Advent(ures) By Candlelight

On any given night this December, it would have been easy to catch our family gathered around open flames and reading Christmas themed books.

I had the bright idea that we should wrap all of our Christmas books in festive wrapping and give the honor of selecting which one to open and read by candlelight to a different child every night.
We have coupled our literary adventures with hot cocoa and when it's too hot to handle, we sip it through a straw.
One night, somebody threw a tantrum and everyone was fighting when we began. It was the night we had to choose two books because the night before we had skipped reading to go and pick out a puppy.*
When we started it felt like we were fighters between rounds nursing our wounds in our separate corners waiting for the next round to start. With the magic of family dynamics, though, glares turned quickly to smiles and grumbling turned into giggling as Robert read The Nutcracker with silly voices and exotic accents. When I finished up with Let Me Hold You Longer we were all in tears again hugging and kissing each other goodnight.
Reading books together by candlelight: its a Good Thing. (but catching your hair on fire is a very, very bad thing, Stella!!!)

*Yes, we are getting a puppy! She is coming home tomorrow. Pictures coming soon.

On Christmas Gifts

I'm going to go on record as being in favor of giving gifts at Christmas time.

There, I said it.

I like it, dammit. I like giving gifts and I also like receiving them.

I like everything about gift giving:

• making a list of the people to whom I would like to give a gift
• thinking about those people and how much I love them and . . .
• . . . why I am so thankful for their influence and presence in my life
• crossing those names and gifts off my list as I count down the weeks and days to Christmas
• second guessing every single gift I buy or make "Does this item truly show this person that I was thinking about them, and that I love them, and appreciate them?"
• wrapping the gifts. My rule: a maximum of three pieces of tape per gift.
• talking to my sister about what I made or bought, laughing at some of the silly ideas I come up with for people
• going to the post office to ship my packages
• knowing that I expressed my appreciation and affection for my family during the holidays, because if I can't be bothered to do it during the Holiday Season, then I'm probably falling short during the rest of the year as well.

Examples of gifts that Robert and I have given our families in (leaner) years past:

• homemade pajama pants (made from repurposed sheets from the thrift store) that we finished at 3 in the morning on Christmas Eve
• a box of homemade caramels
• Nerf Guns: always a HUGE hit
• scrubs that we got from the hospital where Robert was doing rotations
• cardboard cutouts of photos of family members that we turned into magnets
• free tee shirts that we won in raffles and saved to give away as gifts (so what if they had the VISA logo on them? We were poor, but we still loved our family!)
• Speaking of poor, once we gave our kids a box full of paper airplanes for Christmas that we folded out of red and green and white paper. They LOVED it, they felt loved.
• freebies from drug reps
• coupon books
• movies
• prizes that we won in radio contests
• homemade stepping stones for the garden
• photographs
• homemade toys

Maybe our family members were secretly hoping that they wouldn't be burdened with one of our gifts, but with each gift our message was meant to be "I love you. I appreciate you. I hope your Christmas is Merry."

When Robert was in school, I tried not to wear my poverty on my sleeve, like a badge. Every day I knew that I was making a choice to live a certain type of lifestyle. As Dave Ramsey says, "I was living like no one else so that some day I could Live Like No One Else." For most of our marriage, our Christmas budget has been between $50 and $100 each year. That money was stretched to provide Christmas for each other, our kids, and our extended family. We have been blessed with a generous family (Sara and grandparents, in particular) who understood that we were sacrificing for the long term goal of graduating from Medical School, and eagerly filled in the gaps of our kids' Christmas mornings. One year, Creed had his heart set on receiving a Shell Shocker. He received one from his Aunt Sara and his heart is still full of gratitude for that gift six years later. So is mine.

Usually Robert and I have skipped giving each other anything more than a love letter or another small token of our undying love for each other. Once, Robert drew a picture of Jack for me and another time I knitted him a black beanie that was too small and ended up on Eddie's head.

Gifts are part of the magic of Christmas. I remember sitting at my grandma's house on Christmas when I was little and being handed a gift that was just for me. Me! Out of 40 or more cousins, someone had remembered me! Those gifts were never extravagant, but always thoughtful.

