You have to take this test.  The Spouse and I both failed.

Do The Test. 

Ok, so not one of my more profound titles, but it certainly catches your attention, right?

With the heat running practically 24/7 in our house, my sinuses have been killing me, which reminded me of an interesting on-line article about "neti pots" that I recently read. 

Before I give you the link to the article, I have to say that:

a) I have not tried this myself; and

b) I don't think I will ever try it because it kind of grosses me out. 

The neti pot is an instrument used to irrigate your nasal passages.   If you don't believe that anyone would actually do this, check out this YouTube video.

(Now, if anyone out there reading is willing to admit that they have tried this and wants to share, feel free to comment.)

 That's right folks -- Here at Brookfield Wannabe we are committed to bringing you the hardhitting news  :-)
 

Are you ready yet?  I'm not.  Although I promise myself every year that I will start earlier, I still find myself scrambling at the last minute to decorate, shop, etc.  My tree is up and decorated, but that's about it.  The stockings have not yet been hung by the chimney with care (luckily St. Nick came to my daughter's school), and the few presents that have been bought are still waiting to be de-tagged and wrapped.  As for outdoor lights, the snow and ice storms made that decision for us.

My friend, whose household is in a similar state, tried to put a positive spin on it:  Our houses are brimming with "Christmas potential." 

I have a serious case of "Christmas Card Envy". I have friends (and you know who you are!) who every year send me beautiful pictures of their families, sometimes accompanied by witty newsletters printed on holiday paper.  About 99% of the cards I received this year are of the family-picture postcard variety.  As I open them, I sigh -- longing for the day when the spirit of Christmas organization will fill me and make me think of taking pictures on our vacations -- pictures that actually have all family members in it and without someone blinking at the flash.

One friend, who never before sent me a newsletter and who I see on a fairly regular basis, sent me one this year.  Et tu, Brute?

I should, however, take a cue from another friend of mine.  She has four kids.  A few years ago, she decided not to send out Christmas pictures of her family anymore because trying to find the time during the holidays to take one and send it out stressed her out.  Instead, she takes a family picture in the spring and sends out Easter cards. 

But it will all get done; it always does.  And I still find time to enjoy the moments.

The preschooler had her first Christmas program this week, and we got a few chuckles watching the preschool angels, dressed in all their finery, fidgeting and fiddling with their "halos" -- so much so that a teacher had to be sent into the bleachers to keep the hallowed ones in line.

So, take heart, ye who are not yet ready.  We've still got a couple of days to go! 

Is it "Belgian" waffle or "Belgium" waffle?

This is a question that my spouse and I have have talked about before, most recently at dinner tonight.

We were having dinner at the Capitol Cafe/Grecian Inn Restaurant, located on Capitol Drive, slightly west of the intersection of Capitol and Lilly Road.  For those who don't know, the building that housed the Grecian Inn is now home to two restaurants, the Capitol Cafe and Pancake House on the main level and the Grecian Inn on the lower level (formerly the pub).  It's my understanding that both businesses are owned by members of the same family.

I have been a loyal fan of the Grecian Inn for years, dating back to when it was a cozy little place on North Avenue.  (Speaking of dating, it was my first boyfriend, who was half-Greek, who introduced me to the restaurant.)  I haven't been to the "new" Grecian Inn yet, but from looking at the menu, the lower level is now devoted exclusively to Greek dishes. I particularly noticed an expanded seafood section. 

On the upper level, the Capitol Cafe and Pancake House hasn't changed layout wise.  On the menu, you'll probably still see your favorite specials -- like the Friday Fish Fry-- and even a few of the popular Greek entrees like the roast lamb sandwich or the gyro sandwich.

As the name implies, you're also still able to order breakfast anytime, and the breakfast menu is bigger and better than before.  There are all kinds of pancakes and crepes, different kinds of eggs benedict, an expanded kids menu, and of course waffles, which brings us back to our question.

On the menu, it said "Belgium" waffle, which incidentally is what I ended up ordering, but I've also seen it as "Belgian" waffle in other restaurants. 

I think the latter is correct.  My argument is that "Belgium" is not an adjective.

Maybe we should just call it the Brussels waffle?
 

...while driving today... 

