I'll Have What She's Having

As some of you might recall, last Christmas Santa made the mistake of leaving stuffed puppies which were not identical in the little girls' stockings. They have spent the better part of this year fighting over Rachel's puppy, which happened to have a fetching red bow around its neck and "not-weird" eyes. So, this year Santa once again left very cute stuffed puppies; but this time they were puppies which in no way could be told apart without DNA testing. Problem solved, right?

Naturally, I could not help but be surprised to find Susie screaming and tugging at the puppy in Rachel's arms this afternoon. "Rachel!" I said. "Go find the other puppy and give it to Susie!"

"No!" yelled Susie. "This is mine! Its nose is softer!"

Resisting the urge to pull a King Solomon and cut the coveted toy in half, I located the second puppy, grabbed the first one (the soft-nosed one), and - determined to teach a valuable lesson - mixed them both up behind my back and held them out to the girls. Smug in the knowledge that neither of them could possibly tell those puppies apart, I asked, "Okay, Susie, which is yours?"

That kid didn't miss a beat. "Rachel's!" she said.

Lesson learned - by me, that is. Next year, matching pieces of coal...

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My access to the computer is being severely curtailed by the exigencies of college applications and the fact that a large number of people are showing up in our house tomorrow afternoon for our annual New Year's Open House. The logistics of getting ready for this event are staggering, what with printing out invites, cleaning the house, purchasing food, etc. Larry saw me making the grocery list and said, "Don't forget the pretzels!"

"Anything else?" I asked, anxious for ideas on how best to feed 40 or so guests.

"How about potato chips?" he suggested.

"Why do I think you really believe that all we need to entertain is beer and pretzels and chips?" I wondered aloud.

"Some peanuts would be good, too..."

Sigh. C'mon over to the frat house, y'all; we're having a kegger. Togas optional...

Le'go My Wallet!

Does my font keep getting smaller? Or is my eyesight getting worse? Seems to me everything looks tinier on this page...

I sure wish that would happen to my thighs and stomach - you know, every time I look in the mirror, they'd look smaller...wouldn't that be cool? I should have asked for that for Christmas.

You know how sometimes you get what seems to be a good idea, but it isn't? Yes? Well, today was all about that. The boys wanted to visit the Lego store at a nearby, very upscale mall. Upscale, as in, we couldn't even afford to go to the food court. So Larry and I thought, "What the heck! That sounds like fun!"

I don't know why we thought that. I can't even begin to explain it. We don't like visiting shopping malls even at the best of times, let alone during the week between Christmas and New Year's. Perhaps a surfeit of sugar and other carbs has addled our brains. So we went. It was crowded. There were more people there than I thought existed in the entire world. Since the beginning of time. Really. Remember those pictures of Grant Park on Election Night? That was nothing compared to what we encountered this afternoon.

Many of these people were in the tiny Lego shop. I assume they were all much wealthier than we are, because they were buying things there - expensive things. Brian started weeping because he couldn't buy anything. Perhaps you think it was cruel of us to take him there and then not buy him anything, and you would be right. In our defense, I'll say that we never buy anything there; in the past, he just wanted to go look at all the models and get ideas for building his own stuff at home.

Anyway, Brian was crying, Rachel was complaining that her bottom was itchy (you needed that info, didn't you?), and Susie was trying to take a nap on the floor of the store. So we left.

That was fun, wasn't it? I hope Larry smacks me upside the head if I ever suggest doing that again.

I Just Can't Contain Myself

ByeBye Pie mentioned in her post today that she and her husband spent approximately 33 million dollars on bookcases. I'm guessing that they must have gone to that mecca of suburban consumerism, the Container Store. I went to the Container Store with my husband once. Let me mention here that I was, at the time, 40 weeks pregnant with our fourth child. As in, very pregnant, in a don't-mess-with-me sort of way...

Anyway, there we were, looking for bookcases or some such thing (because at that point we still had just about zero furniture that we hadn't found at the apartment dumpsters on moving day). I was a tad disgruntled to find that each bookcase/shelving unit cost approximately gazillion dollars, but I was still willing to investigate the possibility of spending our children's college educations money on crappy furniture. Or, at least, my husband was, because he was tired of living in a house filled with dumpster specials....

