It really does keep me up at night
Wednesdays and Thursdays are the killer part of my week, possibly because I never work hard enough on Monday and Tuesday, and because it is against my religion to work too hard on Fridays.
Yesterday smacked me down hard and today isn’t looking much better, so instead of blathering on about nothing I will instead turn over to you the most pressing matter currently on my mind where you might actually be of assistance. (I mean, unless you want to write a couple of articles for me.) (Do you? Want to write a couple of articles for me? Lord, I am tired.)
It all started yesterday when we got into a discussion of Otto’s upcoming birthday and what the appropriate celebration would be. That, of course, led into a discussion of what Monkey wants for HIS birthday, and things spiraled out of control from there, as you might imagine. read more…
Back to school with a vengeance
Oh, the joy of a long weekend! The sleeping in! The holiday food! The family togetherness!
The quiet implosion when you attempt to return to your previous schedule!
[And hey, speaking of schedules, I realized yesterday that it had been over a week since my MRI adventure and I hadn’t heard a thing, so I called my doctor to inquire. They informed me that they haven’t received the report, yet, but will call when they do. Fine. I was almost content to assume “no news is good news” from that, buuuuuut then in the mail I got an official-looking letter letting me know that my mammogram yielded abnormal results and would require further investigation and please call right away. Not the MRI, mind you. But the mammogram. You know, the mammogram I had TWO MONTHS AGO? I told Otto to put this on my tombstone: “We just got a letter back about her MRI.”] read more…
Making it all come out even
Once upon a time, when I was in high school, I was hanging out at a friend’s house. Said friend had been growing out her bangs for a number of months, and they now reached to about her chin and she commented that she should really get a haircut and just get it all cut off to that length so it wouldn’t look weird anymore.
I don’t remember if I volunteered or if it was her idea, but we decided I’d cut her hair. She got a pair of scissors and… I cut it. I didn’t do too bad of a job, though that didn’t stop her mother from being absolutely furious with me when she got home.
I cut another friend’s hair about a year later, and that was my first experience with “it’s a little longer here, I’ll just even that up… now it’s longer here, I’ll just even THAT up….” Her hair ended up a bit shorter than we’d planned, but she was cool about it.
Thus began my less-than-illustrious foray into my side career as a hair stylist. read more…
Those elusive two front teeth
I have never been big on the whole “mall Santa” thing, for various reasons. I mean, yes—we’ve done it a couple of times, but on the whole, it’s not like I search it out every year as an essential part of the Christmas season.
(Frankly, the fact that some man is being paid to sit little kids on his lap all day long disturbs me in a way I’d rather not even verbalize.)
Regardless, in spite of the fact that the kids are on the cusp of being too old for such a thing—and really, if we’re being honest, I strongly suspect that Chickadee’s suspension of disbelief about the guy in the red suit has just about reached its limit, my oft-answered “if you don’t believe you don’t receive” notwithstanding—I desperately want to brave the crowds and visit Santa this year.
Why? Well, we’ve offered Monkey cold hard cash to perch himself up there and answer the predictable query with “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth!” followed by a big grin (prominently featuring said missing teeth). read more…
I apologize
If you happened to notice that rift in the very fabric of the universe earlier today, it may have been due to the fact that we went out on a family outing and had a perfectly lovely day. Everyone behaved and there wasn’t any traffic and when we came home everyone got ready for bed and turned in without complaint.
It was weird. Good, but weird.
In fact, when we were sitting in a restaurant eating, a kid at the next table fiddled with his cup until he dumped about ten ounces of ice directly into his shoes. (Crocs. Yet another hazard they don’t tell you about—shoes full of ice pellets!) And I looked over at that family and tried not to giggle out loud. Because that would’ve been mean. And also because THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD is not always a good deterrent when it comes to karmic retribution.
More than pie
I had pumpkin pie for breakfast, as I consider that the inalienable right of anyone who spends two straight days cooking. I’m sorry; don’t try to convince me otherwise. The rules are clearly such that the day after Thanksgiving means any red-blooded American must do a few (if not all) of the following things:
1) Sleep late.
2) Eat pie for breakfast.
3) Put away the (third) batch of Thanksgiving dishes that had been drying.
4) Start a pot of soup with the turkey carcass.
5) Announce that even though the fridge is stuffed to bursting with all manner of food, we need to go grocery shopping, because we’re out of milk.
6) Yell upstairs to the playing children “Have you eaten? No? You should eat something!” and then just leave them be, because really, they are not going to starve to death and they ARE playing nicely.
And that’s the true meaning of Christmas. Wait. (Oh, crap. Christmas. Number 7 is try to figure out where your Christmas stuff is.) read more…
She had a hand in it
Yesterday I cooked and worked and cooked and worked and cooked some more and worked some more and told my daughter that if she behaved she could help me with the pies and that if she didn’t, I would chop her up and put her IN the pies.
It was mixed bag of a day—rather more frenetic that I would’ve liked, plus it’s hard to behave when you’re off school and everyone is busy ignoring you in favor of preparing dinner for people you don’t even KNOW, MOM—but in the end, we more or less did both.
I hope our guests like pie. read more…
If you cook it, they will come
I don’t really know what happened; one day Otto was all, “I dunno, I guess everyone already has plans” and I despaired while our new dining room set was languishing with only the jigsaw puzzle Chickadee and I are working on to keep it company, and then the next week it was “well, we have one couple coming” and a few days later it was “someone else RSVPed” and then just as I was figuring out seating and starting to bake it became “so-and-so’s plans fell through” and “I just got an email wanting to know if we could have one more?”
So. Ten for Thanksgiving!
Ask and ye shall receive. Or—more accurately, in my case—whine and karma shall commence the smackdown. Why do I always forget that? read more…
Merry Christmas, you smell
I love Christmas. I love everything about it. This is what happens when you grow up Jewish and realize that accepting Christ into your heart means pretty shiny ornaments on a twinkling tree and stockings hung by the chimney with care. Overdone commercialism aside (can we put that aside? can we pretend to, at least?), I love the whole season of anticipation.
Plus, we already know that I love to shop, so what better way to indulge my love of a good bargain hunt than to go searching for goodies for all of my loved ones? It’s a little slice of heaven.
(And just in case there was any doubt at all as to my shopping prowess and patience when it comes to The Big Deal, this year Santa is bringing Chickadee a doll which was purchased over seven years ago, is now discontinued, and sells on eBay for roughly ten times what I, er, he, paid for it. Oh yeah, baby. I think I need a cigarette.) read more…
Diagnosis: permanent forehead crease
So, I don’t know if I mentioned this before or not, but once upon a time I had this thing? With my boobs? And if I use a lot of question marks it will be incredibly annoying but seem less important? But the Cliff Notes version is that I had a lump removed from my left breast (not cancer), and while they were figuring all of that out, they discovered something else in my right breast (also not cancer) which they decided they wanted to track.
My boobs, let me show you them. They are FASCINATING. (And by “show you them” I of course mean “talk about them ad nauseum.”)
Well, I went and saw a new ladybits doctor who is quite interested in my boobs. Naturally. read more…