Go forth and blimpify
Okay, I’m ready now.
Musings of the Mir
All ye rejoice and be exceedingly glad… for there is much to be thankful for this holiday weekend!
The laundry may struggle valiantly, but in truth I am caught up. For once.
Yesterday’s molasses cookies are today’s pumpkin cheesecake crust.
Therefore, verily, I shall be revered tomorrow at the great feast. Such reverence shall resonate throughout the land and strike the calories from the dessert.
Yea, though the small ones descended upon the Dunkin Donuts Munchkins like locusts, this morning’s playdate was perfection and joy.
Rather than lamenting the absence of children on the holiday, thusly shall I celebrate the freedom to imbibe with relish as the sins of the small people shall not be upon my soul.
Behold how the misguided plot and plan to venture forth into the chaotic land known as Black Friday; but the wise shall be at home wrapping presents previously gathered.
Remember this and keep it dear to your hearts: the gorging of the stomach and celebration of the tastebuds shall be followed by the sporting of muscular men in tight pants, and it shall be very good.
From true love to road rage
Note to self: next time, bake the cookies before taking a shower. *picking little bits of dough out from under my fingernails*
Noon rolled around and found me walking into Monkey’s classroom, goodies in hand. The Thanksgiving spread was quite impressive. The kids had all made little turkey centerpieces that festooned the various tabletops, there was a big basket of papier mache fruits they’d made (“Taste my pear! No, don’t! I painted it!”), and the “buffet” table was covered in homemade tablecloth (butcher paper the entire class had colored for the occasion). It was noisy and crowded and delightful.
Monkey and I dined on a variety of finger foods while sitting on the rug and chatting with other kids and parents. Every time he saw a child with a brownie or a molasses cookie, he shouted, “Hey! My mom made those!” It’s so nice that someone is proud of me.
The time came to start cleaning up and getting ready to go, and the teachers pointed out that each child had made a turkey centerpiece, and they could be taken home. Then we parents started noticing that the front of the turkeys had a little heart that said, “What I am thankful for” and then each tailfeather bore a different testament to thankfulness. We passed by one where the tailfeathers read:
My Mommy
My Daddy
My Sister
Pokemon
Chocolate pudding
Awwwwwww! Right? Totally AWWWWWWWW! But when two teachers came over to me trying to conceal their laughter, asking if I’d found Monkey’s turkey yet, I should’ve known.
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In which you totally wish I was your mom
T-minus three hours until the Thanksgiving Feast at preschool. Bring it on.
I’ve had half a gallon of water so far this morning. Dehydrated, much? Hey, at least it’s staying in my stomach….
There’s a pan of brownies cooling on the counter. (What, you don’t have traditional Betty Crocker Thanksgiving brownies at your house…?) A double batch of dough for Kira‘s amazing molasses cookies is chilling in the fridge, just waiting to be formed and baked.
Why I signed up to bring two desserts, I have no idea. Oh, wait. Yes I do. It’s the old “I’d like there to be some choices that won’t kill my son” thing. Now I remember. Anyway. I signed up to bring two desserts, and dammit, I’m bringing two desserts. This will also give me some extra cookies to give to the neighbor and our sitter. But if you catch me fashioning my own hand-dyed raffia ribbons and stamped recycled paper bags to put them in, please shoot me. I have my limits, you know.
Only 7 more hours of Monday….
Everyone made it through the day, more or less.
Monkey needs “some more-a dat snot-melting stuff!”
Chickadee says there is something angry in her tummy.
Both of them are laying on the couch watching Noggin.
Me? I’m wondering if I can put the kids to bed at 6. Out of concern for their health, natch. Not because I’ve been sick, myself, all day. That would be selfish. And any mother worth her salt can handle a fun-filled day with the kids on one cup of tea and three Ritz crackers. Do you think they’ll let me read them a bedtime story in the bathroom? No…?
I’m supposed to be baking dessert for Monkey’s “Thanksgiving Feast” at school tomorrow. I’m thinking of some Pink Pepto Meringues. Or perhaps nice crunchy Barf Bars.
I’m so going to hell. But as I’ve been freezing cold all day, it doesn’t sound so bad.
Monday is so… Mondayish
You ever have one of those Monday mornings where it feels like the universe is trying to send you a message, and the message is not very nice?
Like maybe…
… your nearly-five-year-old who should be nighttime trained by now but isn’t because he will be going to college in pull-ups has soaked through everything, because you were out of name-brand pull-ups and used the inferior no-name brand, and it was probably all Murphy’s Law-ish-ly because you just put clean sheets on his bed last night?
… that same child wakes up with a snot-covered face and you are out of daytime children’s cold medicine?
… your other child is complaining of a tummy ache, and she always complains of a tummy ache so it’s probably nothing, except that you have a tummy ache, so maybe it’s not nothing?
… having a cup of tea to settle your stomach turns out to be a really bad idea?
… you receive a rude email from a non-paying eBay buyer who is irate that you’ve filed a claim against them, because surely it must be your fault that they’ve failed to pay you?
… after packing lunches inbetween running to the bathroom, and getting everyone out the door on time, the neighbor greets you at the bus stop with “Wow, you look like crap”?
I’m thinking that if I had a morning like that, I’d be very grumpy, indeed. Yes.
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In which I cry. Lots.
I was looking forward to my Sunday, today. Sunday mornings are calming. Church is familiar, singing in the choir is a good way to get me going for the day, and it probably doesn’t hurt to get a little dressed up and be out amongst people. It reminds me that my hermit impression is well-developed but not my only choice.
So I was going along on my merry way this morning. About twenty minutes into the service we got to the “sharing of joys and concerns” part, and a friend of mine announced that she’s moving away. Far away. Soon.
When my glasses started fogging up, I realized I was crying.
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For Sale
Murray lawn tractor. Runs great good sometimes in theory. Red. Model SUX B1GT1M. Year unknown, either 1942 or 1943.
Loaded! Features/Accessories: Mulching/bagging system. Multiple repair tags on ignition key. Dead battery (rusted in place). Half a human knuckle on rusted battery terminal. Brand new jumper cables. Full tank of gas. Plenty of oil. Large dent in side where I kicked it.
Location: Halfway between the driveway and the shed, which is as close as it’s getting to being put away.
Price: Negotiable. Free with removal of leaves/pine needles. Will pay handsome sum to the agent who removes the aforementioned and the pines in the front yard.
Contact: Dig under the pine needles until you locate the source of that loud sobbing. Please hurry.
I’m gonna fight the lawn…
… and you’ll have to check back later to see if the lawn wins.
Leaves and pine needles are trembling with anticipation and fear! Oh… wait… that’s laughter. Dammit.
My heart belongs to Raingirl
I swear we actually had this conversation in the car this morning. It was right after I was informed that it’s time to have Chickadee tested for ADD. (I like how her therapist tried to soften the blow by pointing out that part of the testing is an IQ test, so we’ll find out “just how smart she really is,” as if confirmation on paper that she’s a genius will somehow offset the fact that the cards are stacked against her in so many other ways.) Anyway, I was deep in my own thoughts, and this was just what I needed to bring me back to a place where I can love my life for everything it is, rather than despise it for the things that it is not.
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