Yi Jia

That's what the Chinese call IKEA.

I'd never been to an IKEA before.  I tried once when we lived in Houston. 

Mike would rather have had his balls waxed than go,  but I hounded and hounded him because it was, after all, the Grand Opening weekend! We drove around for what seemed like an hour but, in reality, was probably only fifteen minutes looking for a parking spot. Frustrated... Mike started to drive away, which as you can imagine put me in a mood, a huge fight ensued, we drove home in silence, and pretty much stayed that way for the rest of the weekend.

When the news came, a few years back, that they were building the first IKEA in Kansas City... everyone in town seemed to be in a flutter over it. Not me and Mikey. Nope... not a word was spoken.

I thought I knew what an IKEA represents. Furniture for young people who don't know any better than to buy small boxes filled with heavy boards and not enough screws in the box to put the crap together properly. I know there's a market for that stuff but I ain't it. I have a "no putting it together" rule... it's probably, at least partly, responsible for Mikey and I turning the bend on 25 years of wedded bliss.

But here in China, the very things IKEA sells... household goods... are very expensive. And not always easy to find. So I gave in and hit the Subway, this morning, for the 50 minute journey. Sans Mikey.

Shelby came with me instead and as soon as we stepped into the monstrosity of a store we realized we'd both not eaten anything yet today. Having heard horror stories on getting stuck in the "IKEA Que", we both thought we'd better grab a bite before one of us got cranky.

This was the line for the cafe; they were an orderly bunch.

And yes... I know it's cliche... but I got the Swedish meatballs! I hope they don't taste this way everywhere because I was highly disappointed. They weren't inedible... but I wouldn't be hanging my brand on these puppies. Pun intended.

But they did serve French wine... which I indulged in. And the total for both Shelby's and my meal was 72 RMB, which is under 11 bucks. So there's that.

But then shit got weird. Real weird.

At first we were annoyed because Shelby really wanted to see that chair he was snoozing in. But he had his earbuds in and we could not raise the dead.

I wanted a better look at this couch but there was an entire family lounging on it.

Was something in the fucking meatballs? Get UP people... you don't live here!!!

And this gal on the left... she WORKS there!!!

And then there was this. A rumpled mess of a showroom in the bedding department.  Or was it?  I needed to go around to the other side for a closer look.

Holy shitballs... are you KIDDING me?!?  This chick is fast asleep IN an IKEA showroom bed! At least she had the common decency to take her friggin slippers off!!!

I. Was. Done.

I wouldn't sit on anything, I didn't want anything... I. Was. Done.

Ironically, there was a young woman beggar on our subway ride home. She went from person to person to person... no one gave her a Chinese cent.

She didn't actually make it as far as Shelby and me. I probably would have given her a few RMB but  someone had chased her off at the next stop.

Too bad. If she'd been at the IKEA subway stop she could have at least gotten a good day's rest!

I have some solid advice for the rest of us too. Never, ever, ever... buy the floor model of anything at an IKEA. 

I thought I knew what IKEA represented but I was mistaken. Here in Beijing, at least, it's a place for rest and relaxation. 

Damn squatters!

"Mom...

does Dad have an STD?”


“No Nick, he does not. Why, pray tell, do you ask?”


“Because his meds came in the mail and they say they’re for an STD.”

Lord help me.


And for the record… Mikey may battle a little high blood pressure as well as cholesterol, but as far as “down there”… he’s perfectly healthy.


And clean...

Mikey Beware...

I am not a tough gal to buy for when it comes to Christmas. Mikey would probably tell you differently, but I’m really not; Christmas is for the kids.



The one thing however, that is a staple under the tree for me each year is a refill bottle of both bath gel and moisturizer from Lady Primrose of Dallas. The fragrance is called Necture, and is not available year round, but it is at Christmas time.


I was first introduced to this product in Cabo San Lucas when Mike and I spent our ten-year anniversary at Las Ventanas; hands down the most incredible boutique resort we have ever been to. We had our own private beachfront villa with an infinity pool and Jacuzzi, and an outdoor shower that we still can’t stop talking about. Each day the staff would refill our hand-blown glass decanter, made by a local artisan with Lady Primrose products; Necture is Las Ventanas’ signature scent. There were so many amenities at LV, we had to literally pinch ourselves every day we were there, but the bath product was the one thing I knew I could take home with me (literally, you should have seen the inside of my suitcase!)


