My Funny Valentines

Who are yours?

Tagged: All You Ever Wanted to Know ... and More

My friend, Robyn, tagged us. So here we go!

What is his name? Scott Murdock Christensen

How long have we been together? 5 1/2 years

How long did we date? Oh, the old love story! We met when we were 18 but didn't date until after our missions at 24 (summer of 2002) and got married at 25 in May 2003.

How old is he? Six weeks younger than me -- he'll be 30 in April. Scott's favorite jokes about me being older are, "You're so much older than me -- I don't even get your jokes. It's like you're from a different generation." And my personal favorite he says (because it's so blasted weird), "It's kind of like I'm Anna Nicole Smith and you're that really old guy." Seriously?!? Gross.

Who eats more? He does ... but only by a teeny, tiny margin. Sweets, on the other hand, are a different story -- he doesn't stand a chance up against my sweet tooth.

Who said "I love you" first? I did! Take that and rewind it back! (Ironically, my feminist mother was so embarrassed for me when she found out I said it first! Believe it Mom -- I'm a rebel without a clue.)

Who is taller? Scott. But that's not hard seeing as how I haven't grown since
the first grade ... practically.

Who can sing better? Me. And that's not bragging, it's just the plain truth, right Scotty? But I definitely can't sing Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" with as much power and conviction as you.

Who is smarter? That depends on what you're looking for. For example, the explanation of the effects of greenhouse gases, or the mating habits of wolves, or elk migration, or how to identify bear scat -- you'll probably want to talk to him. On the flip side, if you're trying to find the best and cheapest place to buy large quantities of Diet Coke? You guessed it -- Me. I'm a genius when it comes to super important facts.

Who does the Laundry? What kind of a loaded question is that? I'm the laundrer, or laundress, in our house. Scott, however, is an avid vacuumer.

Who pays the bills? I do ... apparently. Speaking of, are bills due every month?

Who sleeps on the right side? Scott. I just always sleep on the side closest to the door, which happens to be the left -- it makes it easier during pregnancy when I have to make a mad, puking dash for the bathroom.

Who mows the lawn? Scott. Our yard here is so tiny, though, that it only takes a total of 7.2 minutes to mow the whole thing, weed-whack the edges, and take a few sips of lemonade.

Who cooks dinner? I try.

Who drives? It's about 50/50 although I'd be fine with driving 90% of the time. Two things bug me about Scott's driving: One - he drives so S....L.....O.....W....L....Y -- it just gives me way too much anxiety; Two - he has a hard time staying in his lane because he is constantly scanning the passing landscape, in search of animals -- it's like he's Steve, The Crocodile Hunter (may he rest in peace), always on the look out for another "beautiful specimen."

Who is more stubborn? Whoa. Tough question. I'd say it's a stalemate.

Who kissed who first? Scott was totally the pursuer on that one, or in his lingo, he was the predator and I was the totally helpless prey.

Who asked who out first? I don't think Scott ever really asked me out. We had written on our missions, he said he wanted to "hang out" afterwards (what a cop out!), and that's exactly what we did. I don't think either of us really ever asked the other one out.

Who proposed? He did. I'm not that much of a feminist. Sorry Gloria Steinem.

Who has more friends? I do. But he doesn't have the same need I have for interaction with the human race. Hence, the blog.

Who is more sensitive? That's a hard one. Probably me but he can be really in tune
with the way other people are feeling around him -- especially his little sisters (it's impressive).

Who has more siblings? Moi. I have six siblings (four brothers, two sisters) and he has three younger siblings (one brother, two sisters).

Who wears the pants? It's funny because I would probably say me and then I'd get all up on my high horse with the pants and then he'd put his foot down (very gently, of course) about something and knock me right off that high horse. So maybe I'd say we share them but, truth be told, we really just fight over the pants.


So to continue the business of tags and tagging, I would tag my sister Adrienne but she's, "like, so busy and plus, tags are like, so yesterday," so instead I tag Heidi, Traci, Kirsten, Natalie, and Mandy.

p.s. In honor of Scotty, I uploaded a few of his "kind" of tunes. Please pardon the interruption as I know some of you out there (Heidi -- I never would have guessed!) aren't big music people so I won't be offended if you turn your volume down; however, Scott probably will be.

Don't cry for me Pam and Jim -- The Truth is I Never Left You!

Hey y'all! Did you hear the writer's strike is almost over?!?!

Come back to us Office. We'll forgive you. Just come the freak back to us already.

Signs of the Time

Remember before you were married when you thought your spouse was the hippest, coolest thing on the block? I do. I wish I had pictures on my computer of those days so I could show you the proof. Man, Scott was the coolest.

Of course I gave a lot of thought to our future, you know, the important things like how cute of a couple we would be, how we would always laugh so hard together we'd cry, and how much fun we would have. Sometimes, I would actually manage to tear myself away from the daydreaming and get serious about how Scott would be as a father. I always managed to conjure up adorable images that just melted my heart. You know, something like this:


And while we have had tender, sweet moments with our kids, some six years after all the unrealistic daydreaming, they haven't been at all what I thought they would be.

