The Truth Shall Set You Free

The other night my nephew put a hat on, a hunting hat to be exact. You know the ones…they have earflaps. The one Holden Caulfield wears in The Catcher in the Rye. The following conversation then took place:

Zach: Nana! Do I look like a dog?
Mom: If you think you look like a dog.

Later…

Mom: Did you hear Zach ask if he looked like a dog? I wouldn’t have answered that for a thousand dollars. Can you just imagine 10 years from now? “Nana, remember when you said I looked like a dog?”
Me: Yeah. I noticed you answered, “If you think you do.” Does that mean no?
Mom: Of course it does. What was I supposed to say?
Me: Well, I’m just thinking back over a few times when I asked if you liked something and you answered, “If you like it.” Or times when I asked if I looked good and you answered, “If you think you do.” Now I feel deceived.
Mom: THIS IS EXACTLY THE CONVERSATION I WAS TRYING TO AVOID!

Thanksgiving Aroma

It’s that wonderful time of year when the house is full of pleasant scents. Turkeys, pies, potatoes, bread, the list is never ending. Unfortunately, my house is full of a different sort of odor. This memorable conversation took place while cooking up a storm this afternoon.

Mom: Knock, Knock. Nick, you need to open a window and spray. That smell is wafting through the house.

Five minutes later…

Dad: Excuse me! I didn’t appreciate your unfounded accusations that I’m to blame for the smell in this house. If you want to blame someone, you point the finger at yourself and your boiled eggs.

Me: OMG! That is awful, mom. You made it sound like he was ill or something.

Mom: Well, excuse me! You’re the one who wanted Deviled Eggs tomorrow. I blame you.

Movie Mayhem

I love going to the movies. I love the magic of getting lost in a story for two or three hours. I love leaving wondering what happened to my favorite characters. My parents, however, do not love the movies. Getting them to go to the movies is like a lunar eclipse. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, it is a wonderful thing to behold.

I recently had the great pleasure of “third-wheeling” to a viewing of Unstoppable. This movie was only picked after my dad’s plea to finally choose a movie he would enjoy. So, after stomping his feet at my suggestions (Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Harry Potter) we finally decided to give-in to the demand.

My mom was very excited to spend 2 ½ hours starring at Denzel Washington. I was not as excited, considering that she had just informed me that his teethe are fake. FAKE! She ruined Denzel for me (as I’m guessing she has for a majority of you).

The movie is fantastic and is thrill. However, I got more of a kick out of watching my mom rather than the movie.

About 30 minutes in, I looked over and found her picking her arm.
Me: Mom, stop picking your arm.
Mom: What?
Me: You’re picking your arm like a monkey. Stop it.
Mom: I can’t help it. I’m so nervous.

About 15 minutes later she started screaming out, “Oh my god. Oh my god. Stop it. Stop it.”

About 15 minutes later I looked over to see her holding on to my dad’s arm and her feet curled up on the chair.

About 15 minutes after that she started taking her hands and waving them at the screen. Like Denzel and the VERY handsome Chris Pine were waiting for her hand signal and would turn the train around.

You would have thought we were sitting there watching Jaws. It made my night…maybe my week. It just proves that going to the movies is an experience and sometimes the great stories are happening right beside you and not on the big screen.

History Repeating Itself

Some of the best conversations I’ve had with my dad have been about his childhood. I can’t think of one time I haven’t left laughing hysterically at some sad story he told me. I know…totally not sympathetic, but I can’t help myself. He’s such a great storyteller and an interaction between him and my nephew Zach reminded me of the following gem:

Dad: Growing up we used to associate with this couple named the Pozzis. I hated the Pozzis. They used to give your Aunt Jackie and your Uncle Tom money right in front of me and left me high and dry. Who does that? Isn’t that just terrible?
Me: And you made it through that okay?
Dad: Well, yes. Mostly because when my Nana would see this, she would pull me aside and give me some money and say “those damn Pozzis.”

I of course had to remind my dad of this scenario when I saw him pull Zach aside and give him a sucker and not Annie. He didn’t laugh when I said, “Wow. Just think of Annie at 52 telling her kids how Gramps didn’t give her a damn sucker.”

There's No Crying in Baseball!

The above picture is my dad’s all-time-favorite picture. He says the three of us haven’t changed a bit. My mom and I have both walked in on him looking at this picture and laughing. Ryan is the child that would laugh and smile if he actually was in jail. I am the crier. I will cry at the drop of a hat. Nathan is just along for the ride. In this picture he’s probably thinking, “are we done with this yet?”

Dad hates that I’m a crier. He can’t handle it. So, typically, when I call him crying he will say, “Stop crying. Dayna, stop it. Why are you crying? There’s no crying.” This of course makes the situation worse because I don’t feel he is being helpful or sympathetic.

The following phone conversation happened only a few days ago…

Dayna: Hi Dad. I’m lost!
Dad: Where are you?
Me: I don’t know.
Dad: Then what am I going to do for you?
Me: I don’t know, but I have to be to class in 45 minutes.
Dad proceeds to give me the wrong directions.