What pushed me over the edge was the realization that, on top of the exorbitant prices it asks for bookcases, the Container Store charged extra for what they termed accessories: such, um, non-essentials as shelves, say, or the hardware to hold up said shelves. In my opinion, this practice is akin to selling a dress and charging extra for the sleeves. Or a car, and charging extra for the steering wheel...

I can't help but feel a little bad for the saleswoman who enlightened me on this matter.

So we left (sans bookshelves, of course). Larry still claims I embarrassed him that day. I claim that the Container Store is the one who (which?) should feel embarrassed, blatantly ripping off customers like that. Sheesh. Or maybe the customers should feel embarrassed, for falling for such a pricing scam...

So we went to the local fake diner instead, where he fed me ice cream to placate my troubled, frugal, pregnant soul and we sat and listened to the woman in the booth behind us regale her companion with a detailed description of her last C-section. It was that sort of a day.

The End

Chanukah, Oh Chanukah...

Christmas is over, so that must mean it's time for a Chanukah party! That's right, folks, here at our house the festivities never stop. Never, ever, ever...

The plan was that we'd invite my best friend, her husband, and their 5 kids (including the newborn) over for a nice, relaxed dinner. Then Uncle Matt said he might show up. Okay, one extra person, no big deal. Then he called last night and said he and Grandma and Grandpa were all making the trip down here. So that's, um, plus 3. Oh, and this morning my friend mentioned her mother was visiting. Four.

Hmmm....

So Larry and I spent the day cleaning up the house, cooking, wiping Susie's runny nose approximately 7 million times, and running errands for all the things I forgot to pick up during my 3 (final) shopping excursions on Wednesday.

Did I mention the plumbers? We invited them too, as unspeakable things were happening in the downstairs shower every time we tried to use the kitchen sink. Yup, it was that sort of a day! Everyone (including the plumbers) showed up at the same time. The fun never stops! The plumbers didn't want to stay and play Dreidel, however. I don't know why.

You know how to upset a teen daughter? Enlist her help in making over one hundred latkes - and then decide that the electric frying pan is smoking up the house too much, and tell her to cook them outside on the deck, in the cold, in full view of any neighbors walking by.

I can't believe she didn't run away.

And To All A Good Night...

Wouldn't you know - the person with the winning gift suggestion for Larry was the one anonymous commenter? Step right up to receive recognition, whoever you are - a movie gift card for the two of us was a great idea. Perhaps, from reading this blog, you realized that the last time Larry and I went to the movies together was, oh, 2 years ago?

Anyway, when Larry opened his 25-dollar gift card, he said, "That's great! I can go twice!" What a joker that guy is! I think he was joking, anyway...

It's hard to believe, but our kids let us sleep in until 7:30 today. It almost made me feel bad for letting the teens hide all the little ones' presents last night. Almost...after all, it made for a relaxing morning for the adults while the children searched for their gifts. Thanks to Octamom (I think) for the suggestion.

Of course, we paid for it by this evening when Brian realized that some of his gifts were still missing. He is sobbing upstairs in his bed right now, as a matter of fact. It's just not a holiday without somebody crying, right?

We watched "It's A Wonderful Life" this afternoon and ate carbs all day. What more could one ask? Tomorrow, unfortunately, will be a bit more hectic. I need to make about 90 latkes for the Chanukah party we're hosting in the evening. I don't even know yet if that is a physical possibility. Then we get to play Botulism Roulette with the homemade applesauce again. I'm telling you, the fun never stops...

Waiting For Santa...

We each open one gift on Christmas Eve (and, yes, I know that's not what the holiday is all about, but we like presents, so chill, will ya?) and I opened the one that Rachel had picked out for me. It was a bright (very) red- and green-sequined change purse, and you could tell that she just knew I'd love it. Also, she put 36 cents in it, to sweeten the deal.

I think this gift will turn out to be my personal lifeline through Rachel's teen years. When she's 13 (and acting like Anna), its mere existence will remind me that, yes, at some point Rachel loved me enough to give me the world's most beautiful change purse, and all her worldly savings, to boot. Although I'm sure she'll catch me looking at it on a particular bad day and say, in a voice dripping with disgust, "Why do you keep that ugly old thing?"

That's okay, sweetie; we'll always have Christmas (2008).

Presents? Oh, Yeah...

