So, this is another crazy week for us. I don't know why we scheduled things like this, exactly.
After recovering from what I have now been told is Rotovirus, we are again hitting the proverbial road. At the end of this week, we are headed up to Montreal to attend the wedding of the bachelor for whom there was a party in Toronto a few weeks ago. Confusing, no?
Happily, there is going to be a lot to see and many people to visit up in Montreal. Of course, there are the bride and groom, and their ceremonies and parties. My father-in-law's extended family is also up there, and we will be introducing them all to the kids for the first time, which is always fun. We haven't seen many of them in years, actually, and some I am not sure I have even met. Then, there are some friends and family from M's childhood, and some friends of ours who have returned to Montreal since we knew them in Toronto. I should say that people move from Toronto to Montreal as though those are the only two cities in Canada. Many Montrealers fled the city after hostilities with the Francophone community, but have since returned. I find Montreal to be a far more charming and metropolitan city than Toronto, but intend no offense to those few people who actually have a strong affinity for TO. Although, again, I feel that few people DO feel strongly about TO one way or the other: it is, in this respect, a completely utilitarian city. Montreal, on the other hand, purports itself to be North America's most European city. I find that it has character, much like Chicago or Boston, that is distinctive and renders it far more than Generic City Fit For Economic and Inhabitant Purpose.
Apart from this digression on the atmosphere on urban Canada, I have to say that in anticipation of our trip, I visited accuweather.com, my mecca for all things environmental. I would therefore like to send Canadians the following memo:
YOU DON'T HAVE TO LIVE LIKE THIS. SPRING HAS HAPPENED ON MUCH OF THE PLANET.
Seriously, they are still in the 40s and 50s, and while Canadians, Chicagoans, various Northeasterners, and probably a crapload of Russians and Europeans will vigorously defend the "seasons" and the "fall colors" and the "burst of spring" and their love for all things transitioning between winter and summer, I say hooey.
I argue that they just don't know any better. Mobile is currently in the high 70s and in fact, yesterday, the low 80s, and it is simply glorious. We are enjoying our own brand of Spring--complete with beautiful greens, fragrant flowers, and abundant sunshine. Northerners understand Spring only as that gray, slushy period that occasionally frosts over all the new blooms. Bah. Spring is squirrels and bunnies, and butterflies, and we have it NOW.
So, my kids are going to flip when they see we have to pack coats and raingear, pants and long sleeved shirts again.
I can already hearing the whining and the moaning about the cold again. While the weather down here certainly facilitates an easy life, it does make total wusses out of the kids. In any event, I'm already mapping out the week's insanity. Tomorrow shorts, Friday scarves. Weird.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Wedgies, Sleepovers, and Deep Questions
Four worst words in the English language:
Mom, I've got diarrhea.
Just shoot me. M is off gallivanting around Mississippi with friends from Columbia. They're eating yummy foods, going to and performing in concerts (the friends perform, M attends), doing all the fun stuff that young, married, and currently childless professors do.
I am wiping butts.
And, of course, last night was a series of thunderstorms, so there was a threesome in my bed. Not the good kind, either. The two hot, kicking, snoring, whimpering kids kind. So, Clooney was lip smacking, licking, snoring, scratching, and whining in his sleep, the kids were snoring, whining and tossing and turning in their sleep, and I was up, listening to the storms. And their racket.
Despite their lack of firm stool, I sent those suckers to school today. They had only the one episode of pooh yesterday, and then one more this morning. They had no fever, no complaints, just itchy butts. Off you go, the Prep H will be here when you get home.
Why, by the way, does my bedside light turn on whenever there is lightning?
Why, now that I am spending more time with my kids' butts, do underwear makers put the picture on the BACK of the kids' underwear? Kids want to see the picture, and therefore wear the underwear backwards, resulting in a significant wedgie (and truth be told, uh, tracks).
Why? and When did my life boil down to wedgies and sleepovers? Again? Didn't I suffer through this once as a kid?
Why is there no school on Monday?
Why did my sister bring this godforsaken death virus to my house?
Mom, I've got diarrhea.
Just shoot me. M is off gallivanting around Mississippi with friends from Columbia. They're eating yummy foods, going to and performing in concerts (the friends perform, M attends), doing all the fun stuff that young, married, and currently childless professors do.
I am wiping butts.
