[Any of you who have wandered over here from The Well-Trained Mind forum: just type "fridge" into the search bar at the top left and you will find what you are looking for.]
After nagging my husband into joining us at the pool this afternoon, I began feeling seriously unwell. So, I left him there. (Good thing we came in 2 vans). I'm sure Larry thinks I lured him to the pool with the intention of leaving him alone with the 4 youngest while I went home and took a nap.
It was a great (3-hour) nap, though. I don't know what hit me. Maybe an entire summer's worth of sunscreen and swim towels and Italian ices, all at once. And I just had to lie down.
We are leaving on Monday for a whole week, which means I need to spend all day tomorrow cooking and freezing dinners, doing laundry, and planning which knitting I need to bring. This last is a very involved process that necessitates itemizing all the yarn I own, perusing all my available patterns (including free ones on the Web), and (quite possibly) making a few trips to Michaels and to the bookstore to pick up more yarn, or patterns, or the right-size needles (which I have but can't find).
And then there is the trip to Target for more underwear. And some envelopes for the books I am finally going to mail. (If you click on that last link, you can still sign up for this week's Bloggy Book Club giveaway.) And some treats to bribe the kids with in the car. And icepacks for the cooler. And...
Actually, I bet there will be 2 trips to Target. I am not the most organized person in the world.
Oh, and then I have to clean the whole house, because heaven forbid we all die on the road...
Showing posts with label vacation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vacation. Show all posts
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Think Up Your Own Damn Title
This was supposed to be Saturday's post, but Larry hogged the computer all day yesterday trying to straighten out our finances. You see, I threw a teeny-tiny hissy fit in the morning and told him I wanted to leave town for more than 3 days and that I wasn't going to spend a week in a tent. And I didn't care if I already spent our vacation money on someone else's bumper, I need to escape in August just like everyone else does around here, dammit.
So, he picked up on my subtle intimations of discontent (probably at the point when I threatened to dissolve the kids' college funds) and spent the day combing through our finances looking for some "extra" money. While he was at it, he attempted to deal with the confusion of our main credit card being farmed out to some new company that we didn't want; but that involved switching all our automatic payments over to a different credit card, and that meant trying to remember approximately 16 gazillion different passwords and PINs in order to access all the different accounts.
I hate seeing a grown man cry like that.
So I decided to deal with a minor knitting crisis while I waited my turn at the computer. You see, Anna's flute camp had a performance Friday evening; and knitting is the only thing that keeps me from acting up like a 3-year-old at these things, as it is all I can do to sit still through any sort of performance (much less a high school one) without sedation. But as I settled in my seat in the auditorium and pulled out the sock I was planning to work on, I realized that 1 of the 4 double-pointed needles I needed was missing.
Folks, I felt as if I had just jumped out of a plane without a parachute. There I was, with nothing to do for 3 solid hours. I whiled away an hour of it retracing my steps and searching for my missing needle (size 0, bamboo - have you seen it?). That was fun, if unsuccessful. Then I spent the 2nd hour repeatedly taking Susie (who was behaving way better than I was) down to the water fountain and back up to our seats (that's what you get for feeding the kids high-sodium-content fast food before the performance). The 3rd hour, I slumped in my seat and mourned all that lost knitting time.
So today I had to rummage through all my knitting bags (and they are legion) to locate the 5th matching needle. As any knitter knows, this sort of exercise is rife with regrets and self-condemnation, as it requires facing up to innumerable unfinished projects and a level of disorganization that makes the inside of my refrigerator look good. I unearthed things I didn't even know I had: 2 baby hats that I finished for Afghans for Afghans and then forgot to send; a vest I knitted for Rachel and never completed the neck edging on; a pair of socks that only need the ends woven in; a top-down hat that I started last October; and a bunch of yarn that I was supposed to have made into a mistake-rib scarf months ago. There were also assorted needles of indeterminate sizes, many tape measures, crumpled printouts of patterns, an old bag of cough drops, a comb, and a petrified french fry.
So I did what any self-respecting knitter would do. I gave up and started a new project. I sat upstairs and knitted Susie to sleep, as it were; and when I came down, I found Larry sitting disconsolately in his chair, surrounded - nay, engulfed - by a year's worth of paperwork. "Everything's a mess," he said. "I'm a slob. I can't find anything."
What can I say? We're a match made in heaven.
