Planes, Trains, And Automobiles

We went on a field trip today.  Was it fun for the kids?  Did I have to drive really far on an almost empty gas tank?  Am I wiped out for no good reason?

Yes to all of the above.  Filled up the tank on the way home - 71 dollars.  Just in case you (you, meaning Larry) were wondering what I do with all our money...

We could reduce our dependence on gasoline, you know.  We could walk places, say, instead of taking the car.  Good for our bodies, good for the earth.... 

Oh, wait, we already do that. 

We could sell our townhouse and move into the city, near trains and buses.  Abandon the wasteful suburban lifestyle, as it were....

Oh, wait, we ARE near buses and trains. 

I could just stay home all day, every day.

Right, like that's going to happen.  You know what?  I'll pay my 70 dollars every two weeks and be happy about it.  Some luxuries are just worth the money.





[minivan image: Car Scoop]
[gas pump image: Montgomery Advertiser]

Small Things With Great Love

Love flash mob in honor of Mother's Day happening at Momastery right now!  For as little as 5 dollars, you can help make someone else's life better.  Pretty good deal, if you ask me...

Don't be late - last time we missed it completely.


But we can all do small things, with great love,
and together we can do something wonderful.
~Mother Theresa

This And That And The Kitchen Sink

I was going to write a leisurely post today about Listen To Your Mother, but it seems I am dying of some strange virus.  So I'll make this quick:

LTYM was awesome.  Once the video is up, I will link to it.  There are some excellent storytellers among us, ladies; and yesterday I was privileged to hear some of them onstage.

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Larry has left me again.  But not before waking me up at 4:30 AM to say that he had missed his cab and could I drive him to the airport?  Later, I received a call from the airline about some missing luggage he had reported upon arrival at his destination.  Apparently, he has had a not-so-good day.  Serves him right.

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Just kidding, Larry!  Come home, please!  And not just because you promised you would recaulk the kitchen sink this weekend!

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About said sink: I mentioned to Larry the other day that I was going to go ahead and caulk it.   I'm feeling sort of fix-it empowered lately, what with my mad tub-unclogging skills.  Larry insisted that he would do it, don't touch it, it's complicated because we have to plan ahead not to use the sink for 24 hours...

Really, I don't see THAT as much of a problem, do you?  What?  I can't use my kitchen?  Oh, bummer.

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I am impressed with all the strong opinions on flat top sheets versus duvets put forth in the comments to this post.  Apparently, the presidential candidates are neglecting a very important issue.

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I now return to my fainting couch, while the poor children forage for dinner in my mess of a refrigerator.  Adieu...or, perhaps, good-bye?

Turning Over A New Sheet

Over the years (nay, decades) that we have been married, I had come to believe that Larry had no strong opinions about bedding.  Aside from his request that the bedroom not get too "flowery," I've been pretty much left to my own devices when it comes to picking out sheets, pillows, comforters, and the like.  So, when casting about for a solution to my latest midlife crisis, I didn't even think to consult him.

You see, for 21 years, EVERY SINGLE DAY, I made our bed.  I didn't mind.  I like making the bed.  Even the days when I was post-partum, I would get up, shower and dress, MAKE THE BED, and then lie back down on it with the baby.  If, by some strange confluence of events, the bed has not been made and it is already time to go to sleep, I first make the bed and THEN I pull down the covers and climb in.

A little weird, yes, but it makes me happy.  And Larry didn't care.

But after 21 years of this bed-making regimen, I began to suffer a type of repetitive-motion malaise.  I was sick of traveling to both sides of our bed multiple times to properly position the top sheet and the comforter.  I was sick of having to place it just so on the bed so it wouldn't get all squiggly and out of place by the end of the week. 

I needed my freedom.

So, once we got our new mattress, I placed a queen-sized fitted sheet on it and then I covered that with a down comforter encased in a duvet (from IKEA, of course).  Oh, how carefree I felt!  How liberated from the tyranny of overly fussy bedmaking! Instead of prissily tucking in the top sheet, I could just toss my duvet-covered comforter on the bed and walk away.  In the morning, instead of waking up in a tangle of pulled-out top sheet, I reveled in the feeling of the smooth fitted sheet beneath me and the crisp cotton-y coolness of the duvet on my cheek.

I was happy. 

And then Larry said, "Where's the top sheet?"

"We don't need one!" I told him.  "We have a duvet!"

"A what?" he asked.

"A duvet!  They use them in Europe - no one uses a top sheet there."

"This isn't Europe.  I need a top sheet."

"You're a guy.  You're not even supposed to know what a top sheet is FOR.  Besides, the picture in the mattress store didn't have one, either."

"What picture?"

"The big one on the wall, behind the sales desk..."

Cute? Yes.  Bed privileges? Never.

"The one with the woman sleeping with her golden retriever?"

"Yes!"

"Does this mean you're getting a dog, too?"

Sigh.  I've begrudgingly supplied Larry with a top sheet, but I refuse to pay any attention to it.  When I make the bed, I pretend it isn't there, its ugly, fussy self all bunched up on his side of the bed at the bottom.  I hates it and the domestic bondage it represents.  Myself, I look to the future, a future devoid of unnecessary household tasks and stifling bedding.  A future where I can emulate the culturally advanced Europeans who sleep free of the gagging restraint of extraneous bed linens, even if Larry does insist that it is nothing more than a symptom of creeping bedroom socialism.

But I'm not letting a dog on the bed.  Blecch.





[Puppy picture: Dog Breed Sites]

Boy Scouts Vow To Honor Mother's Day

There are tiny ants with wings all around my computer desk.  I am not happy.  And where is my bug boyfriend when I need him, anyway?  Larry, of course, doesn't care at all.  He sees me swatting desperately at these horrid creatures with last Sunday's church bulletin, yet he just ignores my distress and falls asleep on the couch. 

I'm telling you, chivalry is dead around here.  Marriage will do that.

We promise never to forget Mother's Day again.

Well! I had a post all ready to go, describing how my Mother's Day was being supplanted by the Boy Scout biking trip; but Larry came home from the meeting this evening and told me that he and the other dads had decided to move the trip to the following weekend. It turns out I wasn't the only troop mother complaining about her special day being usurped. 

And the best part?  Thinking I would have to celebrate a week early (or, as Larry called it, the Greek Orthodox Mother's Day), I had already bought a non-returnable ticket to LTYM for this Sunday.  Guess I'll have to go anyway...

Now if I could just get rid of these ants, my life would be complete.




[Boy Scouts image: PochoBlog]