And, of course, last night was a series of thunderstorms, so there was a threesome in my bed. Not the good kind, either. The two hot, kicking, snoring, whimpering kids kind. So, Clooney was lip smacking, licking, snoring, scratching, and whining in his sleep, the kids were snoring, whining and tossing and turning in their sleep, and I was up, listening to the storms. And their racket.
Despite their lack of firm stool, I sent those suckers to school today. They had only the one episode of pooh yesterday, and then one more this morning. They had no fever, no complaints, just itchy butts. Off you go, the Prep H will be here when you get home.
Why, by the way, does my bedside light turn on whenever there is lightning?
Why, now that I am spending more time with my kids' butts, do underwear makers put the picture on the BACK of the kids' underwear? Kids want to see the picture, and therefore wear the underwear backwards, resulting in a significant wedgie (and truth be told, uh, tracks).
Why? and When did my life boil down to wedgies and sleepovers? Again? Didn't I suffer through this once as a kid?
Why is there no school on Monday?
Why did my sister bring this godforsaken death virus to my house?
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Lost in Translation
Sometimes, in movies, the hero falls in love with a beautiful, exotic, foreign woman. They exchange Meaningful Looks. They Accidentally Touch Hands. They speak the Language of Love. But, of course, these are star-crossed lovers and she literally speaks a foreign language altogether. And in their failed verbal exchanges, there are often subtitles illuminating their awkward dialog.
It often runs comedic: "My dearest lobster, you are the only octopus I will ever love." "My funny pumpkin head. You have returned for me. Our rabbit grows stronger day by day." "I must have you, my goulash pie. We were dining to be together."
This is how I often imagine it is to be a child. Your vocabulary is somewhat limited, so you must explain the words you hear by reconciling them to the words you know. Even when the outcome is nonsensical, you cleave unto the syntax and words you understand so that you are not lost in the language that surrounds you.
Recent examples:
S was asking me about God. (see: crucifixion, death to first borns, resurrection). I said that God is a mystery. That nobody sees him or touches him. That we are people, and can't know everything, and that we can't ever really understand God.
"So, he speaks Spanish?"
Pretty much.
Last night at dinner, E was a total space cadet. He was nearly falling off his chair, not paying attention to conversation, and generally looking befuddled. I joked that we would be calling him Joaquin Phoenix for the rest of the night.
"Yah," says S. "Walking Penis. Because your penis walks."
Of course.
It often runs comedic: "My dearest lobster, you are the only octopus I will ever love." "My funny pumpkin head. You have returned for me. Our rabbit grows stronger day by day." "I must have you, my goulash pie. We were dining to be together."
This is how I often imagine it is to be a child. Your vocabulary is somewhat limited, so you must explain the words you hear by reconciling them to the words you know. Even when the outcome is nonsensical, you cleave unto the syntax and words you understand so that you are not lost in the language that surrounds you.
Recent examples:
S was asking me about God. (see: crucifixion, death to first borns, resurrection). I said that God is a mystery. That nobody sees him or touches him. That we are people, and can't know everything, and that we can't ever really understand God.
"So, he speaks Spanish?"
Pretty much.
Last night at dinner, E was a total space cadet. He was nearly falling off his chair, not paying attention to conversation, and generally looking befuddled. I joked that we would be calling him Joaquin Phoenix for the rest of the night.
"Yah," says S. "Walking Penis. Because your penis walks."
Of course.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Happy Spring!
Religion is the third rail of any relationship, casual or otherwise. As a general rule, I try to avoid discussions for fear of bumbling into the wrong conversation with the wrong person at the wrong time.
The boys, though, are both in religious schools. This is probably not what I originally forecast for my family, but circumstances being what they are, the kids are finding themselves with moral rectitude instruction at their schools.
The part that keeps everything interesting, of course, is that the kids are in different religious schools. The holidays become a mishmash. S's synagogue is talking about Passover. Which leads, naturally, to curious questions and misunderstandings. S has been insistent that we are going to die. (We, being a Jewish family, since Pharaoh is going to strike us down.) He also announced that the reason all the Passover decorations were frogs is because God made "consequences" to the Egyptians. So, between now and Passover, I foresee much consoling and easing of fears of death. Because we're not going to die. Probably.
E, on the other hand, has been carrying a fear of his own on his small shoulders. He asked me what a funeral is, and when I explained, he looked simultaneously relieved and confused. "I thought a funeral is when they nail some one to the cross!" Well, that's more than I'd like to be worrying about.
