8 posts tagged “kevin”
Last week I was kind of pushing it. Maggie had the croup, I had a bad cough and couldn't sleep through the night, Kevin had 15 hour work days. And I had a full weekend planned. I had planned it without really consulting Kevin. Because Kevin didn't have to DO anything.
On Saturday, I had signed up to volunteer at the bounce house at 10 AM and at the science club booth at noon. This was for our school's main fundraiser, a walk-a-thon/carnival. Since I am a teacher and a parent, I feel it is only right to volunteer. Maggie would be participating in the walk-a-thon while I volunteered. No problem. Kevin? He would probably be working. It is crunch time at his office.
Then on Sunday, I had planned to teach Sunday School, take in the coffee time goodies and meet with another couple to plan our Social Concerns actions for the Fall. Right after church Maggie and I were going to meet Kevin and drive up to the city to meet his parents and go to the King Tut Exhibit. I was really looking forward to that!
But...On Friday I felt really awful. Queasy and light headed, and doubled over with coughing bouts. I should have called in sick, but I was already covering my classes AND another teacher's classes who couldn't be there. If I had gone home, they would have had to find TWO subs. Plus, I only work part time. How hard could it be?
I almost fainted a few times. It was ridiculous. Those poor kids. I managed to wait until after the last bell when the kids had all gone, to barf into the art class trash cans. Then I called Kevin. Kevin, who was working on a deadline that Friday night. And had planned to worked very late to get stuff done....
I called Kevin, and he jumped into action. He left work, got me medicine from the pharmacy, got dinner for Maggie, put her to bed, and just took care of me.
Saturday came. Guess who went to the walkathon? I stayed in bed.
Sunday? Kevin taught Sunday School for the first time. He said it wasn't too bad. He took in the coffee time treats, met with the social action crew. Then he and Maggie went to the exhibit. I stayed home. Boo.
The man is a rock. I love him so much. He must be exhausted after all of the work he has been doing. And then there were Maggie duties, and Natalie created duties on top of that. But he never said a thing. And I am still sick. I took off work yesterday, and as soon as I finish this blog, I plan to go back to bed.
H1N1? Probably. Ehhh -- Swine Flu. You don't scare me. I have my husband taking care of me.
I have had the same pair of sunglasses for years. I believe I bought them at Target. Maybe on the sales rack? They may even be made by Ray Ban. Whatever. What I am saying is -- they are old. And very out of date.
So I have been looking over the fashion magazines and noticing that all of the stars have very large Jackie O type glasses. Slightly silly looking. But oh boy, do they protect your eyes from the sun!
"I have a big head", I told myself, "I can get away with big glasses!"
I went out and bought myself a pair of these new fangled movie star glasses. (Thank you, Ross Dress for Less!) Then I brought them home and nonchalantly wore them when I went to the pool with Kevin. Kevin took one look at me and said, "No."
He started to laugh and shake his head. "As your husband, I am supposed to tell you when you look ridiculous. And I am doing that right now. Those are just silly. No."
But really? They are silly glasses. Far too large. And they aren't that comfortable. And I just feel like I'm, you know, trying too hard. I think I had better dig out those old Ray Bans. Thank God I have a husband who will tell me the truth.
This is the one sided conversation that Kevin's officemates heard last week, when I called him from the garage in a total panic:
"Calm down, calm down....How bad is it?....Well is it spreading?....Okay, slow down. Here is what you need to do. Grab two big sticks. We'll have to sacrifice a few things. Get the broom. And the dustpan. And one of the five gallon buckets. Okay.....Wait, is Maggie safe? Alright. Now scoop it up and get rid of it any way you can. Call me back when you're done. Good luck. "
He got off the phone and noticed that a large group of co workers had gathered around his cubicle. They had been lured over by the sound of alarm in his voice, and the mysterious nature of Kevin's suggestions for what I should do about the as of yet undisclosed calamity. Now, If I had overheard this telephone call, I think that I would have worried that the person on the other end was cleaning up a crime scene or something. No. Not Kevin''s co workers. Discussing it amongst themselves before he got off the phone, they decided that our home had been attacked by zombies. That could really be the only possibility.
