It's the Happy Bloggyversary Giveaway Post!

Happy Bloggyversary, Wifers!

It all started a year ago on September 1...A Day in the Wife was born on Blogger! 

My first post was the beginning of my Blogger life, so I decided to commemorate the great poet of our time, the one in spangly tops and tight lycra pants, the one who told the tale of immigrants on the boats and on the planes, comin' to America...the one, the only, Neil Diamond.    Neil was with me when no one was...from 0 followers, when no one Brought Me Flowers, up to 202 one year later, when you turned on your Heart Light.  Hello again, Hello, Wifers.  Because do I have a deal for you!

Introducing the Happy Bloggyversary Giveaway!

"Oooh, oooh, what can I win Julie?"

Well let me tell you what will be included 

in this ADITW commemorative prize package:

1. A copy of "Good Enough to Eat" 

by Stacey Ballis (have you pre-ordered your own copy yet?  

Only five days left...)  One of the best prizes, really.

2. A copy of "Bitter is the New Black" 

by Jen Lancaster so you can start 

your own stalking adventure!

Also an excellent prize.

3. "What happens tonight goes on Facebook tomorrow" napkins, 

regifted from a friend.  I think they are so funny 

that I can't bear to break them open, so they must be shared.

4. One pound of Starbucks coffee, from one junkie to another.  

 I personally recommend Komodo Dragon, but to each her own.

5. A "French Toast" bread press, 

cousin to the Holy Toast press featured on this blog

6. A framed photo of George the Superpet, 

complete with a creepy lock of fur.

7. A framed companion photo of Todd "Hot Nuts" Epstein.

8. A custom-made evil mural by Youngest Daughter.  She will cut you.

9.  A "mix-tape" (on CD) of songs featured on the blog, 

including songs by Ok Go, band of my 

adolescent music crush Damian Kulash.

10.  Inclusion on my 2010 Christmas card list, 

where I list our failures and disappointments for the year.

(Above is 2004 Christmas card pic)

11.  Anne Taintor postcard magnet.

12.  Assorted other items I may be trying to get rid of
 

13.  Things I might have stolen

"Julie the Wife, how do I get involved in this 

ridiculously bad giveaway?"  I'm glad you asked!

Here is how it works:

One grand prize winner will receive all of the above items.  One second place winner will also receive copies of the Stacey Ballis and Jen Lancaster books.  Both winners will be featured in a phony blog written about their cross-country adventure taken last summer in their convertible 2008 VW bug, or their slumber party with Alice and Rosalie and Bella, or their Christmas with Chuck Norris, or an equivalent story.  The contest is open from this very second until midnight on September 15, 2010 CST.  Prizes will be sent by September 30.

How do you play?

Every comment posted between now and September 15 on either the A Day In The Wife blog or on the ADITW Facebook page gives you one entry.  Get a new follower of ADITW on Facebook or the blog and have them comment that you sent them, and you will get three entries.  I will record the drawing of the names and post the video on You Tube, embedded on the blog, so you can see my surprise and joy at the names drawn.  My attorney will be present at the drawing so it seems legal and aboveboard, but we might be enjoying a glass of wine, which negates the legitimacy but creates a sense of occasion.  Only one comment per day will count toward the contest, but I always love to hear from you.

Beyond the contests and all of that sort of hullaballoo, let me take a moment to thank you all, dear readers, for this bloggy adventure.  It has been fun seeing your names pop up on the comments and gathering the flock.  You have weathered the best of posts and the worst of posts.  You have stumbled drunk with me to see Jen Lancaster and watched my daughter puke on my feet.  You have endured FORTY Whoreticulture Fridays.  It is these things and more that, in the immortal words of James Taylor, make me want to STOP.  And thank you, baby.  Happy Bloggyversary!  Thanks for reading!

Smooches and inappropriate innuendo to you all,

Mother vs. Nature, part 1

Growing up, I spent a lot of time on my grandparents' farm in southwestern Iowa.  Grandma would ask us what vegetable we wanted for dinner, and then we'd go out and pick it.  Want eggs for breakfast?  Let's head to the henhouse.  (I'm sure I didn't feed the baby pigs and think about bacon - my fond memories are full of sunshine and clean laundry on the line, not the squealing of animals on the kill floor.  Work with me here, I'm creating an image, dammit.)  For the last couple of years, I've been pining for some of the farm life I remember, and this is why I've dug up a huge part of my yard and planted a vegetable garden.

