Love makes new memories
This past weekend, we put up the Christmas tree.
Otto brought the necessary boxes and bundles down from the attic, and he set up the tree while I wandered around the house with a fistful of candle lamps in one hand and some scotch tape in the other, and extension cords draped around my neck. The stocking holders went onto the mantel. The various decorations were put in their designated positions. And by the time the kids arrived home on Sunday night, it was all done.
Except for the ornaments, of course. We waited for them to trim the tree.
Now, I was raised Jewish and didn’t start celebrating Christmas until after I converted to Christianity in college. This means that I don’t have a collection of ornaments dating back to my childhood, of course. But the kids get at least one ornament every year. read more…
Tis the season. . .
… for everyone to LOSE THEIR FREAKIN’ MINDS.
Seriously, I don’t know what it is about December—whether the twinkling lights, much like certain over-the-top animated programs, cause people’s brains to short-circuit, or if all of that GOODWILL and CHEER is just destined to backfire, or WHAT—but this is the time of year when otherwise reasonable people just up and go NUTS.
And I don’t want to cast aspersions, really, I don’t. But I’m pretty sure this is NOT what Jesus had in mind. (Then again, Jesus strikes me as the sort who would find the birthday hoopla unnecessary. Though a national wash-a-stranger’s-feet-and-donate-to-charity day seems unlikely to gain the same sort of popularity.)
Anyway. This insanity has struck many near and dear to me. OF COURSE. read more…
Things that happen when I get dressed
On a typical day, I don’t get dressed until lunchtime. I could tell you that I’m more creative in my pajamas, or that I set a certain amount of work I feel I must complete before I’ve “earned” a shower, but the reality is that I’m lazy. And my pajamas are cozy and warm.
I’ve seen more than one person giving “advice” to freelancers insisting that you should get up and shower and dress and PUT ON SHOES to begin your day, to give yourself some structure and take yourself seriously and stuff, and I have to say that I think that’s absolute crap. If you can’t get any work done unless you’re fully dressed, you’re ill-suited for working for yourself, anyway. And I don’t get health insurance, a 401k, or paid vacation—if I want to spend half my day in flannel pajamas, BY GOD, I am going to exercise that ONE perk of my situation without remorse.
But sometimes I do have to get up and make myself presentable. Alas. read more…
She’ll be here all week
“When should we call?” she asks, as we tuck hairbrushes and toothpaste into the overnight bag, and I remind her brother that actually, “a change of clothes” generally includes underwear, as well.
“Honey, you’re gonna be gone, like, a DAY. A day and a half. You don’t need to call. Just go have fun with Daddy.”
“But I LIKE to call,” she says. “We’ll call you tonight after dinner.”
“That’s fine, you’re welcome to call,” I answer, “but we’re going to a movie tonight, so we might not be here. And then we’ll have our cell phones off, too. So don’t worry if you call and we can’t answer.”
She pretends to pout. So I pretend to bite her cheek, and she laughs and pushes me away. read more…
Weirdness from my office
There is a downside to working from home, all by myself. Some might say that it’s causing me to become even stranger than I already am, but those people are hopefully not within stabbing distance, because I have a mug full of dull pencils and I’m not afraid to use them!
[Not that I ever use pencils. The children do. They use them until the leads are actually LOWER than the surrounding pencil barrel, then they return them to my mug and feign ignorance when my attempt to scrawl a phone number on my scratch pad yields only a faint squeak of wood against paper. “It wasn’t ME,” they both protest, looking around in confusion. Perhaps while I was working here, alone, all day, EVERY DAY, a gnome snuck into the house and ATE THE PENCIL LEADS. That must be it.]
Anyway, sometimes while I’m sitting around here by myself, I begin to realize why people maybe shouldn’t spend most of their lives alone. read more…
Love celebrates
I have a thing about birthdays.
The whys and wherefores and traumas—real or imagined—therein are not important right now, but for many years, I hated birthdays. I tried to ignore my own, and my uncomfortable attempts to celebrate on others’ special days were, well, less than stellar.
Eventually I outgrew this. (Translation: Eventually I pulled my head out of my ass. You’re welcome!) And then I began to LOVE birthdays! Yay! Let’s make it awesome for you! This process was greatly accelerated once I became a mother, too. Because nothing says “and now you shall have the party I never did, as a demonstration of my love for you” like Pin The Alien In The Spaceship, Little Buzz Lightyear. Or something.
Today is Otto’s birthday. read more…
Stop me before I cook again
My fridge runneth over. Well, that’s not entirely true; it runneth over less than it did a few days ago. We’re doing a pretty good job of working through the leftovers, and I’ve already made several things OUT of the leftovers, and this week’s grocery shopping consisted mostly of milk and orange juice and bread. Because there’s tons of food here.
You would think that, after having cooked for a dozen people last week, I would want to STOP COOKING NOW. But if you thought that, you would be wrong, because I am mentally ill. Thanksgiving trips the MUST! COOK! center of my brain, and I won’t be able to stop until after Christmas. I don’t know why.
I mean, it starts with wanting to use up the leftovers. But from there it just goes completely off the rails.
Like today, for example! read more…
Yet another sinister plot
A friend emailed me this morning and basically said that if I was still sick, I should just forget about blogging today and rest, instead. I would love to do that, but I’m at sort of a critical juncture, here. While I’m not entirely well, I’m not sick enough to justify taking the day off of work. (Not that writing HERE is work, but I do have those dozen other work-type places that sort of expect me to make with the words by deadline, and all of that.)
I’m whiny and achy and snotty, but bailing on work would push me over into hypochondriac territory, I think. Alas. I prefer not to do that unless I’ve self-diagnosed myself with Ebola or something.
Besides, I made the kids go to school. Gotta practice what I preach, or something. Damn motherhood. Always screwing up my day with responsibilities and expectations. Sheesh. And I have a reputation to uphold, you know. It’s hard work being the Meanest Mom Ever. read more…
Slightly less thankful
So we were just finishing up dinner on Thanksgiving when I gazed lovingly across the table at my two favorite men. Otto was still working on his mashed potatoes, but Monkey was staring off into space.
And his plate was still full.
“Hey, buddy,” I said. “Aren’t you hungry?”
He roused from his… whatever it was (I want to say reverie but he was just kind of spacing out)… and said, “Huh? Not really. I’m kind of tired. Can I go upstairs and lie down for a little bit?”
Happy Thanksgiving! Enjoy the turkey, all the trimmings, three kinds of pie, and a child with a fever of 101! read more…
Well-fed
Good friends, good food, rotten but lovable children, and a husband who is not only damn cute, he did ALL the dishes—even though we used the china and the silver and it all had to be hand-washed.
If THAT isn’t the epitome of a home full of love (and well-fed people), I don’t know what is.
Happy Love Thursday, everyone.