kick and scream if someone wants to feed me Doritos for dinner. However, when I make dinner for Brian and I, I more often cook like my mom. We're talking we have a salad (or fresh veggies), a cooked veggie, a starch, and a lean meat at every meal. I cut the fat off of chicken, I don't even own straight vegetable oil, and I'm more than a little stingy with the butter. We almost never have candy in the house, and I don't know that I've ever bought Velveeta cheese. But last night, I wanted fat. Not just boring ol' "I'm putting more butter in the mashed potatoes tonight". Oh no, I wanted fat. I wanted mayonnaise. I wanted white bread, I wanted cheese. And I didn't want salad. And I didn't want steamed broccoli. I wanted fried chicken and potato salad. So, that's what I made. I've never made either. I felt a little guilty as I poured several cups of oil into our deep electric skillet. But I got over it. I used olive oil that makes it better, right? That makes me kinda like my mom (a healthy substitution) and kinda like my grandma (to a fatty food).

I was musing about Jake and Meika's wedding over the weekend. It was a terrific wedding. Everyone looked beautiful, everyone was beaming, and the dessert was tasty - which I'm pretty sure, is the definition of a successful wedding. It was great.... uh.... hold on....

*crackle, crackle*
We must be permitted to inturupt our daily programing for this brief announcement:

My fellow women, friends, and co-consumers, it is my unplesant appointment to publicize a chocolate shortage. Yes, the chocolate industry is facing a crisis. Please do not panic. Please remain calm. This is not a joke. This should not be taken lightly. Please restrict any desires to stock-pile. Should an industry shortage occur, rationing will be implemented and strictly adhered to by the Department of Chocolate Security. As the director this honored institution, I promise to keep all Snickers Bars, all six-layer chocolate cakes, all chocolate shakes, and all the other chocolate products safe. It is my humble promise to you. Thank you, and God bless.

Now back to our regularly scheduled programing.
*crackle, crackle*

It was good to see lots of family and friends that I wouldn' t noramally see. The whole wedding brought to mind some memories of other weddings. Here's to you, Jake and Meika, I hope every part of your wedding day was as pleasant for you as it came off to your guests:

Recollections of Wedding Days

• My own wedding day began by scrambling eggs. Yes, I made breakfast for everyone who stayed with my parents on my own wedding day. Shocking? I should hope so.
• Peggy's wedding day was the first time in my life that I was allowed to wear tinted lip gloss (I was twelve-years-old and just dying - with as much drama as possible - to wear anything colored).
• Sarah and Justin's wedding day was spent trying to talk to Brian (whom I hadn't seen in at least 4 weeks - which I was pretty sure would kill me).
• I spent my cousin Wendy's wedding torn with vanity as to which was better, my shoes or my dress (I was the flowergirl - vanity kicks in at an early age).
• Lisa and Mick's wedding day was the last day of my life before I started college, the next day, armed with $500 worth of books, 17 blisters (from my very snazzy, and very uncomfortable shoes), and the anxious giddiness of a freshman, I started college.
• Brooke's wedding was Brian and my first official road-trip. It was no shorter than 13 hours one way (which we spent listening to a book on tape - which, believe it or not - lasted pretty close to the entire trip).
• The evening of Beth's wedding was spent in a steaming hot shower for 40 minutes with a brush and a bottle of conditioner (it's amazing how tangly my hair gets when it's professionally done - it always looks so neatly arranged).

Ahh, yes. The things that are going on in everyone's minds at weddings. It's interesting. You know, how I don't associate Mick and Lisa's wedding with their marriage, I associate it with when I started college. It's amazing how we live in our own little spheres and situations are all sifted through the little atmospheres of our own little worlds and inturpretted accordingly. And people say that we're not selfish creatures... :)

It's almost summer! I hate spring. I loathe spring. (As you well know.) But dealing with all the spring mud, and all the spring gloom, and all the spring allergies (which I'm suffering with today), and all the spring ugliness, spring does have one thing that the other seasons lack. Spring has anticipation. The whole purpose of spring is to alert you that summer is coming. And summer is pretty much my favorite season. This morning I saw something that reminded me that summer is coming. This morning I saw green buds on our little bush in the front. Yes, I saw very green buds. It's wonderful. That may have been the peak of my day (and it's a little sad that my day peaked out in the morning). But it was pretty awesome, because now I know that in a few weeks we will have leaves on the trees. And then the grass will be green, and then it will start getting warm, and then people will start filling their pools, and then... it will be SUMMER! *the crowd cheers* So, for now (especially since I don't have a choice), I will deal with the spring nastiness and the spring allergies, because I anticipate something better.

