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Just another wild weekend

It seems like—particularly after the first full week of reintegrating ourselves as a family of four and everyone managing work and school and stuff—the weekend should be a time to relax and unwind and simply have fun. We should… sleep! Watch television! Meet up with friends and simply hang around with no set goals in mind!

Well, I’m sure that’s what SHOULD have happened. You know, if I wasn’t such a giant meaniehead. But you know… I am Mom, hear me suck the fun out of everything. HOORAY!

It actually started with poor, long-suffering Otto. I’m sure Otto would’ve LOVED to loll around this weekend and watch cars go around in circles on the television. Instead, he got up at o’dark thirty on Saturday and started driving north. My covert flute escapades have nothing on what customers at some random Dairy Queen in Virginia must’ve seen on Saturday afternoon when Otto met up with my ex and transferred the rest of Chickie’s belongings to his car. So, really, Otto drove for about 17 hours straight, which means that everything else that happened here was leisurely in comparison. Right? Right. (more…)

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Back to real life

One of the things I love about doing a play is that it completely lifts me out of my regular existence of largely being a hermit, spending my days alone at the computer, spending my evenings with Monkey and Otto and then vegetating on the couch in front of some truly horrible television programming. [Sidebar: So now that we all know that Storage Wars is fake you'd think we'd stop watching it. You'd think we would remove it and Storage Wars Texas from our DVR. You would not think that we would continue popping popcorn and plunking ourselves down to watch these shows every week like they were solid entertainment, but you would be wrong, because... ummmm... yeah, I got nothing. I like popcorn? Yes.]

It’s good for me to pretend to be a social person. By the time we get to show week, we’re all cruising along on adrenaline, and I gamely pop in my contact lenses and spackle my face every night and head out to spend the evening with a fabulous group of women. And I love every minute of it. I keep finding myself thinking WHY DON’T I DO THIS MORE OFTEN?

And then the show ends and I come down with some sort of Mystery Exhaustion Virus and I remember why I don’t: I’m a delicate flower. (more…)

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Road to nowhere

Is there anything better than a Saturday? We can sleep in! We have the whole day to do… whatever! But if you are Otto, the only thing that’s better than a random Saturday is the Saturday when the Camper and RV show is in town. Woooooo!

Um. What? You don’t get all excited for the Camper and RV show? It’s EXCITING!

[Full disclosure: It is not terribly (read: at all) exciting to me. But it is VERY exciting to Otto, and generally the kids enjoy it as well. Fancy campers have a variety of interesting things inside of them, and that's in addition to the number of small spaces where one determined Monkey-child might wedge himself and then holler "I BET YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE I AM!" Also, it's an entire expo thing, which means there's food. And one of the booths there sells CAKE! A slice is as big as a child's head. I know some children who really enjoy cake. Me, I really enjoy Otto. I don't think I'd ever, say, head to the Camper and RV show all on my own, but I am happy to go to make Otto happy, and also because he is adorable when he sees something he finds intriguing.]

So! We got up! We ate breakfast! We made ourselves presentable and then we got in the car and headed Atlantaward. “How long will it take to get there?” asked Monkey.

“About an hour,” answered Otto, and that’s when the ominous, foreshadowing music would’ve started up, if only we hadn’t been busy listening to “Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me!” (more…)

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Sorry, I’ve been cleaning

It’s a funny thing about putting one foot in front of the other; it works just fine until you get to a point where you realize you can only keep doing it if you shut out everything else. Then you put one foot in front of the other with your fingers in your ears and your eyes closed and people look at you funny.

So that’s what I’ve been doing since last Friday. I’m still doing it, to some extent. My parents are here, which is fantastic, but there is now some question of whether Chickadee is coming home for Christmas, as she has managed to come down with a mighty case of The Crud at precisely the wrong time. I maybe didn’t realize how badly I need to see her until it became possible that I wouldn’t, and that on top of everything else… well, it’s just been a long week (hello, understatement).

So mostly I’ve been vacuuming and dusting and scrubbing. Also, I’m over at Feel More Better, talking about not talking about it. I’m still feeling a little unsteady, but my house is really clean.

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Meeeeeerry… okay, fine, whatever

This weekend it became clear that 1) Christmas is going to come whether I want it to or not, 2) I have about eighty billion things to accomplish between now and then, and 3) I am starting to hate everything and everyone again.

What a delightful combination! (STEP RIGHT UP, watch the Amazing Grumpy Woman attempt to get into the holiday spirit! Just don’t, you know, breathe too loudly in the same room with her. Just a friendly warning.)

In a completely transparent attempt to jack up my holiday spirit with zero effort or personal growth on my part, I gave Monkey this year’s LEGO Advent Calendar on Saturday. See, it says it’s for ages 5-12 right there on the box, and my sweet baby boy is HEARTLESSLY turning 13 shortly after Christmas this year, so I figured it would be a good way to celebrate his last non-teen year by buying into a overhyped consumerist trend of paying too much for tiny little toys.

It totally worked, by the way. He bounces out of bed to open a compartment every morning, and his joy is infectious. Also, on Day 2, the door opened to reveal… a tiny LEGO chainsaw. Day: made. (more…)

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Happy Thanksgiving! Eat this!!