So, I have just been thinking about this incredible dichotomy of Spring. Spring is out, the weather is turbulent and beautiful, the flowers are bloomy and heady with fresh scent. And the kids are at school talking about all the ways religious figures have died this time of year. Grizzly.
The boys, though, are both in religious schools. This is probably not what I originally forecast for my family, but circumstances being what they are, the kids are finding themselves with moral rectitude instruction at their schools.
The part that keeps everything interesting, of course, is that the kids are in different religious schools. The holidays become a mishmash. S's synagogue is talking about Passover. Which leads, naturally, to curious questions and misunderstandings. S has been insistent that we are going to die. (We, being a Jewish family, since Pharaoh is going to strike us down.) He also announced that the reason all the Passover decorations were frogs is because God made "consequences" to the Egyptians. So, between now and Passover, I foresee much consoling and easing of fears of death. Because we're not going to die. Probably.
E, on the other hand, has been carrying a fear of his own on his small shoulders. He asked me what a funeral is, and when I explained, he looked simultaneously relieved and confused. "I thought a funeral is when they nail some one to the cross!" Well, that's more than I'd like to be worrying about.
So, I have just been thinking about this incredible dichotomy of Spring. Spring is out, the weather is turbulent and beautiful, the flowers are bloomy and heady with fresh scent. And the kids are at school talking about all the ways religious figures have died this time of year. Grizzly.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
In with a roar, out with a whimper
I see my sister about twice a year recently. Her school holidays rarely coincide with ours, and when they do, she (rightly) usually wants to spend them with her husband. This spring break, however, things coalesced nicely so that she was able to spend her spring break with us, my parents, and the kids celebrating S's birthday.
Obviously, I have been in high gear in anticipation of every one's arrival. But my sister arrived, with what we will tentatively call a "bang." She brought with her some germ of apocalyptic virulence. The Germ, so powerful, so easily transmittable, that left in the wrong hands could bring an entire nation to its knees. She brought with her The Germ that immediately turns all of the contents of your intestine into explosive liquid. For at least 4 days. With accompanying bonuses of fever and complete exhaustion. Within 5 hours of arriving at my house, she had hung out a "permanently occupied" sign in front of the bathroom. Within 24 hours of her arrival, so had I. Within 48, so had my dad.
Agony.
I, of course, leaving for Chicago at the end of the week, was terrified that I'd be riding the Blue Ice Pony on the flight from Mobile to Houston and then on to Chicago, but mercifully, The Germ kills your appetite, leaving no fuel for your explosive innards. So, having not eaten from Wednesday through Friday, I was spared any air travel related mishaps.
Chicago is still in fine form, recession be damned. The weather was glorious, the bride was blushing, and the friendship boisterous. It was a great visit.
We just returned Sunday night, and yesterday, drove my parents out to Mississippi for their flight back to sunny SoCal. My dad, still in the squashed appetite phase of The Germ, didn't eat anything. Unfortunately, my mom, unaware that The Germ had infected her, had lunch. The poor woman rode the Blue Ice Pony all the way home.
Thus, the family visit ended on a rather sour note, to say the least. Despite all of my home improvement activities during the weeks (months?) leading up to the family invasion, my dad and I still found projects to putter around with. We rewired a constantly shorting socket and the outdoor lights by the pool. We mostly, though, just lay around the house bemoaning the state of our digestive tracts. Lame-o.
It's good to be home for me, though, and despite the good visit with the family, it is always nice to have the house clean and empty again. I am sure my folks and sister are happy to be restored to the comfort of their own potties, as well. I have already started bleaching the whole house--so if you come by, you might want to wait a day or so.
Now, I am going to stare at some food. I dare not eat anything yet.
Obviously, I have been in high gear in anticipation of every one's arrival. But my sister arrived, with what we will tentatively call a "bang." She brought with her some germ of apocalyptic virulence. The Germ, so powerful, so easily transmittable, that left in the wrong hands could bring an entire nation to its knees. She brought with her The Germ that immediately turns all of the contents of your intestine into explosive liquid. For at least 4 days. With accompanying bonuses of fever and complete exhaustion. Within 5 hours of arriving at my house, she had hung out a "permanently occupied" sign in front of the bathroom. Within 24 hours of her arrival, so had I. Within 48, so had my dad.