Ahhhh, if only. I would have been perfectly happy to sacrifice my brains to a pack of zombies if they had been there to help me clean up the mess that awaited me when I opened the garage door after a short trip to the market last Friday...
So here is what happened: I opened the garage door, in a rush to get the groceries put away before Maggie's playdate friend came for the afternoon. What did I see when the door slid up? A total disaster area. Apparently, the shelf in our garage storage closets had broken when I was gone shopping. The shelf broke, and the items on it all came tumbling down and bursting out of the storage closet doors. Normally, this would only be a nuisance. I would clean it up, grumbling, and try to fix the shelf later. Unfortunately, though, the shelf that broke was not just holding backpacks and beach towels. Oh no. It was our "paint shelf". Uh huh. And if any of you have ever been in our house -- you know that I love to paint the walls with nice, vibrant colors. I keep the leftover paint for touch-ups and stuff. Gallons and gallons of paint. With colors like, "Cranberry Zing", and "Magical Twilight" (a deep dusky purple), there was "Half Moon Bay" (dark blue), and something with the stupidest name " Dapper Tan", and so many other colors I can't even name them all -- all lined up on the shelf.
What greeted me as I opened the garage door was this -- huge, spreading puddles of semi gloss paint. Buckets of paint. And paint cans with bent in sides and popped off lids strewn across the garage. I believe that Magical Twilight was the most prevalant. And it was spreading. Fast. First I placed the call to Kevin at his office, to see if he had any miraculous suggestions, then I got to work. Scooping, wiping, scraping, pouring, dumping. GALLONS of this stuff.
Of course, almost immediately, Maggie's playdate friend showed up. The mother blissfully unaware of what awaited her when she stepped up to the garage. "DON'T COME IN HERE!" I screeched, as she walked up with her son. Of course, Maggie was still strapped in her car seat, being the agreeable child that she is. Not making a peep. Just looking at one of her books or something. The other mother's eyes widened when she saw the paint. I believe she said "Oh....my!" But, she had an appointment to get to, and couldn't stay to help. So she dropped her kid off, and skedaddled. Nice. At first I was freaking out that I now had two kids to entertain, but soon realized, it was better this way, they could go upstairs and entertain each other. And that is just what they did. Thank God.
I was downstairs in the garage for at least another hour. But (in large part due to the garden hose that I eventually lugged in there) I am glad to say, most of the paint is now gone. Do not ask me where the huge five gallon buckets of purple and blue and cranberry colored paint water were poured. Neither you nor Al Gore wants to know.... And, honestly, if you REALLY wanted to know where I poured it, you would just have to follow the trail of purple flip flop tracks to the scene of the crime....
So. To all of you who are storing gallons and gallons of excess paint on a shelf somewhere in your house or garage.... I want you to run, don't walk, RUN to that shelf. And I want you to check it. Very carefully. And if does not seem sturdy -- well then, for the sweet love of God -- fix it! Now!
The weekend before last we went Camping with Maggie. We went to Pinnacles State Park just a few hours away. It was about four million degrees outside. Luckily, we got a shady campsite. All was fine and dandy, EXCEPT... Maggie doesn't sleep really well in a tent, apparently. This is what we found out, two nights in a row, at approximately 2 in the morning. She would wake up SCREAMING. (And, uh, those tent walls? Not so sound proof...) And not just a little bit of screaming, but lots and lots.
It got to the point where I was actually putting my hand over her mouth to stifle the cries, so afraid was I that our camping neighbors would come over and stab us to death with a marshmallow roasting stick. And, so, the following mornings, we were not so fresh and rested. As you can see here:
But we still managed to go out and hike, and crawl around in the caves in the area. It just happened to be National Junior Ranger day, so that was cool. And kind of not so cool, too, because there were kids swarming everywhere, with not a disciplining parent in sight. But there were projects and displays set out for kids, which Maggie really enjoyed.
