27 keys short
One of the first things we did after moving down here, last year, was to start the kids in piano lessons. It was something we’d talked about for a long time, and logistics just never seemed to work out when we lived up north, but we have a highly-recommended teacher nearby, here, and so we were finally able to get them started.
Now, when we first went to the studio, one of the first things the teacher asked me was if the children have “a decent instrument” at home on which to practice. “Sure!” I said. “We have an electric keyboard!” (I did not mention that the kids love to set it to piccolo and play “hot cross buns” until I stab a pen into my eardrum.)
“And that’s a full-size?” He asked me, leaning forward as if we were discussing a peace treaty.
“It’s… ummm… about this big…?” I held out my hands, and he all but smacked his forehead. read more…
My garden, let me show you it
I am still earnestly toiling over the containers out on my deck. In some ways, it’s really an ideal set-up—there’s no deer or rabbits willing to venture that high, so I don’t have to worry about putting in all of this effort merely to feed the local wildlife. After all, that’s what our compost pile is for. (I do love the mental image of a couple of deer dragging our scooped-out cantelope rinds down to the pond for a late-night snack.)
At some point, the strawberry plants heaved an enormous sigh and all but died. I’m not sure what happened, although I DO know that the squirrels (unfazed by the climbing needed) ate most of the berries. But then the plants themselves developed some ugly brown splotches and just gave up. It was very sad. But the good news is that the rest of the plants are still going like gangbusters. (Gangbusters apparently go very… ummm… strong! And fast! I think.) read more…
Color, color everywhere
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* read more…
Riddle me Mini-Me
I make a lot of jokes about Chickadee being my Mini-Me. We have a lot of the same likes and dislikes. She has many of my mannerisms. We look alike (although this one is sort of humorous, to me, because in reality I think Monkey has many more of my features than Chickadee, but—just as no one ever noticed that my mother and I looked very similar (probably because my hair is dark and hers is blonde)—folks always comment on how similar Chickadee and I look, never on how much Monkey looks like me.
The point is that in many ways, we are alike. I often assume that I know how she will react to or handle something, because I feel like I know her not just by virtue of being her mom, but because we share so many tendencies.
Of course, there are differences, too. I think I’ll be right on top of how to best deal with those in another ten years or so. Maybe twenty, tops. read more…
Love is patient, love is tired
Every now and then I get on a kick where I insist that the kids make their beds every morning. But in the grand scheme of behavior I feel it’s worth fighting over, I’m not so much a beds-must-be-made kind of person. (Just ask Otto. He makes our bed all the time, except occasionally when he decides to see what will happen if he stops. Here’s what happens: The bed doesn’t get made.)
Oh, don’t get me wrong—if we’re having company, then absolutely, the beds need to be made. I’m lazy but I’m not a HEATHEN.
And while I will often exhort Chickadee to just take a minute to make up her bed, I’m less likely to demand that Monkey do so. This is not due to any sort of gender or age inequality, but because Chickadee’s bed is unfettered on both sides (easy) while Monkey’s bed is against a wall (hard) and also an elevated “captain’s” bed, which means it’s particularly difficult for a small boy to get around for things like sheet-smoothing. read more…
Tell us what you really think
Oh, hi there! I was thinking about you all morning. Yes, YOU. Many thanks to everyone who chimed in with suggestions for my daughter’s warts (though no one suggested I set aside more money for therapy after discussing her wartiness with the entire internet, interesting). We went out yesterday and got her some Neem soap and some colloidal silver and also some tongue of newt and eye of wombat, plus I ordered some stuff to tape up horses, or something, I DON’T KNOW, it’s kind of all a blur, now. But thank you for all of your collective expertise and kind words, it really was very helpful.
And yeah, we decided she can continue to swim in OUR pool, at least. We’re already exposed, so I just can’t get too worked up about it.
I would’ve come and said all of this earlier this morning, but I couldn’t, because I was picturing my slow death at the doctor’s office. read more…
She ain’t shellfish, she’s my daughter
So, um, it turns out that my daughter has a highly contagious skin virus called Molloscum Contagiosum. She did not appreciate the various jokes I cracked, asking her when she’d become a marine invertebrate, so I switched to shouting “MOLLOSCUM CONTAGIOSUM!” at her with a flourish of my invisible wand, and then asking her why she had failed to levitate.
For some reason, Chickadee spent a lot of time rolling her eyes at me, yesterday. I cannot IMAGINE why.
But I had to make light, you know, because otherwise I would’ve had to cry. Molloscum isn’t serious—she’s not sick or anything, and although she’s itchy we’ve now got a good cream to use—but it’s extremely contagious. read more…
Jesus take the paintbrush
This is the part of our story where the children have returned, and Otto has returned, and the cartoon bluebirds sing and all is well and easy and back to normal, hallelujah and amen!
Except that this is ME, so nothing is ever that easy. Of course. Really, that sort of tranquility would make me highly suspicious, anyway.
So have I ever told you the story about how I am a wee bit impatient when I get a bee in my bonnet about redecorating and home projects? It’s true! I can see that you are astonished! But yes, occasionally once the decision has been made to do something, I am not so good with the whole waiting thing. Why, I once rearranged all of the furniture in my living room single-handedly (including a sleeper sofa that weighed at least a thousand million pounds) because my husband told me he’d help me with it “later.” LATER is no good. I have an idea, I have a VISION, I need to ACT! You know, before the lethargy sets in. read more…
Pool sweet pool
The children arrived home, today, after the two longest weeks of my life.
Believe it or not, they’ve never been gone from me for that long before. Ever. Honestly, I think I did pretty well. Sure, I had to demolish my entire dining room and paint fifty-seven coats of various substances on it to keep my mind off the kids, but whatever.
(I started the topcoat on the plaster at 7 this morning. At 11:45 I finished the final—third, if you must know, because navy blue would be second only to RED in the “impossible to get even coverage” category of paint colors—coat of blue beneath the chair rail, and then collapsed in a heap of blisters and delirium.)
This afternoon the children came back, and I hadn’t so much as managed to get hugs from both of them before they were asking—nay, BEGGING—to go swimming. Please please please PLEASE CAN WE GO IN THE POOOOOOOOOL? read more…
Second verse, same as the first
Technically, I think I may be on the fifth or sixth or EIGHTY GAZILLIONTH verse, when it comes to the never-ending process of painting the dining room, but I do rather feel like a hamster on a wheel, at this point.
Get up. Check email. Do some work. Paint. Do some more work. Do other stuff around the house. Paint. And so on.
I feel like a tremendous wimp. I mean, yes, applying plaster is extremely time-consuming, but it’s not particularly DIFFICULT, and painting with regular paint is simple enough, and also, it’s not a very big room, and why in the world does this seem to be the project that never ends? Am I suffering from some form of home improvement retardation? I think I might be. read more…