Little Miss Can't Be Wrong

It's not her fault. She inherited the disease, as I have inherited it from my mother.

Yesterday was first full day of vacation in which I got to spend an entire day with my two wonderful kids. It confirmed a suspicion that's been on my mind for a few months now. Alexandria has got a terrible case of "know-it-all" disease.

Some of you might have it and not know it. Here's a quick test.

1) Can you relate to Hermione Granger? You know the Harry Potter character who always corrects her male counterparts? Who has her hand raised high in class, sitting on the edge of her seat, hoping desperately to be called upon?
2) Do you have a strong urge to correct incorrect use of spoken or written grammar? Or, do you actually correct usage of grammar to anyone other than your children?(If you actually do this, no doubt you have it.)
3) Does it pain you to hear a piece of factual information delivered erroneously?4) Do you believe you have the memory of an elephant?
5) Have you ever argued about splitting infinitives?

If you answered affirmatively to any of these, you probably carry the disease. Truly, it's not a terrible disease to have, but for obvious reasons one must learn to manage it! It takes a lot of practice to learn to keep your mouth shut, but in the end it makes for better friendships. It's especially a helpful marriage tool.

I also like to use the, "Oh, I must be mistaken. I was thinking..." strategy. It doesn't really matter if the other party realizes his or her mistake. At least you were able to speak a piece of your correct mind.

Anyway, I'd love to hear it from you know-it-alls out there! What techniques do you use?

P.S. Don't you love the picture of Alex above? She looks baffled by this blue Lego man -- a look she doesn't typically display

Shopping

Mom always says, "Nothing perks you up like a new piece of fabric."

I want to go shopping. Really bad. You know what I'm talking about. At least you girls do.

I just finished reading another spiritual lesson from Deepak Chopra, so why am I craving a trip to visit Gap, DSW and Express? Wait! A thought! Maybe it's in my spiritual make-up! It's not just a materialistic, selfish desire to have an incredible wardrobe consisting of trendy clothes and adorable shoes.

But seriously, despite the shoe fetish I share with 95% of the female population in America, I'm really not deeply attached to anything in my closet (except maybe my ratty U of Iowa sweatshirt from 1988, but that's purely sentimental). As a matter of fact, Stacey and Clinton could toss everything in my closet. I wouldn't even shed a tear. I'd look at it as an opportunity to go shopping. So, aha! It's the process, not the outcome.

Of course, this process of shopping has backfired on me a few times. I've suffered through many "Mother's Day" shopping trips with my kids and husband because they wanted to make it a special day for me. Ever done that? What's more fun than having your family follow you around, waiting for you to pick something out and be done with it already? "What else do you need?" "Mom, can I get this?" "When are we going to eat?" Doug, being the supportive husband that he is, yells at the kids, "Just stop it! This is Mom's day!" And the kids mope. We don't do that anymore.

The best shopping trip I ever had was a trip to Kansas City with my mother a couple of years ago to celebrate a milestone birthday of hers. It was pure unadulterated joy. With no time constraints, no moping and no whining we visited almost each and every store in the Kansas City Plaza. We laughed a lot. We only ate when we were hungry -- and just enough to give us energy for more shopping. And you know what? I didn't even spend that much. It wasn't about what I got.

It was about what we shared. And maybe just a little about the shoes.

Breakthrough For the Finicky Eaters!

It’s a breakthrough discovery in the Kramer household! Do you have a child who wants nothing but hamburgers and pizza? Let me tell you about a technique called “melted butter”.

Years ago, I stopped asking my family what they wanted for dinner. Now I just start preparing. If they ask what I’m making, I simply respond, “something wonderful, like always”. Their response? Only apprehensive expressions.

A few nights ago, I grilled catfish fillets, steamed cheesy cauliflower and made rice. The meal was quite…yellowish. The plate didn’t look near as French as I intended.

“Mom? What do we dip it in?”

“Dip? Um. Well. Hey! How about some butter?”

I melted butter and gave everyone a dish of their own for dipping. The results?

“Mom! This is awesome! Can we have fish every night?”

Of course, everything on the plate (except the rice) was being fully-immersed in the melted butter. Cole held his food in the butter for at least ten seconds. But who cares? Voila! I finally hit a homerun on the meal front. And such a simple solution – melted butter!

So, when Cole complained about the tator-tot casserole I’m making tonight, I simply responded. “You can dip it in butter!” He shrugged and said, “OK!”

But one bite into that cheesy, tator totty, hamburgy dish, I don’t think he’ll even remember the melted butter condiment! I’ll let you know how it turns out.

And Peace Be With You!

Let me preface this posting by saying I have a very happy marriage. There is no doubt that fate brought us together. (See our picture?)With that being said...

I'm annoying the hell out of my husband this weekend. It's really out of the best intentions. You see, I just read the Seven Spiritual Laws to Success by the guru Deepak Chopra (yes the one Mike Myer parodies in his new movie), and I have found this new inner peace! So, I'm trying transfer some of my enlightenment on to Doug. But it just seems to be pissing him off.

He was given some upsetting news yesterday. It's not health-related, but without going into a lot of detail, he is understandly upset by something involving his farming operation. So, with my newly-found state of calm, I've been trying to help him.

