Love is its own award
This morning, we trooped over to school like the dutiful parents and grandparents we are, and watched while a whole passel of third graders were shepherded through their “moving on” ceremony, even though there’s still a week of school left.
This is a terrible time of year for the kids; in addition to the end of the school year kind of bringing the CRAYZEE no matter what (because… CHANGE! means you should… RUN AROUND IN CIRCLES! or something, when you’re a kid), owing to our superfantabulous redistricting that goes into place next year, approximately 65% of our student body will be headed to a different school next year. Approximately 100% of these kids will be losing close friends to a different school, and approximately 110% of the parents in this district assume that our School Board is run by minions of Lucifer himself.
Anyway! Moving on. Today it was time to moooove on. read more…
Cleaning time
Tomorrow my dad and stepmom arrive for a week-long visit, and because we love them very much and hope they never figure out what complete and total pigs we are, we’ve been tidying up the house in preparation for their arrival.
Um. Wait. I think maybe they read this blog. Oh hey, look over there! RIBEYES, POPSICLES AND A FUNNY MOVIE WITH STEVE CARELL!
(Okay, we should be good for about an hour and forty minutes, now.)
ANYWAY, as I was saying, my family is disgusting. Well, everyone except Otto. Otto is probably the tidiest of the lot of us, because he is part robot. (Otto’s mother is lovely, and clearly NOT a robot, but his father supposedly passed away a long time ago. I think what his family means is that he ran out of batteries.) So the cleaning thing, um, it’s been slow going. read more…
Two whole years
As if it wasn’t wonderful enough to have Mother’s Day yesterday—complete with Otto’s ceremonial announcement that the pool was officially ready for swimming, subsequent offer of a buck fifty to any child who went off the diving board into the frigid water, Monkey’s broad grin of acceptance, wild leap into the water, and then swim/scramble to the side where his swim trunks all but fell off as he hauled himself out of the pool (and what is better than a flash of your baby’s butt while he laughs hysterically about how his suit must’ve frozen right off? NOTHING)—when I mentioned that the next day was our anniversary, Chickadee corrected me with great indignation.
“No. No it isn’t.”
Yes, I told her, our wedding anniversary. May 11th.
“No, that’s not your anniversary. That’s FAMILY DAY, because it’s the day we all became a family.” Well. Okay, then. It is indeed the day we all became a family. But I’m still going to take a minute to gush about the guy I hold responsible. read more…
To you and you and even you
Happy Mother’s Day! The thing I love about Mother’s Day is that it really is (or should be) for everyone. Everyone had a mother. Everyone knows an awesome mother (or two or twelve). Today I celebrate the great moms in my life as well as the kids who made me a mom, and that is just plain cool.
As I said to Chickadee this morning—after I put sunscreen on her back and then she began to cover my back—“You are so helpful. How did I ever manage before you came along?”
And she replied, “You didn’t. There was nothing before me, clearly.”
Clearly.
I’ve had a lovely breakfast, sparkly trinkets, and even a dip in the pool. We’ve talked to all of the grandmothers on the phone. I’ve gotten hugs and kisses from warm, chlorinated children and that awesome guy I married. Today, I am full.
I wish all of this for you, too.
Love is, indeed, all around
Part of the cycle I have trouble with, when I’m feeling wretched, is that it’s pretty rare for me to lose sight of the fact that I’m being ridiculous.
I mean, I feel crappy. I don’t like feeling crappy. But I have a roof over my head, a beautiful family, a pretty awesome job, and nothing of substance to complain about. The fact that I will complain, anyway, is proof of my unworthiness as a human being. Which makes me feel more wretched. Which makes me realize I’m being stupid. Which…
Well, you get the idea.
The fact that my family loves me anyway is concrete proof that grace is amazing—because Lord knows I did not earn it. I’m trying to be worthy of it, but even when I fail, well, it’s amazing. Period. read more…
A little green to soothe me
So far today I have:
Forgotten to dole out allergy medications and vitamins at breakfast, been called to come bring something in to school on a day when it would make me very happy to never leave the house, managed to be in the shower when people came to the house needing me, become convinced that I somehow managed to get myself hired for a project that will never ever end (Everybody sing: “This is the job that never ends, never ends, never ends!”) and eaten everything in sight that I’m allowed to have on this new elimination diet I’m trying to get my skin and my mood and my life back on track. Those allowed foods, by the way, amounted to a cup of tea, some leftover bean soup, a handful of spinach, carrot sticks, and an apple. There was no delicious SUGAR or DAIRY or WHEAT in any of it, and I’m not sure I can go on living.
I am hungry. And grumpy. And even though you’re my favorite, I’m probably not being very nice to you right now. I’m sorry. Do you have any cheese? read more…
Grumpmaster in da house
I am too grumpy to live.
Oh, wait. Still alive. God, that makes me grumpy. I can’t even DIE properly.
Yeah. It’s that sort of a day. I used to be able to blame such things on my dear friend “Aunt Flo,” you know, but once you hit menopause it’s like all PMS, all the time, and people stop giving you the latitude to blame such moods on your hormones… even though your hormones are pretty much completely borked all the time. (Yes, that IS the technical term for it.)
Evidence the first for my hormonal borkedness: A couple of weeks ago Otto haltingly complimented my dewy, glowy face—concerned, of course, that a compliment could easily be turned into a “What, was it awful BEFORE?” kind of situation. I surprised him by agreeing that my face was indeed looking fabulous. That apparently angered the facial gods, or something. read more…
It followed us home
There are many ways in which Otto and I are similar, and other ways in which we are completely different. And then some ways in which we are each changing, due to the influence of the other.
Example the first: Otto used to believe a meal is not a meal unless it includes large hunks of meat or potatoes (preferably both). Thanks to living with us, he now understands that it is, in fact, possible to have a really nice meal that features other foods.
Example the second: I used to believe that the purpose of riding in a car was to GET somewhere. Thanks to Otto’s influence, I now understand that sometimes the journey itself is the goal, not just the destination. I mean, Otto still has a much higher tolerance for riding around aimlessly than I do, but I sort of get it.
Anyway, stuff like that. And then there’s the whole vacation thing. read more…
Road trip
We’re in the car taking a brief trip (right now! I love my iPhone!) and there is a tremendous WHOMP as Chickadee whacks my seat from behind.
Me: Stop kicking my seat!
Her: I’m not kicking, that was my HEAD!
Me: Stop headbutting my seat!
Her: That hurt my head WAY more than it hurt your back!
Me: My BACK!
Her: My HEAD!!
Otto: My GOD. That’s it; I am NOT driving you two to Hawaii, now. [We both stare at him.] You know, through the secret government tunnel. Nevermind.
I can hardly wait for our first big trip this summer. Obviously.
Dude, I lost my love
All day—as I worked, ran around doing various delightful things like taking my son to the orthodontist to have part of his gums lasered off (note to self: BUY MEDAL AND ICE CREAM)—I kept thinking I would find my happy place and return to my computer ready to do a Love Thursday post. I like Love Thursday. Some might even say I LOVE Love Thursday. And I’ve always managed to find something love-worthy even on days that weren’t so great.
But not today.
Today my love is on temporary hiatus, and it has been replaced with a DEEP and ABIDING sense of SQUICK. I’m sorry, but it’s true. And I don’t know how to fix it. read more…