Make the Caroling Cut

My Christmas will be all the more merry if I don't hear:

Grown-up Christmas List
Do You Hear What I Hear?
Christmas Shoes
Jingle Bells (the one that's just dogs... barking)
Mary Did You Know?
or
Anything sung by Josh Groban

Ever. Never.  Ever never again.

But...please load up on The Grinch Song, Bells Will Be Ringing, Santa Baby (the non-Madonna one), and any song off of Neil Diamond or Barry Manilow's Christmas albums.

Breaking the Sabbath

The Kenster, the Kolester, and I like to take Sunday drives.  More so before the Big Chill and more MORE so before the snow.  I'd say it was 3 weeks back and the boys and I decided to take one of our drives.  Kolester dozed off as usual leaving a vacancy in his part of the conversation.  When the drive was drawing to an end Ken said, "You know what I could go for?"  "What?"  "A glazed donut."  Mmmkay.  Ken looked at me all sly and smiley as if to ask.... 'Can I have one even though it's Sunday?'  I reminded Ken that it 'twas the Sabbath.  His argument was that it was past sunset (okay Tevye) and he had cash.  Cash is untraceable after all. There would be no proof of the act. 
We stop at a truck stop and Ken hands me 5 one dollar bills.  My instructions were to get a box of Hostess Old Fashioned Glazed Donuts.  Why I had to go in and get them?  Eh?  Don't know.  I go in and find them.  There is an orange sticker on the box advertising 2/$5.  Good deal.  They only had one box left and I only had five dollars. No change for tax.  I figure If it's two for five... one should be $2.50.  Maybe $3.50 since the sticker signifies... a "special."  Four bucks should be enough for the donuts.  I'll get a lottery ticket too. 
I go to the check-out and am greeted by a woman who has been smoking for way too much of her life.
"Is this it, honey?"
Can I say that I hate when people call me honey.  Especially at retail places.  They say it like I am too young to be shopping.  Like I am going to take a bunch of crumpled up dollars out of my pocket and drop some change trying to put it all on the counter.  I was so offended by her calling my "honey"  I just nodded.
"Oookay... that's $6.84," the teller told me.
WHAT?! SIX-EIGHTY-FOUR! 
I looked down at my five dollars.  Tried to do the math in my head.  A box of donuts and a lotto ticket can't be $6.84.
"Are you sure that's right?  Did you ring something up twice?"
"I didn't ring anything up wrong."
"Ok. I have to go get some more money."  I explain as I back away from the counter... sheepishly.
I was called honey for a good reason I guess. 
I head back to the car and ask Ken for more dollars.  He had the same question I had Why is it so much money? 
I got a couple more dollars and went back in to confront the teller.  Have a mentioned my outfit?  Furry blue socks, Crocs, Ken's gray sweatpants, a Utah Jazz t-shirt, and I was sans bra.
"Hi.  I have more money.  I just don't understand though.  The donuts were two for five.  So one at the most is probably what... $3.50?  And the lotto tickets is a dollar with no tax.  At the most I see this purchase being $4.50.  How did you get $6.84?"
"I rang it up and the machine said $6.84."
"May I please see the screen?"
"No."
"I just don't see how this all adds up."
"If you have the money to pay for it, why does it matter?"
"Because I don't want to give you money for nothing."
"Rest assured honey I don't get any of this money."
I sighed and handed over the $7 only because I knew that was the only way to see my receipt and prove to this woman that I was getting ripped off.
She gave me my change and told me to have a nice day.  No receipt.
"Can I have my receipt please?"
"The machine's out of paper honey."
One more honey to rub it in.  Ugeeh.     
I still can't believe it I paid six dollars and eighty-four cents for a box of glazed donuts and a lottery ticket.  My math says that I paid five eighty-four for a box of donuts.  Which is more than it would have been for 2 box of donuts!  I was totally ripped off.  Totally!

I guess that's what you get for breaking the Sabbath.