We (meaning me and the Son, don't get the idea CH spends much time out there) ripped up the sod and tilled all of the dirt boulders out there, and then we planted.  Soon, our sweet garden was being eaten by savage killer chipmunks and mutant baby rabbits, and we had to erect a fence.  We had some success with the garden last year, but this was to be the year of our victory.  Instead, we've been crippled early by the opposition.  I even put a Chipmunk song on the playlist today, but it was so annoying that I set it so you can play it if you want.  (I do this because I care about you more than the other readers of this blog, so don't tell them.)

George the Superpet is put on patrol 

while the garden is being tilled.

The other half of the garden - 

the green bushy part is our strawberry patch, 

which has already produced these:

I see some limeade, ice, and rum in your future, my pretties.

Um, I mean A Healthy Breakfast for the children.

Our garden is a little ambitious.  I've planted broccoli and cauliflower, yellow onions, peas, green beans, tomatoes (Celebrity, Roma, and Big Boy, only because the names of these varieties covered the Holy Trinity of People magazine, the Godfather, and CH.  Yeah CH, I went there), and peppers (red bell, green bell, yellow bell, jalapeno, and sweet peppers), zucchini, cilantro, basil, oregano, flat leaf parsley, rosemary, and the aforementioned strawberries.  I'm all about zucchini bread, spaghetti sauce, and salsa.

Here are some pre-critter plants:

  Broccoli and cauliflower plants, feeling safe before the night killings.

The Son, planting zucchini in an area 

we now refer to as 'Area 51' or 'Certain Death'.

(Peaches and) Herbs.

So The Son and I toiled away on our little garden patch, and we even put our fencing up this year, but we woke up one morning to find one broccoli plant eaten to the ground, and the other plants weeping and tearing their leaves.  We heard screams in the night, and woke the next day to find a zucchini plant torn stem from stem.  Two days later, a whole family of strawberries had been gutted and left to die in the patch.  And that just did it.  Those little bastard rodents were going down.

I called Todd "Hot Nuts" Epstein. 

You know how when you want to fight the CIA, you call someone who is ex-CIA.  Steven Segal is always called in as an ex-Navy Seal who needs to kick some ass.  If BP was fighting Steven Segal, they would be crying uncle and the environment would be saved.  I'm voting for a Chuck Norris-Steven Segal ticket in 2012.  Anyway, I figure if you want to fight killer rodents, you get a kick ass killer rodent to fight them.  I give you Todd.

 Do you see a difference in Badassness?  Because I don't.

So Todd goes out on patrol, and the next day we find this by our HOUSE, about two feet away from the garden:

 Yeah, that is a huge pile of animal crap.  And it is bigger than Todd.  And kind of scary.  You know how you look at clouds and see things?  My family stood around this monstrosity and shared what we saw in the rabid raccoon scat.  Good times, good times.  So I decided maybe it was unsafe outside for Todd, and he fought me hard to stay outside, but I said, "Stand down, soldier" and he followed the chain of command.  Because I can't lose Todd.

The Son took to the patch with a bow and arrow.  The rules were to only shoot at the ground, and don't shoot toward the neighbor's house or toward the street, because it would be unfortunate if he accidentally shot someone we like.  At this point, you may be thinking, "Hey, c'mon Julie, these are just innocent little chipmunks!" 

But no.  Mine are gang-sign-throwing, meth-dealing, zombie-apocalypse-starting destroyers.

They all wear shades and pull their hoods up and they sing horrible songs in squeaky voices and make terrible movies and tag my grill with their little rodent gang signs and they EAT MY VEGGIES!  

So it's almost midnight and I have more to tell and I'm not one to cut a long story short in the interest of keeping my audience's attention, so I'm going to bed, but trust me when I say that things got VERY VERY ugly.  Literally.  I may be actually physically scarred for life and I blame the Munks.  Tune in tomorrow for part 2.  In the interim, I would like to hear about if any of you are doing veggie gardens, what are you growing, and what do you do to fight rodents?  You can say the word "strychnine" here, I won't judge.

