Odds and Loose Ends

• In case you hadn't figured it out, I didn't end up applying for the job. I got bitter just thinking about how it would suck away the few free hours a week I have without a child attached to me, and once I did the math I realized that it didn't pay enough for me to afford a sitter for the kids during the hours I was working.
• Although somehow I managed to volunteer close to 30 hours a week over the past three weeks between C's school stuff and the church fund raiser without the help of a sitter.
• I think the difference is that the volunteer work was on my terms. I felt no guilt about walking away from it for an hour to take the kids to the park or out to eat. And if the kids started screaming in the middle of a meeting and I had to leave, no one could get worked up about it because I was a volunteer.
  
• OK, I felt some guilt about walking away in the middle of meetings, but I was able to work through it because hello, I wasn't getting paid.
  
• I think there is a fine line between a strong work ethic and a work-a-holic, and I have always fallen just over that line on the wrong side.
• The fund raiser went, OK. I got dragged into it pretty late in the decision making process, so a lot of the things I would have changed had already been set in stone once I came on board. At least I don't feel responsible for them.
• I have no idea how much money we made, I had to leave before the money got counted to relieve the babysitter. But I have a strong suspicion that it was not nearly as much as they had originally hoped for. Which should surprise no one since 150 less people attended than the initial guess as to how many parishioners would come to a Friday night event at a less than stellar function hall.
• I think the meal I didn't eat was perhaps the worst meal I have ever been served in my life. Even the cake was horrific. At least I felt no responsibility over it as the place had been booked long before I even knew there was going to be a fund raiser.
• Since no one knew who I was, I heard a lot of complaining about the details of the fund raiser. Which got me pretty worked up for a while. And then M pointed out that if they had felt so strongly, they should have gotten involved. Yeah! That's right!
  
• I think we did a pretty good job for a group of four people, two of whom worked full-time, one of whom was going through chemotherapy and one of whom had two small children at home. In fact, I think it is somewhat of a miracle that we pulled it off.
• Next time I want to be in on the ground floor of the planning process though. I already have a list going of the things that should have been done differently.
• Did I mention that I tend towards work-a-holicism?
• The kids were serious troopers though the whole thing. So I felt badly when I didn't win the raffle baskets they really wanted. But apparently C still loves me, even if I am not a very lucky mommy.
• And I am glad to be back in my favorite chair contemplating my next knitting project.
  

Warm and Fuzzy

Today in my random surfing of knitting blogs, I found one that referenced my mom's skill as a spinning instructor AND one that had pictures of the yarn shop I grew up in (although it looks nothing like I remembered). The world is indeed a small place...

See Nana? You're famous!

Ah, the silence

It is 11:25 pm and I have officially ended my fund raiser duties. My email is empty, my cell phone is silent. Tomorrow I can resume my normal life. Ahhh, the peace.

Overheard from the Backdoor

Chichimama: "Why are you coming inside? We just sunblocked you and you were so excited to play in the backyard!"

C: "I'm too hot to play outside."

Look what the cat dragged in

Dumb Cat :"Yewol."

Chichimama: "M? Dumb Cat brought in a mouse."

M: "Is it dead or alive?"

Chichimama: "Um, alive."

Dumb Cat chases the mouse into the toy closet. Dumb Cat loses interest in the mouse. The mouse escapes into kitchen. Chichimama throws Dumb Cat at the mouse again. Dumb Cat half heartedly chases the mouse under the buffet in the dining room. Dumb Cat wanders off to the food bowl.

M: "Wait, Chichimama, where are you going?"

Chichimama: "To get the camera of course!"

M: "Um, hello? There is a mouse in the dining room. How about gloves from the garage?"

Chichimama grudgingly procures both gloves and the camera.

M captures the mouse using Chichimama's new magazine. Dumb Cat continues to ponder his food bowl.
M returns the mouse to the great outdoors.

Dumb Cat scratches his neck.


M: "Where do you want me to put the magazine?"

Chichimama: "Throw it out!"

M: "What, are you afraid of the plague or something?"

Chichimama: "Exactly."

MIA

So I'll be MIA for a while. After my whining that I wasn't able to volunteer as much as I wanted at church, I somehow ended up a co-chair of a massive fundraising dinner, which is taking place on Friday. Clearly, I have left y'all out of the loop, because really, fundraising dinner planning is not really blog fodder. But as my life is now consumed by seating plans and late RSVP's and writing fun, cheery write ups of gift baskets and silent auction donations (Are you planning a European vacation? Have you always wanted to visit South America? Well, now is your chance! With airfare climbing, take this opportunity to bid on two international round trip tickets. Start planning your next vacation today!), I'll be nice and spare you the agonizing details of my life for the week.