I spent half of yesterday prepping/cooking and then got up at 6:00 to start throwing everything into crock pots. What? You don’t do that? It’s awesome, because then instead of musical ovens your guests come and say, “What can we do to help?” and you just wave an arm at your counter full of crock pots and say, “Nothing. It’s all done.” And then they back away slowly. Yay!

This year I’m thankful for lots of things, like that I didn’t break any other bones while cooking stuff, and that my family and friends are awesome, and my readers (that’s you) are lovely and supportive, and that this year is almost over. (CAN I GET AN AMEN?)

Of course I am missing having Chickie here—she won’t be home to visit until next month—but in the spirit of my new the-glass-is-half-full-dammit outlook, I compensated for her absence by putting meat in every single damn dish. (Sorry, honey. I’ll make whatever you want when you’re home for Christmas, sans “chicken juice,” I promise.)

Otto is blasting “Alice’s Restaurant” while hard at work on the turkey and I’m about to go make some rolls, but I have some crappy iPhone pictures to share with you because I’m taking a break and I’m a giver like that. (more…)

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The mayo mystery

Yesterday Monkey and I went to the supermarket to start buying all of the things I’ll require for our upcoming Thanksgiving dinner, which meant that my cart was full of unfamiliar items (to him, though to be honest I am trying some new recipes and some of it was unfamiliar to me as well) amongst the regular milk and spinach and whatnot. [Note that I said it was the START of shopping for Thanksgiving; Otto will no doubt be sent out to the store at least twice more as I start prepping and discovering what all I've overlooked.]

Anyway. We shopped, we came home, Otto was arriving home from the office at the same time, and we all commenced unloading the groceries. We were almost done when I came across a large bottle of mayonnaise in the bottom of one of my bags. Except… I didn’t buy mayonnaise.

Otto and I discussed this matter in depth, even quizzing a deeply affronted Monkey (“I don’t even LIKE mayonnaise!”) as to whether he’d tossed it in the cart. He had not. I had not. I’d never seen it before. We concluded it must’ve been a “oh nevermind” item from someone ahead of me in line that ended up in my bag. But then Otto combed through my 3-foot-long receipt and discovered that I had, indeed, paid for it. (Full price! IT WASN’T EVEN ON SALE!!)

Where did it come from? How did I end up buying it? Can I return it? (“Excuse me, I appear to have inadvertently purchased this mayonnaise.”) Is it a SIGN that I should put deviled eggs back on the menu? I am SO confused.

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Are all physical therapists sadists?

We’re three+ weeks out from the beginning of Zombiehandapalooza, and I can now definitively say that I am absolutely tired of this nonsense. Sure, sure, if it was a simple break, I’d still be a cast (probably poking pencils down in there to try to scratch it, because that’s the sort of difficult patient I tend to be), but my understanding of this whole bionic being-screwed-back-together thing was that I would be FINE in record time. And while it’s true that I can type again (hallelujah!), it’s also true that 1) my left hand still has a chronic case of The Stupid and 2) it huuuuuuuuurts.

That said, today I am prepared to add “and physical therapy will hasten your recovery” to the list of Dirty Lies Surgeons Tell You.

Listen, my physical therapist is a lovely woman. I’m sure she’s a good citizen and kind to kittens and all of that. But she’s trying to kill me and that just seems wrong, especially because it’s just my HAND, it’s not like I’m recovering from a spinal injury or anything. In fact, the entire ROOM I am now spending several hours in each week is the Hand And Arm Clinic, dedicated specifically to torturing those of us with compromised digits, probably because our hands are too weak to slap her. (more…)

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Various non-hurricane things

I feel slightly ridiculous, updating on random minutiae when so many people I know and love are battening down the hatches in preparation for Sandy, but here I am. Nothing I can do from here can stop a hurricane, which seems unfair, really. That’d be a good superpower to have. My superpower, instead, is WRITE ABOUT NOTHING AS A DISTRACTION. It’s not as flashy.

[Sidebar: I wrote something on Facebook this morning about how, when weighing the pros and cons of letting Chickadee move away for the year, "life-threatening hurricane" hadn't even been on my list of concerns. As I wrote it I was wondering for the 1,000th time if I should ask my ex if he's properly laid in supplies or if I should continue to assume he's a capable adult and not, you know, be a worrywart jerkface even though I'm nervous. And then Tarrant commented that, "Oh geez, after the year you've had, you'd think you would have factored that in," and that made me laugh so hard that I forgot to be worried for a couple of minutes. Thanks, Tarrant!]

Anyway, our weekend was SUPER exciting, I’ll have you know. (more…)

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I’ll be under my desk with a snack

I’m sure you never would’ve guessed this (ha ha), but the departure of my daughter coincided with the triumphant return of the Apron Of Coping—our code-phrase ’round here which loosely translates to “Mir is cooking and baking in a futile effort to avoid feeling those pesky and unpleasant feelings.” Some people are emotional eaters, some people are emotional chefs. I consider myself an excellent multi-tasker because I am BOTH. I bake goodies for the gluten-eaters in the house and then I make other sorts of comfort foods for me.

Today I’m making soup. That’s a little messy to eat while curled up under my desk, but I’ll do the best I can with it. Desperate times, desperate measures, etc.

Anyway. It of course reminds me that many of my memories are inextricably tied up with various delicious treats, so I’m over at Feel More Better reminiscing about goodies and memories. I tried really hard not to drip any ice cream on that post, too.

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