Oh how I suffer
[A guess of what my 11-year-old daughter’s journal would surely look like, if she had one.]
Friday, December 18th 2009
Dear Journal,
I let Mom come to school with me this morning to carry my stuff. There was a lot of stuff AND it was raining and I got wet and I hate that. She was pretty much okay except when Ms. Science told her I was missing part of my project. Then I’m pretty sure she would’ve gone into full lecture mode if we hadn’t run into the next teacher who needed cookies. Ugh!!
We didn’t do anything at school really. And tonight we’re eating dinner in front of the TV and watching Mythbusters, which is cool except I wish my brother wasn’t going to be there.
Chickie read more…
Halfway done
No more pencils, no more books, no more children screaming and crying and freaking out over their homework and their teachers and various other school related things…
… at least until January.
This has been, without question, the hardest school year yet. And I don’t mean for the kids, I mean for ME. Okay, probably for them, too. But never before in the history of our public school experience have I been SO RELIEVED to head into winter break. I think we are all just DONE.
Before break, though, we had to get through The Last Day. read more…
I don’t know why he puts up with me
I’m over at Five Full Plates today, hurling my longsuffering husband right under the bus.
(I’m thinking I’m really going to need to come through at Christmas this year. I mean, that or just hide for a few days….)
Love puts a bow on it
I sometimes bitch and moan about things like teacher gifts, and it is primarily because I’m pretty good at bitching and moaning and not, in fact, because I hate teacher gifts. I actually sort of love doing teacher gifts. I like wrapping up multiple identical gifts. I enjoy layering different kinds of cookies into tins. I always get a smile out of the cards the kids make.
And it makes it feel like Christmas.
That’s a very welcome thing, right now, when—trees and lights and all other signs to the contrary—I’m generally not overly full of the holiday spirit.
But my kitchen counter IS full. Of cookies and paper and hot cocoa and bows and buckets and maybe even gratitude. read more…
Failure to fix
I seem to be on an F kick lately. I cannot imagine why. I’m sure it has nothing to do with a barely-even-subliminal desire to say a DIFFERENT word that starts with F, repeatedly. No no, of course not. It’s not as though I’d like to stick my head out the window right now and bellow…
… um, Frankenstein. Ahem.
After yesterday’s fudge incident (and yes, there are recipes that use evaporated rather than sweetened condensed, but then they call for things like marshmallow fluff, which I also didn’t have) I instead opted to make a giant batch of cookies and say “Screw fudge! Fudge is stupid!” I’m pleased to report the cookies came out just fine. I mean, I think they did. It’s not like I can actually eat them. Motherfrankenstein.
It’s all part of Operation Thank The Teachers For Narrowly Saving My Sanity. read more…
Fun Fudge Fact
Alternate title: Why it’s not a good idea to go to the store while you’re distracted.
Alternate alternate title: Paying attention is generally overrated, except not so much when it comes to baking.
Alternate alternate alternate title: Maybe the teachers really want some potato chips for gifts this year?
This is going to completely blow your mind, so I hope you’re sitting down. Okay? Okay.
It turns out that EVAPORATED MILK is not, in fact, the same thing as SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK. It’s true! And handy to know if you think you’re baking fudge today, you moron.
You’re welcome.
All’s well that cleans well
So we have something of an ongoing saga happening here, and it’s one of those things where I’m never quite sure how much to say and how much to just bite down VERY FIRMLY on my tongue, but suffice it to say that I was participating in a test drive program for some SUPERCOOL and VERY SHINY large objects upon which we rely for things like clean clothes and food free of botulism, and instead of being supremely awesome it has, instead, been a carnival of How Many Things Can Go Wrong? How About One More? No, How About Two More? Hey, You Didn’t Want These To Work, Did You? Etc. And although I still believe that it will all be okay in the end (I also believe in unicorns, by the way), it has involved MANY deliveries and service calls and hours upon hours of People In My House.
(Moral of the story: You get what you pay for. Remember that before accepting things which are free, is all I’m saying.) read more…
About last night
I have this thing I say about marriage, and I’m sure there are some perfectly nice readers out there I am about to deeply offend with this, but I’m going to share it anyway so that you can kind of understand where I’m coming from. Here it is: I believe anyone can make a mistake—particularly if they got married very young, as I did—and I think nearly anyone can find themselves divorced once. But if you’ve gone through TWO divorces, I think it may be time to stop and admit that you are just not very good at being married.
I share this to make it clear that despite the fact that I happen to be madly in love with my husband, I am also keenly aware that I have used up my Marriage Mistakes. I work hard on this marriage thing with Otto, because I fully intend to do a better job this time than I did last time. (Also, I am allergic to cats, and if we get divorced I will have to admit I’m bad at marriage and then I will have to be a crazy cat lady, which is difficult when you’re allergic and asthmatic. Just saying.)
At the same time, marriage is hard, parenting is even harder, and there are a million things that can and do get in the way a lot of the time. read more…
Summing it up
I just set my Facebook status to:
Mir is off to see the wizard! Or at least the new pediatrician, who would pretty much have to bite the head off a live chicken to be a worse option than the last doctor.
(And that’s about all I have to say about THAT, right now.)
While I go make nice, perhaps you’d like a peek into my reasoning when it comes to groceries. I’m pretty sure it’s exactly as neurotic as you’d expect.
Love’s reminders
‘Tis the season to be swept away on a wave of annoyances. I’m prone to agonizing over minutiae, anyway, and I don’t think anyone could or does fault me for the things that often aggravate me these days—the kids’ health, various family matters, work, school… you name it, there’s stress attached. And whether it’s a “good” reason to get upset or not, the fact remains that I fret. Endlessly.
I want to take care of everyone. That’s what I do. I want to soothe the savage hormone beast, make school a happy place again, and hear Otto talk about work without a multitude of heavy sighs. I want my parents to smile and my friends to relax. Is it really so much to ask that I be omniscient and omnipotent and that I be able to fix everything for everyone??
(Uh, don’t answer that.) read more…