You Ass...

It's been almost a year since I lost my Grandpa Kern. I miss him all the time. But usually when I think about him I start laughing, not crying. I even dream about him sometimes. I'm scared that Christmas will never be the same without him here. So I'm doing my best to laugh while I cry now and think of only the good shit on Christmas when my dad takes over making Slippery Eggs.

This is what my cousin, Janelle, read at his funeral.

About a year ago, in one of my classes, I was assigned to write a paper about one of my family members. It didn’t take me more than a couple seconds before I decided…. Grandpa Kern. Here are some pieces of the paper I would like to share.

My Grandpa.. Ornery, feisty, funny, perverted, and cheap. He always had something to say whether it was making fun of my messy hair (when he had none) or telling me about what happened on Dancing With the Stars. Whenever he would call it was always pretty brief because he had to hurry up before the commercials on tv were over. “Well I didn’t want nothing, bye,” was always his signature line. He was also pretty famous for the messages he would leave on the answering machine. “It’s 7 o’clock, must be out shopping…. Bye.” Or the classic messages of him talking to grandma and having no clue he was leaving a ten minute message of complete nonsense.

I will never forget the time I asked Grandpa to come with me to get a couch at Mom’s Place, a thrift store. He was always their biggest costumer and was thrilled to go. When we walked in he proudly told every employee I needed a couch for my new apartment in Iowa City. After Grandpa sent me on a tour of the whole store we found a couch for $175. Of course he wasn’t going to pay that much. He offered them $70 and then had the nerve to pay with a $100 bill. I’m not sure if I was impressed or totally embarrassed.

Grandpa always had his own way of talking. He was never very sincere, he would rather say, “Ah, you ass” instead of I love you. Beaktis instead of breakfast. Juscuzzi instead of Jacuzzi. Noenoinment instead of Neosporin. I think Angela and Tristan were married for a couple of years before he finally pronounced Tristan right… he was always Kristen or Travis.

Grandpa was always my number one fan sitting right behind home plate at every softball game. I will never forget his and grandmas matching green and gold St. Albert t-shirts. He was also one of the concession stand’s biggest costumers buying popcorn, nachos, peanuts and sunflower seeds every game. 

I always enjoyed having breakfast with Grandma and Grandpa at Hy-Vee on Saturday mornings but their eggs were never near as good as Grandpa’s famous Slippery Eggs on Christmas.

Even in the end he was still his ornery and feisty self. From flipping off the night nurse he didn’t like to talking about the cute new nurse. He always told me to “behave yourself” but now it’s my turn to tell you “behave yourself up there” I’m sure going to miss you…. You ass. 

Timber!

We needed one last picture for our Christmas card this year. I thought it would be awfully festive if we took one in front of the tree. As I'm setting up the self timer on the camera and finagling a few boxes on top of a TV dinner tray, the unthinkable happens.

Josh steps on the edge of a package, throws out both arms to balance himself, takes a few steps back, pins the Christmas tree against the wall and ends up on the floor. He managed to roll around long enough that he ended up clear over by the kitchen door. I'm asking "are you alright?" But it feels like it takes 15 minutes to get off the couch and waddle over there. He never did answer because he was laughing so hard (and maybe crying just a little).

By this time I'm laughing hysterically too but still asking "are you ok?" In the chaos, somehow I managed to drool all over the back of his "good shirt."

When we were finally able to collect ourselves and assess the damage, I realized he fell so hard that he took the paint right off the wall! Now the tree has been Jimmy rigged back together and almost stands straight. Needless to say we never got the festive picture we were hoping for. But I did snap this one...

Cat Food in the Jell-O Salad

My grandma has always been a few bricks short of a load. There's nobody quite like her. For as long as I can remember there have been little incidents that cause us to question her sanity. We've always chalked it up to "that's just Grandma" and even started referring to such incidents as "Pulling a Marilyn."

When we were kids Christmas was always a bit of a fiasco. She'd start shopping so early in the year that she would hide gifts in the basement and forget about them. It wasn't until we started opening packages that she began to second guess herself. One year my cousin Sara had quite a haul while Katie sat with only a few gifts - she always got their stuff mixed up. Then there was the year that she served left over potato casserole with the Christmas ham.

No matter how hard she tried I don't think the table was ever set for the right number of people. We had 18 buns and only 12 hamburgers. She brought a pair of cuff links to a Christmas ornament exchange. She has substituted oats for corn flakes and water in a cookie recipe. She made a Thanksgiving pie that, according to my uncle LeRoy, looked like I-680 after the flood. Planned an Easter Dinner but forgot to invite anyone. Encouraged me to buy a fancy maternity dress, "in case a special occasion might arise" between now and March. Carries her cane around like a hand-bag. Leaves bizarre, yet urgent, phone messages for every member of the family but doesn't always know why when you call her back. THE LIST GOES ON.

