Lazy Days of Summer - Plus Yarn

Not Susie

Band camp has started, so Susie trudges off each day with her saxophone to spend 4 hours learning the finer points of, well, whatever it is sax players do.

And, please, if there's anything cuter than a kid with a saxophone, I don't know what it is. Back in my day, no one I knew, except Clarence Clemons (and I didn't really know him, of course, I just knew OF him), played saxophone. Not kids, anyway...

Where the heck was I? Oh, so Susie heads out each morning for the band camp carpool and I spend the next 4 hours exercising plus getting all the cooking, housecleaning, laundry, and yard work done.

Ha, ha, ha. No, I don't do that. That's what I should be doing. And, to be fair, I did generate this pile of weeds today:

This took way more effort than it looks

But that was about it this morning.  I mean, I did get over 6000 steps, too, so you can check fitness off that to-do list. But I didn't bother with the cooking today (hey, I cooked yesterday - potato salad, tortellini salad, sesame noodles, and a weird cucumber salad thing, and yes, you should most definitely be impressed). Instead? I allowed myself to waste some time. The laundry went unfolded, I didn't clean the fridge (aside from sticking some frozen bags of compost out in the compost bin to thaw for tomorrow's pick up), I didn't worry about dinner.

Hey, Twitter wasn't going to read itself, you know.

This, my friends, feels like true luxury to me - after all these years of having to be uber-efficient in order to stave off utter havoc, things are not quite so urgent anymore. If something doesn't get done right away, it no longer precipitates a slide into chaos so great that we can't recover. It's taken Larry and I a few years to get used to this new state of affairs, but it is definitely growing on us. I mean, it's gotten to the point where we can't even figure out how we survived those 2 decades of having young kids in the house. Barfing young kids, to boot...

That said, I do have a knitting deadline this week. Our local yarn store gives prizes each quarter if you make something using yarn they sold you. So I'm hurrying to finish my current love, because apparently I respond only to rewards at this point. While I'm kitchenering my cowl, though, could someone please identify this lone flower I discovered in our yard while I was weeding?

I haven't even managed to kill it yet.

Petunia? Morning Glory? A confused dandelion?




[Clarence image: Wikipedia]

Fresh Air

Oh, my, what a beautiful day! After spending all of Friday and Saturday literally whining about the humidity (I swear, it was nauseating - I couldn't even get Susie out to the pool), Mother Nature has blessed us with a few days of quintessentially June weather - warm sun, cool air - that makes you glad to be alive.

But during those 2 days of punishing humidity, I still played my "let's see how long we can go without air conditioning" game. You see, our house has an east-west orientation (with no side windows, as it's a rowhouse); so, by judiciously opening and shutting windows on the correct side of the house at the correct points in the day, I can usually maintain an indoor temp that is lower than the temperature outdoors. This has become an obsession of mine: I spring out of bed to make sure the proper windows are open and cooling the house before the sun gets high; I text the kids to close the deck doors by 9:30, when the morning sun starts slanting in there; I hurry home around noon to make sure the kitchen and front door windows are shut before the afternoon onslaught of solar energy against the front of the house.

Low-tech climate control

In short, I'm nuts. But this tends to work well, so long as the humidity outside isn't too high.  Or so long as I'm not actually home, since I have a rule that we aren't turning on the AC for just one kid sitting home alone in a 5-bedroom house (hey, the basement stays cool, they can sit down there, okay?).

Larry, of course, is not on board with this game. So, even if it does start getting a little too warm in the house, I won't touch the AC if his arrival is imminent, just to mess with him. He'll walk in, look at the thermostat (which might be reading 83 degrees at that point), shake his head, and say, "Don't you think it's hot in here?"

"Oh, no," I'll say. "Look! The humidity level is only 52%!" (I love our new thermostat.)

Or, on days that truly are bad, "Nah, as long as you don't move around too much. I ordered pizza for supper."

And then he shakes his head again, flips on the AC, and goes upstairs to do a head count and make sure everyone is still alive.