Agony.
I, of course, leaving for Chicago at the end of the week, was terrified that I'd be riding the Blue Ice Pony on the flight from Mobile to Houston and then on to Chicago, but mercifully, The Germ kills your appetite, leaving no fuel for your explosive innards. So, having not eaten from Wednesday through Friday, I was spared any air travel related mishaps.
Chicago is still in fine form, recession be damned. The weather was glorious, the bride was blushing, and the friendship boisterous. It was a great visit.
We just returned Sunday night, and yesterday, drove my parents out to Mississippi for their flight back to sunny SoCal. My dad, still in the squashed appetite phase of The Germ, didn't eat anything. Unfortunately, my mom, unaware that The Germ had infected her, had lunch. The poor woman rode the Blue Ice Pony all the way home.
Thus, the family visit ended on a rather sour note, to say the least. Despite all of my home improvement activities during the weeks (months?) leading up to the family invasion, my dad and I still found projects to putter around with. We rewired a constantly shorting socket and the outdoor lights by the pool. We mostly, though, just lay around the house bemoaning the state of our digestive tracts. Lame-o.
It's good to be home for me, though, and despite the good visit with the family, it is always nice to have the house clean and empty again. I am sure my folks and sister are happy to be restored to the comfort of their own potties, as well. I have already started bleaching the whole house--so if you come by, you might want to wait a day or so.
Now, I am going to stare at some food. I dare not eat anything yet.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Tomorrow Never Dies...
...or stops coming. I woke up this morning with that sickening knot in my stomach, realizing all the stuff I have to do today. It's kind of overwhelming. I have all day today and until 12 tomorrow to finish everything. Any one interested in participating in my frenzy is welcome...
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Spring and Cleaning
Yesterday MK, knowing that I am in this fantastic orgy of cleaning, thought I should take a break. She called me while I was in the midst of washing windows. (By the way, if you have a drought, call me. I will wash my car and/or windows and it will rain instantly) She came over and dragged me out on a walk.
I am so glad that she did. It was energizing and lovely. Spring is all abloom and it felt good to be in the sunshine and away from perceived house duties. She told me depressing news though, that after 2 weeks of sedentary behaviour, your body begins to decompensate. Two weeks seems like an awfully short time. Sheesh. We humans are feeble. I told her that if that were true, I have decompensated to the point where my body is like the Tales from the Crypt guy. I have been sedentary for a while. Unless cleaning is an activity.
I reprinted my psychotic list of things to do and it has been reduced from a whole page down to half a page exactly and my parents are coming in a little over 48 hours. I REALLY need to get a move on.
I even got Clooney groomed yesterday. Everyone/thing in this house had better be clean!
Well, I put up my poll today. Please vote! I like to know you're out there in the Interwebs.
I am so glad that she did. It was energizing and lovely. Spring is all abloom and it felt good to be in the sunshine and away from perceived house duties. She told me depressing news though, that after 2 weeks of sedentary behaviour, your body begins to decompensate. Two weeks seems like an awfully short time. Sheesh. We humans are feeble. I told her that if that were true, I have decompensated to the point where my body is like the Tales from the Crypt guy. I have been sedentary for a while. Unless cleaning is an activity.
I reprinted my psychotic list of things to do and it has been reduced from a whole page down to half a page exactly and my parents are coming in a little over 48 hours. I REALLY need to get a move on.
I even got Clooney groomed yesterday. Everyone/thing in this house had better be clean!
Well, I put up my poll today. Please vote! I like to know you're out there in the Interwebs.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
OCD is NOT genetic (sadly)
Alright. I confess. We have a housekeeper. She comes once a week to save my life. I have an altar dedicated to her with her picture on candles and I would offer her child sacrifices if she demanded it. But, the thing is, I have to clean before she comes. Not clean, per se, just pick up the detritus that my children leave behind. So, I start, as always in E's room, the epicenter of mess. Strangely, he has been so busy this week, that his room isn't its usual chaos. I tidy the closet floor so it can be vacuumed and move on. Then, the kids' bathroom. Of course, I have to flush the toilet, because my children find the lever on the tank a mystery. It's entirely possible that they think pressing this lever will result in calamity, as neither one has ever tried. I also have to rinse the giant globs of toothpaste out of the sink. I am not sure if this is spit out of their mouths and still intact as gel because they do such a poor job of brushing, if this is overage from when they pour on the toothpaste to begin with, or if they just squirt out toothpaste for fun when I am not looking. I generally wipe this out, not at the housekeeper's request, but because it's embarrassingly gross.
