One of the things that inevitably happens when you spend time with a friend who's known you for a long time is that you talk about the past, right? It happens to all of us. And it's inevitable that when I spend time with Kira, we cannot help but marvel about what a long, strange trip it's been. When we first started talking, four years ago, we were both in a place of grim determination, I think. I know I was. It was emphatically NOT a place where we'd overcome adversity and knew that a better life was coming. It was more of a place where we'd overcome adversity and we were just hoping that...
When I was discussing the dilemma of keeping my tomatoes watered in this post, many of you suggested that we invest in a rain barrel. This made me giggle, every single time, but it also made me realize that I hadn't yet told you the Story of the Rain Barrel. (I also hadn't told you that county restrictions have been so tight that they forbid even the use of greywater except during certain days and hours, assumedly because the authorities are not interested in having an argument with you about where that water came from and whether you can prove it.) Anyway, yes, a rain barrel is an EXCELLENT...
My goodness, is it Sunday afternoon already? I scarcely noticed, and that's because I have ONCE AGAIN been sucked down into the swirling maelstrom of suckitude that occurs every time I pick up a damn paintbrush. [You: Aren't you done talking about painting, yet? Me: Shut up and go tape that corner.] See, I thought I was done in the dining room because "touching up" the trim was only going to take a few minutes. HAHAHAHAHAHA. HA. HAAAAAAAA. *sob* Oh, it's fine. Really. I mean, I am going to finish painting the trim this weekend EVEN IF IT KILLS ME, and I am not at all bitter that Otto can't...
Let me be perfectly clear, as a preface, here, that not only do I love my husband to pieces, I think he's something of a handyman savant. He has a garage full of tools and he actually knows how to use them (and often does). It's rare that something needs fixing or tightening or modifying and he can't take a look at it for a minute, nod, and take it out to his workbench and make it better than new. Furthermore, unlike some other husbands (perhaps even one I was once married to), he is a patient and helpful instructor and an excellent work companion. Working on projects together is one of my...
It's funny, because when I wrote about our dinner out and subsequent dessert demolition in the last post, several of you commented that you wish you could've seen it. And then I realized that I really wished I had given better description to what the kids did; I titled it "dueling spoons" but that was really a misnomer, because in fact, I have rarely seen the kind of cooperation they showed when it came to scarfing down that dessert. It was rather like watching Jack Sprat and his wife share a plate, actually. There was no squabbling. There was no "SHE GOT MORE!" or "HE'S EATING MINE!" or...
We tried to pack as much family time into the first half of Saturday as we could, before the kids left (again). We got up early and hit the farmer's market, we came back home and had pancakes (and bacon! for when you love someone enough to feed them PIG FAT!), and then after we'd finished tidying up and making sure the kids were packed, we were sort of just hanging around. The way our house is set up, the dining room is between the kitchen and the staircase/family room. That is to say, we walk through it about a billion times a day. At some point on Saturday, I grabbed a corner of the...
Dear Otto, Happy anniversary, darling! I know I'm a few days late. I'm sorry. This is rather representative of our entire relationship, though, that it somehow just doesn't work out the way we thought it would, timing-wise. This is not to say that it doesn't work out, just that planning has become something of a farce 'round here. Nevertheless, we've made it an entire year. It's official and everything---even our alumni magazine announced the news in its latest issue, so I guess you're stuck with me now. Nineteen years behind us, one of them married, and do you know what? I still think it...
There's that old saying---and it's absolutely true, just ask anyone---about how moms don't get sick. We're supposed to be invincible, you know, and failing that, at least uncomplaining. We're one step up from mail carriers; neither rain nor sleet nor hacking cough can deter us from our appointed nagging. Well, I've never been invincible and I pretty much complain even when I'm well. It's not a good set-up for that whole Supermom gig, I guess. Of course it figures that I would be felled by a virus just as the Today Show furor is dying down, and life is feeling somewhat normal... and then...
Our pool is still a murky chasm of waste water. Oh, I know it's only been a couple of days. It could take up to a week, everything we read told us. Maybe two! I was prepared to be patient about it, except that I'd forgotten something sort of important. I'm not a patient person. (Surprise!) And it didn't help that a family member who also has a pool sent out some pictures to demonstrate that their newly-opened pool was just as frightening as ours, but then they dumped in a gazillion gallons of liquid shock and just 24 hours later the water was fresh and clean and beautifully blue. Hmph. We...