For some reason, Larry is cleaning out the fridge. Doesn't he realize he's throwing out tomorrow's post? Now he's muttering something about "dinner." Dinner? Who is he kidding? We had our annual gingerbread-house decorating blowout this afternoon. The kids are stuffed to the gills with candy in various shapes and forms, and my blood sugar level is so messed up I'm seeing double. We don't need dinner - we need insulin. And maybe some tranquilizer dart guns to get the kids to calm down enough to go to bed...

Quick - what do y'all get your husbands for Christmas? Because I still don't have anything for Larry (hmmm, this sounds familiar, doesn't it?), and I'm desperate. Give me some ideas, will ya? Inexpensive ones, of course...

The Day That Disappeared

Every time I decide to abandon routine and be a bit spontaneous, it comes back to bite me. Always. Without fail. Which explains why my entire day yesterday evaporated when I spontaneously decided to go to a friend's house and learn how to make pierogies... By the time I brought the dough and filling home and finished assembling them, it was 5 PM and I realized I had nothing else for dinner; so we ate the pierogies for the first night of Chanukah instead of saving them for Christmas Eve as planned.

I figure I'll make latkes on Christmas Eve, just to complete my poor children's interfaith confusion. Then we'll hang up our stockings, play some Dreidel by the fire, leave jelly doughnuts out for Santa, and go to sleep with visions of Chanukah gelt dancing in our heads. In fact, this approach might be more appropriate than I have heretofore realized, if this news report is at all reliable. (If you're Jewish, click on that - it's funny.)

Susie (aka the preschooler-formerly-known-as-pottytrained) has once again spent her entire day peeing and pooping in her clothes. I swear, she thinks it's a hobby. I asked her why she no longer sits on the potty (because, yes, I am an idiot and think I can get a reasonable answer to that question) and she said, with a shrug, "I just gave up."

Apparently, she's okay with that.

Gosh, A Post About Christmas!

Christmas Pageant last night: Anna's in the Ensemble, so we still had to attend, despite my defection from Angel Duty - plus, I was on the clean-up crew for the party afterwards. I enjoyed the pageant, as I really like sitting in front of 2 women who obviously attended the festivities in order to talk non-stop in non-whispers all through the singing and the instrumental solos and the speaking parts while letting their kids run wild up and down the aisles.

And, no, Larry wouldn't let me turn around and ask them to please speak up, because really, I came to listen to them...he's no fun at all sometimes...

Rachel informed me today that there is no Santa; and I explained that there would also be no presents for her if she ruined things for Susie. So she and Susie went to visit Santa at the pageant (he was there!) and came back with goody bags filled with candy (because, really, there wasn't enough cookies and cake and other junk at the party). Upon seeing the girls' loot, Brian decided he needed to see Santa also; but by the time he got to the head of the line, the elves had run out of bags. I told Brian that's because Santa knew he really didn't believe in him.

Okay, no, I didn't; but I wanted to.

Anna has been doing her best to make me feel lousy the last 2 days, and it's working. Thanks, sweetheart. As if being 45 and turning gray and being 15 pounds overweight isn't enough, I need to have someone looking at me with disgust all the time. And when she looks annoyed when she hears my voice, well...it just makes my heart sing. I made sure to whistle Christmas carols as I drove her home from the pageant. She likes that.

Stealing Sucks

Dear Not-Nice Person Who Took My Stuff,

If you are starving, or if you have kids who otherwise will not receive any Christmas presents, I have nothing against your Ebaying the contents of the bag you found on a mall bench last night.

Otherwise, however, you are a true lowlife. There was a Lands End return slip in that bag - you could have taken it over to Sears (as my daughter was about to do for me) and turned it in. Or you could have brought it to the mall management office. That's what I would have done. You know why I would have done that? Because the stuff in the bag wouldn't have been mine. Yeah. You took someone else's stuff. As in, it's not yours.

Maybe you just happen to be a size 6 (petite) and decided you'd like to wear the clothes yourself. Well, be forewarned: when you bend over in those pants, people can see your butt. I hope everyone sees your butt and laughs at you. Yeah. And those white blouses (2 different sizes) that I ordered for my daughter to try for her orchestra performance and that she didn't like (not that she likes anything I pick out)? I hope the first time you wear them, you spill stuff on them that stains and doesn't come off.

