Broken Dreams

As most long-time readers here know, I am a short, busty person who desperately misses her waist. I have mostly made my peace with this situation; but sometimes - as I waste time on the Internet looking longingly at clothing and knitting patterns that will never, ever look right on me - I allow myself to fantasize that I am tall and lithe. I pretend that I, too, can wear those long cardigans, those curvacious slim tees, those wide ponchos...oh, the list of forbidden fashion goes on and on.

This picture still makes me feel wistful.

During one of these bouts of delusion, I purchased some very pretty harem pants online - you know, just something comfy to wear around the house, instead of jeans. When they arrived, I pulled them on, reveling in their elastic waist, capacious legs, and overall elegant design. My bliss lasted about half an hour, when Brian walked into the kitchen. Seeing me sporting my newest fashion purchase, he asked, "What is THAT?"

"Harem pants," I said. "Aren't they fun?"

And my son, who has never uttered even one word of fashion advice to me, ever, said, "Um, no. Those are wrong."

Sigh. Out of the mouths of babes, I guess....

I've gifted the pants, reluctantly, to my non-midget oldest daughter Anna. Being all of 5' 5'', she'll look smashing in them. And I will continue to hope that reincarnation is really a thing - that way, I can come back as a person who can actually carry off harem pants.





[Harem pants image: Harem Pants]

FAFSA, SHMAFSA

Disorganized people shouldn't sponsor giveaways, I'm thinking. Luckily, someone commented yesterday and mentioned it, at which point I thought, "Oh, yes! I'm doing that!" So I pulled out the trusty random-number generator and it gave me a 5. That means that Common Household Mom has won my copy of Wild, so if she will just email me her address, I can send it her way.

In other news, Larry managed to fix our dryer (again), so we have averted any marriage-threatening appliance decisions, at least for the foreseeable future. Whew! And, yes, Larry's becoming downright handy in his middle age. That's what homeowning will do to you eventually, I guess.

Who needs these when you have handknits?

I didn't blog last week, because I was supposed to be doing our taxes. I didn't do those either, actually. I did get some knitting done, however, so while Anna might not be able to file a FAFSA, she'll have some wonderful fingerless mitts to wear while she begs for college money on the street.

Auditions! I auditioned for Listen To Your Mother yesterday. I ended up writing a whole new piece (all about vomit!), because I didn't want to look lazy; but, once I walked in there, it sounded as if they wanted to hear about the decapitated stuffed animal heads again. I ended up reading them both, so they could pick. I'm all about choice.

And NOW won't I feel silly if I am not selected? I had 2 TRIES this year. I will take that as a sign from above that I am not cut out for this sort of thing. Because I really doubt that Radio Lab or The Moth will ever sponsor a show about recalcitrant 4-year-olds and the hapless parents who raise them.

Dare To (Let Your Spouse) Repair

Looks as though I am further behind on book giveaways than I thought: I just stumbled across 2 of the books I read last summer during our vacation. Oh, well, better late than never, right?

The first book I read while reclining in our thankfully stinkbug-free camper was Wild, by Cheryl Strayed. Now, I am not even sure why I read this particular book in the first place, as I had spent at least a year assuming the author was just another self-absorbed twenty-something who had nothing better to do than waste her time wandering around some hiking trails out West. Making snap judgments about reading material might not be a good idea, however, because it turns out that Strayed had a really good story to tell and was fairly self-deprecating in the process. Also? Good writing.

So, yeah, DON'T judge a book by its cover. Kudos to me for just figuring that out at the age of 52. If there is anyone left who hasn't read this book, comment on this post and I'll pick someone (randomly) on Saturday, okay?

In other news, our dryer broke again. I mean, not completely, but when we use it, it leaves grease stains on clothes, because some sort of felt gasket around the drum fell out. Desperate to avoid the hell that is choosing a new appliance, I looked up the model number, found the part, and ordered it.

I know! I hardly recognize myself.

The website where I ordered the part featured a video on how to take apart the dryer and put the gasket in. I'll let Larry do that, though, because I don't want him to feel left out of this process. It's all about empowerment, you know...





[Dare to Repair image: Marie Claire]

Any Favorites?

Well, it's that time of year again - you know, when I ask for help figuring out what subject to use for my Listen To Your Mother audition. Last year it was Rachel's reign of terror, with the decapitated stuffed animals and the toilet-stuffing and all that, and really, that piece came out great, but I am not sure whether I am allowed to use it again or I should maybe cobble together something from all my posts concerning regurgitation. It could be a sort of vomit retrospective, with an emphasis on the advisability of puking in place and the nightmare that is a top bunk covered in your formerly adorable child's dinner.

Vomit is pretty much my muse, really.

You know, it is so much fun crafting these essays and reading them out loud, I don't think I will even care much if I am passed over once again. Last year I lost to a GUY, for heaven's sake, and to several women who had actually meaningful stories to tell. And, yes, I am jealous, not because I wasn't chosen but because - unlike all these other mothers - my life consists primarily of chaos, with no meaning whatsoever; at least, none that I can discern.

I guess they still wouldn't want to hear about my refrigerator, eh?  Too bad, I've got tons of material for that...

In other news,

Brian's new alarm clock works (FOR NOW). I give it a year. It looks very spiffy, though.

Our handyman came by to put in some trim by our new front door, took one look at the mess Larry's made of his remodeled laundry room, and spent 5 hours down there re-organizing it. I sure hope that guy outlives us. I also hope we don't run out of money paying him for his services.

It snowed again, but it didn't stick. I don't even care, which means I am getting old. And boring.

Disorganized as Larry and I are, we actually managed to reserve last year's camping spot in Acadia for this coming summer; let me tell you, it feels weird not to be arguing for months over where we are going for vacation. True, my plan of towing the camper cross-country to see the national parks in Utah was not very practical. But, hey, a gal's got to dream sometimes, right?

I've actually read a few books over the past month - giveaways coming soon!




[Books image: Clipart Panda]

Time Travel

"I need a new alarm clock," Brian told me today.

"Why? You HAVE one," I said, still smarting from a $1200 car repair bill for our 12-year-old minivan.

"Yes, but I can't set the alarm," Brian said. "I push the hour button and nothing happens."

"Darn it, these clocks always break!" I ranted. "I can't even TELL you how many times I've spent 10 or even 15 dollars on these things, and they never last! I mean, what's the point of even trying another one?"

"MOM," my preternaturally patient teen said, "maybe if you bought one that costs MORE than $15, it might work?"

You know, the kid might have a point. I mean, I keep forgetting it isn't 1988 anymore.  So we went on Amazon and spent a whopping $23 on an alarm clock.

Very futuristic looking. I can't figure out how the numbers get on there.

And it better work, or no one in this house is ever getting a new clock again.