Over the weekend, we had a treading water contest. The last one we had was probably 7-8 years ago and Hannah emerged victorious. None of us could remember how long she actually treaded water but we knew it was over an hour. It's time around, it was Nick who won out. Hannah and I dropped out at 30 minutes, Jay went for 45 minutes, and Nick beat out Becca (Hannah's friend) by going for a full 1 hour and 15 minutes. In case you're wondering, Kim was the timekeeper.
During the course of the contest, we had the inevitable "How long do you think you could really tread water if you capsized in the middle of the ocean?" conversation. None of us really know. We all say we could hold out for hours or even a full day. Hopefully, unlike the frogs around here, we'll never have to find out.
Last night, we had a torrential rain storm with plenty of thunder and lightning. It woke me up at 1:08am. The power went out about twenty minutes later. As I lay there in bed, a number of questions raced through my head. Is my phone fully charged? Will the basement flood again? Will the power come back on by morning? If it doesn't, should I go running anyway and just "rinse off" in the pool? The answers were no, no, yes, and (thankfully) the question no longer applies. The one question that didn't pop into my head was how many frogs will I find in the pool in the morning.
When I took Wally and Ginger out in the morning, I saw that, as bad as my night had been, it wasn't nearly as bad as that of the local frogs. I counted 31 of them having their own involuntary treading water contest in the pool at 6:45am. You see, when a frog happens to find its way into the pool, there's no way out. They swim around endlessly, getting increasingly water-logged and drugged up on chlorine. A few of the lucky ones make their way onto the vacuum cord that just skims the surface. They sit there forlornly while the others swim in unending circles around the pool. Who knows what they're thinking in those tiny frog-sized brains of theirs.
Remarkably, all 31 frogs were still alive when I got out there. I picked up the skimmer and started scooping them out, one by one. I tossed them into the landscaping. After flying through the air, they'd scramble back upright, probably wondering what had just happened. A few hit a holly bush a little harder than they probably liked. But, I don't think they were complaining. They were back on solid ground. The contest was over and they'd all won.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Mrs. Butterworth is Watching You
Nick just threw a minor hissy fit because we ran out of Aunt Jemima syrup for his pancakes. We found a new container of Mrs. Butterworth's and thought that would fit the bill. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of pointing out that, just like the Mona Lisa, Mrs. Butterworth is always watching you. That was a mistake.
If you don't believe me, check it out for yourself. Turn her to the left, she's watching you. Turn her to the right, she's watching you. It's actually kind of scary. We're definitely going back to Aunt Jemima.
If you don't believe me, check it out for yourself. Turn her to the left, she's watching you. Turn her to the right, she's watching you. It's actually kind of scary. We're definitely going back to Aunt Jemima.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
The Pecking Order
I've never really thought of myself as an Andy Murray fan. Today, though, I was definitely pulling for him in the Wimbledon final against Novak Djokovic. I think it started last year at Wimbledon when, after losing to Roger Federer in the final, Murray started his post-match interview by shaking his head, rubbing his face, searching for words, and finally stating "I'm getting closer ..." before trailing off and beginning to cry. I thought that was pretty raw emotion.
So, as I watched the match this morning, I was hoping that Murray would finally get his elusive Wimbledon title. After he wasted three match points in the final game, I was certain he'd fold. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to come back after being that close to the championship. But, that's why he was playing at Centre Court in front of a live audience of 15,000 desperately hoping that he would win while I was at home watching in my recliner. Murray managed to fight off that disappointment, pull himself together, and finally win the title on his fourth match point.
After the match, he went up another notch in my book. It's customary for the winner of a Grand Slam title to climb up into the box of their friends and family and celebrate their victory. After seeing shot after shot of Judy Murray, Andy's mother, throughout the match, I wondered if she'd get the first hug. Would he skip right over his girlfriend, the lovely pet portrait artist (seriously) Kim Sears, and his coach, the great Ivan Lendl who never could quite manage a Wimbledon title during his own career, and run straight to his mother? As he began his climb to their box, I couldn't wait to see what would happen.
As it turns out, it was Lendl who got the first hug. Then, it was Andy's brother. After that, there was a short hug and kiss for Kim. From there, Andy kept right on acknowledging everyone in the box -- everyone except for Mom, that is. He was actually headed back down to the court before he remembered that good old Mom was still waiting for her hug. He turned back and gave her the longest embrace of all.
All this isn't to say that Judy didn't deserve a hug. And, knowing that my own mother is surely going to read this at some point, yes, I would give you a hug if you were in the friends and family box watching me win my first Wimbledon championship. Just not the first one. You see, if you hug your mother before your girlfriend, your girlfriend will never forgive you. That's just the way it is.
So, as I watched the match this morning, I was hoping that Murray would finally get his elusive Wimbledon title. After he wasted three match points in the final game, I was certain he'd fold. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to come back after being that close to the championship. But, that's why he was playing at Centre Court in front of a live audience of 15,000 desperately hoping that he would win while I was at home watching in my recliner. Murray managed to fight off that disappointment, pull himself together, and finally win the title on his fourth match point.