Why? Because those clothes aren't yours, that's why. They were mine, and I was about to return them and be refunded my money. Money that I've been working hard for, thanks. Somehow, when I took that job at the bookstore, I didn't think I'd be spending all the money I earned the first 2 weeks to clothe a perfect stranger. I mean, I believe in tithing and all; just not 100 percent, all right?

Forget the job - I think I'll just cruise the mall and take other people's stuff. Why work?

As The Food Turns: Skipped Week Edition

Before I begin with my semi-regular refrigerator cleansing, I would just like to say that I am stunned by the number of people cruising the Internet looking for Santa jokes this week. I wish I could think of another one...

I missed a week, didn't I? Maybe because I am tired of embarrassing myself in front of the entire blogosphere all the time, okay? But as this seems to be the only way for my fridge to get cleaned out, I'm back to being humiliated. I regard this process as an expiatory exercise, akin to the Rite of Reconciliation (Confession, for you old-timers) in the Catholic Church.

Forgive me, Father, for I have wasted food.
You are forgiven, child; go forth and waste no more! Oh, and for penance, you must display to the world pictures of your profligacy.

In the front you can see our produce contestants this week: a forgotten bag of baby carrots, a dried bunch of cilantro (I think) and a dried bunch of something else green, and 2 apples. Could someone please explain to me how pioneer families kept bushels of apples fresh over the winter in their root cellars if I can't keep apples for 6 weeks in my fridge? I don't get it.

Moving on: hiding behind the produce is a saucepan of leftover hot cocoa. I would have heated it up, but I could never find a time when I wouldn't have to divide evenly, 6 ways, what little is left in there. I'd rather throw it out. Sorry. I am unrepentant on that one.

As you can see, I have segregated my leftover containers - glass on the left, plastic on the right. Perhaps in a non-fallen world the glass and the plastic would stack peaceably together; but, as we still live in a society riven by superficial differences, they are piled separately. To the left, from the top, are remnants of cooked broccoli, some tomato sauce (no idea where that came from), and cooked green beans (produce does seem to be the theme this week). On the right are the separate but equal containers of oatmeal, rice, tuna salad dregs (bleccch), and jello. Can jello go bad? Anyone?

Okay, I found another Santa joke (again, courtesy of Prairie Home Companion): Did you hear about the dyslexic devil worshipper?



He sold his soul to Santa. Ba-da-bum...

Really!?!

With apologies to SNL, here's my take (only, um, not as funny) on "Really!?! with Seth and Amy":

Anna, really? You've been cleaning up the kitchen since you were 8 or 9, and you thought it was okay to leave the unwrapped sliced French bread out on the cutting board? Really? And that canned pineapple juice mess spilled on the counter? That's okay, too? Really? You know, the part that is really sticky? That just didn't need any attention? Really?

David, we always run the dishwasher after lunch. But tonight you just assumed that that full, clean dishwasher was full of dirty dishes? Really? And then you thought it was okay to sort of pile most of the dirty dinner dishes in on top of them? Really? And leave the rest in the sink for me to do later, or tomorrow? Do I ever look happy in the morning facing a sink full of dirty dishes? Really? Does anyone around here remember that Christmas is coming? Does anyone recognize that statement as a veiled threat? Really!

Larry, really? 3 hours spent on the main floor of the house this evening, and you never noticed the mess in the kitchen? Really? You didn't grab a drink of water, or set up your coffee pot for the morning? Maybe you were too busy looking at things like this on the Internet? Just for your info, I don't think I'd look good in those. Really. And then you're puzzled why I didn't get back to bed until after midnight? Really? Maybe you think I like to do dishes at 11 PM? Are you just trying to make me happy? Really?!

Suburban Correspondent, did you really think you would get away with falling asleep early? Really? After all these years, did you really assume that everything would be okay in that kitchen? Was the evening nap worth it? Really?


Thanks. Just had to get that off my chest. Really.

Bad Santa Jokes

For some reason Larry left the sponge mop I use for work in the kitchen (because, maybe, he didn't like it floating around his car?). When Rachel spotted it in the kitchen, she got all excited. "Mommy!" she said. "You could use that here in the house, too!"

Well, yes - that would be nice for a change, wouldn't it? Do you think Larry put her up to that suggestion?