Until tomorrow, gentle readers.  OH - Todd now has a Facebook fan page!  Feel free to Like him all you want at his Fanpage!

Spring Break Day 3: Fear of Abduction

A popular topic in any form of current media is fear:

• Fear of another terrorist attack
• Fear of H1N1
• Fear of earthquakes
• Fear of Janet Jackson's exposed nipple
• Fear of Mexican drug cartels
• Fear of universal health care
• Fear of the absence of universal health care
• Fear of Heidi Montag (the one thing on this list of which I am truly afraid)

A big one that is very prevalent in our area is the fear of obesity.  The Iowa State Legislature passed the Healthy Kids Initiative, which now ensures that my children have to do Physical Education homework.  I love big government - "Let's tell the parents they have to do a bunch of stuff we mandate at home, but serve the children fried cheese sticks and Ball Park hotdogs for hot school lunch!  That will combat obesity!  Fatness SOLVED!" 

Oldest Daughter brings home a slip from Middle School we sign that says we forced her to exercise for 15 minutes every day of the month, and the younger kids bring home monthly PE homework sheets that say we made them do some form of a suggested list of activities, such as "hugging a senior citizen" and "bowling".  When I drove the kids to the local bowling alley to throw a few balls and hug all of the old people, we got kicked out.  You just can't win.

So it's Spring Break in the Heartland.  I've been sending the kids outside to play because it is finally above 30 degrees for long stretches of time.  However, I find myself standing at or near the large window to the back yard most of the time because we live on a corner, which is next to an alley and has city streets on two sides of the lot.  Our yard is not fenced in, so I cannot send George the Superpet out to eat abductors, and we live five miles from the headquarters of a Police Gang Unit and a major interstate, and a half mile from the state line.  If someone in an unmarked pedophile mobile unit pulled up and threw in one of my delicious kids, the clock would start ticking as to how long until they would be out of the state and gone forever.  So I'm a freak about them playing outside, which pundits everywhere tell me is the real cause of childhood obesity.

Which do I fear more?  Fat kids or dead kids?  Hmmmmm....I think I'll take Fear of Abduction for $500, Alex.

Fear of abduction is not limited to the kids.  I'm no spring chicken, but rapists are not known to be terribly picky.  A friend is selling her house, and is out of town, so she asked if I could show it to people while they are away.  No problem!  I get to play realtor!  She called last night and said a guy wanted to see the house.  She gave me his name and cell phone number.  We agreed to meet at the house at 7:30 p.m.  On the way over, it suddenly occurred to me that I could be killed and no one would know about it for a while.  I've watched Forensic Files on A&E, I know how these things go down.

I got to the house and turned on all of the lights.  I put my cell phone in my back pocket so I could call someone from his trunk, or at least I would have a tracking device on my body.  I started thinking about how to reason with him - "everyone has your cell phone number and name...it's only a matter of time before they find you...I have a raging case of syphilis...I just completed gender reassignment surgery..."

Then I thought about how they tend to like it when people fight.  Maybe I should act MORE enthusiastic than him, and that would freak him out so much that he would run from the house.  The doorbell rang, and I jumped about a foot in the air, and turned to meet my potential killer.  You don't fool me with your grandpa charm and your John Deere hat, Mister.  Oh yeah, you're interested in arched doorways and original wood trim.  Whatever.  I'm onto your game.  Yes, the washer and dryer are "negotiable", whatever THAT means.  Are the sellers "eager"?!  "I HAVE SYPHILIS!  IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME UNTIL THEY FIND YOU!  I'M REALLY A MAN AND A NINJA!!  CHUCK NORRIS IS MY GODFATHER!"

There will be other prospects on this house, I'm sure it will sell.  But if I hadn't yelled at that man, the terrorists would win, and I can't have that on my conscience.

The Dream Ruiner

Some people have dreamcatchers.  Some people are dreamweavers.  I recently discovered that I am the Dream Ruiner.  I'm a mother, and this is my story.

