Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Funny
I turned around, and the boys had put on Monte's shirt, with Mason coming out of the left side and Stephen coming out of the right--they're the two headed Ellis! Hilarious, aren't they? It's all about the funny.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Monte-isms
In our many years together, I've found there are very specific and misappropriated phrases Monte makes up that can only be described as Monte-isms. A Monte-ism is a phrase that doesn't make sense on its face, but when you delve deeper into the phrase and really look hard at the circumstances in which the phrase was used and the person making the phrase up, you are forced to admit that it still doesn't make sense.
Not sure what I mean? Need some examples? I thought you'd never ask.
I suggested Mason might like to go shopping with me. Monte said "Shopping?!? Enjoy shopping?!?! He doesn't enjoy doing stuff he LIKES!!!"
Or, there's the example from early on in our marriage when I asked if a particular activity was romantic or not. His reply? "Well it doesn't start the engine, but that doesn't meant it doesn't open the car door."
I don't think Monte is related to Yogi Berra, but I do think he is a great, albeit misunderstood, philosopher and someday, someone will discover a Rosetta stone that will translate all of these Monte-isms into phrases that we mere mortals can understand. Until then, I live lost in translation.
Not sure what I mean? Need some examples? I thought you'd never ask.
I suggested Mason might like to go shopping with me. Monte said "Shopping?!? Enjoy shopping?!?! He doesn't enjoy doing stuff he LIKES!!!"
Or, there's the example from early on in our marriage when I asked if a particular activity was romantic or not. His reply? "Well it doesn't start the engine, but that doesn't meant it doesn't open the car door."
I don't think Monte is related to Yogi Berra, but I do think he is a great, albeit misunderstood, philosopher and someday, someone will discover a Rosetta stone that will translate all of these Monte-isms into phrases that we mere mortals can understand. Until then, I live lost in translation.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Sad News
About six weeks ago, Stephen went through a period of desperately wanting a pet. We already had a dog we had to give away (nobody had time to play with her, and I'm not a dog person), and some goldfish that got flushed because, again, nobody really paid any attention to them. Clearly, we're not pet people.
I attribute some of my "pet desensitization" to growing up on a farm and watching pet after pet die under tractor wheels and inside farm machinery. Monte grew up with pets in the house, but they for the most part were cared for by his mom. Since I'm not so good in that role, the question of having a pet has rested largely in the "stalemate" pile. He wants them inside, I'll tolerate them outside, so nobody wins. This system of mutually assured destruction has worked for a long time for our family.
Over the last year or so though, Stephen has really pressed us hard to get a pet. I blame the public school system and their class turtles, guinea pigs, frogs, baby chicks and the like. Clearly, they are attempting to teach science with a little psychology thrown in, but I've been out of school for years, and I think I'm the only person this lesson is aimed at. So, after Stephen's repeated begging we got a guinea pig. She was a pretty little calico thing, and Stephen named her "Sam" although everyone called her "Puppy" because that's what Peyton called her. She was doing well and growing and things were looking good . . . for a while.
Then, once the honeymoon period was over, she didn't get a whole lot of attention. Nobody had much time for her and it looked like she was going to live the life of an island--solitude in the midst of activity. This time though there was a new wrinkle--after a week of acting lethargic and strange, Puppy died. She started her downward when we noticed she had stopped eating. Then came the lying very still, even when someone was near her cage, and finally, all she did was put her head down in the grass and breathe very fast, with a little whine thrown in. You don't have to grow up on a farm to know what was going down, but my country education didn't fail me. I figured we were headed for the big Timothy Hay pile in the sky.
What I didn't count on was Stephen's reaction. He cried and cried, and asked if we would see Puppy again in heaven, and why Puppy had to die and and so on. I was really surprised. Yesterday he didn't have time to play with Puppy, and today he was shocked and saddened to hear Puppy was gone. Monte decided we'd have a little funeral for Puppy and I was so touched when Stephen said a prayer over his pet's lifeless body, wishing her new happiness and health in heaven (we didn't argue with his theology). This scene moved even my dried up remote practical cranky heartless heart.
Monte is already saying we should wait at least a week before we get Puppy's replacement. I nearly choked on my shaken iced tea lemonade. We really don't deserve another pet, Stephen's big blue eyes notwithstanding.
I attribute some of my "pet desensitization" to growing up on a farm and watching pet after pet die under tractor wheels and inside farm machinery. Monte grew up with pets in the house, but they for the most part were cared for by his mom. Since I'm not so good in that role, the question of having a pet has rested largely in the "stalemate" pile. He wants them inside, I'll tolerate them outside, so nobody wins. This system of mutually assured destruction has worked for a long time for our family.
Over the last year or so though, Stephen has really pressed us hard to get a pet. I blame the public school system and their class turtles, guinea pigs, frogs, baby chicks and the like. Clearly, they are attempting to teach science with a little psychology thrown in, but I've been out of school for years, and I think I'm the only person this lesson is aimed at. So, after Stephen's repeated begging we got a guinea pig. She was a pretty little calico thing, and Stephen named her "Sam" although everyone called her "Puppy" because that's what Peyton called her. She was doing well and growing and things were looking good . . . for a while.
Then, once the honeymoon period was over, she didn't get a whole lot of attention. Nobody had much time for her and it looked like she was going to live the life of an island--solitude in the midst of activity. This time though there was a new wrinkle--after a week of acting lethargic and strange, Puppy died. She started her downward when we noticed she had stopped eating. Then came the lying very still, even when someone was near her cage, and finally, all she did was put her head down in the grass and breathe very fast, with a little whine thrown in. You don't have to grow up on a farm to know what was going down, but my country education didn't fail me. I figured we were headed for the big Timothy Hay pile in the sky.
What I didn't count on was Stephen's reaction. He cried and cried, and asked if we would see Puppy again in heaven, and why Puppy had to die and and so on. I was really surprised. Yesterday he didn't have time to play with Puppy, and today he was shocked and saddened to hear Puppy was gone. Monte decided we'd have a little funeral for Puppy and I was so touched when Stephen said a prayer over his pet's lifeless body, wishing her new happiness and health in heaven (we didn't argue with his theology). This scene moved even my dried up remote practical cranky heartless heart.
Monte is already saying we should wait at least a week before we get Puppy's replacement. I nearly choked on my shaken iced tea lemonade. We really don't deserve another pet, Stephen's big blue eyes notwithstanding.
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