But, for your amusement, I leave you with the following tidbit overheard from C...

C: "My thinking box is broken!"

Rebecca: "C, why don't you think outside the box?"

C: "Um, I really like to think IN the box."

M: "Never, ever say that in a job interview, OK?"

I'm SO not an Alpha Mom

Gina had a post that introduced me to a new term, Alpha Mom. Since in my usually clueless way, I had no clue what the buzz was all about, I did a bit of Googling. And although I'm still a little unclear what exactly it takes to be an Alpha Mom, what IS clear is that as I sit here with no career in faded yoga pants and a fleece jacket that is a decade or so old as my children watch not-so-educational TV, I am SO not an Alpha Mom. I can guarantee that not a single person I meet in my day to day life is going to run out and buy something because I am wearing it or using it. In fact, I am fairly confident that they will take one look at my life and make a mental note to NOT do what I do.

As I read up on the life of the Alpha Mom, it made most of me want to run screaming away from my computer. But, deep down inside, there is a small part of me that believes in the Alpha Mom and likes to think that I could be one. Sometimes I daydream about what it might be like to have a high-powered career, headed off to the city every morning dressed in the latest fashion with my Blackberry and laptop, cheerily kissing C and A goodbye knowing that they were being lovingly cared for by the village that I had hired to make sure that they ate their vegetables, peed on the potty and attended the appropriate enriching activities. And let's be clear, I wouldn't be working because I had to, but because I wanted to.

I would come home at night to happy children who were ready to spend quality time with me, and then I would have grownup conversations with M about my job and all the amazing things I had done that day. Oh, and at some point in this scenario, I made it to the gym too, and I have miraculously lost the ten (or 20) extra pounds hanging around my middle. Although I haven't quite worked out in my mind when my gym time is. I have a sneaking suspicion that I ended up building a home gym in the basement and workout while watching CNBC after the kids are in bed, but that part of my fantasy is still a work in progress.

Then I wake up from my fantasy world, and go back to the life I really lead. And most of the time, I'm OK with that because no matter how much they say that being an Alpha Mom isn't about trying to be perfect, from where I'm sitting it looks an awful lot like the Supermom concept repackaged. And I don't really want her therapy bills.

Wrong, just wrong

It should NOT be so cold in mid-April that my kids had to wear hats and mittens to the playground. And my heat should NOT still be on all. day. long. This weather is making me bitter and grumpy, and generally not pleasant. Plus, my flowering trees are, well, not flowering, and I STILL have no idea what types of flowers, if any, I have in any of my beds because there is no hint of green anyplace on my property.

Remind me of this in three months when I start bitching about how it is just.too.hot. to move, OK?

Overheard in the hallway

A: "I want a monkey back ride!"

Chichimama: "You mean a piggy back ride?"

A: "No, a MONKEY back ride."

Chichimama: "A, it is called a piggy back ride."

C: (rolling eyes) "Mom, she CALLS it a MONKEY back ride because she hang on your back like a MONKEY, not a pig. WHY on EARTH did ANYONE decide to call it a piggy back ride? I JUST don't understand."

A: "Yeah. What C said."

Overheard all over the place

Chichimama: "Who is the silliest?"

A: "You are!"

Chichimama: "Who is the funniest?"

A: "You are!"

Chichimama: "Who is the best?"

A: "I am!"

------------------
Chichimama: "Why do your rooms smell so, fruity? Did you sneak an apple or something up here?"

C: "No, I think it is because we took a bath. That's what clean smells like Mom."

-------------------

C: "I've decided what my Monday Morning News is going to be!"

Chichimama: "Oh! What? I can't wait to hear what you decided!"

C: "That we had carrots for dinner!"

Chichimama: "What about the tractor ride and the visit from Julia or the trip to the museum?"

C: "Yeah, that was all fun, but I think I'm sticking with carrots for dinner."

The Missing Egg

It seems inevitable that there is a missing egg (or three) after every Easter egg hunt. Having learned from my parents' mistakes, I refuse to hide hard boiled eggs but instead hide those of the brightly colored plastic variety. Last year, one yellow egg went missing, never to be found. We kept saying that it would turn up when we moved, but here we are, moved into the new house and the egg has yet to be found. Happy Easter to you, new owners!