Dayna: Hi Dad. I’m still lost!
Dad: Where are you?
Me: I don’t really know.
Dad proceeds to give me wrong directions.

Dayna: Hi Ryan! I’m lost! Dad wasn’t any help.
Ryan proceeds to give me the right directions.

Dad: Hey! You on your way?
Me: Yeah. Ryan got me on the right path.
Dad: Excuse me? Why did you call Ryan? I could have helped.
Me: At least I didn’t cry. That’s progress.
Dad: Why would you cry? That doesn’t help anything. “There’s no crying in baseball.”
Me: You know what doesn’t help anything? Quoting “A League of Their Own.”
Dad: Whatever. You love it. I’m glad you're not lost and I’m REALLY glad you didn’t cry.

Thanks to my dad for trying to help me out and to my brother Ryan for knowing how to use Google Earth!

Hearing of a Dolphin, Scent of a Shark

I did a lot of research for this post. By “a lot” I mean I Googled. I wanted to name the post “Hearing of an Elephant, Scent of a Wolf.” However, I know my dad reads these posts and would say something along the lines of “Dayna, just because something has big ears doesn’t mean it hears well.” So I stuck with the truth and nothing but the truth.

The truth is, I am a sharphin (the offspring of a dolphin and a shark). I have an amazing sense of smell and hearing. Not unlike a superhero, this is both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because I can hear conversations from across the room. Curse because I work in an 8th grade classroom and the smell is otherworldly (I have been known to put Vicks in my nose before entering).

I first knew of my mom’s power of smell when she could tell you if a person had eaten garlic within the past 48 hours... Dad doesn't eat garlic anymore. My dad recently started to show signs of increased odor detection and hearing.

I enjoy the Starbucks, but there are some days that I can’t take the chipper people who work there. “Hi, Miss Dayna! Are we doing a grande, non-fat, 5 pump chai today?” Some days when they say that I want to change my order up just for the heck of it. So, on the days I can’t take the barista at my local Starbucks, I send my dad. Unfortunately, that doesn’t always work out.

Dad: Hi ladies! Here are your chais.
Mom/Me: Thanks! Did you get the scone?
Dad: Of course. By the way, those are gross. I like my food to have some moistness. That’s like eating cement.
Me: So what you’re telling me is that you ate some of our scone and didn’t like it. Please don’t touch our food.
Dad: Yeah and now I have to go change.
Mom: Why?
Dad: Because I hate going into Starbucks. I smell now. I smell like coffee and I hate the smell of coffee. So, now I’m going to change.
Me: Wow, wow, wow. How long were you in there? It can’t have been more than 2 minutes. Plus, I don’t smell coffee on you.
Dad: It’s there, Dayna. It’s there. So, you have your drinks and scone and now I’m going to change.

Mom to Me: Wow. That was a little exaggerative.
Dad (from upstairs): I’m upstairs, but I can still hear you!

So after that little exchange, mom and I try to purchase our own chais and scones. Some days he places his own muffin-Perrier order…funny how thing work!

Froot Loops + Road Trips

For years people have been telling me that I’m just like my mom. It’s by far the best compliment I can ever hear from people. The other day I realized that I am not only similar to my mom in personality, but in eating habits.

I was munching on some Fruit Loops and kept thinking how loud they sounded. I’m very self-conscious about the noise my food makes. I always wonder if things sound louder in my head or if they are actually making a crunching sound. Typically this happens when eating carrots, apples, chips, or Fruit Loops. This of course reminded me of a legendary road trip I took with my mom and dad years ago.

In my family road trips typically mean one thing…SNACKS! While driving home from Wyoming we were snacking on various deliciousness when the following conversation happened:

Dad: Wow. You’re really enjoying those Fruit Loops, aren’t you?
Mom: Yes I am. What are you trying to say? Crunch, Crunch.
Dad: Just that I can hear you crunching them.
Mom: Wow. I’m just sitting here, minding my own business, enjoying a snack. Did you hear me say anything about your sunflower seeds earlier? Do you think I enjoy you spitting out shells in a cup? It’s gross. Crunch, Crunch.
Me: Giggle, Giggle.
Mom: Keep laughing, Dayna. This is just hilarious. Crunch, Crunch.
Dad: Wow. There are the Grand Tetons. Lets get out and take a picture.
Mom: Are you insane? I’m not getting out and taking a picture. You’ve ruined this picture moment. Crunch, Crunch.

I learned a lot of important information that day. First, never comment on how someone eats. Second, mom won’t take pictures if you annoy her. Third, don’t bring Fruit Loops as snacks on road trips. Fourth, after six hours in a car, people get edgy.

I think in some scrapbook there is a sad, little picture of me standing alone in front of the Tetons. To this day, when I eat Fruit Loops or see the Tetons, I think back to that car ride and chuckle…then chew quieter.

