If you believe in jinxing, I’m screwed
I recently had a discussion via email with a friend who ever-so-gently pointed out that when I don’t either blog about things or communicate them to friends in another (more direct) manner, they don’t know what’s going on with me.
I scoffed, because I’ve long made it a habit to only befriend people who are PSYCHIC. It cuts down on the effort I have to make, you know.
Well, okay, not really. What I HAVE done, actually, is put my head down and stuffed my fingers in my ears and loudly “LA LA LA LA LA LA”ed my way through some things happening around here because there comes a times when my wee little brain simply cannot process some facets of my life in a way that is at all productive. That is, after all, why I married Otto—so that at least ONE of us would be sane. Most of the time. read more…
Do you see what I see?
Suffice it to say that it’s very rare that anyone will ask me that question and my answer will be “yes.” I tend to be—in a word—oblivious. Oh, I notice the important stuff… usually… but, for example, the tree adventure from the previous post started with me grilling Otto as to whether or not he was CERTAIN the damage had just occurred that day.
“Of COURSE it did,” he said, looking at me like he’d just caught me sniffing glue. “It’s RIGHT HERE by my car, which I drive EVERY DAY. I would’ve noticed it if it had happened before.”
And he’s right, of course. He would’ve. Me, on the other hand…. Well, the damage is way up there, you know. I probably would’ve noticed it when the tree fell on my car (or, um, on our power lines, you understand, but before then? Not so much. read more…
Guy Otto, P.I.
“Oh, it must be awesome being married to a photographer!” I hear, over and over. Yes. Completely awesome. Especially in light of how I hate having my picture taken. I’m not complaining about him, you understand, but sometimes I do wonder how blind love must be for me to have done that.
[A common scene in our house: Otto, trying to take my picture. Me, hiding behind things, wrapping my arms around my head, or just pulling a monstrous face. Otto eventually throwing up his hands in disgust while asking, “WHY DID YOU MARRY ME?” Me, running away, calling over my shoulder, “You’re cute and I wanted more pictures of the kids!”]
The truth is that I love seeing the world through his lens. I wish we could do that without him trying to snap ME quite so often, but whatever. Details. read more…
Yep, they’ve got it good
So it turns out that when you spend your day catering to a very sick and pitiful child and also trying to work, by the end of the day you feel as though you’ve been up for a week. And then you review the day to consider what you could possibly write about, and once you rule out everything that has to do with a bucket or Lysol or the indignity of the Hallmark Channel claiming that Little House on the Prairie is on when REALLY it’s just another damn episode of The Waltons, there isn’t much else on your mind.
Um, let’s see. Oh! Our dishwasher started behaving strangely. And by “behaving strangely” I mean “leaving all of the dishes coated with a slimy grit that rather indicated it wasn’t actually cleaning anything.” First we tried running through a cycle with a cup of vinegar and that didn’t help at all. And then we started taking it apart. read more…
Waylaid
I had so many exciting things to tell you about today, like that the Great Scrabble Wars are alive and well (in case you were wondering, HOMEY is acceptable, but HOMEYLIT as the genre that results from rappers writing books is—for some reason—not) and that we’ve already nearly demolished the leftovers from the Super Bowl party, but I’m afraid that will all have to wait. My folks are getting ready to leave and head back up north this morning, and not a moment too soon.
(No, not because we want them gone. For their own safety.)
When my alarm went off this morning, I was in that place of deep, deep sleep where the alarm first incorporated itself into the dream I was having (I was in the university dining hall and my account was overdue, but I was REALLY HUNGRY) and then finally woke me, flailing and confused. read more…
We’ll always have Pyrex
I refuse to believe that my days of trash-talking the Giants and making fun of my father for being a Giants fan are to blame for the Patriots having screwed up royally last night. Hey, I’m not the one who let all those guys hit Tom Brady. Though I’d sort of like to hit Tom Brady, myself, now.
Preferably in the knees. With Bill Belichick. But whatever.
We have various “posters” (the kids spent half the afternoon making them) cheering on the Patriots all over the house, still, and the children—who went to bed at halftime—ate their breakfast in glum silence. “But they were WINNING when we went to BED!” they protested, as if perhaps the Patriots’ loss was a cruel joke I was playing on them. I put brownies in their lunch to ease the sting. read more…
What I’ll always see in those 4 flakes
Today we went on a wild, day-long adventure, which included going panning for gold. As we stood clustered around a trough, each swishing around our pans, Monkey jabbered a mile a minute and Chickadee complained a couple of times that the water was too cold, but in the end, each of us had successfully isolated a few flakes of gold, which was then placed into a vial we could keep.
The children were ecstatic. For about ten seconds. We then had to wait a bit before it was our turn to go on a tour of the mine, and for a moment I actually GOT SMART and went and bought the kids a snack to head off any potential problems. They munched happily and by the time it was our turn to tour, they were fine.
In fact, they were stellar. read more…
It’s like Disneyworld around here
My father and stepmom go on a lot of really exciting vacations, you know. They’ve been to Africa on safari. Alaska. The Great Wall of China. The Mayan ruins. All sorts of places I may never get to go, but always each trip more exotic than the last.
(They tell me this is the advantage of working too hard all their lives and now being retired. I wouldn’t know, as the pension plan for freelance writers more or less dictates that you work until you die, or enjoy a nice vacation to your local 7-11, where you can go really wild and splurge on a Big Gulp.)
Anyway, I’m sure that you can understand—in light of their status as seasoned world travelers—why coming here is an unparalleled exercise in extravagance. read more…
Love’s labors
Over the Christmas break we had planned for our little family to spend a few days with my parents before heading home again. As it turned out, Otto and I ended up going to see my folks without the kids, which was sorely disappointing all around.
(It turns out that I am just not very interesting now that there are a couple of pint-sized versions of me who are a lot funnier than I am.)
After a bit of cajoling, my dad and stepmom planned a trip down here to visit us. They did so at no small inconvenience, too—yesterday afternoon my father called from a Chili’s in the Detroit airport to let me know that their connecting flight had been canceled. I felt tremendously sorry for them, being stuck in Detroit, of all places, and suggested medicinal margaritas while they waited for their rescheduled flight. read more…
When all else fails, I make soup
I have just a few things I need to take care of today. I have work, cleaning, work, an interview, work, laundry, work, errands, and, OH YEAH, work.
So I decided to make soup. You know, because I wasn’t busy.
There is something primal, to me, about throwing things in a pot and letting them cook all day and turn into something you might actually want to eat. When I first came to Georgia it was approximately 110 degrees every single day, and I found myself looking forward to the winter so that I could start making soup again. I waited. And waited. And the kids were still going to school in shorts in November, and I realized that I should probably stop “waiting for winter” and just make some soup anyway.
Right now it’s about 32 degrees out, which is POSITIVELY ARCTIC by Georgia standards, so I think I’m good to go. read more…