The Contract

Our contract is up on Saturday.  So this realtor, excuse me Realtor, who promised to sell my house- who claimed to be just the best in the biz and had references to prove it has failed me.  Has broken her promise.  I just want her to come get her stupid sign out of my yard so I won't feel like such a loser.  It's like being one of the last 2 kids left in gym and the teacher just splits you up so no one is actually picked last.  Nice try Mr. Yogan,  but I already know it would have been me.  I just can't kick the ball hard.  If I make it to first I stay there the whole time.
 My house.  My loved beautiful house.  Nobody wants it.  sigh  I know the housing market is slow.  I know the market is flooded with real estate.  Pishaw.  Yadda yadda.  I get a newsletter every month from Ms. Shoulderpads that tells me how many houses she has sold.  In that month.  And it's always 6 or more.  Our house has never made the list.  Must have a homemade gym uniform.  I don't think she should send that letter.  I know that letter is supposed to instill hope into the eyes of home-sellers... but as for me... and my occasionally cynical attitude- I just think "So THIS is what you've been doing all month instead of selling my house!" 
Plus there's all this hype with saying "I'm moving."  You tell your family.  And then your friends.  And then your neighbors.  And then your friends' family.  And then strangers at the deli counter.  And everyone is so sad and wishes you weren't leaving.  But, here I am four months later... still here... and everyone is acting like I've already moved.  No one wants to continue flourishing our relationship because to them I am gone already.  Or ought to be gone already.  And they've basically already said their goodbyes.  In their hearts.

 I'm the girl who cried moving.  And cries because she isn't moving.

Board Meeting

I've decided to turn my blog completely over to myself.  I've included Ken in it for the last 2 or 3 years and I've never gotten an ounce of gratitude out of that man.  He's never made a guest post.  I don't think he's ever read it.  He certainly doesn't know my handle.  It's a facade for me to pretend he is interested.  So although I am profoundly into Ken- this just isn't the place.

So, I bring it to my board.  Which only consists of moi.

Minutes of Special Board Meeting

kenandpatty.blogspot.com

Date:  11/23/2010
Location: Kitchen
In Attendance:  All (being one... being me)

I, Patricia L. Poulsen, hereby make a motion to remove Kenneth R. Poulsen from the blog http://www.kenandpatty.blogspot.com/

Motion was seconded by Patricia L. Poulsen (ruthless)
All in favor show by the appropriate sign.
Any opposed?

Voting was unanimous to remove Ken.

Thank you.

You're still loved hot cheeks.

The Sickling

...uh.... that's me.

I don't have the seasonal flu, or some bug zapping around.  I've been seriously out of it.  And by out of it I mean blacking out of it.  It started two weekends ago.  Ken came home but I just couldn't get the ball rolling.  I was really dizzy.  I tried taking a couple naps.  Ken figured I was suffering from "severe fatigue."  As if regular fatigue wasn't severe enough.  During the week with him being gone... I ebbed and flowed.  By Thursday I was not doing well and on Friday I could hardly pick up the babe.  Ken came home and I told him i was dizzy still.  He said I must be tired.  I don't understand his logic.  I've been tired before and have never experienced dizziness with it.  I was considering checking into Dr. Plumb's facility with Lucille 2.  This vertigo.  I made it until Sunday night when I decided to break down and go seek professional help.  I gave the doctor my list of ailments:

I'm dizzy.
I keep blacking out.
I feel like I have to throw up all the time.
I am very weak.
My back hurts.
My stomach hurts.
I can't eat anything.
I'm taking a lot of Immodium (hint, hint)
I feel like I am having contractions.

"Do I have stomach cancer?"  I was so sure of it.  I was sure I had like diabetes or stomach cancer or an ulcer or hypoglycemia.  I had never felt this sick before. 

"It sounds like you're dehydrated."

"No.  I drink lots of water since I am am nursing."

"How much is lots?"

"8 glasses a day."

"You're dehydrated.  I'm going to hook you up to an IV."