Today, I went into S's room and realize that HIS room is going to be the epicenter this week. S has 10,000 Hot Wheels on the floor, making it impossible to navigate in his dark room to the curtains (his light switch no longer controls his light, and my feelings toward electrical wiring in the house are generally fear and panic that a fire will start in the wall, and insidiously start killing us before we even know what's going on so it's not fixed). S's rug is the DMZ, riddled with landmines capable of taking out a full grown human--Legos, Hot Wheels, minute parts to things that when stepped on are so painful, it makes you want to curse and throw every toy your child has away. I turn on the light and begin garaging the Hot Wheels, dissecting the Diego Rescue Lego Center, and immobilizing multiple Jeeps. Grr. There are even Hot Wheels apparently getting detailed inside S's socks. Go figure.
Downstairs is chaos. Last night after TBall, Purim services, and errands, M and I found ourselves at 8 PM, starving with no food to make. There are take out containers, silverware, and glasses all over the coffee table. They are stuck to the glass with whatever stickiness they have on them, and I am revolted. The laundry room, miraculously is clean and tidy (I did ALL the laundry yesterday!). I shove everything else into the dishwasher, turn it on, and hope that it only takes one wash to get everything clean. I've loaded it so full that I suspect the cat's food jar is going to block the jets to the top rack, leaving that nasty mushy formerly-Cinnamon Toast Crunch goop on the bowls. Oh, well. Today we'll pretend we're in a Palmolive ad...and my soap will be "the other brand" that doesn't get things Quite as Clean.
The office has every one of S's new 150 crayons out on the floor. Apparently, there was a mad search for sea green this morning, and it just couldn't be found unless we laid all the crayons out in a row to search. Also, bills and paper crap are piled on high on M's side and leftover birthday crap and "art" projects that haven't found their way to their "special place" are waiting for tonight when I put out the recycling after the kids have gone to bed. God help me if they find it in there!
So, all of this is done even before the goddess of clean arrives at my house. She still has three hours of work to do. If only any one in the house shared my OCD instead of having their own mental disorder: Obsessively, Compulsively Dirty.
Today, I went into S's room and realize that HIS room is going to be the epicenter this week. S has 10,000 Hot Wheels on the floor, making it impossible to navigate in his dark room to the curtains (his light switch no longer controls his light, and my feelings toward electrical wiring in the house are generally fear and panic that a fire will start in the wall, and insidiously start killing us before we even know what's going on so it's not fixed). S's rug is the DMZ, riddled with landmines capable of taking out a full grown human--Legos, Hot Wheels, minute parts to things that when stepped on are so painful, it makes you want to curse and throw every toy your child has away. I turn on the light and begin garaging the Hot Wheels, dissecting the Diego Rescue Lego Center, and immobilizing multiple Jeeps. Grr. There are even Hot Wheels apparently getting detailed inside S's socks. Go figure.
Downstairs is chaos. Last night after TBall, Purim services, and errands, M and I found ourselves at 8 PM, starving with no food to make. There are take out containers, silverware, and glasses all over the coffee table. They are stuck to the glass with whatever stickiness they have on them, and I am revolted. The laundry room, miraculously is clean and tidy (I did ALL the laundry yesterday!). I shove everything else into the dishwasher, turn it on, and hope that it only takes one wash to get everything clean. I've loaded it so full that I suspect the cat's food jar is going to block the jets to the top rack, leaving that nasty mushy formerly-Cinnamon Toast Crunch goop on the bowls. Oh, well. Today we'll pretend we're in a Palmolive ad...and my soap will be "the other brand" that doesn't get things Quite as Clean.
The office has every one of S's new 150 crayons out on the floor. Apparently, there was a mad search for sea green this morning, and it just couldn't be found unless we laid all the crayons out in a row to search. Also, bills and paper crap are piled on high on M's side and leftover birthday crap and "art" projects that haven't found their way to their "special place" are waiting for tonight when I put out the recycling after the kids have gone to bed. God help me if they find it in there!