Giving gifts is one of my most treasured holiday traditions. I also make gingerbread houses, decorate a tree, sing carols, give service, gather together with loved ones, have a nativity, and eat good food. Gift giving shouldn't be the high point of one's celebration, but I firmly believe it needs to be a part of one's Christmas season. One can indulge in this tradition without getting caught up in the commercialism of the holiday. One can indulge in this tradition without breaking their bank. One can indulge in this tradition without being materialistic or selfish or greedy.

Besides, I'm not about to argue with a bunch of Wise Men from the East.

Not Meant for Human Consumption

Gingerbread Houses 2010

Number of houses made this year: 16, I think, not all by me. I made only one.

Number of Icing Batches: 20?

Number of broken pieces glued back together: at least 4 (one house ended up being supported with cardboard glued to the inside of it.)

Number of Kids underfoot: ZERO (we made them on a Friday night without kids. That was genius.)

Number of years in a row I've been involved in Gingerbread making: 28

Gingerbread Houses with Stained Glass Windows is the longest running tradition I have. Besides my tradition of General Laziness.

I have absolutely nothing at all going on this time of year. In fact, this is the time of year that I have a lot more Nothing to Do than usual, so I say to myself: Self! Build a gingerbread house. From scratch. With stained glass windows.

And I do it.

Do You Hear the People Sing?

Sunday afternoon karaoke with my sister is pure joy. This video is from two weeks ago. Note that we are sharing a snuggie and singing into roses made out of duct tape.

And this afternoon I discovered Broadway aficionados in a couple of my other friends. We sang every word on the first disc of my Les Mis album plus "A Little Fall of Rain" and the finale on the second. Levi and Amanda know every word, hit every note, and don't miss a single cue. Robert and Jackie took some help from the printed lyrics. (I confess it has been awhile since I sat down with the booklet and sang along with Valjean, Cosette, and the others, so I had to peek over their shoulders now and again.)

Then we moved on to selections from RENT and ended with the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah.

Robert must be curious about the storyline between Javert and Valjean, because he is now watching Hollywood's version of Les Miserables starring Geoffrey Rush and Liam Neeson.

It's a Good Idea to Keep a Blanket In Your Car

First of all, thank you to all of you who have expresses love and support and solidarity regarding my husband's father. It means so much to both of us right now. We decided to come to Utah and spend a few days with our family, and it has been wonderful.

We left on Friday after work and relived last year's Christmas dinner at the Quik Trip on our way out of town.



We drove all night and after a pit stop in Park City to freshen up and say "hey" to my mom and Jim, we came to Bob's sister's house and finished up the boys' Halloween costumes. They were Vikings, and Stella and George were dragons. Trick or treating with cousins beats trick or treating without, no contest.


Today I caught up with my punk brother and rubbed my knuckles on his head.



Stella did her best to remind him why he moved out in the first place.

Now, however, after a series of unfortunate events, we are locked out of the house at two in the morning. Nobody will wake up. We have called and rung the bell, they are all exhausted. Our only option is to sleep in the car. In the time it took me to type this, George and Robert have passed out. I think I'll join them.



Nighty Night!

It's funny what a cancer diagnosis does to a family, a relationship, an individual. We hear the word "CANCER" and it scares the tar out of us. We all want Information and as terms like A.L.L. and Chemotherapy and Gleevek worm their way into daily conversations we start playing a numbers game. "If the cancer has been growing for this long and it takes one treatment to go into remission, that buys us X number of units of time." Then BOOM! The treatment actually works, and it goes into remission and Dad still feels crummy but we gave him enough of the poison to kill the cancer! AND he survived a ruptured spleen! Things are looking up.

And the next time I see him, he looks great. I latch on to the fact that he's riding his stationary bike regularly and he feels good enough to be requesting that I go on Pepsi runs. He rolls his eyes at the silly things his grandkids are doing. They sneak his treats every now and again, and (I suspect) they are sneaking sips of his Soda, too. Things almost feel normal. almost.

On our way home, we say things like "That is so great, he's riding that bike every day. And every day he rides a little more." "Not to mention the fact that he's eating again. He looks so much better." Mostly it's me saying these things. Robert, who carries the burden of too much knowledge and first hand experience in this sort of thing, just nods and mutters the occasional "Mm-hmm. He looks a lot better." I ignore his lack of contributions to the conversation. I'm tempted to ask him what he really thinks, but I'm not sure I want to know.