They're getting long, and the longer and nicer they get the more phsyco I get about them. I have peely nails. They peel like crazy. I am what I would deam a fidgety person and I have several little weird habits. I bite my bottom lip, I bite the inside of my cheek, I twiddle my hair, and of course, I peel my nails. I love to peel my nails. I pick at them until I get a big chunk. It's so satisfying. And it's something I can do without looking too conspicuous. Just in my lap. Yup, I love to peel my nails.

But the consequences of peeling one's nails are dire. Of course they're going to be very thin, and of course they're going to be short, and of course they're going to look tattered. So I went cold-turkey off of peeling my nails about two weeks ago. I started coating them with two coats of a nail hardener called "Hard as Nails". Sometimes the hardener lasts a few days, sometimes close to a week. But my nails do feel hard, and they are getting long, and they have smooth ends. They're wonderful (maybe I'll post a picture this evening).

But now, I'm starting to get weird about my nails. I don't want to wash dishes without gloves, I have to stare at them for at least an hour per day (not all at one time, of course), and everyday Brian is forced to examine them and admire their progress. Frequent nail filing interrupts other projects. Yes, I think my nails are taking over my life. I'm guessing, though that after a few months of them being nice, I'll either get sick of the trouble they cause and start peeling them again, or I'll get used to the maintenance and have nice nails for the rest of my life. At this point I don't really know which way it will go.

If you don't want a puppy, I suggest that you avoid this website.

I've realized recently that well over 50% of my conversation with other people has to do either with how I'm feeling or how they're feeling. I'm even this way with my dog. I'm pretty used to living alone. Not alone, alone. Just there's not usually other people at home when I am. My last three roommates (before Brian) were on very different shifts than I was, so I spent a lot of time talking to my dog in way that may indicate that I expect him to start answering back one of these days. Now that I have a husband whom I see all the time, I still talk to Sam like he's a person. In the morning when I wake him up to take him potty, I open up the door of his bedroom and say, "Good morning, Sammers! Did you sleep well? How are you feeling today?" And every morning he jumps out of his crate and stretches and yawns dramatically. And then I'll say something like, "Hard night? Poor Puppy! Awww!" *pat, pat, pat* Every morning. This is just part of the routine. On the mornings when I'm crabby and bust open his door and say, "Com'on Sam! Let's go potty!" he looks at me with this kinda bewildered look, like, "Aren't you going to ask how I am? How I'm feeling?" So, you can see how much of my conversation (even with my pet) revolves around health either mine or my co-converser's. I've further noticed that it shows up on blog quite often. Every sniffle is recorded, every headache documented in great detail.

So, it should come as no shock then to hear my report that I may have some sort of lower respiratory concern. Brian had to leave early this morning, so I was awaken very early, but didn't get out of bed until the last possible second to make Brian's lunch and give him a cereal bar as he was walking out the door. When I did wake up to make his lunch, I immediately started coughing . Not just a morning clear-your-throat-from-sleeping-with-your-mouth-open cough, but a real, I'm-coming-down-with-something cough. It lasted for several minutes and my chest hurt so bad I thought I should go immediately back to bed. Unfortunately, I had to get up, and I had to go to work, and when I get home I have to do laundry. But hopefully, I won't actually get Pneumonia. And hopefully we'll get some sleep tonight (we didn't get much sleep last night), and hopefully I'll feel better in the morning. But just in the event that I do get Pneumonia, and that I don't get some sleep, I'm washing down my Vitamin C with a Coke (see how prepared I am??).

But I'm not doing a very good job. So... I guess now I don't have to because now I have someone to "right my wrongs."

I love day-light savings time. Love, love, love, love, love, LOVE! Love it. It's the best thing in the world. I share this sentiment with two other Hoosiers. My husband, Brian (also not a native Hoosier), and our much detested governor, Mitch Something (can you tell I'm not up on my local politics? Anyway, the cause for the sudden burst of emotion is that this weekend is the beginning of day-light savings. Yeahhhhh!

Have you ever dreaded something that's expected of you so much that you're addicted to it? Something like when you're about to graduate from college and your parents - who have just dished out tens of thousands of dollars - expect you to get a job and stop lounging on their couch on the weekends; but really, you dread finding a job. So, you do tons of research on resume writing and such and hope that you never have to use these skills. Ever felt that way. It doesn't have to be something that big, really. It can be anything. Like dreading going some place - like a social event - so you try on every article of clothing you've ever owned. Sometimes I feel like I have to totally pshyc myself out to enjoy stuff. Is that weird?