I was so embarrassed.  I got a bunch of sugar water pumped into me and felt worlds better.  I went home and Ken was all hoity toity and 'I told you so.'  I guess I married a doctor.  The doctor did tell me to drink at least twice as much water as before and he wrote me a prescription to relax.  On doctor's orders.  So, last night I took a long shower (drank some water) while ken get Kole into bed.  We watched Christmas Vacation (drank some water) and went to bed early (drank some water.)  Today Koley and I slept in until 9.  We read two Dr. Seuss books, drank some water,  looked through a Land's End catalog, drank some water, played peek a boo, drank some water, made funny faces in the mirror, and drank some water.  It's now 11 and I am still in my snow leopard pajamas (drinking water).  No bra (drinking water).  Eating CocoWheats (drinking water).  Listening to Christmas songs (drinking water).  I'm considering doing some online Christmas shopping... but I don't want to over do it.

Rusty McGrew Poulsen

Rusty loved walks
He loved Ken laying on the floor
He loved stalking squirrels
He loved eating the ends of our bread
He did not love the mailman

Rusty loved walks
He loved getting to lay on the couch
He loved eating dryer sheets
He loved long weekends
He did not love getting brushed

Rusty loved walks
He loved eating ice cubes
He loved playing ball
He loved not wearing his collar
He did not love Henry the cat

Rusty loved walks
He loved paper towel rolls
He loved taking naps on the bed
He loved yard days
He did not love the squirt bottle

Rusty loved walks
He loved to run
He loved his green Nyla Bone
He loved riding in the car
He did not love being by himself

Rusty loved walks
Rusty loved being a Grand-dog
Rusty loved having guests over
Rusty loved Ken

Rusty loved me.

December 19, 2006-November 17, 2010

A Letter

Hey Rusty,
You were my Christmas present back in 2006.  Do you remember that?  That was the year me and Ken went on our cruise and moved into this house.  Ken snuck out a few days before Christmas and brought you home on December 19th.  Through all my happy sobbing I said, "Is he for us?"  The answer was yes.  Oh how I loved you.  I would get up early and take you in the back yard in all that snow just to play with you..  And be with you.  You'd sit on my lap in the easy chair covered in blankets while I read Harry Potter. You liked being under the blankets just like me.
You got really sick about a week after you came home.  Remember?  I took you to the vet and he said you wouldn't make it to the new year.   I told him to try anything to get you better.  It took about 24 hours for you to be back to your good old self.  You were a Christmas miracle.  You had a second loan out on life and we were going to live it up.  We took walks every day.  Remember the first time you saw another dog?  He was so much bigger than you!  You were just a pup and when he barked... you peed your pants.  I laughed about that for a long time.
Remember going to obedience school?  You were the class clown.  They asked us to leave early every single week.  Most people would be deterred by that.  Not us.  We were hungry for knowledge.  You didn't make any good friends there.  But we bonded.  I stood up for you week after week.  We made it through.  And you can sit, stay, down, and eat treats like nobodies business.
You really like going to AmeriPet.  The first time I took you there I cried when we dropped you off.  I was so worried.  Would you make friends?  Would you behave yourself?  Would they feed you the right amounts at the right times?  Would you remember me when I came to get you? I was so excited to pick you up. You were Mr. Popularity.  King of The Wild Bunch.  A real ring leader.  But best of all, you were really happy to see me.  You pulled on the leash the kid was carrying so hard he had to run to keep up with you.  You jumped right into my arms and smiled.  You wagged your tail the whole way home and then you slept.  For a full 24 hours.  Remember that?
Remember the first night you didn't sleep in your kennel?  I brought you down there like always and you just whined and whined and whined.  I told Ken something was up.  I went down and let you out.  You came upstairs and laid right at the top of the steps.  You decided you were a grown up who didn't need to sleep in a kennel.  I decided to let you try it for a night. "One night." I said. You did great.  I woke up and you were sleeping right outside my door.  All sleepy but happy to see me.  No kennel since then, huh? One night turned into four years.  You are there every morning waiting for me to wake up.
When we found out I had a brain tumor you knew somehow.  You were mellow that weekend.  Calm.  You would lay your head on my lap and listen to me cry.  You didn't mind that we didn't go for any walks for a few days.
I have loved you and cared for you and stood up for you for four years.  You have been my tender companion.  You are a great dog.  But, Russ, I have a new pup now.  His name is Kole.  And for some reason you don't really like him.  I wish I knew why.  I'm going to try to find a new home for you.  Is that okay?  Maybe then you can start going on walks again everyday.  And maybe someone there will be able to snuggle up with you and read her books.  I hope you always remember me.  You are my first dog.  I love you.