But last Friday - well, none of this was going to work. By the time I was prepping dinner, the humidity was unbearable, even in the house. I was on the verge of turning on the AC (because, hey, I"m not a monster) when Rachel - who was already annoyed that I was making her help in the kitchen - said, "You have to turn on the air conditioning right now! It's hot in here!"

Now, we have long called this child The Empress for a reason. When she's annoyed/irritated (which, granted, is quite often, and gee, I wonder who she gets that from?), her tone of voice ranges from cutting to imperious. There is no, "Gosh, it's hot! Can we have some AC?" uttered in a cheerful tone emanating from her mouth. Not ever. No, her delivery can best be described as landed royalty talking to a common serf.

I don't respond well to this tone, even at the best of times. Not from a child. So I said, "Actually, I think it feels fine in here," and I went on with my work, immersed now in both unbearable humidity AND a veritable miasma of indignation emanating from my royal teen. I also texted Larry a warning: "It's HOT here. But I swear we will die before I touch that AC."

He worked late.

I was tempted to stay here.

There is a saying in Yiddish: "Cut off your nose to spite your face." And that is the thought that ran through my head for the next 2 hours, in my definitely too-hot house, as I repeatedly reminded my first-world offspring that people in Africa have it much worse than they do, household-temperature-wise. Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity to take Brian to his place of work (he usually walks), just so I could sit in the air-conditioned car. Susie came with us. I drove slowly. "You sure are stubborn," Brian commented, as he left the car for the climate-controlled paradise where he works.

You bet, honey. And I remained stubborn until 6:45, which is when a friend picked up both girls to take them to a movie night at someone's (presumably air-conditioned) house. I swear, they practically ran to her car. And they weren't out of the parking lot before I was slamming down windows and turning on the air myself.

Aaaaaaahhhhh.

And then I called Larry to let him know it was safe to come home.

Let There Be Cake

My birthday started out on the perfect note: my fit friend came by in the morning to take a walk with me (because my FitBit takes no vacations, apparently) and handed me a gift. "Excuse the bag," she said. "I would have run late if I tried to find one that was appropriate for the occasion."

No wonder we get along...

I like my friends.

Larry and the kids gave me a new IPad, which I totally wasn't expecting, even though the one I inherited from my Dad (from 2012) takes forever to open up now, to the point where we had sort of given up on using it much. This one is also lighter and therefore easier on my wrists, but it still feels very extravagant. In fact, this particular purchase makes me wonder whether Larry has any household renovation plans up his sleeve.

Or maybe it was just to make up for the fact that Larry also gave me the As Seen On TV Veggetti.

Hey, it's not a bagel slicer

Granted, this item did happen to be on my Amazon list, but only because I thought I might pick it up as a fun thing for the girls to use in the kitchen some time. As we all know, however, Larry has never seen a goofy kitchen item that he doesn't think would make a great birthday gift for his wife. So I own this thing now and I guess I have no one to blame but myself.

I then made the questionable decision to go to the mall to search for my Holy Grail, aka shirts that fit. I confess, I started feeling a little agitated as I approached the tiny petites section in J.C. Penney to which we height-challenged women are confined. Considering that half the petites section was devoted to the fashion abominations that are Worthington and Alfred Dunner clothing, my selection was pretty limited. And taking into account that, due to an outsize bust and a generously sized post-menopausal belly, I am difficult to fit, my choices were even more constrained.

Meaning that, after half an hour of searching through the clothing racks for something decent to wear, I was simultaneously weepy and irritated. I'm not sure, but I think I was muttering things like, "Sure, I'll just go NAKED" and "F... you, Alfred Dunner and your elastic-waist pants" loudly enough for other shoppers to hear. I started imagining the next day's headlines: Midget Woman, Laughing Maniacally, Sets Store Ablaze.

So I left, before my birthday could be completely ruined. I headed over to Macy's which, if possible,had an even smaller selection of clothing for short, over-endowed gals like myself. But, miracle of miracles, I managed to find a few shirts that fit AND were reasonably priced. Purchases in hand, I put aside my thoughts of arson and headed home, where the girls had spent the afternoon working on my birthday cake.

I defy you to find a more beautiful cake. Because there is none. This is the king (queen?) of all birthday cakes. End of story.