So, all of this is done even before the goddess of clean arrives at my house. She still has three hours of work to do. If only any one in the house shared my OCD instead of having their own mental disorder: Obsessively, Compulsively Dirty.
Monday, March 9, 2009
What time is it?
I survived. I thought for a while there, I might not, but I did. People are so strange. And by people, I mean everyone involved at the whole Open House thing yesterday. Earnest, and nice, and interesting, but strange. Me included.
So, now I am left with about 30 things on my to-do list. I've done about 40. My parents and sister come on Friday. Any one want to come help the crazy lady? Today, I cleaned out and restarted the fountains on the side and the back of the house. I am so happy to hear their giddy little trickles again. I love fountains. I might just get 3 more, and have them everywhere.
We slept with all the windows open last night. I LOVE this weather. If only it would stay like this a month longer before we got the whole jungle, steamy heat, the climate here would be perfect.
Daylight Saving Time is messing me up. I couldn't get to sleep last night, and I couldn't wake up this morning. Also, it kind of snuck up on me--I didn't see the 48 usual reminders this year.
Another shout out to little JT--he's over most of the flu and strep, but now has an allergic reaction to his antibiotics. Poor little man: hang in there!
I'm off to fold laundry....
Have a toasty Monday!
So, now I am left with about 30 things on my to-do list. I've done about 40. My parents and sister come on Friday. Any one want to come help the crazy lady? Today, I cleaned out and restarted the fountains on the side and the back of the house. I am so happy to hear their giddy little trickles again. I love fountains. I might just get 3 more, and have them everywhere.
We slept with all the windows open last night. I LOVE this weather. If only it would stay like this a month longer before we got the whole jungle, steamy heat, the climate here would be perfect.
Daylight Saving Time is messing me up. I couldn't get to sleep last night, and I couldn't wake up this morning. Also, it kind of snuck up on me--I didn't see the 48 usual reminders this year.
Another shout out to little JT--he's over most of the flu and strep, but now has an allergic reaction to his antibiotics. Poor little man: hang in there!
I'm off to fold laundry....
Have a toasty Monday!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Clean Carports and Open Houses
Well, my pretties, I have to say I seriously considered photographing my carport to post on this site. The boys and I spent yesterday cleaning out the carport. And by this, of course, I mean we did it CRAZY style. First, we removed the toys, pitched old ones. We used Lowe's cement cleaner to remove that funky flora that only seems to grow in Alabama. We hung ferns (yes, atmosphere, people. EVEN in the carport). We made a pool noodle for a bumper where S keeps slamming my car door into the bricks. We bleached all of the outside toys, inflated tires, WD-40'd all moving parts. We even made a little cubby for the cat. Come, I invite you to eat off the floor of my carport!
Just when you thought we were done, we took daddy's car, filled it with gas, had the outside washed, and then came home to shampoo the inside, scrub it clean and Armor All it. Except for the chocolate milk stain that E put on there when he was about 1, that car is brand new. It is now 9 years old, has 39,000 miles on it (yes, you read that correctly), completely detailed interior. The only body work it's ever had was when a tree fell on it at his work. It's freakish.
Meanwhile, my car is 7 months old, has almost 20K, looks like monster trucks raced all over the interior, and has no paint on the rim of S's door where he keeps banging it into the the freaking brick wall in the carport! Life is unfair.
So, today, as I explained to MK, I am extending the boundaries of my friendship with her. First, I wore spanx to her Women's Group's Christmas party. Now, I am volunteering time at the synagogue. (Yes, you read that correctly). Her church has been discussing Judaic traditions and coincidentally, the synagogue (I just spelled that sinagogue--Freud's EVERYWHERE) is hosting their Home Beautiful, which is basically an Open House offering information and displays about traditions, holidays, and the nature of Judaism. I told her that I'd walk around with her and her friends. But, then, I thought...if I'm going, and am going to be responsible for people showing up, then I should offer to help. I feel guilty just mooching. So, I called the woman in charge, and she was so VERY sweet and also so VERY excited that some one was not being conscripted into service, and so VERY enthusiastic about what she was doing, I couldn't help but offer to do tours or something after MK and her friends left. SO, my Sunday is shot.
Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the idea of people in Alabama being open minded enough to step inside a synagogue and learn about a culture/faith not their own. I even like the idea of facilitating that. Just not on Sunday. There's going to be pastrami involved. Yum. Just not on Sunday. I even learned a lot about the building itself and the history and the lovely Ark and windows that adorn it. JUST NOT ON SUNDAY.