And I got to learn all about the nearly extinct California Condor. Which has a wing span of 9 1/2 feet. And is really gross. And when it makes a noise, it sounds like it is farting. Also, to cool itself off, it pees on itself. One last nasty Condor fact -- if it is being chased by a predator, and it isn't able to fly fast enough, it can make itself vomit to lose some weight. Nice. Save the Condor, dude!
Kevin and Maggie practiced scaling walls.
And we looked at things very closely with the binoculars. (I just had to include the binoculars photo. It makes me laugh every time...)
Then Kevin wanted to go and see if he could do some rock climbing (there are lots of really good climbing routes there) So he went up to some people who looked like climbers and introduced himself. Apparently climbers are all very familiar and welcoming to other climbers. (To me, the thought of just approaching someone and introducing myself like that makes me break out in a cold sweat!) He asked them where they were going that day and if he could join along. The three guys were a little taken aback, but were very, very polite, and told him that, sure, they were just going on a hike, but he could join them. Ooops. Not climbers after all, apparently... I wonder what they thought about some random guy just coming over and inviting himself on their hike...
Not even knowing if Kevin would eventually find climbing buddies, I left him at the visitor center and told him I would come and pick him up in a few hours. (Uhhh, okay mom. I'll see you after the dance. Please don't embarrass me...) But I had to get out of there. I was EXHAUSTED after practically no sleep the night before -- in a tent on a leaky mattress with a screaming toddler inches from my face. Ughhhhh.
So I did what any self preserving mother does these days... I took her home, put a video in the portable DVD player, zipped the door shut, put my feet up, and read the New Yorker. Ahhhhhh. Nature.
TOP TEN REASONS WHY I LOVE KEVIN CAMPBELL
1) He is an excellent listener. He really does listen to what I have to say, and what I need to tell him and he never judges or gets upset. He also can sense when I need his feedback, and when I just need to vent. I honestly can tell him about anything in the world. It feels so good to know that.
2) He makes me laugh -- loud, embarrassing belly laughs. And sometimes I find myself crying with laughter from things he says and does. He is totally goofy and knows it. And doesn't care one bit. Case in point:
This was from the rally we organized last Wednesday. I was getting a little punchy and that was what he started yelling out at the passing cars. Oh Lord.
3) He's a liberal with an open mind. We are both pretty progressive Democrats. I seriously don't know how couples that don't have similar political views stay together. But Kevin and I see eye to eye on most issues. If anything, he is open to hearing all the sides. He will listen to hateful talk radio to hear what they are saying, he will hear someone out who has a completely opposing view than his. And he will politely debate that person. Myself -- I get red-faced and tongue-tied and I just turn off - unable to see straight. I love that he can be so calm.
4) He is super smart. The man eats a steady diet of computer books and the NewYorker. I swear. I love it. He keeps up to date on what is happening in the world and he has a curious mind and is eager to learn about all kinds of new subjects. Right now it is the environment and oil shortages. A few months ago it was California Geology.
5) He is Hot. All that rock climbing ain't for nothing, baby! Wow. I feel fairly certain that he would NOT appreciate my putting up a photo of him with no shirt on on my blog...but take my word on it....Hott. (Oh, and he's got a pretty cute mug, too)
6) He is such a good dad. He and Maggie have the sweetest relationship. She adores him. And he swoops her around the house and makes her squeal. It kills me to hear them together. My heart melts -- MELTS when I hear them having very serious Father /Daughter conversations together. They usually end up in giggles.
7) He makes me feel like I am gorgeous. He really does. He comments when I get dressed up and always makes me feel like I did when we first met. And the other thing he does that I appreciate is -- he tells me when perhaps I should rethink a fashion choice (always in the kindest words). The other day I came home with some pants I had gotten in the trendy teen section of Target. They were labeled as "extreme low cut" but they were a great color, they felt good, and were cute. I felt skinny in them. When he saw them, he agreed that they looked good, but suggested that perhaps I should try to bend down in them. Ahem. Let's just say that those pants were returned post haste. No need to share that view with the whole entire world....