Oh, and in case any of you thought I was exaggerating the dismal outlook for women in their forties the other day, think again. For those of you who are click-averse, that link is to an msnbc article that is titled
Men End Up Happier Than Women Later In Life
Just remember, you heard it here first. The article mentions that age 48 is when "men's overall happiness exceeds women's overall happiness." Now, that makes perfect sense to me. That's just the point in life when many men dump their menopausal ball-and-chains to take off with some strumpet half their age. Is it any wonder the guys' happiness exceeds ours at that point?
Of course, I'm not too worried about that happening to me, what with the deal Larry and I have worked out.
So, he picked up on my subtle intimations of discontent (probably at the point when I threatened to dissolve the kids' college funds) and spent the day combing through our finances looking for some "extra" money. While he was at it, he attempted to deal with the confusion of our main credit card being farmed out to some new company that we didn't want; but that involved switching all our automatic payments over to a different credit card, and that meant trying to remember approximately 16 gazillion different passwords and PINs in order to access all the different accounts.
I hate seeing a grown man cry like that.
So I decided to deal with a minor knitting crisis while I waited my turn at the computer. You see, Anna's flute camp had a performance Friday evening; and knitting is the only thing that keeps me from acting up like a 3-year-old at these things, as it is all I can do to sit still through any sort of performance (much less a high school one) without sedation. But as I settled in my seat in the auditorium and pulled out the sock I was planning to work on, I realized that 1 of the 4 double-pointed needles I needed was missing.
Folks, I felt as if I had just jumped out of a plane without a parachute. There I was, with nothing to do for 3 solid hours. I whiled away an hour of it retracing my steps and searching for my missing needle (size 0, bamboo - have you seen it?). That was fun, if unsuccessful. Then I spent the 2nd hour repeatedly taking Susie (who was behaving way better than I was) down to the water fountain and back up to our seats (that's what you get for feeding the kids high-sodium-content fast food before the performance). The 3rd hour, I slumped in my seat and mourned all that lost knitting time.
So today I had to rummage through all my knitting bags (and they are legion) to locate the 5th matching needle. As any knitter knows, this sort of exercise is rife with regrets and self-condemnation, as it requires facing up to innumerable unfinished projects and a level of disorganization that makes the inside of my refrigerator look good. I unearthed things I didn't even know I had: 2 baby hats that I finished for Afghans for Afghans and then forgot to send; a vest I knitted for Rachel and never completed the neck edging on; a pair of socks that only need the ends woven in; a top-down hat that I started last October; and a bunch of yarn that I was supposed to have made into a mistake-rib scarf months ago. There were also assorted needles of indeterminate sizes, many tape measures, crumpled printouts of patterns, an old bag of cough drops, a comb, and a petrified french fry.
So I did what any self-respecting knitter would do. I gave up and started a new project. I sat upstairs and knitted Susie to sleep, as it were; and when I came down, I found Larry sitting disconsolately in his chair, surrounded - nay, engulfed - by a year's worth of paperwork. "Everything's a mess," he said. "I'm a slob. I can't find anything."
What can I say? We're a match made in heaven.
Oh, and in case any of you thought I was exaggerating the dismal outlook for women in their forties the other day, think again. For those of you who are click-averse, that link is to an msnbc article that is titled
Men End Up Happier Than Women Later In Life
Of course, I'm not too worried about that happening to me, what with the deal Larry and I have worked out.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Beach Joys
Whew! Okay, missed a day. You see, being sick and all, I decided we didn't have anything better to do than go ahead with our plans to make a day trip to the beach, 3 hours away. I felt like hell and probably would have rescheduled; but Larry had hemmed and hawed about being able to take a day off next week instead, so I said, "Fine. We'll stick to this week. Who cares if it kills me?" Because no one can be passive-aggressive like a Jewish wife/mother...
Anna opted, once again, to stay home and hang with her best friend's family for the day. We wasted no energy cajoling her to join us, as her staying home meant we wouldn't have to take 2 cars and thereby saved us about 60 dollars in gas money. Sometimes an alienated teen can be a useful thing to have. Also, her staying home meant that she wasn't sitting with us all day, dementor-like, sucking away any enjoyment we might be deriving from watching the younger ones frolic in the sand and surf.
Not that that bothers me, or anything...
So we packed up the 2 boogie boards, and the cooler full of food, and the 2 cute little beach chairs I got for the girls for only 5 dollars each; and we didn't pack the beach umbrella, which had mysteriously disappeared since last year, and we set off in search of some summer fun. I knitted all the way there, which was nice, even if I did have a sore throat, and laryngitis, and was sleep-deprived because either Susie or I kept waking up coughing for the previous 2 nights. But no problem, really.
