Today marks a momentous occasion: For the first time in weeks, I have nothing to say about the packing of boxes. Hooray! I have to admit, however, that the "oh yeah, throw that in the back wherever, I don't need it" bag which Otto wedged into the trunk behind everything else did end up being the back into which I'd put my medication. WHOOPS. He was a very good sport about retrieving it for me when I pointed out that PROBABLY I could go without my estrogen without turning into a man for quite a while (and then my dad looked at his watch and said, "Probably not before 4 this afternoon,...
After agonizing over water in plastic bottles to top off our "authentic" colonial lunch, I arrived at the picnic to observe something interesting. Many of the children were clad head to toe in elaborate costume. Girls in bonnets and petticoats; the whole nine yards. But Chickadee and I ate our eggs and biscuits and apples surrounded by kids toting lunch in wicker baskets... although those lunches contained juice boxes, ziploc bags, and all manner of modern food. I think my daughter may have fibbed a little when she told me we had to eat colonial food. Maybe that was my penance for not making...
Today is Colonial Day at school, otherwise known as the day after the day when I realize I'm supposed to buy full colonial garb for my child and settle for something with a long flowy skirt and maybe stay up until midnight attempting to make a bonnet out of a napkin and some lace. Hooray! One of the perks of today is that parents are invited to join the children for a picnic lunch. At breakfast (while I was braiding her hair, Laura Ingalls-style) Chickadee casually mentioned that lunch needs to be authentic. "Authentic?" "Yeah! No processed foods, no plastic... pack it in a basket!" A basket...
I have spent the entire day convinced that it's Sunday. Nevermind that I went to church YESTERDAY (which should've been my first clue), but the whole Monday-holiday thing, it confuses me. I cannot be expected to follow along. I was supposed to spent today sorting and pitching the ever-growing contents of some of my closets, but that's hard to do with a helper who likes to chew on things. With the dog here, it became clear that cleaning was not meant to be. (Oh! Twist my arm! Keep me from being productive! Okay!) Just so that I wouldn't feel like a total slug, I decided to take the dog for a...
I come from a family which is fairly small; I have one sibling, each of my parents has one sibling, there are rarely more than two kids on any family branch and many of us are far-flung. My brother lives across the country from me and we lead very different lives. I think it's safe to say that I am intrigued by large and/or close families. As a result, I've apparently developed a habit of marrying into those sorts of families. (Yes, let's refer to my marriages as "habits." That should delight both ex and current husband alike.) The idea of a big crazy group of people who voluntarily spend...
Did you watch American Idol tonight? Did you happen to notice Jordin Sparks WEARING MY FREAKING WEDDING DRESS? What's that? You didn't? Because it looked so much better on me? Oh, you're sweet. Such is the hardship of 1) buying off the rack and 2) being fabulous. But, seriously, let's think about this. Jordin Sparks is 17 years old. Do I need to be mortified that we wore the same dress? I mean, it's not like I got it from K-Mart or anything. It's a silk dress from Nordstrom. (Which, HI, I never shopped Nordstrom when I was in high school, but then again, I wasn't on American Idol.) No, it's...
Sure, there's the small matter of how I don't even get to LIVE with my HUSBAND just yet, but still. The perks are amazing. Why, I just checked and the last three posts got a zillion more comments than usual. And my goodness, what comments they are! My swelled head barely fits through the doorway anymore, and tomorrow I shall sit and cry when this post doesn't get over a hundred comments telling me how pretty I am. Heh. Also, today I got a spammy "I love your website and want you to promote mine" email from someone who---in all seriousness, I think---addressed me as "Mrs. Otto." That made me...
On Saturdays Monkey goes to a social skills group. It's a nice little thing where he and five other kids who can't seem to interact with others for longer than ten minutes without having a big hairy hissy fit all work together to learn new things. Like how to read others' facial expressions! Like alternatives to screaming in frustration! Like how to complete a given task for a trip to the prize box! The sad truth is that when Monkey tells me about a kid in the group who can't grasp something that he has no problems with (for example, empathy isn't one of his issues; he can read facial...
Before I delve into recent events here at home, I feel the need to pay a bit of attention to my neglected television category. (Otto allows me to cheat on him periodically with a few select shows... he's progressive, that way.) In all seriousness: I may end up addicted to Thank God You're Here, which is filling the empty space in my heart where Whose Line Is It Anyway? went before I'd finally seen every single episode several times. Dave Foley might even be funnier than Drew Carey. With great glee: You know I've had issues---annoying, continuing issues---with my cable service here. So,...