Our first Christmas after that memorable trip, Mikey bought me several products from their Necture line; they came in elegant crystal decanters. Every Christmas since, I can depend on refill bottles to keep my memories of that trip alive. As an added bonus, the gorgeous gift-wrap they arrive in reminds me of that time, when everything around us was stunningly beautiful.


This year however, Mikey ran into a little hic-cup. In all fairness to him, he has had once crazy year. He seems to be on the road more than he is home and he tackled a huge home improvement project, which is still getting the finishing touches on it this week… his (non)vacation!


That said... Mikey failed to secure my Lady Primrose before the one store in town that carries it sold out. In a near panic, he called Jordie from the store and told her to get online, it was Tuesday afternoon at this point, and order it from the Lady Primrose site. “I don’t care what it costs or how much shipping is… get it done” he said.


Suffice it to say, Jordie passed the buck and the problem landed in my lap. Oh, what a gift that turned out to be! At the “end” of the order, it offers you a chance to write a “note” … hand-written mind you… to be enclosed with the magnificently wrapped package. I could not resist…


In the comments section, I first wrote this: Please ignore the sappy message below. I obviously had to order my own gift because my husband procrastinated and Annabelle’s here in Leawood, KS is now out of my Necture! He must pay!!!


For a mere $58 in shipping costs, I think you will agree with me… it was well worth it!

And as an added bonus, Lady Primrose wrote a note to me on the back…

Mikey’s face was priceless, the kids busted a gut, and I have a great story that will give me years of entertainment!

Merry Christmas to me!

Baker

Unlike some Christmas gifts, this one from Toby and Steve to Mikey (the) Baker, has proven to be a great value add around the house.





Other than its obvious and direct violation of my dietary intentions, we are enjoying the fresh new smells and warm feelings of hominess that has enveloped our home since its Christmas Eve arrival.

Mikey is relatively new to bread baking; but you wouldn’t know it from this, his first loaf of Rye.

Now if only we had some homegrown fresh herbs!

Arghhhhh......

Shhhhhhhhhhhh…..

He’s not supposed to be on the bed!

Meet Truman.
I have declared myself his “surrogate Mom”.

Truman’s real Mom Michelle, is a school nurse who spends her days saving our Catholic youth from H1N1. Truman now spends his day with me, effortlessly soothing my pain from the loss of Tucker.

We know that somewhere out there is a dog who will bring another decade or so of joy to this family; we look forward to the day he (or she) shows up. But until then, we have Truman.

He has many of the same mannerisms as Tucker did. You see him and your heart just automatically sings… “Dum-da-dum-da-dum”.

Mikey and I went to dinner last night, just the two of us. He told me “We need to experience absolute pain to know absolute joy. We need one to contrast the other."

We have known both on many different levels. And I would never give one up at the cost of diluting the other.

Mikey is a wise, wise man.

Elvis has left the building...

The (use your best Hispanic accent here…) “Car-ooosa” is no more.
The Landcruiser we affectionately called Elvis, got traded away today.

We were its second keepers, having bought it from our friend Scotty in Aspen almost 10 years ago.
No one can accuse the Baker’s of over consumerism, that’s for sure; this baby was a 1994.
And in it’s place, a 2007 Nissan Maxima.
We’re big believers in letting the other guy take that instant depreciation hit!

This picture makes me feel a little sad.
It’s the cruiser being driven away from us for the last time, with our new car in the background waiting to take its place.

Lots of good times were had in that truck, I wish I could count the laughs.
But I also remember moving to Texas and Aunt TC running along side it as we pulled away. She was just willing Jordie and Nick to stay behind; she didn't want to miss even one day of their growing up.
It’s also the truck that got us back to Kansas when her cancer came back.
And to countless doctors’ appointments too, I'm sure.

Most of our Sunday drives were taken in the cruiser.
Mikey’s propensity to find gravel roads in the middle of no-where made the decision on which vehicle of ours to take an easy one.
The Landcruiser was made for those rides; he’d often pull off road and 4-wheel to the kids delight.