Months later, the words Relapse and Hospice and Could Buy Him A Few More Weeks enter the conversation and they feel like nuclear bombs. All of a sudden, I feel this sense of urgency. Someone needs to set up a video camera and record Dad. Right Now. I want to hear about his happiest memories. I want to hear about the times he was afraid, or lonely. I want to hear him talk about cars, and his siblings, and his mother. Has he ever tried anything and failed? What were his childhood dreams? I'm angry that we didn't get an oral history from him when he was healthy. I'm angry that my kids haven't had enough face time with their Grandpa and I'm jealous of those grandkids who have spent their whole lives with him. I'm angry that we live over 1,000 miles away from our family. I'm angry that I am so useless. Honestly, right now I can't remember why we live in Iowa. Mom's lifelong dream of all of her children living on a compound with her is suddenly very appealing.

And when did I start calling them Mom and Dad?

We Skype. I'm thinking "Why haven't we been Skype-ing every single day?" I always think that when we Skype. If I could have an endless supply of anything I wanted, it would be time with my family. (I'm one of those people who generally likes people a lot more than they like me.) And there everyone is. There is probably rice in the rice cooker, and in the fridge there is something yummy (probably made of cabbage and pork and garlic and fish sauce) to put on the rice. April made steak. Mom and Dad are snuggling on the couch, I can hear Diana and Tifiny's voices being broadcast from separate computers. Paul puts our computer on the floor, so for a moment all we can see is feet and Dad's walker. Every now and then Amy enters the frame holding a child to her chest. Karen introduces us to Peyton the Edible. We have gathered to have a Serious Discussion Regarding Dad's Choices. It's the quietest I have ever heard the family. Robert turns to me and says, so that only I can hear him "This is really uncomfortable." All I can do nod. I hold his hand. And what's wrong with me? I can't stop crying.

Before I know it, I'm watching my nephews perform acrobatics across the living room. George is franticly hollering "Hi KayKay! Hi Lolo! Iwuvyou!" I swear, I can almost smell the rice. I know exactly what it feels like to sit on that couch. I know what it feels like to share it with seven or eight people wedged in like a can of sardines and nobody wants to get up, because we are actually all pretty comfortable. I miss that. Robert starts playing around with the photo effects on his computer and soon he and April and Paul and Karen have each other in stitches. I can hear April crying behind her laughter. The filters on her computer program are making her look RIDICULOUS. When Robert decides it's time to sign off, I'm not ready. I make him leave it on for another hour. I haven't had enough time yet.

And that's just it. There's no such thing as Quality Time. Quality Time is a myth. Someone made it up who knew they weren't spending enough time doing the things they love with the people they love. The only Quality Time is Quantity Time.

I haven't had enough time. None of us have.

Three Weeks

Twenty one days. That, apparently, is my limit for daily blogging. September being a month of new beginnings, I thought it would be appropriate to attempt to establish some habits. What can I say? I'm a goal setter

As the September days wore on, and I started resorting to telling old stories, I discovered the reason behind my general inability to generate blog fodder on a daily basis. I lead a pretty dull life. I'm not bored, by any means, but the whole send-kids-to-school,-go-to-the-library,-fold-laundry,-what's-for-dinner storyline isn't all that interesting to write, or to read. It's not like I'm raising chickens. Now that's fascinating stuff, so c'mon Pheobe and Laura, gimme the goods.

What's next? Funny you should ask. In the interest of generating blog fodder, I'm ready to conduct an experiment of my own. It involves you, my readers. All eight of you. I invite you to give me something to do. It could be anything you want, except go on a road trip. I'm all road tripped out for awhile. (FYI, anything over 2 1/2 hours is a road trip.) I'll do it. And I'll write about it. Maybe even photograph it.

I guess saying "it could be anything you want" is a little misleading. I'm not going to start raising chickens or mooing in the middle of Yoga or selling Mary Kay because you suggested I do so. But I might, I don't know, try a new restaurant, or something like that. See? I am boring. I can't think of anything to do that would be worth writing about. Maybe there is something you have always wanted to try and you want me to do it first. Or maybe there is something you just wish I would do, like get some of your photos to you before pigs start flying.

I won't compromise my morals and I won't be mean to anyone. On purpose. (Today the girl who made the better than sex cake for that funeral told me she had read my blog. I feel really dumb. I hope it wasn't mean to write about it. She didn't divulge her opinion about the originator of the cake's name, and you'd better believe I didn't ask.)