1. Why are there no Starbucks stores with drive-thrus in Brookfield?

This frustrates me every single time I am in a hurry, don't want to get out of the car because it's so darn cold, and need a shot of caffeine.  (The only drive-thru coffee store that I know of in Brookfield is "That Coffee Place," across the street from the post office .)

2. Why--at holiday time-- do radio stations play that really sad song about the little boy wanting to buy shoes for his dying mother?

Has anyone else listened to the lyrics to this song? 

Call me crazy, but I listen to the radio station that plays Christmas/holiday music beginning on November 1 and I LOVE it.  But, every holiday season, there is this song that comes on, and I just don't get  it.

This guy sings about a poor, little boy who wants to buy shoes for his mother, who doesn't have much time left because she's dying, so that his mom can look good when she gets to heaven.

It doesn't really put me in the holiday spirit. 

This blog is as fluffy as the snow that is currently coming down. 

Despite the dire winter storm warnings from the weather people (and is 3-5 inches really that bad?), I decided to go to the mall today because the spouse actually agreed to take the preschooler to dance class this morning, a task he generally avoids because of "all the women."  (In his defense, 99% of the time, it is the moms who are waiting.  Sometimes, it is almost like a mom therapy group.)

But here is the story of my dash to the mall before the snow hit.

Saturday morning (12/1) 

9:55 a.m. (about 2 hours until snow supposedly flies)

Arrive at Mayfair Mall to shop for outfit to wear.  Rejoice that there is still close parking.  Further rejoicing at realization that I am free to shop without anyone asking me whether we can go home yet every 15 minutes.   But also dismay that I am still a procrastinator after all these years; Could limit dress selection.

10:00 a.m.

Get distracted by jewelry counter at Macy's. Big sale going on today.   See some items that would make good gift to me from spouse.  Decide that procrastination is not necessarily a bad thing.  Decide to embrace it.

10:05 a.m.

Back on track.  Find THE dress!  Purchase dress; head to makeup counter.

10:20 a.m.

Chat with cosmetics saleswoman.  Describe the dress I just bought.  She knows which one it is, exclaims: "You will rock that dress."  Am now feeling better about cost of dress, but feeling old compared to younger salesperson.

10:30 a.m.

Head into mall. 

10:31 a.m. 

Am now remembering why I hate going to the mall on weekends.

10:45 a.m. 

Now fuming in slow-moving, check-out line at a store that shall remain nameless.  Picked the wrong line to stand in.  Vow in the future to only patronize stores that respect the "many cashiers but only ONE line" rule of shopping etiquette.

11:00 a.m.

Still in line.  Arrgh.

11:20 a.m. 

Finally getting out of mall.  Snow's coming down.

Driving in Snow Pet Peeve:  People who cut in front of you for no apparent reason when they know the roads are slippery.

12:00 noon

Arrive home.  Car slips around in driveway.  Regret not putting snow tires on minivan last weekend. Arrgh.  Snow sucks.

12:01 p.m. 

Favorite Christmas song comes on radio.  Listen to it while parked in driveway. Decide snow is pretty.

If you have to go out tonight, take it easy out there.  Enjoy the first "big" snow!

******

ADDENDUM

6:20 p.m.

Driving to spouse's office party.  Snow is no longer pretty. 

7:00 p.m.

Bad News - Ten people show up for staff party/ Good News - More than enough fried eggplant appetizer to go around. 

10:00 p.m. 

Snow is okay, but icy rain REALLY sucks.

10:40 p.m. 

Arrive home to find that driveway is now a skating rink.   Winter is here folks!

The preschooler has just been churning them out lately. This chuckle requires some backstory.

The preschooler likes to print pictures off the Internet websites that she is allowed to access. Recently, she printed out two pictures, wrote the words "I love you Mom" on both of them and placed them neatly on my pillow. She did the same thing for her sister.

Now, lest you think the preschooler is all sweetness and light, this is also the same child who, when she is mad at you, will draw a picture of your face, draw a circle around it, and then put a big, black line right through the center of it. She will then tape that picture somewhere around the house where you will be sure to see it and know the force of her wrath.

So, anyway, the spouse comes home, notices the pictures on my pillow, and, in a voice that is a tad too casual, remarks that there is no picture for "Dad" on his side of the bed.

Later, I pull the preschooler aside and say, "Maybe you should make a picture for Dad too. He might feel sad if he doesn't have one." That evening, the spouse came into our bedroom with a strange but amused look on his face.