The other day, Middle Son burst in the back door from school and yelled, "MOM!  I need to get a horse!"  I set down the gin and tonic and bon-bons and engaged him in some quantity time.

ME:  "What do you mean you 'need to get a horse'?"
MS:  "I really want a horse, and I figured out how to do it."
ME:  "Entertain me."
MS:  "The garage is empty, and so he could stay in there, and we could make a little paddock in the corner of our back yard."
ME:  "The garage is empty because it is going to collapse.  Why do you think we tell you to push on it or throw your basketball at it when there is a bad storm?  Insurance money doesn't get mailed for nothing."
MS:  "Okay, it can stay in the shed."
ME:  "The family of opossums already live there, and they may be rabid."
MS:  "Well, I can feed it with my allowance."
ME:  "But who will pay for the equipment that comes with it, or the vet bills, or the ride to the knacker when it dies?"
MS:  "You are such a Dream Ruiner, Mom!" 

And I realized that he's right.  I'm here to RUIN DREAMS.

Current Husband had dreams when we met that I was a good cook with whorish tendencies and a fun outlook.  Five years later, DREAM RUINED.  He's still here, almost 20 years later, a broken and bitter man.  (Actually, he's incredibly happy, because I am a good cook with whorish tendencies, but that doesn't make a good story, does it?  I'm an entertainer, not a historian.)

Oldest Daughter is turning 13 on Tuesday, and I took her for lunch at one of her favorite restaurants in Iowa City over the weekend (they serve wine - Mommy's dream is GRANTED!).  OD loves Andy Samberg, and is a disciple of all of his work.  We're driving around looking for parking and see a white college kid with huge dreadlocks, and OD starts screaming.

 

My probable future son-in-law, Ras Trent

OD:  "RAS TRENT!!  THAT GUY LOOKS LIKE RAS TRENT!  Pull over Mom and take a picture of me with him!"
ME:  "Are you insane?  I'm not pulling over."
OD:  "Why not?  It would be so funny!"
ME:  "I'm not pulling over my car to park illegally so my almost 13-year-old can ask a pot dealer if she can pose for photos with him."
OD:  "MOM!  It would be so funny.  I can't believe you won't do it."

I fumed while looking for a parking spot, thinking about how ridonkulous she was being, and then visions of about 100 photos of me with friends from the Eighties and early Nineties flashed through my head.  Me with a guy in a bear costume in downtown Chicago.  Me in hunting gear holding a plastic Uzi to a drunk frat boy in a bunny costume.  Dressed like Yoko Ono with my hair dyed black.  As Brent Musberger.  Mr. Howell.  A hippie.  A nun.  A pregnant bride. Gilda Radner.  Mama Smurf.  The list goes on and on, and it's real. 

 

Hey kids!  Look at Mommy getting a college education!

(And no, I wasn't pregnant.  This is in the way-back machine, when it was fun to PRETEND to be pregnant.  No one is laughing now.)

And yet, OD is denied a photo with Ras Trent.  DREAM RUINED. 


Even George the Superpet felt the chill of ruined dreams today.  He kept begging to go outside, and I thought, "Well how sweet, the dog is ready for spring!"  I looked outside, hoping to see him frolic in the sunshine, and instead I put down my coffee and sprinted for the back door.  George was standing in the backyard with a scraggly squirrel tail hanging out of his mouth.  I ran over to him, opened his mouth and shook his head until 3/4 of a dead squirrel came out of his mouth.  I could hear Todd "Hot Nuts" Epstein's screams from inside as he watched one of his brethren fall from George's jowls.  I brought George inside and actually washed his mouth out with a washcloth, which I promptly threw away.  

George's dream of eating a squirrel?  DREAM RUINED.
Washcloth's dream of being a clean, fluffly washing apparatus?  DREAM RUINED.

What about Youngest Daughter, you might ask?  None of her dreams has been ruined.  (Yet.)  Because like Chuck Norris, YD is the reason Waldo is hiding.  Her dreams will not be denied.  She won't want a photo with Ras Trent, she will marry him.


And then my dreams?  RUINED.
I am a mother, and this is my story.

Chick Norris: Kicking Ass and Taking You To School

Note: Sorry about the F-bombs in the song, but it was so perfect I couldn't help it. For future reference, you can pause the Playlist. Got it, Mom?