So welcome to my own personal game of Truth or Dare. Challenge me and give me something to say.

Or don't. Whatever.

Thanks for reading.

21

On the topic of awkward conversations:

Have you had this cake that's been making the rounds of church functions and school picnics for a few years?

It's a cake from a box drizzled with sweetened condensed milk frosted with cool whip and topped with heath bar.

I like sweetened condensed milk and I love finding good uses for a heath bar, but you lost me at box cake and cool whip. Give me heavy whipping cream or give me nothing!

Someone had the audacity to name this cake "Better than Sex Cake."

Seriously? I mean, seriously?

{cut to this scene from awhile back:}

I'm in the church gym just after a funeral service and my bishop (a.k.a. ecclesiastical leader, spiritual guide for you muggles. Ha! As if anyone reads this who either a: isn't related to me or b: doesn't go to church with me or c: isn't Sissy) so he comes up to me while I'm dishing myself up a big piece of this cake, which I'm making fun of here, but I'm not going to deny myself a slice when it's being served at a funeral mostly because, hey! it's cake! and I say to him (and here's the climax of my story) "Boy, I feel bad for the poor woman who named this cake!"

My cake tasted a lot like foot that day, but for goodness' sake, I certainly hope you have had the same thought.

And now for the denouement:

I saw Easy A tonight. I LOVED IT! One of my mom's catch phrases when we were young was "ooooh, let's not and say we did." It reminded me of Gilmore Girls and Mean Girls and I'm now ready to have all the girls over to watch Say Anything and Sixteen Candles.

I think I'll stick with Tres Leches cake for refreshments, though.

20

Today is Monday.

Can't trust that day.

I woke up with two new zits. One of them was right on the edge of my lip. You know the spot. That spot where it is super painful to have a zit.

On the plus side, I had a pretty good hair day.

The only housework I did today was to load the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher. I'm a lousy housekeeper. "and Ann B. Davis as Alice."

The morning was spent taking King George to various activities; Mommy and Me Music at a local church and Mother Goose time at the library. He's warming up to the experience. Music time was in a large gym, and we were told in no uncertain terms that it is against the rules to run around in there.

It's hard to stop a two year old from running around a wide open space.








Sara is coming in January! Hooray! I need to call my mom and get her to come for one of the weekends. We are already thinking about Nan's Nummies brownies.

Ugh. Sara's not coming until January. She will be my ray of sunshine to brighten a bleak, cold winter.

Stella has moved up to the barre in ballet.








The door stays open for the first half of class, so we can watch if we want.

I left my book (the one I stayed up until 4 a.m. reading on Saturday night) at the ballet school.

Also, she now needs a black leotard.









Right now Sara is comparing her career as a ballerina to Stella's. In her mind she is comparing an old photo of herself in ballet class to these photos of the Princess.

And that was Monday.

Thanks for reading!

19

The one where I bear my soul.

or

I may have ADD.

or

This is what my list looks like today.

1. Hike Havasu Pi with my family

2. Finish school

3. Complete a marathon, eh, or not

4. Have a thoughtfully decorated home

5. Put pen to paper and write My Story

6. Pay off Robert's student loan debts

7. Make myself useful

8. Maintain a compost heap complete with red wrigglers and kitchen scraps

9. Learn to quilt/finish a quilt

10. Convince Sara that we should have a "Sisters Weekend" tradition

11. Achieve fluency in a foreign language

12. Celebrate my 50th wedding anniversary

13. Canoe the Boundary Waters with my family

14. Learn to play an instrument

15. Take singing lessons

16. Become SCUBA certified

17. Witness a solar eclipse

18. Go to Macchu Picchu, Peru

19. Visit the Coliseum in Rome

20. Visit all 49 of the 50 United States, I'm not sure I need to see Alabama

21. Visit all 7 continents

22. Beat someone (anyone!) at Chess

23. Participate in building a Habitat for Humanity home

34. Establish a scholarship fund for students with families

35. Use my reusable grocery sacks

36. Drive less/walk and bike more

37. Have bidets in my home

38. Value people and experiences more than things

39. Make a documentary film

40. Learn a language other than English

41. Inspire others

42. Six pack abs, defined calves

43. Find the perfect shade of lipstick

44. After I've done #42, sit on a beach somewhere, sipping a drink with a little umbrella.

45. Send out Christmas Cards

Robert is sitting next to me and looking over my shoulder. He offered to help me with #7, and told me to go get him a soda. He's so thoughtful.