This year we have three missing eggs. The children have long since given up the egg hunting ghost, and moved onto the consumption of copious quantities of candy. My husband, however, is still prowling the house, searching for the missing eggs. Lifting cushions, squinting under tables, muttering incoherently to himself. I wonder how many hours he'll be at it?

Schedule Slaves

Not So Little Sister posted a minor whine a while back about friends who had a small child and how impossible it was to schedule a time to see them because of their devotion to their child's schedule. I sat on my hands for a while, and then finally felt compelled to admit that we are TOTAL slaves to the children's schedules. It is less obvious now that they don't nap, but there was a point in time that there were only about three hours a day when I was willing to actually see people. Generally between 3 and 6pm, and only at our house or someplace really close by to try and keep someone from falling asleep in the car.

I am absolutely and totally completely sure that all most of our friends (including those with kids) thought we were certifiable. But when one has lousy sleepers, which I do, the thought of doing ANYTHING that might cause them to sleep even less than they usually do gives one panic attacks of massive proportions. Because if they don't sleep when they are supposed to sleep, they won't make it up for days.

Unlike most children (and grownups), if my children stay up late they won't sleep in a little bit the next day. Instead they will get up at their usual time (best case scenario) or (worst case scenario) they will get up even earlier. Which means that they will spend the next day flipping out over the minor things in life like the fact that the purple cup is in the dishwasher, or the fact that their sock is on slightly askew. Then, come bedtime, they are so overtired they can't fall asleep. Or, if by some miracle they DO fall asleep on time, they then wake up seven times in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder. And this vicious little cycle continues for days, until finally their bodies give in and they either fall asleep in the car or in front of the TV and catch up a bit.

After having experienced this little cycle a few times, M and I quickly became slaves to the schedule. Because we really couldn't think of an event that was worthy of such painful and horrific torture. Especially once there were TWO children in the mix. The kids go to bed at 7pm, 8pm if there is something REALLY special going on, like New Years Eve or my cousin's wedding. We even plan our (few and far between) airplane rides around the sleep schedule rather than the cheapest fare. Because the price we pay for flights that get us in before 4pm is well worth the sanity involved in getting the kids settled and in bed at 7pm.

This is all a roundabout way of saying that last night we had some old friends over for a get together. Since it was at our house, I figured that at 7, 7:30 my children would begin to get tired, head upstairs and go to sleep. Because that was what happened at New Years, which was not so long ago. But 7pm came and went and they were going strong. "Ah well," I thought. "8pm is doable." 8pm came and went and they were going strong. M and I were having fun, our friends were having fun, and we had not had to intervene with the seven children trashing our playroom for over three hours. I looked at my watch, looked at my glass of wine and my tushie firmly planted on the kitchen stool, and internally shrugged. "Ah well, they are older now, they have been sleeping better, I bet that they will go to sleep any minute now and then sleep in just a little."

At 9:30pm, A finally asked to go to bed. At 10:15pm, C finally headed up to bed. At 11pm, we finally headed up to bed. And if you think this story has a happy ending, well, that remains to be seen. But my children were up at 6:30am this morning. So you do the math. But for once, I can say that the fun that was had was worth the pain that we may suffer today.

Overheard at Dinner

C: "I have NO idea what my Monday Morning News is going to be next week. I JUST can't decide. I mean, we went to Nana's, I pet a baby lamb, I drove the tractor, I swung on the tire swing, I went to the Discovery Museum, I saw my friend Julia from London, I ate two bites of brisket at the seder, and I got a new old guitar. And it is only Wednesday! I wish it were vacation week ALL the time!"

Random Bullets of Travel

• We went to Nana's for a long weekend, but now we're back and most of you didn't even know we were among the missing in teh blogsphere. Isn't technology grand?

• I did log in a few times on Nana's computer, which is much slower than mine (no offense Nana) but it was rather freeing to not have my laptop open for four days.

• Of course, now that I am back, I missed you so, dear laptop. Your keyboard with its keys designed for a smaller hand...

• I did the drive both ways with the kids by myself. And we only had to make one potty/lunch stop on the way up, two on the way back thanks to the ill-advised 24 oz bottle of water I handed back because I forgot the kid-sized drinks on Nana's counter. I think I may have finally arrived at the point at which travel by car is almost manageable.

• Of course, if I ever, ever hear Tacky the Penguin again, I may explode into a billion pieces. "How many toes does a fish have, how many wings on a cow..." Sorry.

• On the trip back we stopped off at Rebecca's mom's house for Seder. Ah, the brisket. The carrot soufflé, how many ways do I love you.