Always,
Mom

Kole Robert Poulsen

As top notch, super creative, loving and silly parents we like giving Kole nicknames.  We rarely call him "Kole."

Kolester

Holy-Moley-Koley

Kolar Bear
The Unit (from grandpa B)
Pudgies

Kole Robby

Kohlrabi

Koley Canoli

Rolly-Polly- Koley
Koletrain
Bubbas, Bebes, Boobus (when talking about Auntie Andi)
Butter Britches

Popeye

Kole Mahokey

Honeychild

Machine Gun Tooter

Kolar Powered

Sumo

Kolesen Poulsen

Koley-san

Aye, we love him.

The Art of Reading

Ken and I are both avid readers.  Ken claims to be more avid than me because he reads what I refer to as "learning books."  Which are just non-fiction.  Like reading non-fiction gets you more points or something.  I don't like non-fiction.  We discussed our reading styles during his weekend visit home.  (For you new followers... my husband is in...a minimal security prison.) 

I am currently reading a book by one of my favorite authors, David Sedaris.  It's called When You Are Engulfed In Flames.  And it's terribly funny.  I'm 85% done with it and am dreading finishing it.  For then I will have to find a new book.  This is my trouble area.  Ken says I struggle so much with it because I have never taken the time to figure out what kind of books I really like.  I always just read what people recommend.  Sometimes those recommendations are fabulous.  Excellent book recommendations that comes to mind are The Time Traveler's Wife, Life of Pi, and A Thousand Splendid Suns.  Sometimes recommendations are garbage.  What comes to mind are Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrel and A Severe Mercy and Twilight, New Moon, and Eclipse.  I didn't waste my time with Breaking Dawn.  It took three books but I finally realized Stephanie Myers can't write worth a wooden nickel and my heart will  always belong to Ron Weasley. I admit I do read or at least start reading whatever books are thrown my way.  Nasty habit.  But I disagree with Ken's accusation that I don't know what kind of books I really like.  I read to be thoroughly entertained.  I occasionally need to take a break from darning socks and wash-boarding our laundry in the creek to relax.  The book doesn't have to be funny.  But it must entertain me.  I don't want to learn anything.  I just want to escape.  Be completely enveloped in a new story with deep characters.  Or laugh hysterically at short essays with shallow characters.

Ken thinks it's a shame that I don't like reading to learn.  But, uh, what was college for?  Plus, I don't want to be quizzed by people on what I am reading.  Take Ken. Ken is reading a book on the building of the Panama Canal.  It's called Between the Seas.  He's loving it.  When he tells people what he is reading there are always follow up questions.  And follow up questions are stressful for me.  You can't really have your own opinion on the Panama Canal, right?  It's just facts-so you either have to memorize a bunch of what you read or sound like someone who is trying to sound smart by reading learning books.  It's like when I tell someone I am from Pittsburgh.  And they ask if I like the Steelers.  And I say yes.  And they ask what I thought of that game.  And I didn't watch any game.  And I look like an idiot.

Summary:  I don't read learning books.  You can ask any Tom Sawyer, Emily Dickinson, or Harry Potter- I'll take a recommendation from anyone just so I don't hurt the recommender's feelings.  And, finally, Ken says if he does a guest-post on this blog it would be a book report of Between the Seas.  I'll try to keep him away.

But, cool fact about the Panama Canal it took 44 years to build and on average 27 workers died a month working on it.

The Bagel Altercation

Hello Denmark viewers! This post is for you.

I was at Winco getting the most fantastic bagels made by man. They make them fresh every single day. They are stinking huge and the variety is incredible. I bet there are at least 15 different types. Jalapeno Cheddar, Megaberry, Cinnamon Raisin, Onion, Herb and Cheese, Asiago. I could go on. I will. Blueberry, Chocolate Chip, Around the World, Veggie Delight. I've tried them all and they are all fabulous. And have I mentioned they are incredibly inexpensive. You can get a dozen bagels for $3.15. So,being a bagel lover I stock up one a week. Twice a week if I am feeling extra carby.