Spouse: Did you tell her that I wanted a picture?

Me: Well, I mentioned that you might want one. Why?

Spouse:  I was tucking her in, and she looked up and said, "Dad, there are two pictures in the garbage.  If you want one, you can go get it and put your name on it."

The season of giving -- preschooler style.
 

*******

Humorous Quote of the Day: 

"Anything you bring a monkey to is instantly 30 percent better.  Family reunions, labor negotiations, the DMV."

-- Jack Ferraiolo, Head Writer for the PBS show "WordGirl"

(I gotta admit that this quote just cracked me up when I read it, not sure why.  The spouse thinks it's just weird.)

Out of the mouth of my preschooler...

Preschooler:  Mom, you need more pzazz.

Me:  (defensively) I've got pzazz.  What do you think pzazz means anyway?

Preschooler:  It means fun.  You only do ordinary things.

Me:  Well, where should I get some pzazz? 

Preschooler:  From me.  I'm full of pzazz!

She's full of something alright.  I'm just not sure what.
 

This blog is all fluff, but I have to recognize the milestone.

I gotta give a shout out to my dad who turned 80 yesterday!! 

He says he has no secret as to why he has lived so long.  Maybe it's the noodles.

For as far back as I can remember, in keeping with Chinese tradition, my mom would make us eat noodles at each of our respective birthday celebrations.  Noodles are supposedly a Chinese symbol of long life, at least that's what she said.

You're saying to yourself," But, Roxanne, I thought you were Filipino." 

And you'd be right; we are.  I have no idea what got my mom started with the whole noodle thing, but she always had a host of superstitions/traditions that she would make us follow.

Like wearing polka dots on New Year's Eve, even if it was only on your pajamas.  Don't ask.  I'm still kind of sensitive about that somewhat embarrassing one.

So, last night, we had noodles for my dad, and his grandchildren "helped" to blow out his candles.  (When you have children in your family that are all under the age of 5, no adult is ever allowed to blow out his/her own candles.)

Recently, my dad has taken to saying that he is in "the last quarter," but I hope he goes into "overtime". 

Seen at Grasch's today...

The produce sign says "Gourmet EUROPEAN Seedless Cucumbers". 

The label on the cucumber says "Product of CANADA".

*** 

You might have already seen the advertising on BrookfieldNOW but Grasch Foods is holding its 25th Annual Brat Fest this Saturday, 9-15-07,  from 10 am to 4 pm.  In addition to food, a flyer I got today says that there will be balloon art and face painting for the kids.

Proceeds from each sale are being donated to the Waukesha County Special Olympics for transportation, equipment, and uniforms.
 

If it is actually possible to be in love with a kitchen appliance, I LOVE my new dishwasher.

When we bought our model house, it came with kitchen appliances.  Although most of them are still holding steady, our old dishwasher was the bane of my existence from almost the very beginning.  First, it was so loud that trying to hold a conversation in the kitchen was like trying to talk while in the near vicinity of a freight train.  Second, the door to the dishwasher kept breaking down every so often.  Pieces of plastic would break off the vent mounted on the door.  The hinge would break.  The screws holding the inside of the door to the outer frame would pop out.  You get the picture.

Finally, after yet another screw popped out, we broke down and decided to get a new one.

When we first went looking, I thought all you needed to know was the size of the dishwasher.  WRONG. 

You need to be aware of how your old one is anchored under your countertop and need to make sure your new one can be anchored in a similar fashion.  You also can be surprised, as I was, at how your power is coming into your dishwasher.  In my situation, the power source and its physical configuration was a potential barrier to  fitting my new dishwasher into the old space, something I didn't know until the installer pulled out the old one. 

And for Pewaukee, I'm not sure about Brookfield, you need to pay for a PERMIT to change out your dishwasher!

But all the problems in buying it and having it installed (my experience with Lowe's in Tosa is fodder for another blog) have been worth it.

We bought a Bosch dishwasher.  Now, I will kid you not, a Bosch does not run cheap.  And because I was going all out, we got the one with all the bells and whistles, including the hidden childlock. 

But it is so quiet, you honestly almost forget it's running.  It purrs like a kitten.

You know you're getting older when the almost silent running of your new dishwasher is the highpoint of your summer.