Especially on a Sunday when I had planned to do some psychotic cleaning or something.
SO, come on by the synagogue this afternoon. I'll be there, be happy to show you around! Get some pastrami....meet MK. Because, I swear, if she's not feeling a little Jewish this afternoon, I'm going to be all verklempt.
Just when you thought we were done, we took daddy's car, filled it with gas, had the outside washed, and then came home to shampoo the inside, scrub it clean and Armor All it. Except for the chocolate milk stain that E put on there when he was about 1, that car is brand new. It is now 9 years old, has 39,000 miles on it (yes, you read that correctly), completely detailed interior. The only body work it's ever had was when a tree fell on it at his work. It's freakish.
Meanwhile, my car is 7 months old, has almost 20K, looks like monster trucks raced all over the interior, and has no paint on the rim of S's door where he keeps banging it into the the freaking brick wall in the carport! Life is unfair.
So, today, as I explained to MK, I am extending the boundaries of my friendship with her. First, I wore spanx to her Women's Group's Christmas party. Now, I am volunteering time at the synagogue. (Yes, you read that correctly). Her church has been discussing Judaic traditions and coincidentally, the synagogue (I just spelled that sinagogue--Freud's EVERYWHERE) is hosting their Home Beautiful, which is basically an Open House offering information and displays about traditions, holidays, and the nature of Judaism. I told her that I'd walk around with her and her friends. But, then, I thought...if I'm going, and am going to be responsible for people showing up, then I should offer to help. I feel guilty just mooching. So, I called the woman in charge, and she was so VERY sweet and also so VERY excited that some one was not being conscripted into service, and so VERY enthusiastic about what she was doing, I couldn't help but offer to do tours or something after MK and her friends left. SO, my Sunday is shot.
Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the idea of people in Alabama being open minded enough to step inside a synagogue and learn about a culture/faith not their own. I even like the idea of facilitating that. Just not on Sunday. There's going to be pastrami involved. Yum. Just not on Sunday. I even learned a lot about the building itself and the history and the lovely Ark and windows that adorn it. JUST NOT ON SUNDAY.
Especially on a Sunday when I had planned to do some psychotic cleaning or something.
SO, come on by the synagogue this afternoon. I'll be there, be happy to show you around! Get some pastrami....meet MK. Because, I swear, if she's not feeling a little Jewish this afternoon, I'm going to be all verklempt.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Happy Birthday, S!
First of all, M has warned me that without regular posts, I will lose my loyal fan base. Which is horrible, because I am now aware that I have actually voluntarily placed myself in a position to be rejected. This pains me, because the one thing my fragile ego can't handle is rejection. Why would I do this to myself? Of course, then, last night, I was awake and thinking of ideas to post for today. Please don't leave me, loyal friends. PLEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASE!
Well, S's party was a tremendous success. He was so indescribably happy, running around the Ebola playground. As he swooshed down the giant vinyl slides, he was squealing with glee. He wolfed down his lovely MK cupcake, and returned home to tear through the presents. (Which he shared ever so nicely with E by the way, in one of those heartbreaking moments of sweetness that only a little brother can create.) He was so exhausted last night, what with waking up at 5:30 to run in to my room yelling, "Is today today? HOORAY! It's my party!!", and the post-sugar crash, and the extra exercise at EbolaLand, that I thought for sure he would curl up on the bed and pass out. Turns out, tired was in the rear view mirror, and he was so cranked up, he lay in his bed singing for 20 minutes: "Happy birthday, dear Me, happy birthday, dear Me.." So, yah. I think the party was a success.
E handled the whole thing like quite the big boy. He manifested a blossoming maturity by not competing stupidly for attention. His main request was to hand out the party favors, which made him feel like a host, and he liked. He even helped free the toys from the confounded boxes they come in nowadays: the San Quentin boxes where every piece of the toy is in solitary lockdown. The boys ended the afternoon together with a balloon parade, accompanied by a rousing version of John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. (haha, you have that stuck in your head now, too!)