It never left us stranded, never let us down.
These past couple of years in fact, we were probably less of a friend to it than it was to us.
I was less than gracious the few times Mike and I had to swap out cars for the day.
And Jordie… for being a 15 year old with a restricted license sure has some audacity to “refuse to be seen dead driving that thing”.
But I think when Mike’s boss bummed a ride to a meeting with him a few weeks ago Mikey finally realized this about the cruiser…

You ain’t nothin but a hound dog!

Rest in Peace Elvis.

No Wine-ing

I dislike January.
A dreadful month for several reasons, though none more aggravating than this.
Mikey stops drinking on January 1st every year.
He calls it the Noah’s Ark diet and got the idea from our friend Frank.

40 days and 40 nights… no drinky-poo’s.
His New Year’s Eve birthday wraps up a 2 month holiday season of excessive eating and drinking, and then he abruptly stops.

Mike doesn’t do it because he has to, or even because he wants to.
He does it just to make sure he can!
Not a bad idea…
Unless you live with him.

We were at a party last weekend and I actually overheard someone say “You’re an asshole when you don’t drink”.
Hmmmm… no one ever says that to me.

This year, in the spirit of solidarity, I too have given up the hooch.
Although only for the month of January.
31 days is plenty in my book.

I’m halfway home; it’s day seventeen.
A snowy Saturday evening here, we’re hunkered down after a great meal.
But something is missing…
The simple enjoyment of a nice dry red.

Man do I love February.

The Downside of Blogging…

Mikey, who rarely reads my blog, did so yesterday.
I know this not because he told me.
No, his actions speak louder than words.

Like a gazelle this morning, he leapt out of bed and headed out the door.
“Where are you going” I asked with just the slightest bit of annoyance in my voice.
I didn’t really need to hear his answer… somehow I already knew.

“Coffee, I’m making the coffee”.

Arghhhhhhhh…. I KNEW he read it now!
The man never grabs a cup of Joe before work, instead making a swing through the cafeteria his morning routine.
I blew it with my big mouth!

When I saw him rattling through the cupboards in search of a thermos, that’s when I knew…
Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I’ll be heading out today to purchase Mikey his very own percolator.
His and hers baby!
But I think I’ll buy him the 2 to 4 cup version Mom originally tried to give me.
Last thing I need is the BOTH of us vibrating all day!

Haaaaaa-vvvv-e uh uh uh uh Gggg-ooo-dd Dd-aaay !!!

Yes…but there “could be” a new one soon

Mike, as you can imagine, has been picking up the slack around here.
While TC was in the hospital all that time, there was a “lack of attention” I guess you could call it, from me regarding the home front!
Couple this with trying to get my new Real Estate business off the ground and I am basically a guest in my own home of late.
Mikey has been my savior, I readily admit that.

But now let’s not get all crazy and bleary-eyed over this!

I mean, yes he travels extensively for work,
And yes, he has managed the kid’s schedules around his own.
Yes, he did go to both kid's “Back to School” nights AND “Meet the Teacher” nights.
And yes, I am of the opinion it is purely coincidence that I was again unavailable for teachers conferences last week, but REALLY…
Do I deserve THIS?

“Mr. Baker, Is there a Mrs. Baker?” asked one of Jordan’s teachers!!!

I will never shut him up about that as long as we both shall live!
I have heard so many different versions of his answer by now, I’m starting to believe him.

“Oh, she’s back in Rehab again…we’re really hoping she sticks to it this time.”
“It’s ‘Girls Night Out’ again tonight; she should be up by noon tomorrow if you need her.”
“She’s at the Credit Counselor…she has a big shopping problem.”

Four years I’ve been home with these 2 kids.
Hauling them, healing them, hugging them and hollering at them.
Is there a Mrs. Baker???

Yeah…and she rocks!
Just like Mr. Baker.

(I love you Mikey, and no… this blog is not about you. Really.)

Reblochon

Mike has a friend Wendy who lives in Billings, Montana.
They grew up together in Beatrice; Wendy’s Mom Sherri was like a surrogate Mom to Mike and remains so even today.

Sherri called Mike yesterday with the exciting news that her granddaughter Sarah, Wendy’s daughter, had made it into the semi-final round of the National Spelling Bee.
This was big stuff!
I immediately tuned in to the live competition being broadcast on ESPN and was blown away by these kids.

Compunctious, corrigenda, affiche, Corrine, rascacio, schuhplattler, laquear, pappardelle and yosenabe were just a few of the words these kids were challenged to spell correctly.