Too High of Expectations

I, unfortunately, am the type of person that is usually disappointed by things that are hyped. I always find myself going into situations with high expectations, only to be disappointed. Today, I learned that this is a trait I inherited from my mom.

Many of you have heard me talk about my niece Annie. She is 4 years old going on 34, she has A LOT of spunk, is teeny-tiny, and very trendy (thanks to me). Today we had the opportunity to attend church with my brothers’ family and Annie greeted us at the door. She was just darling (dressed by Target) in her form fitting sweater dress and boots. This is the conversation that took place between my mom and me on the ride home:

Mom: Wasn’t Annie just so cute? There’s nothing to her. She is just so little.
Me: I know! Did you see her down the bag of candy? Where does it go?
Mom: I don’t know. Her dress was so cute. I always wanted you to wear dresses like that, but it never worked out.
Me: Why not? I would have rocked that outfit when I was Annie’s age.
Mom: No, Dayna. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but we tried it once. You didn’t rock anything.
Me: Excuse me? What are you trying to say?
Mom: You were chubby. I had such high hopes for you and that dress, but your rolls ruined it.
Me: Well, I liked my curves.
Mom: So did I, just not in dresses.

Sadly, we have proof that I didn’t have Annie’s build, but the build of a wrestler. Also, proof that mom had too high of expectations for that dress.

Bird Suspicion

I think Alfred Hitchcock may have ruined me. I find myself suspicious of many things including men in wheelchairs with binoculars, chocolate syrup, cat burglars, and of course heights and doppelgangers.

This week I added to my list of phobias. Birds. Not bird, singular. Birds, plural.

While driving home from work the other day, I looked up at a billboard to find a mass gathering of birds. This is when I found myself thinking, “That’s suspicious.”

Then yesterday while riding with a school bus of 8th graders for a field trip, I looked out the window and what did I see? A mass gathering of birds on a rooftop. This is when I found myself thinking, “That’s suspicious.”

I then began to reflect on my relationship with birds (yes, I was trying to drone out the kids around me who were yelling and trying to get truck drivers to honk, some things never change) and realized that ever since watching “The Birds” I’ve always found birds to be suspect. I mean really, what business do 100 birds have gathering on a billboard? I fear they are planning some kind of scheme. I fear that at some point I will be running to my car, chased by birds, who will proceed to peck at my windshield.

I know. There are bigger things to worry about in life (famine, violence, education) and yet there I sat thinking what these birds could be up to. Suspicious of these (most likely) innocent creatures. Thanks a lot Alfred Hitchcock!

Damn Keens

Today I told a fellow teacher that I quote enjoy her shoes. She giggled at my word choice. Who wouldn’t, though? And then told me that she “did not enjoy how the shoes made her feet feel.” But honestly, I have yet to find a pair of shoes that don’t kill a teacher’s foot. My feet are one big blister since I embarked on this journey called “teaching.” This conversation of course reminded me of a legendary dad story!

I have had the pleasure of going on many trips with my parents, but my adventure with them in Zion National Park takes the cake. I can still recall how excited all of us were to head to such a beautiful spot and like any good travelers would do, my mom and I set out to make purchases for the trip. The first thing on our list was new hiking shoes (I know, very wise to purchase new shoes before a hiking trip).

We walked into the outdoor wonder that is REI and headed straight for the shoe department. The salesman saw us coming from a mile away and sold us both on Keens. “Every serious hiker has a pair.” With salesmanship like this, how could we not buy a pair? So, I walked out of the store rockin’ some awesome lime-green Keens and my mom with a more tasteful and reserved pair of grey.

Upon arriving home, my mom and I couldn’t wait to show off our purchase and talk all about the amazingness that are Keens. So, after our brilliant presentation, my dad decided that he too needed a pair of these “life changing” hiking shoes. We headed to Utah, not long after the purchase.

The first day in Zion was amazing. A whole day of hiking in our Keens while surrounded by natural beauty, what more could we ask for? That night we all crashed from exhaustion. What I wasn’t aware of? The private Hell my dad was going through.

Before leaving for the Grand Canyon, I look over to find my dad placing BandAids on each individual toe (that’s right, all ten piggies). I of course inquired as to why he was doing this and his response was one I will never forget: “These damn Keens are horrible. My foot is an open sore.” What you need to know about my dad is that he doesn’t curse, so when “damn” comes out of his mouth, he’s VERY annoyed. I of course fell over laughing (very sympathetic).

Of course he didn’t pack any other shoes. Why would he? Keens are amazing! They are what “ever serious hiker” wears. So, for three more days he wore the damn Keens, as we so lovingly refer to them and of course hasn’t worn them since.

Those shoes still sit on the shoe shelf today, with 6 inches of dust. They are a reminder to him that he will never take our hiking suggestions again. They are a reminder to me of a trip full of great one-liners.

The lesson we can take from this story? REI salesmen are only concerned with selling expensive shoes and just because someone “enjoys” the way shoes look, doesn’t mean they’re comfortable.