Tender bits of non-sequiturial goodness
It feels like we’ve been laying low, the last few days. Sure, we’re doing our regular things—school, work, shuffling the kids to and fro—but it all feels kind of… muted. Every morning I check the news; the perpetrator of last weekend’s tragedy is still at large, and swine flu is still scaring the crap out of everyone. [Though you sort of have to love today’s BIG STORY on CNN about “patient zero” in the epidemic, which includes this: “Five-year-old Edgar Hernandez credits ice cream for helping him feel better.” Awesome reporting, CNN! Getting the world the information they need, right when they need it. Because tonight is 39 cent scoop night at Baskin-Robbins, y’know. BRING YOUR MASK!]
Life goes on, and the minutiae of the day to day continues, and I feel a little melancholic about it all, but that could just be the swine flu. I’m not sure. Possibly I’ll have to get some ice cream, just to be on the safe side. read more…
Some Saturday
On Saturday, Otto needed to be on campus all day for a workshop, so the kids and I were left to fend for ourselves. No matter—we slept late, lolled around in our jammies, and about three hours later than we normally have breakfast, I made the kids some French toast out of homemade bread.
[“Mom, this is the best French toast in the history of French toast,” Monkey said, mouth crammed full and syrup dribbling from the corner of his lips. I know he’s a suck-up, but it’s still nice to hear.]
After, I did the dishes while the kids played on the computer. I suggested we think about going on a bike ride together, and they seemed to find that a pretty exciting prospect, so I laid out a plan whereby they could do a few necessary things (homework, practicing piano) while I did a little work, and then we’d get ready to go.
Everyone agreed and set to work. read more…
Next she’ll want the car keys
Other than her very first year of life—where she went from a froggy little blob to a walking, talking, demanding little creature—I can think of no other year of Chickadee’s life where she seems so changed, to me.
She began smelling less like a kid.
She cut her hair.
She got contact lenses.
And now, she’s gone and made herself all fancy. May BAYBEEEEEEE! All grown up!
And now it can be summer
It’s supposed to be 89 degrees here today. EIGHTY. NINE. DEGREES. In April.
(Nope, I don’t think I will ever get used to it. That’s some craziness, right there.)
When we did the big closet clean-out a few weeks ago, we took a load of the kids’ outgrown clothes to our local consignment shop, and picked up a few new things. Amongst them was a smocked sundress for Chickadee, suitable for Georgia summer, but completely UNsuitable for the 50- and 60-degree weather we were having at the time. She has asked to wear that damn dress every single day since we bought it. Yesterday I checked the forecast and she said, “NOW can I wear my new dress tomorrow??” I said sure, and now I’m the greatest person in the whole wide world. (Until I do something that offends her, of course. I’ve got that scheduled for about five minutes after the kids get home from school today. I figured I’d give her time to have a snack, first.)
Also, my garden is growing by leaps and bounds and the pollen is starting to dissipate a bit, but none of these things are the reason why I know it’s summer. read more…
Love is fundamental
It’s become something of a joke with me that if I’m feeling particularly overwhelmed by life or work or some combination thereof, you’ll find me in the kitchen covered in flour. I have always loved to cook; it’s only in the last few years that I’ve really embraced baking. And only in the last year that I’ve learned about the Miracle of Bread.
Owing to a few particularly traumatic pie crust experiences in my younger days, somehow I had assumed that anything more complicated than cookies or muffins would be beyond my abilities. But then, one day, well… there was beer cheese bread. And oh my lord, it was SO GOOD.
Thus began the slippery slide.
I mean, beer cheese bread is hardly for everyday. I still make that to go with soup. Or when we’re having company. Or when we have beer. Okay, I make it a LOT, but it wasn’t long before I was branching out. read more…
Um. Yeah. Hi!
Every now and then I write a difficult post about Deep Thoughts that really resonates with folks, and that’s terribly gratifying, and I feel all warm and fuzzy and embrace the whole community aspect of blogging and feel like we’re all in this life thing together. I open up, and you welcome me with open arms, and I realize that sharing thoughts and feelings is GOOD and TRUE and NICE.