Like take for example how Scott has taken it upon himself to enlighten Henry in the ways of the world, especially the music world. The other day Scott was monkeying around with the iPod docking station, getting ready to musically enlighten our boy (probably with Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, or maybe even Arcade Fire), and here's how the "tender moment" went down:

Scott: Okay Hen, here it comes ... get ready to rock.

Henry (high-pitched little voice, with a darling amount of hope and expectation): Oh ... Elmo?!?!

Scott: What? ... Elmo? ... No, Hen! Not Elmo.

***

Scott has also appointed himself Henry's tutor in his mastery of the English language. For some reason, Henry gets his consonants mixed up sometimes. For example, "dog" is sometimes "gog" and "garage" is "duh-wahhhge." Here's how the lunch-time tutoring session went today:

Henry: I want some frapes. [Alas, it's true, Henry does not say "please" and "thank you" on a regular basis. Hey Tutor! Did you skip that chapter?!?]

Scott: Okay, but say, "GRape."

Henry: FRape.

Scott: Guh, Guh, GuhRape.

Henry: Guh, Guh, FuhRape!

***

And then there are those "tender moments" that remind me that the "too cool for school" person I fell in love with is long gone. Like this, for example:

Scott [while helping Henry "clean up" after doing some serious business, if you know what I mean, in the bathroom]: Okay, Bud. Let me wipe your buns. Bend over and grab your ankies.

Henry: (Silence) [He's all business these days with the business in the bathroom.]


5 years ago I would never have dreamed Scott would call a "butt," "buns," and/or subscribe to the parenting school of thought where even the most ordinary of words gets a cutesy nickname (i.e. "ankles" becomes "ankies") -- not to mention willingly entering a situation that requires the use of BOTH of these terms.

***

Whenever I catch little conversations like these I always think about how old I am or at least how old I must be because I have a husband who is talking to our children. But, I'm still young and hip, right? (Girbaud jeans, y'all. They're still in, right?) But when I hear Scott -- SCOTT! of all people -- talking about Elmo and "going poops on the potty" and his SON wanting "mulk," I inevitably think, "Oh man ... has my life changed!" It's a sign of the times -- I'm old.

So what happened to my "cool kid?" Apparently, he no longer has the time (not to mention the money!) to rock climb, fish, and snowboard whenever he wants. He doesn't wear the latest, coolest outdoorsy clothes anymore. And heck! He doesn't even have the long-ish hairdo anymore (even though he would still like to but has taken one for the team on that one).

Now I've got someone else in his place.

Not surprisingly, he's not the "perfect", Kodak-moment-father I was thinking of in my not-quite-adult daydreams. In his place is a funnier-than-I-imagined, crazier, gentler, awesome dad who still cracks me up just by listening to his interchanges with our kids.

Instead of soft, sweet, constantly romantic moments of a father softly humming his child to sleep in his arms or reading hours and hours of books out loud, our"tender moments" are better. More real.


And there seem to be a lot more "knuckies" involved.

Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde

Do not be deceived by this face. Cute, right? But there's a dark side to Ms. Ruby that many of you don't know about. Oh my, is it dark. Believe me, it's practically midnight oil (remember that old band? My older sister, Liz, had that cd when I was growing up and I remember thinking I had to listen and learn if I wanted to be "cool.").

Perhaps I should enlighten you. But be advised, it ain't gonna be pretty.

I call this catastrophe the Muted Mess Maker.

When will I learn that with Ruby around Silence = Disaster? Disaster is like Ruby's new Modus Operandi (doesn't it feel so much more sophisticated and pretentious to say that instead of plain old M.O.? Gosh, "M.O." is so yesterday.).

This picture doesn't even show the half of her sneaky mess. Henry said it was all Ruby's idea and I believe him. Yes, I do. Like Henry would put the blame on someone else. He's an honorable gent.

But the most fascinating part is how quickly Ruby transforms into her alter ego. One minute, she's walking around, holding Henry's hand, cute as can be:


And then the next minute she rips her hand out of Henry's, starts throwing toys, screaming bloody murder, and body slamming Tau. (I think she thinks she's secretly auditioning for the new American Gladiators. She wants her stage name to be Rubicon's Brass Ring.)


And then, suddenly, all is well in the life of Ruby and she's just as darling as before, just making a few important phone calls:

I think she's calling all of her posse, trying to set up her new non-profit, TAT, Toddlers Against Tattooing.

And then, just yesterday, Ms. Hyde reared her actually quite adorable, but still very naughty head. I had corralled her on my bed, her usual spot, while I took a shower. But there was nothing "usual" about this day. Ohhhhhhhh no. When I came out, I found this:


The only obvious question would be, "Well what, pray tell, did the Book of Ezekiel ever do to you Ms. Ruby?"

She ripped out three pages and then proceeded to rip those three pages in half and then dig her fingernail through five other pages of scripture. Quel sacrilege!


I can only imagine that she had just read verse 20. And if she hadn't read it, she needs to ... preferably substituting the word "daughter" in for "son" and "mother" in for "father." Maybe, just maybe, she might be forgiven of her offense.


So once again, don't let looks deceive you .... objects behind lens are not as innocent as they appear.