They were extremely poised on live national television as they asked the moderators for definitions, alternate pronunciations and origin of language.
They also cheered each other on with each victory and showed grace and compassion when a competitor went out in a round.

Sarah went out in the 5th round.
After successfully spelling the words campaign, cajolery and tetradactylous, she drew the word “Reblochon”.
She mistakenly spelled it “Reblechon”.

Mike sent Wendy and Sherri the following email this morning:

What kind of Bullshit word is Reblochon? I saw one kid on TV bitching cuz he went out on "Clevis" what a dip-shit, hell I even know how to spell clevis and that's saying something!!! He gets clevis and your kid gets Reblochon, that's crap!!! I hate the French and their precious cheese probably sucks anyway!

Reblochon is a French cheese from the Alps region of Savoie and has been granted the AOC title. Reblochon was first produced in the Thônes and Val d'Arly valleys of the massif des Aravis. Thônes remains the centre of Reblochon production.

Mike

P.S. my spell check when I went to send this e-mail didn't even know how to spell Reblochon. It didn't even have any suggestions.

Well… at least the “kid’s” displayed grace and compassion!!!

Culinary Craziness

From the perspective of pure caloric intake, this weekend was off the charts!
It began Friday night in Tonganoxie Kansas of all places, with what I had understood was to be a crab boil.
But when we got there, Bubba, who had flown in a couple of dozen fresh Dungeness crabs from Oregon, had decided to prepare them the way he used to eat them as a boy growing up in Washington state.

The guys set up the kitchen table much like they would a workbench out in the shop.
There was every variety of pliers laid out you can think of, several brands of whiskey, beer and of course wine for us gals.
This was a serious crab shucking operation!

As pound after pound of sweet, succulent crab meat was extracted from the crunchy critters, Bubba would assemble what I can only describe as Dungeness Decadence.
Stay with me here and visualize…inhale…dream and drool!

He started with fresh sourdough bread, sliced thick and slathered with garlic butter on both sides.
To that he added a generous pile of crab.
A layer of shredded mozzarella and Cojack was the crowning touch on these culinary delights.

In a piping hot oven, they bubbled, sizzled and smelled like pure pacific ecstasy.
We ate them as fast as he cooked them, never once bothering with any of the side dishes Robin and I had prepared.
A huge, fresh salad was left untouched as if to say, “Go ahead, live large tonight fat asses, you’ll be begging for me tomorrow”.

I think it was on my third bite or so that I actually had a heart cramp.
I paused momentarily, it passed, and I figured “Hmmm, not a bad way to go”!

Good friends, good eats, Good God, did we eat!

The gluttony continued into Saturday with Mike breaking out his mad baking skills (which none of us knew he had!)
A longtime “foodie”, Mike cooks us incredible meals on a regular basis.
He fears no ingredient and I’m convinced the only thing standing between him and greatness is our lousy electric cook top.
But he’s never baked.
Until now.


“Beatty’s Chocolate Cake” which he watched the Barefoot Contessa bake that morning on the food network was his inspiration.
Although “melt-in-your-mouth goodness” was the result, my hope is that he got the “baking bug” out of his system for good.

Between him and Bubba… "I’m going to seed”!

Paradigm Shift

It started innocently enough.
I was home enjoying a lazy Friday morning.
Sipping a pot O’ Joe, skimming the newspaper, reeeee-laxin!

Regis and Kelly were on the tube in the background, yet I paid them little attention.
I was too busy embracing my slugdom.

At some point I noticed a wedding taking place on the show.
One of those “over the top valentines day TV fairytale” kind of weddings.
Just as I began to turn away to concentrate further on my state of nothingness, I noticed something.
Actually, it was “someone”.

The Father of the bride!
Not the groom.
Not the cute little groomsmen.
The Father of the friggin bride!

When did this happen?
When did the parents of young lovebirds entering into wedded bliss, turn MY age?
I actually thought the Father of the bride was cute!
This is wrong on so many levels.

I was confiding this apparent paradigm shift to Mikey on the way home from dinner with friends last night .
He told me he understood exactly how I was feeling.
Although far from eloquent, he did effectively sum up my feelings with these words:

“Chrissy, inside every forty-five year old is a twenty year old screaming, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!?”

Yep, Mikey's right.
That’s exactly how I’m feeling these days.
What the “heck” happened?