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Speaking of slovenly housekeeping practices, did you know that the smell of a dirty stove drip pan (heated to "high") in the kitchen mingling with the aroma of fresh Christmas tree in the living room can produce an odor noxious enough to make one think (if one is as leery of gas appliances as I am) that the gas fireplace is about to explode?

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Oh, and speaking of fireplaces (don't you admire how I segue effortlessly from one subject to another?), I've come up with a new way to torment my children. You see, I know my Rachel - she probably figures she doesn't have to be good - she can just trick Santa into thinking she's been good. Ha! I'll just tell her that if I feel she doesn't deserve any presents from Santa, I'll just leave the fireplace lit on Christmas Eve.

As Calvin said, "Santa flambe?!" [Sorry, can't find a link to that particular strip]

Then again, Rachel might be intrigued by the concept. Never mind.

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And I'll leave you with my favorite Santa joke (as heard on Prairie Home Companion a number of years ago):

Q: Why does Santa always chuckle, "Ho, ho, ho!"?

A: Because he knows where all the naughty girls live...

NOT About The Holidays

When out driving with the children, make sure to refrain from pointing out a roadside flock of birdies until you ascertain that they are indeed a cute bunch of feathered friends and not a mob of turkey vultures ripping apart a roadkill carcass. The latter, apparently, can be a bit traumatic for the younger set. And for any vegetarians you might be transporting.

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Let's hear it for emergency C-sections! My best friend gave birth early this morning to a 9-pound baby girl - with a prolapsed cord. A very frightening scenario, indeed. But all's well that ends well, as they say...she's now got the cutest little angel in her arms. This is her fifth birth, but first C-section; and she's a bit overwhelmed by how much pain she is in. Can any of you out there give good advice for recovering from a Caesarean? It would be like a baby shower, blogging style.

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It is not yet clear whether Larry and I will still be talking to each other by the end of this joyous holiday season. It depends upon which wins out - the maturity to be expected of a middle-aged adult or my tendency toward holding petty grievances. Has anyone else noticed that the longer you are married, the stupider the arguments can get?

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Anna had a flute recital tonight. There was a couple of hours of pleasant music-making, followed by some refreshments. Or, from the kids' point of view, there were two hours of agonized waiting (involving lots of shushing), followed by copious amounts of cookies and juice. I think Anna's teacher learned tonight not to record a recital held in a church with wooden pews - my kids managed to add quite a few percussive effects to the soundtrack. And, no, I don't know why Brian had those golf balls in his raincoat pocket...

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Time to be off to bed. Aren't you impressed that I didn't waste your time complaining about Christmas tonight?

Grumpiness Explained

(Sniff.) Bia called me a grumpypants in the comments yesterday. Bia, for those among you who are unfortunate enough not to know her yet, is such a warm, motherly, Italian type that her blog practically smells like fresh-baked cookies. In her blog, she talks about such things as family nights, her sainted Nonna, and how to get along in a big Italian family. If I could be anyone else in this life, I would be her. I mean, I would be she. Whichever....

Anyway, Bia was understandably appalled at my un-Christmas-y attitude yesterday. Let me say in my defense that I used to love the holiday season. I would like nothing more than to be the sort of person whose house is decorated, whose cookies are baked, and whose children are all in fresh matching jammies for those Christmas morning pictures by the tree.

In fact, I've spent the past 17 years telling myself that, once there was no longer a baby in the house (like, say, this year), I would be able to pull off the Christmas I'd always dreamed of. Not fancy, of course - but warm, and homey, with lots of baking and festivities. And nobody spitting up on my shoulder.

But I woke up yesterday morning and realized that

1. my Christmas cards weren't done,

2. I had to bake cookies for no less than 3 separate events in the next week (plus make special decorating frosting for the girls' club cookie-making extravaganza),

3. I had not even begun to think about the baked goods for our relatives' Christmas boxes

4. There were no latkes made and stored in my freezer for the Chanukah party that is less than 2 weeks away

5. I had bought gifts for the kids, but I had no idea for which ones nor how many

6. I'm still in charge of all the day-to-day details of the lives of 8 people here (bathing, feeding, clothing, etc), in addition to my holiday duties

There's more, but I think you get the idea. Are some women just born with the Christmas gene, or what? It's not as if I'm aiming high here - we're talking presents, cards, and cookies, folks. That's as basic as it can get.

So, forgive me, Bia, for grumping. I'm just incredibly jealous. And mystified...how do you do it?