What does your list look like?

18

The Butterfly Bush has been earning its keep. Walking up to my front door in the afternoon, I feel like I live in an enchanted cottage in the woods.

I wish I knew the right tune to sing to motivate the woodland creatures to help me with my housework, because "Somebody get in here and clean up this mess!" doesn't seem to be working. Neither does "So help me, if I have to pick up four kids' soaking wet clothes off the bathroom floor one more time, I'm going to LOSE IT!"

I don't actually yell at them. It's fun to pretend I'm a shrill and angry mother for dramatic effect.

17

Other stops on our Tour of D.C., which I photographed on my phone, included:

The National Museum of Health and Medicine, located way off the beaten path on the grounds of the Walter Reed Army Medical Center. I thought it was totally worth the 30 minute bus ride we took to get there.

That sounded a bit sarcastic, but I was sincere. The NMHM was unlike any other place we went in D.C.

Jack holding a plastinated human heart

Stella holding a plastinated human brain

Look closely, this is a bezoar that was removed from a young girl who ate her hair. A few days after we saw this, Stella announced "Mom, since we saw that bezoar I have not chewed on my hair even once."

Pictured behind the kids in this photo is a megacolon. It was removed from a man in his early twenties whose chief complaint was chronic constipation. I love my metamucil.

The National Geographic museum had an amazing exhibit about Leonardo DaVinci. They had taken sketches and plans from his journals and built his machines. Many of them were things we were allowed to operate.

Chinatown.

This is $1,000,000 in ten dollar notes.

Museum of Natural History

We were lucky to have my dad's wife, Nana Sue, join us during the first two days of our trip. We bought tickets to tour the city on the double decker bus during those two days and after that we took the subway all over town. We had a great time!

Come to think of it, we have Nana Sue to thank for our recent obsession with squid legs and Thai Food.

Mmmm.

16

By the time we made it to Washington D.C. in July, we had paid more than $60 in tolls, we had driven for more than 20 hours, and we had listened to Jim Dale tell us the tale of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

The Pennsylvania Turnpike is expensive! It only costs me, like, $1.80 in tolls to drive to Chicago. Sheesh.

Dad spent all day (from 7am to 6:30pm) every day at the Ritz Carlton for his training course.

In temperatures above 100 degrees, the kids and I took advantage of that time to get out and explore our nation's capital.

Rattling around inside my brain is an abundance of advice about traveling with children. Some day all of that advice may organize itself into a blog entry.

For now, I just have the pictures to prove we were there.

Jack finds the name of Lolo's fallen comrade, James C. Marshall, at The Wall.

Outside the Supreme Court

Riding the Circulator around town.

Hanging out at Union Station

Union Station

I know that a few of these photos could have been taken anywhere, but we really were in D.C. when I took them. D.C., as I said earlier, is also where we discovered our love of Thai food.

Here are the fried squid legs my kids couldn't get enough of.

What? Don't your kids beg you to take them out for fried squid legs every. single. night. when you are on vacation? No? Hmm. That's weird.

We saw so many other things while we were there:

Smithsonian Air and Space Museum

The Mayflower Hotel

Marine Corps Memorial

Lincoln Memorial

Library of Congress, Children's Reading Room

Maybe tomorrow I will post a few more shots from my phone. I didn't always lug the big camera around with me.

I recommend taking your kids to see the Capital City. I don't however, recommend sending them as Tributes!

15

When water gets in your fertilizer, making it unspreadable, you improvise!

Fourteen

Tres Leches cake for dessert





Oh you really should have had some. It was delicious. If you are inclined to make one, I suggest Pioneer Woman's recipe.

I think I'd better cut back on my cake consumption. Stella just asked me if I was pregnant, because my belly is so big.

Thirteen

George loves waving the kids off to school. "Bye guys! Bye guys! Have good day!"


After they are gone, we settle in for some snuggly reading time.