Such a Waste…

Have you ever noticed how little I blog about Mike?
I may “mention” him from time to time,
But I never out and out blog about him.

Why you wonder?
Because he’s off limits.
He told me so a long time ago.

Oh I’ve tried before.
But he’s nixed them every time.

The only reason I mention him now is because people ask.
They think he’s hilarious
And I have to agree with them.
Mikey makes for good material.
He’s a Blogger’s dream.

But blogging about someone personally,
Even if it’s intended to be funny,
Can quickly cross the line and hurt feelings.
Or at the very least, piss them off.

So don’t look for Mikey’s antics to be reported here.
I have to live with the man.
You don’t.

That said…
I wish I could tell you what he did at the Demolition Derby last week.
It was classic.
Classic Mikey!

But sorry, Mum’s the word!
I’ll tell him his fans have been asking for him.
Maybe he’ll give in and throw me a bone.

Mi-KEY…Mi-KEY…Mi-KEY…

Life As We Know It…

We are only into the 5th game of Nick’s baseball season and we’ve already lost an integral part of his uniform.
His shirt!!!

How does this happen?
Socks I can understand.
I actually anticipated losing a sock so I bought 2 pair.
But his shirt???
Holy crap!

I’ve got until 5:30 this afternoon to come up with a new one.
Did I mention it’s “moving day” today?
We need to be out of the crappy corporate apartment by tomorrow.
But I’ll be busy trying to find a baseball shirt. (Maybe I packed it?)

And oh yeah…today is our anniversary…15 years!
Mike said to me late last night in a panic…
“Don’t give me my card in the morning Chrissy; let’s wait till I get home.”
Translation: He doesn’t have one yet!

I was happy for the head’s up though.
Hopefully I can pick one up for him between stops at one of the 17 sporting goods stores I’ll be at today looking for a new baseball shirt!

Yep…15 years ago today, Mike and I made all sorts of promises to each other.
Exotic anniversary trips, expensive jewels, perfect children.

Instead we will be spending the evening taking separate cars to the ballgame so we can each take a shift.
Dinner will be every man for himself.
And the only Jewels involved will be the ones Nick tucks in to his brand new jock strap!

So Mikey…
If you had it all to do all over again…
Forget it.
Don’t answer that.

Happy anniversary baby!

Goodnight Baby!

Crap!
What I meant to say was, “Have a good day baby.”
It was 6:45 am, way too early yet to be cognizant in my world, but I could vaguely hear Mike at the front door getting ready to leave for work.

Another day of putting a roof (two actually) over my head,
Providing me with all my needs and most of my wants.
But instead of getting up with him and brewing the coffee,
I’m planted face down, completely snuggled under the covers, drooling on HIS pillow, mumbling “goodnight” to him!

He must hate me in the morning!
I think I’ll take him to lunch this afternoon.
The later the better.
That way maybe he won’t notice that I didn’t cook dinner again!
Come to think of it…
He must not be too keen on me at night either!!!

I love you Mikey!

Solar Powered Jaw

Occasionally, I can be very chatty before daybreak.
Today was such an occasion.

The kids were up early checking the news hoping for a snow day.
Mike already knew there would be a two hour delay and hollered for them to go back to bed.

In my mind…Game On.

I started chattin Mike up about the day ahead.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea” I told him.

No response.

“Let’s try that new Thai place for lunch today.”

No response.

“Mike, are you asleep?”

Finally…a response.
Just not the one I was looking for.

“Chrissy”, he said.
“Pretend your jaw is solar powered.
No daylight, no talking.”

So now …I’m vewy, vewy quiet;
I’m hunting Mikey!!!

Eight More Sucky Sunday’s

Sunday evening through late Thursday night,
Mikey lives in Kentucky.
The plan is for him to be home for good come January.

The kids and I tease him and inquire about his “other” family down there.
He always responds the same way,
“Honey…down there teethe are considered Bling,
You have nothing to worry about.”

And we all laugh.

But I do worry.
About hazardous roads and crummy weather,
Too few cell towers and long distances between exits.
Car trouble in Hooterville and who will stop to help him.
I worry…until he finally calls me late at night and says,
"Chrissy, I’m in room 212… again.”

And we laugh.

Tonight is Sunday.
Sunday’s Suck.