Oh, and if you do come by with those store-bought cookies you offered, could you get them at an Italian bakery? I like those best.

Take Back The Holidays

You wanna know how I'm feeling? Screw Christmas. Screw Chanukah, too. Folks, I've come to realize that the holiday-tradition bar has been set way too high for a mere mortal like myself. Really. Game over. Holidays are supposed to be fun, remember?

I hereby resolve to:

1. Quit the church Christmas pageant. Rachel and Brian no longer want to participate. And I never really wanted to be in charge of Angels (Group 1) anyway. Screw it.

2. Forget the house. It will never be any cleaner than it is now. Screw that, too.

3. Buy a Christmas tree at Home Depot. Unless you're tramping out into the snowy woods and cutting down your own wild tree, it ain't traditional. Don't freeze your butts off at a Christmas tree farm - don't you realize that's where the trees at Home Depot come from? And they're cheaper at the store, too. Duh.

4. Summon all the kids into the (messy) living room, plop them down on the couch without regard to size/age order, and snap a picture. No matching clothes, no neatly combed hair, nothing. Reality photo cards, folks - they're all the rage.

5. Our second annual New Year's Party? Still on. Anyone who doesn't appreciate pre-made guacamole from Trader Joe's and Hebrew National frozen hotdogs in biscuit dough can just stay home. I'll heat up the hotdogs, though. Maybe.

6. Fancy Christmas dinner? Why? We just had turkey and stuffing on Thanksgiving, right? Have it more than once a year and no one will appreciate it. I think we'll just have cookies and candy canes that day, thanks. That's all the kids really want, anyway.


7. My holiday table will most emphatically not look like the picture above. I have nothing against beautiful, holiday-themed quilted table runners with matching Christmas china and (gasp!) napkins all the same color. In fact, I admire people who set their tables this way. But I have come to accept that such a layout is not within my capability to pull off. Ever.



8. Meaningful, appropriate gift-giving is now banned. I'm giving people whatever is convenient. A beer-bottle opener for the 6-year-old? Why not? Apparently, she likes beer. 5 homemade scarves to be divided among 10 people? Hey - half of the recipients probably don't even want a dorky-looking handknit muffler, anyway. I'm thinking this could be a lot of fun. Stay tuned for gift-giving ideas for and from the teen set.




9. Latkes for Chanukah? I'm using the mix, straight from the box. I'd use frozen, but those taste really bad. Chanukah gifts? Cold, hard cash - er, I mean, gelt. Chanukah gelt. And dreidels? They're around here somewhere - Lord knows, I'm always running across one in the silverware drawer or on a bookshelf until the day before Chanukah, when they all magically disappear until January.

10. Hah! Screw it. I can't think of #10, and Theo wants the computer to fill out college applications or some such nonsense. Can't he see I'm blogging?

Fellow holiday slackers, feel free to share your own resolutions in the comments. No Martha Stewart wanna-be's allowed. This site is for Christmas/Chanukah slackers only. Got it? Good.

Miscellaneous Miscellany

I took yesterday off, because things were stupidly crazy around here; but you know what? I would rather have been blogging.

I know - it's sad.

After 17 years of keeping house, I'm particular about the tools I use. So, no more pushing that ugly, stringy, industrial-sized behemoth of a mop around the bookstore floors. I'm fast and efficient with the cute little sponge mop I brought in to work with me yesterday. The supervisor was only a bit taken aback by my supplying my own cleaning equipment. Wait 'til he meets my Swiffer...

Bunko tonight - I lost, but I ate lots of food to make up for it.

Hello? Whoever decided that high school seniors should be working on college applications precisely when their mothers are engulfed by the holiday rush? You are a very evil person. This unfortunate confluence of events may push me right off the knife-edge of sanity where I currently reside.

Blogger won't let me load photos tonight. Blogger hates me.

Rachel had something Susie wanted, so Susie said, "Rachel, give it to me!" And Rachel said, "No!" and Susie said, "You have to!" And Rachel said, "Why?" And Susie said, "Cause if you don't, I'll be crying..."

That girl has our number, methinks.

Maybe I'll go to bed before midnight tonight, just for a change. See y'all in the morning!

As The Food Turns: Saturday Edition

Look - I really don't want to talk about it, all right? No item-by-item list this week; I'll just leave it all to your imaginations. But that jam jar on the top right? You're right - you have seen it before.