8) He is very good at what he does for a living. And he has a real passion for the project he is working on right now at Sony. He is reliable, hardworking and a team player. He is really valued at work, and that makes me so proud of him everyday.
9) The man is the most adventurous person I have ever met. The skydiving! The rock climbing! The traveling! The trying of new foods and experiences! We have such a great time together, what ever it is we are doing. It could just be camping at a local campground, or traveling halfway around the world together. It always feels like an adventure. And it is always fun.
10) He is the kindest man I know. He is gentle and thoughtful and always sees the best in people. He lets me be the person I need to be. I can grow and change and be me and that is fine with him. He is there cheering me along the whole way.
Happy Anniversary, Kevin. You, Me, Maggie -- It is everything I ever wanted. I love you.
So, the other day, Kevin and I were watching the Motorcycle Diaries and I was so excited, to be watching a movie about Che Guevera, an activist who had pretty much changed the world with his beliefs, and who had really motivated people to take action, etc. (Plus the guy playing the main character is easy on the eyes...)
Well, we watched the movie, and it was beautifully filmed, yadda yadda, lots of "two guys on a road trip" kind of story lines going on, and then it sort of ended abruptly. And we got a little written biography of him and what happened to him later in life. And basically, it said, "Che Guevara went on to Cuba and influenced Fidel Castro, blah blah blah. And died in a violent shoot out."
And I was like, "WHAAAAAA?"
You see, I was confused because I thought that the movie was about this person:
Mmmmm hmmmm. Cesar Chavez. The guy who organized the grape pickers and masterminded the lettuce boycotts. A pretty important person in the history of California. And the USA, actually. We have roads named after him, and some people I know even get a day off on his birthday.
But actually, "The Motorcycle Diaries" was about this guy:
Che Guevara. The guy on all the T-shirts. The guy whose face is on bumper stickers on the back of VW vans.
And I was so EMBARRASED! Because, sheesh, I can't even keep my Spanish named activists straight! Honest to God, I realized I didn't know who either of these guys were, really.
So I turned to Kevin and shamefacedly admitted my confusion. And Kevin - God love him for not being like so many men I know, who would deny any sort of mistake, ever! Looked right back at me and said "I thought it was all about Cesar Chavez, too. I was wondering when he was going to get to the lettuce fields..."
Ha.
This would be funny. Funny -- if Kevin and I weren't involved in and in charge of a whole lot of activist events right now through MoveOn.Org. We are an embarassment to our progressive causes.
I dunno. I should probably blame Mr. Schelstrate, my high school American History teacher, but I can't do that. He was too wonderful and in my eyes, could do no wrong.
I believe I will blame my senior year Government teacher, Mrs. Jeens, instead. Shouldn't she have been teaching us about "pinkos" like Chavez and Guevara?! Yes. She should have. I mean, this is the Real World, people. The R.W.!
Viva La Revolucion!
Hi...I'm back! I just returned from a nice long vacation on the East Coast. The first four days were spent in Florida at a time share with my parents. It was sunny and fabulous, and on the second day there, my parents offered to take care of Maggie while Kevin and I went to Miami for the day. Damn, it's nice vacationing with the parents! Here is an account of our trip into the land of greased up bods and all night partying:
Well, naturally, we had to go on the Art Deco tour. Right? That is what you do when you go to Miami. But the actual tour guide was off that day, so they handed us audio tours with these big ass headsets and sent us on our way. So -- from the very first second we got there, we were like, super hip.
Or wait, no, perhaps driving into South Beach in my mom's minivan, that may have been when we FIRST showed how cool we were...