And then other times, I write about a room full of women and sex toys, and suddenly that’s the most-visited post I’ve ever written and I realize that actually no one really cares about my deep thoughts nearly as much as folks want to envision a lightsaber duel between two glowing vibrators.
Everything I ever thought was true was a lie! Oh, the humanity (or lack thereof)! Please stand by while I rend my garments and wail! read more…
This post is rated D for dildos
I don’t usually (read: ever) blog about sex. I’m a shy, retiring flower when it comes to such things. Also, my husband is descended from Puritans and my dad reads here (waving to all of the horrified men in my life). So, yeah. Not a sex blogger.
On the other hand, some things must be blogged. Some things BEG to be blogged. And going to a “special” party just for ladies is one of them, no? Yes. I went to such an event, my pretties, and it was truly the experience of a lifetime.
Not so much because of the products themselves, no. More because you just tend to learn a lot about people when you’re hanging out in a room where there’s a table full of fake penises just sitting there. Come on in! Have a drink! Try the bean dip! And have you seen the giant assortment of brightly-colored mechanical phalluses? No? Well COME HAVE A LOOK! read more…
Stop taking antibiotics, please
There are things in this world which I intellectually know to be true, but they remain—in my experience—sort of mythical, anyway, because I have no direct experience with them. Like… oh, I don’t know. Take THE HEARTBREAK OF PSORIASIS. (Anyone remember those commercials?) I’m sure it’s VERY heartbreaking. Anything that warrants the combination of a leading P and then an S is usually something Very Serious Indeed (see also: PSychiatry, PSilocybin, PSalms, PSeudo, and of course, PSHAW). On the other hand, I don’t know anyone who has psoriasis, so I can only imagine the heartbreak it allegedly causes. Similarly, I hear it really sucks to have your seven-figure salary revoked after screwing over the entire country, but I can only barely imagine how terrible that is. I’ll just have to try to imagine it, I guess.
Anyway! My POINT (yes, I have one, honest) is that I’ve been hearing stuff for years about antibiotic overuse and superbugs and I was all, “Yes, yes, blah blah blah, hey, my kid’s got an ear infection! GIMME SOME DRUGS!” I mean, I wasn’t one of those people who wanted an antibiotic for every sniffle, but I didn’t worry about that whole superbug thing. Before. read more…
An age by any other name
You spent all day yesterday running up to me, leaning in until we were nose-to-nose, opening your eyes really wide and declaring, “HAPPY DAY BEFORE MY BIRTHDAY!”
But then at bedtime, you were somber again. “I don’t think ten was really a very good year,” you said, quietly. “I was in trouble a lot. I was mean a lot, especially to you. And Nightingale was mean to me. Is still mean to me.” I tried to smooth away your worry as I smoothed your hair. I talked about getting through hard stuff, new chances, forgiveness, and how your Mama always loves you, no matter what.
“But I hope 11 will be a better year,” you said, a couple of tears streaking from the corner of your eye down to your ear, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling. “Do you think it will?” I think it will, and I told you so. I reminded you of the wonderful things from this past year. I reminded you that last year, you’d decided you didn’t want to grow up—you insisted that turning 10 was the worst thing to ever happen, and you never wanted to be big.
I reminded you that 11 is going to be the year you get your ears pierced, the year you start middle school, and the year we can share shoes. read more…
Love revives
I’ve been thinking a lot, the last couple of weeks, about histories and futures and—most of all—the gift of the present. I still struggle every day with appreciating that last one as much as I ought to, which is pretty ironic given that I’m not not one to cling to history, either, and oftentimes thinking about the future causes me to have palpitations.
I don’t like unknowns. I like knowing what IS and what WILL BE and learning from what WAS and then moving on. You know, to the safety of what IS. Heh. Though it can be hard to fully EXPERIENCE what is when one is busy INVENTORYING it. Not that I would know anything about that. Ahem.
The emotion behind the responses to my wedding dress dilemma surprised me. I thank you all (well, okay, those of you who weren’t rude about it) for taking the time to share your points of view and explain to me what I may be missing. And it’s true, I am (was) missing some stuff, and I’m working on that. read more…