After the match, he went up another notch in my book. It's customary for the winner of a Grand Slam title to climb up into the box of their friends and family and celebrate their victory. After seeing shot after shot of Judy Murray, Andy's mother, throughout the match, I wondered if she'd get the first hug. Would he skip right over his girlfriend, the lovely pet portrait artist (seriously) Kim Sears, and his coach, the great Ivan Lendl who never could quite manage a Wimbledon title during his own career, and run straight to his mother? As he began his climb to their box, I couldn't wait to see what would happen.
As it turns out, it was Lendl who got the first hug. Then, it was Andy's brother. After that, there was a short hug and kiss for Kim. From there, Andy kept right on acknowledging everyone in the box -- everyone except for Mom, that is. He was actually headed back down to the court before he remembered that good old Mom was still waiting for her hug. He turned back and gave her the longest embrace of all.
All this isn't to say that Judy didn't deserve a hug. And, knowing that my own mother is surely going to read this at some point, yes, I would give you a hug if you were in the friends and family box watching me win my first Wimbledon championship. Just not the first one. You see, if you hug your mother before your girlfriend, your girlfriend will never forgive you. That's just the way it is.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Too Much of a Good Thing
Cheesecake is my favorite dessert. I used to think that you could never have too much of it. Now, I'm not so sure.
Last week, Kim surprised me by coming home from BJ's with a box of The Cheesecake Factory's original cheesecake. The box contained 12 single-serve slices. Of course, for The Cheesecake Factory, a single slice is really two normal-sized slices. So, we had a bit of a challenge in front of us.
That first night, we made it through three slices (Jay hates cheesecake -- I'm not sure how that happened -- and Kim was smart enough to just have a few bites from someone else's plate). That left nine slices. On night two, Hannah and I split a piece. Now, we were down to eight slices.
Night three came and Hannah, Nick, and I were feeling gluttonous. We made it through two more slices between us. That seemed like progress but the reality was that, after three full days, we still had half of the cheesecake to go.
On night four, I told myself to be strong and take on a whole slice. I gave myself two full hours after dinner to get ready. Then, I bravely walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, took out the box, opened it up, and put a slice on my plate. I sat down, took a deep breath, and got started. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be and, soon enough, I was putting an empty plate in the dishwasher. "Five more to go," I thought to myself.
Last night was night five. As we cleared off the table, I halfheartedly asked if anyone wanted cheesecake. I was surprised to hear Hannah and Nick sign up for the challenge. With them on board, I had to join in. Nick took on a full slice while Hannah and I split one between us. Not surprisingly, Nick couldn't get through the whole thing. Even less surprisingly, I refused to let his cheesecake go to waste and found myself trading plates with him once I'd finished my own half-slice.
That left three slices. It was our last night at home as we were going away for the rest of the week the next day. I looked at Kim and asked "How are we going to get rid of this? Should we bring it with us for your father?" She didn't say anything. Sensing a need to help out, Nick said that, if we left the box at home, he'd try to eat one slice a day for the next three days.
That's when it hit me -- we'd managed to turn eating cheesecake into a chore. Only in America.
Last week, Kim surprised me by coming home from BJ's with a box of The Cheesecake Factory's original cheesecake. The box contained 12 single-serve slices. Of course, for The Cheesecake Factory, a single slice is really two normal-sized slices. So, we had a bit of a challenge in front of us.
That first night, we made it through three slices (Jay hates cheesecake -- I'm not sure how that happened -- and Kim was smart enough to just have a few bites from someone else's plate). That left nine slices. On night two, Hannah and I split a piece. Now, we were down to eight slices.
Night three came and Hannah, Nick, and I were feeling gluttonous. We made it through two more slices between us. That seemed like progress but the reality was that, after three full days, we still had half of the cheesecake to go.
On night four, I told myself to be strong and take on a whole slice. I gave myself two full hours after dinner to get ready. Then, I bravely walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, took out the box, opened it up, and put a slice on my plate. I sat down, took a deep breath, and got started. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be and, soon enough, I was putting an empty plate in the dishwasher. "Five more to go," I thought to myself.
Last night was night five. As we cleared off the table, I halfheartedly asked if anyone wanted cheesecake. I was surprised to hear Hannah and Nick sign up for the challenge. With them on board, I had to join in. Nick took on a full slice while Hannah and I split one between us. Not surprisingly, Nick couldn't get through the whole thing. Even less surprisingly, I refused to let his cheesecake go to waste and found myself trading plates with him once I'd finished my own half-slice.
That left three slices. It was our last night at home as we were going away for the rest of the week the next day. I looked at Kim and asked "How are we going to get rid of this? Should we bring it with us for your father?" She didn't say anything. Sensing a need to help out, Nick said that, if we left the box at home, he'd try to eat one slice a day for the next three days.
That's when it hit me -- we'd managed to turn eating cheesecake into a chore. Only in America.