And now, a confession from the party: I kinda liked the slide. one of Sam's "special-est" girlfriends became afraid at the top of one of the vinyl slides and started to cry. She declined several friends' offers to help her, and I felt compelled to make S's birthday a tear- and injury- free experience. So, I boogied up to the top of the slide, where she (surprisingly, I thought she'd have to be coaxed) leaped into my lap, as if to say, get me the hell outta here! She sat in my lap, and we swooshed down the slide. Two things: 1. the slide was way faster and steeper than I thought it would be 2. the slide was way more fun than I thought it would be! It is impossible to go down a long slide without feeling wheeeeeee! and this was certainly one of those times. No wonder the kids love it there--if I were two feet shorter, it would have felt like sledding down the Matterhorn. Awesomeness. Maybe I'll bribe one of the teenyboppers who works there to let me into a party room by myself for 20 minutes. Woohoo!
Of course, we have to follow up World's Awesomest Birthday Party with Annual Trip to the Pediatrician for shots. Oh, well, the fun can only last so long.
Well, S's party was a tremendous success. He was so indescribably happy, running around the Ebola playground. As he swooshed down the giant vinyl slides, he was squealing with glee. He wolfed down his lovely MK cupcake, and returned home to tear through the presents. (Which he shared ever so nicely with E by the way, in one of those heartbreaking moments of sweetness that only a little brother can create.) He was so exhausted last night, what with waking up at 5:30 to run in to my room yelling, "Is today today? HOORAY! It's my party!!", and the post-sugar crash, and the extra exercise at EbolaLand, that I thought for sure he would curl up on the bed and pass out. Turns out, tired was in the rear view mirror, and he was so cranked up, he lay in his bed singing for 20 minutes: "Happy birthday, dear Me, happy birthday, dear Me.." So, yah. I think the party was a success.
E handled the whole thing like quite the big boy. He manifested a blossoming maturity by not competing stupidly for attention. His main request was to hand out the party favors, which made him feel like a host, and he liked. He even helped free the toys from the confounded boxes they come in nowadays: the San Quentin boxes where every piece of the toy is in solitary lockdown. The boys ended the afternoon together with a balloon parade, accompanied by a rousing version of John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. (haha, you have that stuck in your head now, too!)
And now, a confession from the party: I kinda liked the slide. one of Sam's "special-est" girlfriends became afraid at the top of one of the vinyl slides and started to cry. She declined several friends' offers to help her, and I felt compelled to make S's birthday a tear- and injury- free experience. So, I boogied up to the top of the slide, where she (surprisingly, I thought she'd have to be coaxed) leaped into my lap, as if to say, get me the hell outta here! She sat in my lap, and we swooshed down the slide. Two things: 1. the slide was way faster and steeper than I thought it would be 2. the slide was way more fun than I thought it would be! It is impossible to go down a long slide without feeling wheeeeeee! and this was certainly one of those times. No wonder the kids love it there--if I were two feet shorter, it would have felt like sledding down the Matterhorn. Awesomeness. Maybe I'll bribe one of the teenyboppers who works there to let me into a party room by myself for 20 minutes. Woohoo!
Of course, we have to follow up World's Awesomest Birthday Party with Annual Trip to the Pediatrician for shots. Oh, well, the fun can only last so long.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
A quick hello to remind you that I'm here...
Remember when you were a kid, and you got money, and you could buy anything you wanted with it? No strings?
S got $20 from his great aunt for his birthday (which is what I have been busy doing, by the way) and we went to Target to spend it.
He spent $15 on 150 Crayola crayons, a coloring book, and one Hot Wheels.
Life is so simple when you are a kid. Even though $20 doesn't go as far as it used to, it's still pretty great when you can get everything you want for it.
I finished painting the front of the house today! Hooray! I love it and will post a picture soon.
Other than that, I picked up the house, ran a million errands, and sat in carpool line.
Gotta get E off to music class. More later..
A shout out to JT, my poor little sick buddy in the hospital. I hope you feel better soon.
J
S got $20 from his great aunt for his birthday (which is what I have been busy doing, by the way) and we went to Target to spend it.
He spent $15 on 150 Crayola crayons, a coloring book, and one Hot Wheels.
Life is so simple when you are a kid. Even though $20 doesn't go as far as it used to, it's still pretty great when you can get everything you want for it.
I finished painting the front of the house today! Hooray! I love it and will post a picture soon.
Other than that, I picked up the house, ran a million errands, and sat in carpool line.
Gotta get E off to music class. More later..
A shout out to JT, my poor little sick buddy in the hospital. I hope you feel better soon.
J
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