• It was the first Seder since C and Julia were born that the grownups didn't have to whip 40 billion distraction tricks out. The five year olds sat and listened, and the three year olds did, in their own way.
  

• Although about half-way through A started making up her own Haggadah, "And then all the nasty creatures went away and the people felt better and they all lived happily ever after, Amen."

• Only last year, Rebecca and I had been wondering when it was that we would enjoy ourselves again at Passover. I think this probably would have been the year, had I not still had to drive an hour and a half listening to Tacky the Fricking Penguin.

• It was lovely to see Rebecca, and not at all sad to leave her since we will see them all again in two days.

• Along with an afikomen gift, C salvaged a broken guitar slated for the trash. He is hugging it as he watches TV right now. I need to get the child music lessons one of these days.

• Now I have to face the house I left trashed in my hurry to hit the road Thursday night, and the grocery store. But it is raining. Do you think we can last another few days on tinned fruit and cereal without milk???
  

Google, my hero

M did in fact discover the answer to the mystery of the dishwasher child lock thanks to friend Google. While it may not know everything, it holds the key to many, many mysteries.

And in case anyone is curious or faces a similar situation themselves (hello Google searchers!), to unlock the child lock on a random, have no idea what model it is, KitchenAid dishwasher you need to hold down the Energy Saver Dry button for five seconds. Who know? Clearly not I.

Please, I beg

Apparently we have a child lock on our dishwasher. I only realized this when I went to run it tonight and it blinked it's little red light at me in a scarily evil way. "HA! You only THINK you are going to wash the dishes in me! Silly, silly human."

For the life of us, we cannot figure out how to UNLOCK the child lock. Apparently it is ALSO an adult lock. If anyone out there has a similar dishwasher, and cares to share your expertise, my dishpan hands will thank you forever.

Parent Teacher Conference

Last week I had my first parent/teacher conference ever. Because C has been with the same kids for the past two+ years, and he is one of three children actually progressing onto kindergarten next year, I went into the conference pretty sure what the teachers were going to say. "Wonderful kid, blah blah, smart, blah blah, no worries, blah blah." So I walked in, they handed my his report card to look over, and my jaw dropped to the floor.

"Do you have any questions Mrs. J-E?" the head teacher asked politely. I think I stared at her a bit blankly, as she started to speak in that soothing voice people use when they think someone is about to blow a gasket. "There is nothing we don't think a little time and maturity won't fix..." she trailed off.

"No, no, just give me a minute." I replied. "OK. What I am actually very curious about is this check mark right here, the one that says 'Can't follow directions.' Could you elaborate on that one please? Because really, that's a bit of a shocker. Does he really never follow directions that you give him?" You have to give me points, I was trying to sound nice and calm and, well, parental.

"Oh, no, well, it depends. Let me give you an example. Yesterday we were working on kindergarten readiness skills with C and Z and A. They sat at the table with us while the other kids played, and we had them doing worksheets. And we told them to work on page one. And next time I looked over, C was working on page three."

"Did he do pages one and two?" I queried, a little unsure whether we were talking about C finishing quickly, or about C not doing his work in order.

"Well, yes, but sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes we tell them to do page one and then he skips to whichever page looks the most interesting. But what we really want is for the children to all finish page one and then move onto page two when we tell them."

"OK. I'll have a conversation with him about that." Which I will, I swear. But I have to say, not so concerned about that as really, this means that he should do brilliantly on the standardized tests.

Then the real bomb dropped. "But our bigger concern is that C is socially immature," the teacher continued on. My jaw, if possible, scrapped the basement of the building. I blinked.

"He doesn't know how to play with the other children. He doesn't have any close friends, and he doesn't know how to break into others play appropriately." (I just might have whimpered right here.) "If he wants to play doctor, and the other children don't, then he won't compromise and play blocks, he'll just go play doctor by himself. Or, if the other children are playing blocks and he wants to, he'll hang back and not join in unless someone specifically asks him."

"Is he MEAN to the other children?" I asked, a little afraid of the answer, as I've seen how he plays with A.

"Oh, no. They all like him. He's just, well, he just seems to prefer the world of adults." She paused and looked at her watch. "Well, that's our time. Feel free to come back if you have additional questions..." and I was quickly ushered out the door.

I of course went into instant parent freak-out mode. My child, my wonderful child is not perfect. How does one react to that without the instant knee-jerk response of "You're nuts! My child is fabulous! Who really cares if he does page three before page one!" or "So he likes the world of adults! It will serve him well in later years! He will spend his life having to interact with adults!"