I blame Thanksgiving for the shameful fridge-cleanout results this week. And my parents' visiting and taking us out to dinner for a few nights. And just the general chaos of life. And, hey! I started a new job, too! So cut me some slack, will ya?

Why Convents Are A Good Idea

I let Anna bike alone to the library yesterday. She returned a few hours later with the exciting news that a strange man in a red pick-up truck had stopped and asked her if she were from Czechoslovakia (I spelled that right the first try, thanks).

Me [mentally clutching heart]: And you kept biking, right?
Her: And I said I wasn't from Czechoslovakia...
Me: And then you biked away!
Her: No-o-o-o. And then he said, "Well, you look very pretty anyway." Isn't that neat?
Me: And? And?
Her: Then he got back in his truck and drove away.
Me:
Her: He was very nice!

Yes, most serial killers are, aren't they?

And no, she's not biking alone again. Ever.

Dream On

I admit it - I didn't clean out the fridge yesterday. My negligence came back to haunt me in my dreams last night (what is it with all these dreams, anyway?). There were leftovers everywhere; I turned on the oven to preheat it and discovered (too late) that there were Pyrex storage dishes full of food in the oven, their plastic lids melting in the heat. Opening the refrigerator, I found single-serving cups of yogurt far advanced enough in the fermentation process to have burst through their foil tops. There was an entire dinner entree that I had no memory whatsoever of preparing. Larry walked into this scene of housekeeping carnage and said something to the effect of, "What is wrong with you, anyway?"

(A side note here: in the dream, I had to yell at David for attempting to save one of the aforementioned yogurts from the trash. His packrat tendencies irritate me, even in my sleep.)

Is there no rest for the weary? Is anyone else out there tormented at night by their daytime housekeeping inadequacies? Inquiring minds want to know...

Dream Weaver

Last night I dreamed that Larry moved all of us to Central America for a few years. To some small, nowhere town in the mountains (Are there mountains in Central America? Must check), where no one knew any English. And we don't speak Spanish. I expressed some trepidation over this situation and he said, "Don't worry, honey. The language immersion will be great for the kids."

Only a homeschooler would dream that.

Anyway, the day after we moved to this strange place where we couldn't communicate with anyone, he went on a 3-week business trip.

But he left us presents. I got a kit full of hand- and ankle-weights.

So maybe he thinks I need more exercise and that I talk to my friends too much. But I do think he should keep those thoughts to his own dreams and stop interfering in mine, don't you?



Boy, that picture looks weird. Was everyone on drugs in the 70's, or what?

Shopping and Knitting and Puppies!

I took 3 daughters to the mall today to help Anna find a dressy white blouse for Anna for her concert. No, it wasn't easy; but mothering girls is not for the weak. If you can't stand the heat, get the heck out of the shopping center, all right?

We emerged from the mall victorious. And then I came home to undone laundry, a half-done dinner, and general chaos all around. Because I wouldn't want to feel like a success or anything...

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Orchestra carpool tonight - that meant that I had almost 3 hours to sit around and knit. This is why it is a good idea to encourage musical interest in your progeny.

Although you do have to give up some of your yarn money for those darn lessons....[oh, hey, no pun intended - but that was pretty good, wasn't it?]

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If I don't remember to get the recycling out on time tomorrow morning, I am going to have to buy a new house to live in that isn't filled with old newspapers or empty plastic bottles. But at least that isn't as embarrassing a reason for a forced new-house purchase as this one. It's hard to feel sorry for these people, I must say. Anyone stupid enough to e-mail naked pictures of herself to her husband's cell phone and then be surprised that other people saw them deserves online infamy. And now they are suing people over it. I hope the judge laughs at them and tells them to go away. Oh, and confiscates their cell phones, also...

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While I finished preparing dinner, I kept the younger kids busy by letting them watch this puppy-cam site. Anna, hearing them oohing and aahing over the fluffy little things, said, "Isn't it sort of pathetic that they have electronic pets?"

I can't imagine where she gets that sardonic wit from.

Awww - I just went to the site again to copy the link, and all the widdle puppies are settling down to sleep....

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Have you noticed? I don't think anyone has thrown up here since July 4th. That must be some sort of a record. I might even have to take "Vomit!" off my header. Gladly.