We know now that she has Dementia. I kind of wish we had known this all along. Might have helped us cope with the less hilarious symptoms. Now that we know it still only helps a little. But we've got to try to laugh to keep from crying, or choking her. We've always said someday she'd turn into Aunt Bethany from Christmas Vacation. Wrapping up her cat and putting cat food in the Jell-O salad...

Boy Named Sue

About 30 seconds after we found out we were pregnant I started refering to the baby as "him." I still don't know why, but at first neither of us had a single doubt...it had to be a boy.

A few months in, the doctor told us "I think I see something. It might be a boy! But don't buy anything yet. My daughter had a thing at first, but it went away." So with that news we went home feeling pretty confident in our parental intuition.

The next two appointments were another story. After being mooned via ultrasound during one appointment and another appointment with all kinds of internal visual obstructions we were persuaded that maybe it was a girl.

A little behind schedule, we were set for the 4th try to see who exactly is in there. One appointment, a quick scoot down the hall covered in belly-jelly and two ultrasounds later...we finally had our answer. It's a BOY! Thank goodness for fancy medical equipment. I got to see my insides on a jumbo-tron and what is obviously a boy. Just think - we could have easily been one of those couples who brought a boy home in a pink dress. Can't wait to see him!!

Falsely Accused

Of course I'm not a perfect parker. But today I was on the receiving end of a nasty gram written by someone who was a bit confused. Even though I was in the Employee parking lot, I highly doubt it was an employee who left me the little note.

#1 Sometimes a bad park job is the direct result of the crappy parkers who came before you.
#2 I don't drive a truck. It's a teeny tiny Suzuki Forenza.
#3 I don't see how a little back bumper hanging out into the driving lane could in any way take up 2 parking spaces.
#4 You're allowed to park in the garage! Stay out of our limited designated parking zone.

Down the Hatch

I nearly choked to death on a freaking apple.

I was enjoying my lunch, just a few bites in when I choked. I thought I could just wash it down with a swig of milk. Soon I realized that no matter how many times I tried to swallow I still had a mouthful of milk. That’s when I spit my milk back into my glass and gave the international “I’m choking to death signal” to one of my co-workers.

After pounding on the table and grabbing at my throat Nicki turned bright red and declared “Oh, my God. She’s choking!” She jumped up quick and started to give me the Heimlich in the middle of the lunchroom. A crowd began to gather.

One woman wanted to help but upon hearing that I was pregnant AND choking she threw her hands up and backed away.

I really have no idea how long this went on. It was just like the choking scene in Mrs. Doubtfire. Except milk and apple shot out my mouth and nose at the same time. I caught a breath just after the EMT got there before I started choking again. Nicki did a good job but she didn’t heave it all out of me.

Round two of the Heimlich landed an EMT and me with our heads in a garbage can while I made noises I haven’t heard since I fell down the stair in college and knocked the wind out of myself.

I moved into the bathroom where I proceeded to gag a few times. At some point I think my right eyeball popped out of my head. That’s when I discovered that I had milk in my hair, on my pants, it had filled my name badge and 3 buttons on my shirt had come undone.

I returned to the lunchroom with no desire to eat. The EVS attendant had come with a mop to clean up the Bio Hazard.

Needless to say it was the topic of discussion for the entire day. We were visited by the General Manager and the Safety Manager, who thinks my name is Ashley. Nicki was so embarrassed by the ordeal that she declared, “The next person is just going to choke.”

I’ve had to tell this story multiple times. But everyone’s reaction is about the same…

“You have to write this stuff down” Mom

“Can I laugh now?” Chad

“You are truly one of a kind” Aly

“I’m not going to lie. I laughed a little.” Angela

Poop on a Brick

I announced to more than one person today that I would be making Poop on a Brick for dinner. You know me, I didn't call it poop. As I was making my Hamburger Gravy on Biscuits tonight I realized what a huge role Poop on a Brick has played in my life.

My mother has always claimed "I will never win Mother of the Year." There is an entire staff at Up With Kids Day Care who will support that claim. I distinctly remember asking my mom in front of everyone if we could have Poop on Toast for dinner. Sorry mom!

