We now return to our regular bitching
How can you top bringing the Mythbusters home? Why, with a fruitless day of searching for a simple item, of course!
Once upon a time, I had vision insurance. Vision Service Plan, or VSP for short. VSP and I were good friends. Oh, hell… VSP and I may have been more than friends. We snuggled on the couch and I whispered sweet nothings into his ear when he caused my glasses to cost me just $20 or so out of pocket. Oh, VSP! How I miss you!
Needless to say, I no longer have VSP. Haven’t for years, in fact. But thanks to the magic of having a second income in the house, now, I went for new glasses in December for the first time in years. It was very exciting! Because I’d forgotten what it’s like to be able to see! read more…
One last present: Confirmed!
So yesterday I told you all about the last round of presents with the kids—the rest of their Christmas presents, and Monkey’s birthday presents, which should be enough presentage (totally a word) to hold us for many months. That, combined with having the kids back home again, should’ve rendered Saturday the perfect day.
But none of that was what I was REALLY looking forward to. No. I mean, it was good to finally have the kids home, and all, but the part I was excited about was not that first night home and the cake and the presents.
Sunday morning we had pancakes. No, that’s not the exciting part. Pancakes is normally a Saturday morning thing, but had to make up for missing it for a few weeks, you know. So yesterday we were rebels and had a big pancake breakfast.
I have to back up for a minute. read more…
Back and stickier than ever
Monkey and Chickadee are safely home again. They arrived yesterday evening, tired and cranky and all hopped up on a long day of travel (because LORD KNOWS there are no direct flights between Boston and Atlanta, nooooooo! I’m certain that flying Boston to CHICAGO, then Chicago to Atlanta made the most sense, and probably saved hundreds of pennies in the process) and hungry but too tired to eat and excited to be back but bereft over saying goodbye to their father and generally at the very edge of their ability to cope.
I squeezed them tight and kissed their cheeks off and went almost an hour before telling them they were making my ears bleed. It was THAT perfect. read more…
I’m not ready, but you didn’t ask me
Attention Young Master Monkeypants:
Today is your birthday. You are eight whole years old! That is—as your sister solemnly informed you a month or so back—the beginning of being a tween. From there you’ll become a teenager, and from there it’s off to college and a life that in all likelihood does not include snuggling your mother at every possible opportunity. I cannot say that I approve of this progression, but I am trying to deal with it.
This is the first time in the 9-and-a-half years since I became a parent that I am not with one of my kids on their birthday. You are still hanging out at your dad’s house, and I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re having a great time. I know this because when I called you this morning your voice practically vibrated with the pride of having managed to live eight years. You informed me that the biggest difference was that you were finding it more difficult to talk in a baby voice. read more…
It followed us home
After 15 hours in the car today (totally uneventful, really, other than the MIND NUMBING BORINGNESS and the fact that I got all loopy on diet coke and started misreading signs all over the place, including INSISTING that there had been a billboard advertising SEXY WAFFLES), I actually cheered with glee when we pulled into the driveway here at home. Then I opened up the car door and said, “ACK! It’s COLD!”
It’s 24 degrees here in Georgia. The water on our pool cover is FROZEN.
Nevertheless, I am looking forward to a night in my own giant bed (having a king bed is lovely except that it completely ruins you for sleeping on anything else) and the temperature is supposed to be back up to the 60s here in a few days. Soon, the snowbank I stepped in early this morning in New York (which filled my shoe with snow and caused me to spew obscenities before the sun was even up) will be a distant memory.
Home is where you torment each other
Happy new year! I hope you had an awesome night of revelry for New Year’s Eve, preferably one that included a stupid hat. I did not have a stupid hat, but fortunately my hair is stupid enough without one. We partied like it was 2008, though. Hooboy.
We were in bed by 12:15. WOO!
Anyway, yesterday we arrived here at my dad and stepmom’s house. This marks the final leg of our little tour. Although this isn’t the house where I grew up, this is the house where I feel most at home and revert to my most obnoxious behavior (though Otto might insist I’m plenty obnoxious at home, in which case I would lovingly suggest that he SHUT IT). Despite having managed to care for myself and my own house for plenty of years, when I come here I suddenly forget how to put dishes in the dishwasher and how to make my own coffee. It’s a wonder they ever let me come back. read more…
Frozen
We are in upstate New York, and after passing a lovely evening with friends we retired for the night. When I got up this morning and peeked outside, everything was covered with a horrible, fluffy white substance. Somewhere in the back of my mind there is a vague sense of recognizing what it is, but I believe I am repressing the memory because it’s so painful.
This morning was the first time I said the phrase “home to Georgia;” as in, “I cannot wait to get home to Georgia where PIECES OF ICE DO NOT FALL FROM THE SKY.”
I guess I’m feeling better
Yesterday was a whirlwind of travel, putting us at one friend’s house for the afternoon, then shuffling off to another friend’s house for the night. I guess Otto hadn’t been entirely clear with this group of pals as to when we’d be where, so although they were delighted to have us (and OH MY GOD I had the best meal of my LIFE last night; I am thinking of asking his friends to come move in with us, because: EMERIL’S POTATO CASSEROLE), the hosts who were keeping us for the night hadn’t actually made up the guest bed yet.
So we’d watched the first half of the Patriots game at the first house (actually, they watched while I glanced up between working, which they were remarkably tolerant of) (that’s why I write for a living, because me write pretty, what with ending sentences with “of” and such) and then driven to the next town over during halftime to the other house. When we arrived, our hostess was making up the bed, and we brought our stuff in and I started to help. read more…
It’s not a vacation. . .
… until somebody ruptures an eardrum!
(What, your family doesn’t have that rule?)
Oh, I kid. No one has a ruptured eardrum. I just WISH I had a ruptured eardrum.
So, um, remember that cold I had? My cold that was getting better? My cold that suddenly sensed I was over a thousand miles from home and decided to morph into FORM OF: EAR WEASEL and commence throbbing and itching and generally making me wish for death? Yeah, that cold. I hate that cold.
Why yes, I DO believe that cold knows I’m away from home and also, you know, not generally a fan of the sensation of a creature trying to nibble its way to my brain via the ear canal. Because colds are bitches like that. read more…
Cognitive dissonance
In the same kitchen where two small children are playing Connect Four with wild abandon (and seeming obliviousness to the fact that this was a really cool toy when WE were kids), there are four adults.
Between the grown-ups, there are three computers, two cell phones, and a video camera in use. All at the same time.