"Let it go, Hon. It doesn't matter in the scheme of things."

"Easy for you to say. What about all of those years I spent working on this."

Hmm. "Maybe there's a reason. You know the law of Kharma... And eventally what you sow is what you'll reap."

He gives me a look like "obviously you don't understand".

Later enroute to a ball game, I actually get my Deepak Chopra book and start reading a few passages. Perhaps if I read the words verbatim, it will be more effective.

Again, no reaction. He turns up the radio.

So, as the day goes by, and I feel negativity consume his essence, I try a few more tactics.

I gently grab his arm, "Hey, it 's okay. It's just a softball game."

He turns to talk to someone else.

Then I try getting a little more in his face. "You're kind of a 'glass is half-empty' guy today, aren't you?"

He looks at me like, "no shit".

So, here I am on Sunday morning trying to brainstorm ways to make Doug happy while he sleeps.

Duh.

What makes every male happy? I better go back to bed. :)

Oh the Wonder!

On the way home tonight, I saw an incredible rainbow! Both of the ends were visible and the spectrum was brilliant. It reminded me when Cole saw his first rainbow at about the age of four. He excitedly ran to me. "Mom! You gotta see this. I never knew rainbows were real!"

He didn't know rainbows were real -- only a made-up effect in books or movies. Too often we take for granted the wonders of nature. Now everytime I see a rainbow, I think to myself, "It's real!".

Our Trip to the Pool

June is half over and I finally took the kids to the pool. What's happened to me? It wasn't all that many years ago when I impatiently waited for the first day of the pool to open. Now, here I sit in a lounge chair, sucking in my c-sectioned stomach, trying to hide behind a large Oprah magazine. I practically begged Cole to let me play with him in the pool so at least my bottom half would be covered. He politely declined. I guess it's embarrasing for six-year olds to play with their moms. Alex ditched me the moment she spotted one of her friends. (I'm still subtly monitoring her. Does a mother ever get over the fear of their children drowning?")

So, here I sit, with one eye on my kids and the other taking note of the young and skinny moms. One mom is wearing a string bikini with a six-month old attached to her side. A six month old! My doctor told me it takes three years for your body to come back. Cole's almost 7, and I'm still waiting.

OK. Time to get over it. What happened to all that talk last week about "age only being a frame of mind"? That was before I tried on my swimsuit. Oh well, at least I can sit here and write. And read Oprah. I'm sure to find an inspirational article in the magazine that always makes women feel good about themselves.

Better yet, I can put away my notebook and the magazines, stop drowning in my vain sorrows and soak in the youthful spirit of my beautiful children splashing in the pool. Don't you love how kids laugh? It's the sound of pure joy.

Wait! Here comes Cole.

He just asked me to catch him on the slide. I'm in!

The Missing Female Trait

I'm missing a gene --the one that calls to the depth of a female's soul and says, "You must provide food. There must be plenty, it must be aesthetically pleasing, and most of all, delicious."

Ok -- maybe I have the gene that calls the command. But I certainly don't have the gene that can pull it off.

I would love the idea of entertaining guests in our home, if it weren't for the expectation of food. Doug always says that chips and salsa are "plenty good". But deep inside, I know he's not right...

Appetizers (more than one)should be adorably displayed on a clever serving dish.

At least one of the beverages should be blended and require foo-foo glasses.

Meat should be marinated and handsomely prepared via grilling or roasting methods.

Potatos and/or vegetables should be basted in exotic spices and served casserole-style to ensure the masses will all be able to enjoy.

Dessert should consist of at least 15 ingredients and require a four-hour lead time for preparation. Of course, an alternative (such as cookies) should be available in case of dessert failure.

Oh, crap! What about a salad? A soup? And what about the mess in the kitchen I'll create trying to make off this stuff?

I would much rather give a speech to a large crowd than prepare a dinner meal. Heck, I get nervous just bringing a dish to someone else's dinner party. I just can never seem to ever get my hands around an entire project involving food. Maybe it's because I try to take shortcuts when I cook. Maybe it's because I haven't bought enough Pampered Chef products. Nonetheless, my disfunctional "entertaining" gene is bound to haunt me for life.

But I continue to work on it. Today I made a suggestion that gave by pysche a smattering of hope.

I'm in a management group with three other men. And tomorrow, lunch is being brought into our staff. (We made our sales goals two months in a row.)

"What do you guys think of bringing a dessert for the crew? You know, to show how much we appreciate their efforts?"

Some chuckles. They don't respond. I volunteer first.

"I'll bring a pan of brownies."

"Oh, you're serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious. I think the staff will appreciate it!"

"Um. OK. You'll bring brownies for everyone then?"

"Well, the idea is that we all bring something."

"Oh. Well, I can bring Oreos."

"My daughter just made Monster cookies. Will that work?"

"My wife makes a killer strawberry pie."

That's the spirit! I have a Betty Crocker mix that only requires one egg and some vegetable oil. It even includes the frosting.

Maybe the key is starting small. Today it's Betty Crocker. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe I'll try a Martha Stewart recipe.

Maybe. Or, better yet, have my friend Charlene sell me more of her "Tastefully Simple" items. They are killer.