The first time I made Poop on Toast myself was a complete disaster. Three distinct factors came into play. First, I was following the lead of my mother. She's a wonderful cook who just kind of wings it. It's not like I was working off a Betty Crocker Cookbook. Second, I have a grandmother who lead me to believe that when it comes to anything with the word Gravy in it Kitchen Bouquet is the way to go. WRONG! Third, I follow in the footsteps of a grandfather who thought more salt made everything taste better. I agree, but not everyone else does. My failure was a pan of brown sludge. Dad suggested we have something else and I try again some other time.

Shit on Shingles, Poop on a Brick, whatever you call it, it's good stuff. Unlike the "One Big Nacho" I'm unable to share my recipe. There's no big family secret here. I've jut finally figured out how to wing it too.

The Swedish Meatball Incident, 2009

The Swedish Meatball Incident, also known as the time my mom tried to kill me, has been on my mind all week. I'm just getting over the stomach flu - the two incidents sure did have a lot in common.

My parents had a party and my mom was nice enough to bring me some left over Swedish Meatballs about a week later (I know now it was more than just a week). I ate them on the spot and then we went to HyVee together. I never made it past the deli before making a mad dash to the bathroom. I should have known that was only the beginning.

That night I spent some quality time with my head in the toilet or the Official Barf Bucket - which once held delicious Christmas Crack from Aunt Laurie. Wearing pants that night was not even an option - there wasn't enough time. I was up all night.

I called my mom before the crack of dawn to tell her what she'd done to me and demand that she bring over Gatorade and Chicken Soup. She arrived about 7am and found me camped out on the toilet with my head in the Barf Bucket.

Gatorade? Soup? What was I thinking? I spent the whole day throwing up cold water. It didn't even have time to warm up to stomach temperature before ejecting! Of course I called in sick to work. Just reaching for the TV remote gave me the spins and started the whole process over again. If only I had been more graphic maybe my boss wouldn't have asked "You'll be checking email, right?"

The ordeal lasted three days by the time I was able to hold down a cracker. It was more than a year before I could even look at a Swedish Meatball. So when I spent most of Monday night tossing Cornbread and Chili up in reverse I kept telling myself "If you can survive the Swedish Meatballs, you can survive this!"

Reallocation of Funds

We've gone public. There is indeed a Bun in the Oven. And it's a good thing the secret is out because I'm not sure my body is willing to hide it much longer. My friend Chad asked me if I was showing. To the untrained eye the answer is no. But my pants say YES.

Aside from the bowls and bowls of cereal, gallons of milk and more plums than I can count...I can't figure out where it's coming from! I've only gained 5-10 pounds since the wedding (depends on which day I check in). And I can tell you exactly where it went: my fingers, my third chin and my big baby belly. So the question is - where is it all coming from? My only conclusion is that my body is reallocating funds from everywhere else to these three lucky locations.

Don't think for one second I'm not enjoying this just a little. I promise not to starve The Lovebug. I'm just trying to get used to busting my buttons...as I enjoy my French Toast ice cream.

Hot Hot Hot

In high school I was making Jalapeno Bread for Spanish class when I managed to get pepper in my eye - I'm awesome like that. My mom had me bent over backwards in the kitchen sink yanking my eyeballs open. I thought for sure I had gone blind. Which brings me to my next story...

We took a stab at gardening this year (written in 2011 but not previously posted). My contribution has been occasional watering and routinely pulling out Josh's jalapeno plant every few weeks because I think it's just another weed.  Somehow one jalapeno plant survived and made a few little pepper guys for us to enjoy.

Despite my advice, Chef Josh did a poor job washing his hands after chopping jalapenos two days in a row. The first incident lead him to a cold shower! The second time he just scratched his back side and lit a real fire under his ass. And of course...I somehow managed to get it in my eye again thanks to his tainted kitchen towel.

Consider this our Public Service Announcement: Use jalapenos with caution. Wear eye protection and don't scratch anything valuable.

The Bates Motel

I, of course, am exaggerating just a bit. But this place in Murdo, South Dakota made me feel like we were visiting The Bates Motel.

Driving home from Oregon we reached out last stop. We saw a billboard for Country Inn with a pool open until midnight and rooms starting at $36. Suspicious from the start, we decided to check out the "uniquely decorated rooms" anyway.

We were greeted in the Lobby/somebody's living room, by a man with black fluffy hair and a perfectly matching mustache. He was polite! But still gave me the Willies. He gave us a virtual tour of the rooms on a display-board of Polaroids and then took us to see the pool. It was heated to 90 degrees because "Mother says anything below 90 isn't suitable for humans."