Yesterday he attended his very first library class. I use the library classes to fool the kids into thinking they go to preschool. He was not impressed by the lady or her puppets. He spent the half hour class slumped against me, refusing to participate. Maybe he'll be the one kid that doesn't beg to go to the after school day care when he starts Kindygarten.

Do your kids do that?

After school they are greeted by a mother with arms open wide rejoicing at their return. I exclaim things like "Hooray! You're home! I missed you so much!" (Whether I missed them or not.) Many days I even have, don't laugh, warm cookies and milk waiting for them. Yet all three of them ask me to sign them up for the after school day care programs.

Sometimes I wonder if stay-at-home mothering is really worth the sacrifice.

On Sunday afternoon, the discussion turned to levels of education.

"Dad," Creed asked, "did you finish college?"

"Yeah, Creed. I finished. You attended my graduation."

"Oh yeah! Mom didn't finish, though," Creed continued, smiling at me.

Robert, aware of my feelings on that particular subject, replied, "Rude, Creed. Mom doesn't need you pointing out that she didn't finish college. Yet." Sensitivity to others' feeling is something we are continually working on with Creed.

His face fell and he ran into his room, crying and sobbing.

No matter how strong my sense of longing to finish school is, it is not worth Creed being upset. Of course, Robert followed him into his bedroom.

Moments later, Robert emerged from his talk with our second son a little misty eyed. "You know what he said to me, Liz? He said 'I was just thinking that mom didn't go to school so that she could always be here with us, and I'm glad she didn't go to school. I like being with mom all the time. Other kids have to go to babysitters, and we don't.'"

Well, okay then.

Twelve

Omaha Zoo Two Weeks Ago

Not pictured: George and Robert.

The male gorilla decided he didn't care for Stella, so he charged the glass where she was standing. It scared the living daylights out of me and it was so loud when he banged on that glass that the whole Primate House went silent for a moment. One minute my baby girl was standing there staring at the baby gorilla and his mama, the next minute she was screaming in terror and reaching for her own mama.

I'm grateful the only wild creatures that attack my kids are, well, each other.

Eleven

It's easy to write about the things I eat.

Pad Thai from Nut Pob last night:

You should have seen the daggers that shot out of Jackie's eyes when our server told her they were out of peanut sauce for her satay. It was hilarious. The conversation went something like this:
Cute little Laotian/Thai Server who looked like she was about 14 years old, but could have been anywhere between 18 and 52 (damn Asian genetics): I'm sorry ma'am, but we just ran out of peanut sauce.
Jackie (without breaking eye contact):Nope. Uh uh. That's not possible. You cannot be serious.
(Then she turned purple and everyone at the table sucked air in collectively. Because She. Was. Pissed.)
Server (looking down at her hands, afraid to make eye contact):I'm sorry, we are out.
Jackie (as if saying it out loud would make it true):No you're not. That's just not possible.
Server:(Scurries away, mumbling.)
Jackie (hollering after her):This is a Restaurant. When you Run Out Of Something, you MAKE MORE!
She really wanted that peanut sauce.
At this point, I was falling out of my chair leaning away from her trying not to get stung by the daggers she was throwing from her eyes. I tentatively suggested that we could leave and eat someplace else. We were discussing our options when the cute little server returned and announced:
I'm sorry. We have sauce. They just brought in some more.
and the beast inside Jackie was soothed and I decided that maybe I should start saying things out loud like
"I can eat that and actually lose weight.""All the kids' beds will be made this morning.""The laundry will fold itself today.""I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and dog-gonnit, people like me."
The peanut sauce was fantastic.*

It's fun to order Sticky Rice in a restaurant. It comes in its own individual basket, steamed and stickified just for you.

Make sure your hands are clean before you dig in!

Get in touch with your inner play doh child by rolling it into a little ball in the palms of your hands.

Dip the ball in some Angry Chicken or Ginger Pork. Nut Pob doesn't have Massaman Curry on their menu, or else that's what I would have dipped mine in.

And enjoy!

The last time I ate rice like this, I was in the Philippines in my swimsuit using a banana leaf as a plate. Did you know that I used to be an international traveller? Ah, those were the days.

(Are you getting sick of bad photos from my phone yet? They are just so convenient!)
*This story was told with Jackie's permission with the caveat that parts may have been embellished. The only part that I embellished, though, was the part where she yelled after the server. She just said it to those of us at the table in a Very Loud Voice.