I'm supposed to be working. On things that pay me. And yet, here I am, procrastinating and giggling in BloggyLand. Something funny happened yesterday, and then it sort of grew out of control, like a Chia Pet on steroids.

I am a fan of the often hilarious blog of this crazy Canadian, Danon of The Insatiable Host. She is wacky and fun and unpredictable and swears to make a sailor blush (and that MEANS something coming from me), she started something called the Panty Pyramid which is downright clever, and she is doing the Jillian Michaels shred. So I get my cup of coffee and sit down at the computer, and this is what I read on her blog:

I woke up early this morning and rather than curling up on my big purple micro sued couch with a cup of coffee with Bailey's I turned the bitch on and flipped her off for 20 mins. I was tell you all that while I was doing the cardio portions of the work-out I would focus on the wall or the ceiling or whatever- and today, I totally visualized myself kicking the shit out of Jillian Michaels. I say my skinny little ass in my work out gear (complete with new kicks) and I totally round housed her in the jaw. My visualization was complete with cinematic slow-play for effect. You could actually see her mouth jobble around and jaw wrench around to he shoulder. Hmmm. I wounder if she felt that all the way in the back on her neck...like a nice stretch?

How can you not read that and just see this woman (Girl, actually, as she is not yet 30) kicking the crap out of Jillian Michaels. I would sit on the couch and eat my Cocoa Puffs and watch THAT. So then I could picture her as The New Sheriff in Workout Land, and I told her that she was like Chuck Norris with a uterus. I was now christening her "Chick Norris".

So Chick Norris has taken a shine to her new moniker and did a post about it. And then I read it, and some great Chick Norris phrases came into my head, along with some modified pre-existing Chuck Norris phrases, because I am already a fan of Chuck Norris lore, and of course, I had to put them on the blog for you three long-suffering people who read this in hopes I will actually post something funny someday. You know who you are (Mom and her two non-English speaking co-workers). Sorry. Your wait has not ended.

This is my opus to all women who've got it goin' on. You make the breakfast, you keep the whites white, you work hard for the money, you keep the hot side hot and cool side cool. You are all Chick Norris (but Danon, you ARE the ORIGINAL, no doubt about it):

Chick Norris has such a strong uterus, it makes babies all by itself up in there.

Chick Norris doesn't just shred, she shreds Jillian Michaels and eats her for breakfast.

The last thing that goes through her opponent's mind before dying is Chick Norris' beautifully manicured toes.

There is no Evolution - just a list of people Chick Norris allows to live.

Chick Norris does not sleep. She waits.

Chick Norris doesn't have a period, she has three dots and then an exclamation point.

Chick Norris doesn't watch Oprah; Oprah watches her.

Chick Norris brings home the bacon, fries it up in the pan, and then eats it in front of the pig.

If it looks like fish and smells like fish but Chick Norris says it is chicken, then it is chicken. So eat it before you make Chick Norris angry.

Martha Stewart weeps when she eats Chick Norris' cookies.

Chick Norris' baby changes its own diaper, because Chick Norris will not take shit from anyone.

Barbie only uses pink because Chick Norris said she wanted purple.

The best part of waking up is not Folgers in your cup, it is knowing Chick Norris didn't kill you in your sleep.

Chick Norris' minivan gets 600 mpg because it is afraid to stop.

Chick Norris will school you, and then take you to school. Which I will have to get up to do in about 7 hours, and I still have to get my work done. And I apologize if the pluralization of Norris is wrong, but it is late, and I am tired. So I will end with the last one in The Insatiable Host's honor:

Jillian was nimble, Jillian was quick, but Jillian still couldn't dodge Chick Norris' roundhouse kick!

I am Julie, Author Stalker

We interrupt Laura Ingalls Wilder month for a new random posting series:

Julie, Author Stalker

It is much like Walker, Texas Ranger, in that Walker, Texas Ranger is an American television police drama/action show known for its moral values and use of martial arts. Julie, Author Stalker, is an American wife drama/action sideshow known for her depravity and use of domestic arts. And she frightens authors at book signings.