Our uniquely decorated room had two Queen beds, a bit of 1970's Asian theme  decor, bright red shaggy carpet and a glossy black toilet seat shaped like a sea shell. The biggest perk of all was Mood Music piped into every room.

Thank God Josh loves me enough to just trust my Willies and drive six more blocks and spend an extra $30 at Best Western.


You can see our friendly Tour Guide in the lovely brochure I brought home as a souvenir of the time we survived a visit to The Bates Motel.

The George Foreman Grill

We got some really amazing wedding gifts and I couldn't be more thankful. But Josh and I had both heard stories from other married friends about how uncomfortable the gift opening can be when you unwrap some priceless treasure from a distant relative...or someone sitting right in front of you.
So, when Josh insisted that we open gifts privately I was relieved. As we were opening packages we came across two mystery gifts.

1 - Three packages in the same wrapping. The first box was a 1/2 gallon of Margarita mix and some KY Yours & Mine. With no card attached we started guessing. Who knows us well enough to buy us something so practical and perfect? Box number two was a gallon size Margarator. At this point we were narrowing down the suspects. Ashley Nuss, one of my college roommates, was in the lead. We thought our suspicions were confirmed when box number three was indeed from her. Wrong! We had our good friend Chris "Give Me a Tasty Shot" Shive to thank for "Honeymoon Package."

2 - The George Foreman Grill was the wedding gift you hear horror stories abut. Wrapped in inside-out Christmas paper, this thing arrived looking "gently used." We found a $15 garage sale sticker on the side. Then the blame game started. Was it a joke? Who would do that? Together we decided to try and keep this gem to ourselves. That lasted less than 24 hours when Josh's grandpa helped us carry in the gifts from the car and knocked the $5 sticker off the other side of the box. Busted!

Today, one month later, the George Foreman Grill mystery has been solved! My wonderful brother confessed before the family, who was in a fit of giggles, that it was him. The gift was a prank in the making for quite some time. It had been re-gifted to him two years ago at his own wedding. And after surviving three garage sales at the Kern house it was passed on again. And tonight as I pulled into the driveway, my phone rang. My mother offered to buy it for $5. SOLD!

The Great Boat Debate of 2011

Last Sunday we had the best time fishing with Tristan, my cousin's husband, and Finn, my "nephew." A friend brought a John Boat out to the pond. We spent the majority of he morning laughing; you can't catch much with a three-year-old on board. He ate half the bait. But it wasn't that big of a deal since Tristan insisted you could catch Blue Gill with hot dogs. The biggest laugh of the day was when Finn whizzed off the side of the boat doing the Titanic "I'm the King of the World" pose. I spent most of the day using the loop on the back of his life jacket to pick him up and move him away from the water, boat trailer and poop. Hundreds of acres and he wants to check out the one pile duck poop.

A few days later Tristan finds a John Boat on Craig's List for $600. He asks his wife if he can buy it but she said no. His next move was to call Josh. This happens more often that I'd like to admit. Our husbands conspire against us. It took less than 24 hours and one 30 minute argument to convince me buying a boat was a great idea. Then my job became convincing Angela that buying the boat together was a great idea. After several phone calls between the four of us and one call with the guy selling the boat, I'm sad to report that the boat sold for $500 to some other Lucky Duck. I told him, "That's too bad. I would have paid $600!" Angela was relieved when I called to tell her that The Great Boat Debate of 2011 was over. But I'm still a little disappointed. Good thing we didn't say anything to Finn.

One Big Nacho

Sometime you have to be creative. Aside from a failed attempt at Stuffed Peppers and one Shit on Shingles disaster, I'm usually not a bad cook. Whether there's nothing in the cupboards or just a boat load of left overs I can find something edible.

Today we had One Big Nacho. It all started with a backyard party that resulted in an extra bag of chips and a heap of left over hamburgers. Aunt Laurie gave me the Mexican inspiration and the rest was intuition.

I called my dad to tell him my game plan. "First I covered the bottom of the dish in broken corn chips. Then there was a layer of hamburgers with some Rotel and taco sauce. I covered it in cheese sauce and some more cheese. Then more chips, some more cheese and taco sauce. It's just One Big Nacho!" We both laughed so hard I cried.

I expected Josh would say, "You don't have to make this again." But he kind of liked it! His only suggestion was to try chicken next time.

Just Because Nothing Better for to Do

More than one person has told me I need to Blog - or write a book. My life is no more interesting than anyone else as far as I know. But a few people seem to think so. So now I Blog. Because God knows I don't have the time or patience to write a book.