Ummm, uh huh. And then, we walked down the street and Kevin, who had brought his super deluxe Nikon camera, was blown away by the food preparation that he witnessed at all of the restaurants that were trying to lure us in. They had all of these amazing setups of lobsters and crabs and huge towers of meat. The dessert ones were the ones that got me. HOWEVER -- I did not actually take photos of these things
As much as I made fun of Kevin for taking these photos, I gotta admit, the photos were pretty good. And, in fact, the food preparation that was displayed did the trick -- we stopped for lunch.
I was damn well determined that since we did not have Maggie and since we didn't have to get back anytime soon with our minivan, I was going to have a drink ! And so I ordered a mojito. Because I was in Miami, right? And I had always wanted to try one. And I like the way they sound when you say them when you are pretending to be Speedy Gonzales or some such ridiculous Spanish speaking stereotype. Although I did not order them using that accent. I swear. Mmmmmm. My mojito was freakin' delicious.
I was drunk in a matter of seconds. Really. I don't drink often. And even Kevin said that it was really strong. By the time I had finished half my drink, I had to stumble off to find the bathroom. When I tripped on the steps leading into the restaurant, I felt it necessary to turn around and yell in an inappropriate volume to the hostess who really couldn't care less: " OOOPS, TOO MANY MOH-HEEEEEE-TOHS I GUESS !!!! teee heeee..." She gave me a sympathetic smile and then, I am fairly certain, rolled her eyes. If she didn't roll her eyes, I assure you -- she should have.
We had stopped midway on our art deco tour to have our lunch, so after a gigantic meal of paella for Kevin and some sort of Mussel Linguini for me and mojitos of course. Oh, and calamari -- love the calamari...We were off again. But we were so full, we had to take a rest on the grass, undo our top buttons and sort of groan for about an hour while we digested. That done, we continued on.
The effects of the Mojito were finally wearing off, so although I had at first thought that standing outside the Versace mansion and posing for the camera like I had been murdered (Gianni Versace style) was an absolutely HI-larious idea.... by the time I was no longer snockered, I realized it was kinda tasteless, so I just stood in front of the Mansion and looked like a dork. In very sensible shoes.
What? We were going on a walking tour. I didn't want my feet to hurt!
We saw some other buildings that I liked. Here they are. Art Deco rocks my world. Almost as much as Art Nouveau. Almost. But not quite as much.
By the time the tour was over, it was time to go to the beach. And that is what we did. And it was glorious. And it was not Wintertime. And we were truly, truly on vacation.
Ahhhhhh. I am so glad that I married a man who is just as much a dork as I am. That he loves to travel, and do hokey touristy stuff, and that he enjoys eating, and that he loves the beach as much as I do, and that we can spend a day together doing nothing and having it feel like a teeny tiny honeymoon all over again.
Last night it was really really really cold. And I took a while getting ready for bed. Kevin got into the bed early, while I brushed my teeth, etc... Then I dragged my exhausted self over to my side of the bed to climb in. I turned off the light, pulled back the sheet, and sat down on ....
Okay, that wasn't what it was, not really. In truth, it was my husband's feet. He was being a sweetheart and trying to warm up my side of the bed with his nice warm feet. But he forgot to warn me. I jumped about 6 feet in the air and I swear to God, screamed loud enough to wake the dead. I honestly heard a little voice in my head say "Oh my God, there is a rodent in your bed!"
Kevin, obviously, was freaked out, too. He was like "what, what?!" So I tried to explain to him that his feet were scaring me. That I thought they were a possum. And he questioned me on this, as his feet are not in the least bit hairy. And so, I thought about it, and realized that my brain screamed "possum!" But actually? In my mind's eye? I was seeing this:
Yes. An armadillo. And so I admitted that to him. And he made a rustling movement with his feet under the sheet, just to tease me. And I went into hysterics. Again. I think I have a problem. This is not something that I need to add to my list of worries.
Also. I must add. Kevin does not have scaly feet. There is no protective armor covering his skin. Nor does he have furry feet that play dead or hang from trees by day. He is a wonderful man who was trying to warm up my side of the bed on a cold Winter's night and this is the thanks he gets. A blog about his feet.