I was there on Friday getting my fix. They are held in fold out bins. All over the bins are labels that say "Please Do Not Use Your Hands." And there is a picture of a hand with the no slash over it. A man in his mid-fifties maybe sixties came up and started cruising the containers. I was already selecting mine and carefully picking them up with the tongs and placing them in my bag. This man opens a container puts his HAND in and starts moving all the bagels around! Not touching one and putting in his bag. Picking it up, examining it, and if it didn't meet his expectations he would put it back! Yes, I was shocked. But I thought Who am I to tell this man what to do? I noticed there weren't any tongs on his side. So when I was done I handed him mine with a smile. A small, innocent gesture. The following ensued:

P: Here you go.

Man: What?

P: Here are some tongs so you can pick your bagels.

M: Why do you think I need those?

P: To pick your bagels out.

M: I'm getting my bagels just fine.

P: Yes, but you are not supposed to use your hands.

M: Are you patrolling this area?

P: No. But there are signs on every container saying not to use your hands and that picture with the hand and the "no-slash" over it.

M: That's a request. It only says please.

P: A request?! No. It's not a request. It's a mandate. You can't use your hands. That's why they provide these tongs. (again presenting man with tongs)

M: Do you think my hands are dirty?

P: No, I don't. But I don't want YOUR hands on MY bagels.

M: As I recall I didn't touch YOUR bagels. I touched MY bagels.

P: Yeah. AND every one that didn't pass your quality control that you put back.

M: Why were you watching me so closely?!

P: I just noticed you! I noticed you were picking the same bagels I like! I noticed you didn't take the time to find a pair of tongs! I noticed you used your hands! And I noticed you put some back AFTER you touched them! Use these!

M: I'm not going to use those tongs!

P: I can't believe you!

M: Well!

P: FINE!!

I slammed the tongs back in their container. And stormed off. I actually couldn't believe myself. Where's my Bagel Police badge? I've obviously earned it. It reminded me of the old Patty. She was fiery. Always picking fights with strangers. A lot like Larry David.

Post Election Day

Today was Election Day. I wore my VOTE necklace. It's so trendy and hip. I got that necklace when I came back from Germany. October 2004. My mom (and sisters I believe) were trying to teach me how to shop. The biggest rule I needed to quit breaking was "Buy essentials." Get a great pair of dark jeans, a go-to pair of khakis, a knock 'em dead pair of boots. A denim fitted jacket and a white and a black sweater turtle neck. Start working from there. They told me to quit buying the latest fashion. Buy something you can wear for more than a couple months. We went to the mall and what do I buy? I necklace that says "Vote." Talk about a temporary accessory. But, I wear it once a year.

That once a year was today. Here's my beef with election day. I went to the school, I waited in line, and I voted. I am a dag gum American after all. I guess it's not the actual day of November 2nd that eats me it's all the before and all the after. For weeks, nay months (!), before signs are posted all over the community. People host parties where candidates comes and tell you how great they are. As the day draws closer there are radio ads with candidates promoting themselves and there are radio ads where they are putting the other guy down. I do my research. I read up on just about every one. There's all this buzzy hub bub.
Election day comes.
You vote.
The winner is announced.
And you never hear from them again.
Unless they cheat on their wife.

I would like to see a bit more follow up. Some continual campaigning. A reminder radio ad here and there letting us know what a great job they are doing. Or heck, even a thank you would be nice. Not all this, "I knew we could do it" bologna. Is that so much to ask? Am I crossing a line here?

Well. That's That.

I find it interesting that the four people who commented on the post about The Bloggies were last year's winners. And most likely the only four people who read my blog.

I really think I'm a good writer. I am entertaining, charming, witty, cynical, and myself. I think I am better than cJane and NieNie and she was on Oprah!

What does it take to get your name out there!

Come one my four readers! Spread the word!