We even remembered to bring Larry's new kite. I've mentioned before how flying kites isn't Larry's strong suit, but how he nevertheless persists in his dream of finally getting one of these contraptions aloft. As I am the sort of wife that believes in encouraging her husband in his aspirations, I gave him a real kite (as in, it cost more than 3 dollars and didn't come from Target) for Father's Day. He and the kids were sure that this would finally be the day that they would enjoy the family-bonding experience of kite-flying at the beach.
You know I'm giving it this build-up for a reason, right?
According to the company we bought the kite from, the kite we purchased is perfect for beginners and foolproof to fly. Foolproof, my a**. You'd think the thing was made of lead, the way it insisted on hugging the ground.
So now I hate the kite people for lying to me. You would, too, if you had to stand there for half an hour watching your 11-year-old son attempt to make this thing take the air; and then watch him cry when he couldn't do it. I made elaborate plans to return the purported flying apparatus with an irate note for the prevaricators in the catalog-writing department; but then Larry effectively put the kibosh on that idea by accidentally breaking the kite while packing up the van later.
As far as flying kites goes, my spouse is still the Charlie Browniest.
Other than the kite-flying debacle, however, the day was great. We took a zillion pictures, Susie looked extremely cute napping in her new little chair, and I was happy not to be home feeling as though I should be cleaning something. I would say the beach was wall-to-wall people, only beaches don't have walls. Let's just say it was super crowded with great masses of humanity; and I can't help feeling that, after spending a day observing these great masses, there should be some sort of rules on just who, exactly, is allowed to wear a bikini.
We stopped at Burger King for dinner on the way back, just to make our beach vacation complete. And then I came home to lots of comments on my post about business executives feeling the pinch. Maybe I should send in some low-cost vacation ideas to the WSJ. Do you think their readers know to order from the Dollar Menu?
Anna opted, once again, to stay home and hang with her best friend's family for the day. We wasted no energy cajoling her to join us, as her staying home meant we wouldn't have to take 2 cars and thereby saved us about 60 dollars in gas money. Sometimes an alienated teen can be a useful thing to have. Also, her staying home meant that she wasn't sitting with us all day, dementor-like, sucking away any enjoyment we might be deriving from watching the younger ones frolic in the sand and surf.
Not that that bothers me, or anything...
So we packed up the 2 boogie boards, and the cooler full of food, and the 2 cute little beach chairs I got for the girls for only 5 dollars each; and we didn't pack the beach umbrella, which had mysteriously disappeared since last year, and we set off in search of some summer fun. I knitted all the way there, which was nice, even if I did have a sore throat, and laryngitis, and was sleep-deprived because either Susie or I kept waking up coughing for the previous 2 nights. But no problem, really.
We even remembered to bring Larry's new kite. I've mentioned before how flying kites isn't Larry's strong suit, but how he nevertheless persists in his dream of finally getting one of these contraptions aloft. As I am the sort of wife that believes in encouraging her husband in his aspirations, I gave him a real kite (as in, it cost more than 3 dollars and didn't come from Target) for Father's Day. He and the kids were sure that this would finally be the day that they would enjoy the family-bonding experience of kite-flying at the beach.
You know I'm giving it this build-up for a reason, right?
According to the company we bought the kite from, the kite we purchased is perfect for beginners and foolproof to fly. Foolproof, my a**. You'd think the thing was made of lead, the way it insisted on hugging the ground.
So now I hate the kite people for lying to me. You would, too, if you had to stand there for half an hour watching your 11-year-old son attempt to make this thing take the air; and then watch him cry when he couldn't do it. I made elaborate plans to return the purported flying apparatus with an irate note for the prevaricators in the catalog-writing department; but then Larry effectively put the kibosh on that idea by accidentally breaking the kite while packing up the van later.
As far as flying kites goes, my spouse is still the Charlie Browniest.
Other than the kite-flying debacle, however, the day was great. We took a zillion pictures, Susie looked extremely cute napping in her new little chair, and I was happy not to be home feeling as though I should be cleaning something. I would say the beach was wall-to-wall people, only beaches don't have walls. Let's just say it was super crowded with great masses of humanity; and I can't help feeling that, after spending a day observing these great masses, there should be some sort of rules on just who, exactly, is allowed to wear a bikini.
We stopped at Burger King for dinner on the way back, just to make our beach vacation complete. And then I came home to lots of comments on my post about business executives feeling the pinch. Maybe I should send in some low-cost vacation ideas to the WSJ. Do you think their readers know to order from the Dollar Menu?
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