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…
You can’t take me anywhere
I think I’ve mentioned before that at some point I became overwhelmed with this weird THING that compelled me to sign up for a committee in the name of bettering our schools.
(Oh… right. I think that THING may be “a sense of parental and civic responsibility,” but on the other hand, maybe it’s just a mild case of Athlete’s Foot, because it’s sort of itchy.)
On the one hand, I know it’s tiresome to keep up with the “OMG! WTF is the matter with the schools here?” routine, because I’ve done it before, for one thing, and also, HOW MUCH TIME DO YOU HAVE? On the other hand, every time I sort of comfort myself with the sense that really, things are improving ’round here and wow, look at the neat stuff the kids are bringing home, something else happens and I find myself saying “OMG! WTF is the matter with the schools here??” read more…
Of wheels and plumbing
Yesterday, we packed up the whole family and went to a big RV and camper show. It was An Event. Apparently this is some sort of rite of passage in Otto’s family, as they spent many summers camping and went to every RV show that came to town. I cannot be certain, of course, because Otto and I are not having any (more) kids, but I doubt that he would’ve been more excited to watch his first child being born than he was to sweep us all into the expo center and watch as we took in the rows and rows of shiny campers.
(Actually, strike that. This was significantly less messy than childbirth, even when you factor in Monkey eating fried chicken for lunch. So I’m gonna have to say that this was definitely MORE exciting for Otto than even a whole new human would be.)
Believe you me, it was a Very Exciting Day. read more…
Things I learned tonight
The (glass) coffee table in the family room is about 15 hand prints across.
Small boys who’ve just scarfed down most of the two giant pizzas I made them and declared themselves full will still manage to demolish two giant bowls of popcorn not ten minutes later, in about five minutes flat.
Our “incredibly soundproof” home where we often cannot hear the children playing upstairs is not quite soundproof enough to mask the unmistakable sounds of seven small boys JUMPING ON THE BED. read more…
Monday’s genius. . .
… is Friday’s moron.
I’m going to have that embroidered on a sampler, and I’m going to mount it here on the wall of my office. Oh yes. Yes, I shall.
Oh Mondays, I am brilliant. It’s a new day! A new week! And THIS WEEK, I shall triumph. I will be on top of my game. Work will melt away under my fingertips, the children will be delightful and charming, the house will be clean, and late at night I will sidle up to my husband and whisper something a little more sexy than, “I am so tired right now I could cry, if only I had the energy.”
On Mondays, all things are possible.
By Friday, I’m just a mewling puddle of uselessness. read more…
14,000 is my new favorite number
Remember Love Thursday? I was thinking the other day that I sort of miss it.
And then some fine ladies brought it back, because Love Thursday will not be denied, man. It’s a powerful force that will not just go away. Let’s face it—in a world where the news is topped by supposed adult politicians bickering like children, famous actors overdosing, and any other number of tragedies, I dunno about YOU, but I could certainly use a little more Love Thursday. Just sayin’.
So I started thinking about it, and first I thought that love is my husband saying that yes, sure, let’s have a dozen small boys over to the house to run around and eat pizza and popcorn and leave greasy fingerprints on everything. And that led to me thinking that actually, love is me telling him that yes, I would dearly love to spend a day looking at campers we can’t afford. But that was before last night. read more…
The tragedies of your rotten life
Once upon a time, your life was perfect. Ideal! You lived in a nice house with an intact nuclear family. Everything was flowers and rainbows and sunshine, and no one ever yelled, and the food was always exactly what you wanted, and you never did anything wrong because everything was exactly the way you liked it.
(Well, you were both under 5, back then. I’m SURE it’s not that your memory is hazy or wholly manufactured; it was really JUST LIKE THAT. Obviously.)
Then, of course, everything went wrong. Your parents got divorced and life went to hell, because now nothing was perfect anymore and your horrible mother was constantly placing these ridiculous EXPECTATIONS on you, like that you would LISTEN TO HER and FOLLOW THE HOUSE RULES and EAT WHAT SHE COOKED.
Oh, the HUMANITY! read more…
Food, frightening food
The older I get, the more attention I pay to what I put into my mouth and how it makes my body feel.
Unfortunately, many of those observations end up along the lines of “When I eat this chocolate, it makes me SO HAPPY!” and then “Wait, why don’t these jeans fit anymore??”
(I didn’t say I was making the right choices, necessarily, just that I am thinking about it more often. Like, now I feel pretty safe saying: Hi! I am a big fat sugar addict!)
For example: I have been religiously (outspokenly, even) buying organic milk for the kids for years. You know, because I didn’t want Chickadee to have boobs in the second grade. And because I didn’t want Monkey to end up… well, whatever happens to boys when they have all those hormones. You know. Maybe THEY get boobs, too! I don’t know. I was trying to avoid it, whatever it was. read more…
My marriage; let me show you it
I have often said that one of the advantages of having a (mostly) not-very-good and then a (towards the end) wholly-fucked-up marriage, the first time around, is that—despite being rather high-maintenance in general (shut up)—I am so profoundly grateful for everything Otto and I have, I’m really quite easy to keep happy on the marital front.
Why yes, I DID just say he’s SO LUCKY to have me.
And I am happier, and probably healthier, as a result. Which is probably the reason why a very pretty reader of mine thought of me when she got this little assignment for a tiny little magazine, and needed someone to interview about the benefits of marriage. I was happy to help her out, and it didn’t occur to me that it was any sort of big deal. read more…