But my family's obvious love and devotion (as evidenced by the cake pictured above and Larry's Vegetti purchase) were not enough to deter me from attending Knit Night on my birthday. There I was feted with Fritos and new stitch markers by a whole bunch of women who wanted to know if Larry had bought me another bagel slicer, and really, what more could any girl want?

It was a perfect birthday. I mean, except for that Alfred Dunner thing...

Birthday Prep

Tomorrow? I turn 54 (which someone pointed out to me is a deck of cards and 2 jokers, and I'm not really sure what that implies, but let's pretend it's somehow meaningful); so I've been busy (this being my birthday week) making sure that tomorrow is a day of unalloyed joy. And by unalloyed joy, I mean that maybe I will get to go to the mall by myself and try on shirts and maybe even find some that fit properly over my matronly bust and waistless middle.

I don't ask for much, people. I really don't.

Meanwhile, Larry can't seem to understand that when he orders gifts from Amazon, the email announcing the purchase AND the email announcing their shipment both go directly to me. So, for the record, it's looking as though he didn't learn much from the bagel slicer incident last year. It's sort of cute, actually, in a clueless sort of way.

You really have to read about the bagel slicer, if you haven't already. It's classic Larry.

Before

So, yeah, busy - I cooked all morning today so I won't have to touch anything in the kitchen tomorrow. Tonight I will scrub the bathrooms, so I don't have to hate myself when I use them tomorrow. In fact, I've been so busy pretending I don't have to do any housework for my birthday, I forgot - until a few minutes ago - to check how my front hall closet was doing.

As you can see there to the right (or left, I can't tell), not too bad. Oh, yeah, there were 3 pairs of sandals thrown on the floor (because, again, those shoe holders are SO DIFFICULT to use); and the outdoor toys on the bottom are all askew. But it took me only 30 seconds to put everything to rights.

It absolutely kills me I didn't figure out this system until now. I mean, it seems pretty darn obvious in retrospect, doesn't it? Who knew that hanging shoe holders (which I had sitting up in my bedroom doing nothing since our bedroom closet remodel) and a bit of vigilance were all that was needed to make my front closet actually useful again?

My magnum opus, apparently

You know, 30 years ago, when I was a youthful 20-something with my entire life in front of me? I would have assumed that I would have something more meaningful to write about than closet maintenance by the time I turned 54. Come to think of it, 30 years ago,  I probably assumed I'd be almost dead by now. Oh, not because I planned a profligate life or anything; no, it was because I thought people in their mid-50s were incredibly old.

Case in point: my parents' longtime neighbors (who were exactly 30 years older than myself) remodeled their kitchen when I was 24. I remember wondering at the time why the heck they were even bothering, since they obviously had one foot in the grave already.

They're both still enjoying that remodeled kitchen, of course. I always ask for a nice dish of crow whenever I visit.

Chew On This

I see all sorts of things advertised on my Facebook feed. In fact, that's how I usually find out that Larry is planning to buy something, because it sure as heck wasn't MY Google searches that prompted Facebook to show me ads for kayaks and all their many accoutrements. And, of course, I will take full responsibility for all the yarn ads that I see. But sometimes an ad shows up out of nowhere. Say, an ad for a product like this one.

You didn't click, did you? You never do. Fine, here's a picture:

You know, I have 4 grown or almost grown children, and nary a one has asked me, "Say, where did you put all my baby teeth, anyway?" In fact, Anna managed to swallow half of hers by mistake.

That's not just us, is it? I hope not.

Okay, I just realized there is also a space for the umbilical cord there. I don't even know what to say about that. I'm surprised there's no compartment for fingernail clippings, is all.

Seriously, people, don't buy this. Spend the $25 on some packages of diapers instead. And if your friends happen to think this is a great gift idea? Get new friends.

I was about to sign off here, but Rachel walked in and saw this picture and said, "I can show you something worse." And you know what? She did.

Mouth filled in with your kids' very own teeth!

I don't know how I missed this trend (apparently it is so last year), but I'm sure glad I did. Sweet dreams, kids! Don't let the tooth monster bite!

Sort of rocks that Addams Family vibe, doesn't it?




[Tooth monster image: BusinessInsider]