Chuck Norris Facts:
*The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.
*Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
*In conversation, Chuck Norris often quotes himself, and then laughs about it.

Julie, Author Stalker Facts:
* The chief export of the Author Stalker is awkwardness and fear.
* Author Stalker not only finds authors, she stares them down until she gets the information she wants.
* In conversation, Author Stalker often quotes herself, and then laughs about it.

The big difference? Chuck Norris IS security, while Author Stalker is usually led out by security.

TODAY'S STALKED AUTHOR: Marilynne Robinson

The following information was shamelessly lifted from Wikipedia:
Marilynne Robinson (born November 26, 1943) is an American author. Her 1980 novel Housekeeping (see 1980 in literature) won a Hemingway Foundation/PEN Award for best first novel and was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Her second novel, Gilead (see 2004 in literature), was acclaimed by critics and received the 2005 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, the 2004 National Book Critics Circle Award for Fiction, and the 2005 Ambassador Book Award. Her third novel, Home, published in 2008, was a finalist for the 2008 National Book Award, and won the 2009 Orange Prize for Fiction. Also in 2009, she held a Dwight H. Terry Lectureship at Yale University, giving a series of talks entitled Absence of Mind: The Dispelling of Inwardness from the Modern Myth of the Self.

Tonight I attended a reading by Marilynne Robinson. She was lovely, as was the book "Gilead", which I read and had her sign. She is an instructor at the University of Iowa Writer's Workshop and well respected in her field. During the Q&A segment of her reading, I asked her about her process in writing, and if winning a Pulitzer put any undue pressure on her. I sounded sane. She seemed okay with me, until I got in front of her.

Again, when I have too much time in line, I start thinking of weird things to say to people. Anyone who has lived with me for any length of time, which at this point would include my family of origin, my Chi Omega sorority sisters, and Current Husband and children, know that if I have too much time on my hands and am in the right mood, people could end up wrapped like a mummy in toilet paper (sorry Jen), or written on (sorry, CH), outlined like a dead body (sorry Tina), or covered in maxi pads (that was actually Barb, but I helped). Because I am THAT mature.

MR: "Hello."
ME: "Hi. I sure wish I could secret you away from here for 30 minutes and pick your brain."
MR: (Looks up, a little alarmed.)
ME: (Nervous laughter, like 'did I just say that out loud?') "But I'm sure Borders wouldn't let me take you away unwillingly, huh?"
MR: (Making mental note to have Borders employee walk her to car) "Make this out to Julie?"
ME: "SO, I thought about applying at the Iowa Writer's Workshop, but my work is more Erma Bombeck and David Sedaris's love child, if she weren't dead and he weren't gay. But I'm thinking the workshop is more literary...."
MR: "Yes. Yes, the workshop does tend to be more literary."
(Awkward silence. Fifty people in line behind me collectively grumble and sigh.)
ME: "Well, thanks! I really enjoy your books!"
MR: "Thank you." (Smiles relieved smile and turns to next person.)

Authors with restraining orders against Julie, Author Stalker in October: THREE!

1) Jen Lancaster, whom I e-mailed about missing her book signing because of David Sedaris, and actually asked her if she ever let complete strangers take her out for drinks. She sent a lovely reply saying, "Um, thanks for being a fan, but back the f**k off." Well, not exactly like that, but I have printed it, enlarged it, and put it in the Jen Lancaster shrine in my basement.

2) David Sedaris, whom my friend Judy and I insulted and then tried to make him read my blog with the eventual goal of him "discovering" me. I lost my favorite Jesus oilcloth coin purse over that. Why must I be so impulsive? After drinking just a little, tiny bit? I am enlarging his signature page, which read, "Julie, I look forward to reading your book" and putting it in the David Sedaris shrine in my basement.

3) Marilynne Robinson, who is a totally dignified Pulitzer Prize winning novelist, and is walking with a can of Mace to her car right about now. But I won't enlarge anything of hers, because I'm feeling a little guilty about threatening to kidnap her.

Stay tuned! My next scheduled author stalking is Nov. 4, when I meet Alexandra Fuller, author of "Don't Let's Go To The Dogs Tonight". I'm going with my book club, and drinks will be served.