Bloggies

I bet you remember the Blog Awards I gave out last year. Especially if you received one, or were sour for not receiving one. Well, my amigos, that time is nigh at hand to once again recognize some of you. I was prompted by a potential Bloggie winner that you deserve a heads up. Can't argue there. So, the categories this year are (along with their explanations):



Drumroll.

Cymbal crash!!



Most Suspenseful Blog

I like a post that keeps me reading. That doesn't tell the whole story in the first sentence. That has a touch of foreshadowing. I little mystery. You know?



Least Updated Blog

I'll have to go through the blog logs to award this one. This is strictly mathematical. A prize for the slacker I suppose. A bloggie that goes out to someone who most likely would never receive one. Kind of like picking a chubby girl as your base runner just so she feels good about herself.



Most Thought-Out Commenter

It's not too late to get some brown nosing in here, folks.



Best Pictures

A repeat from last year, I know I know. Here's the rocks- stone me.

Impressively Improved

Everyone has to start somewhere. This we know. What is often NOT discussed is every ones also has to end somewhere. This award is for a person who is really going places with their blog. Maybe they started out on the wrong side of the tracks- but they're heading up now.

Alrighty. Awards will be awarded at the awards ceremony at the end of December. Start campaigning!

The Helpless Human

Last night I was getting The Kolester ready for bed. Dad had decided that he was tired and needed some down time before getting up early to go to Salt Lake. Reasonable. So, I feed the bottomless milk tank Kole stores in his abdomen. I get up and pat his back to get a burp out. I'm walking around the living room where Ken is reading and he says, "Will you turn on the big light?" Sure. I hoist my 20 pound three month old onto one arm so I can turn the knob to turn the lamp on. Click. Click. On. Patting the back and out comes some gas. The bath stuff isn't ready so I balance Kole in one arm and gather up the tubby, a towel, the baby body wash, powder, bag balm, a fresh diaper, wipes, wash rags, a onesie, and his zippy jammas. I'm carrying all this PLUS Kole, mind you. I'm walking through the living room into the kitchen and Ken says, "Will you bring me a spoonful of cookie dough?" Sure. I set Kole on the counter... don't call Child Protective Services on me. He can't really move yet. I grab the container of cookie dough and a spoon and bring it in to Ken. "Oh, I just wanted one spoonful." My nerves are getting just slightly rattled as I reply, "Well when you're done you can just set it down. Eat what you want." I'm walking back to the kitchen when the voice of my darling husband stops me. "You know what would make this snack perfect? Milk!" Being the intellectually gifted individual I am- I sense this is a hint to bring him milk. Which I do. Begrudgingly. Then I get the bath running. I get Kole undressed. I get peed on. I get Kole in the water and I start scrubbing the stink off of him. (His major stink areas are under his multiple chins and beneath the rolls that are behind his ears.) I'm about one third of the way through the process when ringing so sweetly in my ears I hear: "Hey hon? Will you bring me some socks? My feet are getting cold. Oh! And some water?"
"Ken, I'm right in the middle of Kole's bath. Can it wait?"
"Well, how long will it take you to finish?"

Not a good question to ask, Ken. Not a good question.

"Well, Ken, the bath will take about 5 more minutes. Then I'm going to read him a story. Then I'll put him down for the night. Soooo... 20 minutes? You might want to get your own socks if you are really cold."

"Ah. nah. I'll wait for you."

Isn't he just the sweetest? I get Kole down. It does take about 20 minutes to get through the whole routine. I go into our bedroom and Ken is in the bathroom now taking out his contacts. I'm changing and he says, "Will you get me that glass of water now?"

The following conversation ensued:

P: (having reached her limit) Can you get it yourself? I spend all day taking care of a helpless human being.
K: But I can help myself.
P: Great! That's what I like to hear! So, go get your own stinking glass of water.
K: I don't think you understand I can help myself.
P: Why do you think I don't understand that?
K: You wouldn't be helping a helpless human being you'd be helping a human who can help himself.
(Both start laughing)
P: Pretty sure I get it. Do you get what you are saying?
K: Yes. And I am presenting you with an opportunity to serve a fellow human being.
P: Oh that's rich.

I don't get his reasoning. Ever.
But I did get him his water.
Because I love him.

It's hard not to.