And then of course there was the quick morph into "Oh my GOD. My child is socially immature. He will never have friends. This explains why when I ask him who he plays with he shrugs and tells me about the bird he saw out the window. Should I get him into therapy? Do I actually need to schedule playdates?"

I waited to write about this until I had calmed down a bit, because it was one of those things that I really had to take a step back and think about. Of course my child isn't perfect. No one is perfect (that statement is brought to you by months of therapy). In the grand scheme of things, C's issues are minor. No one is questioning his ability to perform in kindergarten. The children all like him. He has some issues focusing on his work in an appropriate manner. He needs to learn to give other children a chance to answer the teacher's questions. All of that is manageable. But it still is hard to hear that your child is not as perfect as you think they are.

Hearing such things about your child is particularly hard, I think, when it resonates with your own experiences. Worrying that YOU caused them to have those issues is painful. Especially when you are still facing those issues yourself, and don't really have any good ideas on how to help them through it. Finishing your work too quickly? I can help with that. Bring a book and hide it on your lap. Other children don't want to play doctor right now? Broker a compromise where you play blocks first, then doctor. But other children aren't inviting you to play with them? You don't know how to make friends? I don't know how to help with that, or at least I don't know that my approach will really work well, given my lack of personal success in the area. And that hurts.

Christmas in March

We have started clearing out the random stuff left at the old house in anticipation of the closing. In the back corner of the attic garage this morning I found a box of toys that has been packed up for almost a year. I also found the missing Scrabble game that M and I have been wondering about every Friday or Saturday night for a year as well, although clearly we never made it off the couch to actually LOOK for it.

When I brought the box into the playroom and opened it up, you would have thought I was the conquering hero. The TV went off and the kids descended upon the toys like they had never seen a toy before. M and I just sat there and shook our heads. "Who knew a bunch of broken matchbox cars and puzzles would be so exciting?" we muttered.

Clearly, there is actually something to this whole toy rotation thing...

Who knew a flood could be so productive?

I arrived home from C's weekly gab session with the lifeguard swim class to discover a flood in our basement. Yes, water is NOT our friend here at Chez J-E. Anywhoo, it appeared that the washer, which is virtually brand new in the grand scheme of home appliances over here, decided it didn't want to spin anymore. I mopped up the mess, and then noticed that not only had the washing machine not spun, but the sink into which the washer empties was clogged up.

"Great," I thought. "Now I need BOTH an appliance repair person AND a plumber. Plus, the only pair of jeans I own that don't have a hole in them are IN the damn washer." But then I remembered that there was a filter on the water pump that can get clogged, so I started to take the filter out, only to release yet another flood of water. At this point, I finally had the common sense to UNPLUG the pump before I got electrocuted. Go me!

Miraculously, once the filter was out the water quickly drained from the sink. I then decided to run the spin cycle on the washer again so I could describe to the appliance repair person exactly what happened. And to my surprise and joy, the spin cycle worked! Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I decided to just transfer the laundry into the dryer and forget about a second load of laundry. Plus, the dryer hasn't been working all that well and it has been taking hours for the clothes to dry.

And then, the third miracle of the day shone forth. As I was about to turn the dryer on, I noticed that the heat setting was on low instead of high. I vaguely remembered being proud of myself a few weeks ago when I remembered to turn the heat to low instead of shrinking whatever that delicate item needing to be dried might have been. Clearly, however, I didn't remember to turn the setting back to high when it was done.

So now that my sink is drained and my washer AND dryer are working, I am staring hopefully at the oven, hoping that lightning does indeed strike twice and I am shown why no matter what temperature I set it at, it defaults to 350 or so...because I'm greedy like that.

To the moon, and beyond

Today, eleven little space explores invaded our house to create some super duper astronaut bags,

search for moonrocks in a space capsule,


and of course, eat some birthday cake. In the process, they danced in Saturn's rings,


mashed pretzels into the rug, peed on the upstairs carpet, and slide gleefully across the living room floor into the corner of the wooden bench. Fortunately, no boo-boo pack was required.

All and all, a wonderful time was had by all under the age of seven, especially by the birthday boy.

May C remember this birthday party for years to come, because my nerves are shot and it may be the last party he gets...

Maggie and the Beast

My kids are currently obsessed with Maggie and the Ferocious Beast. All day long they play Maggie. A is generally the Beast, and crawls around with "goulashes" (otherwise known as rain boots) on her hands and feet. C is generally Maggie, as she comes up with the "big ideas." I am relegated to Hamilton, "because he cleans, Mom." I have offered to be the Beast on many occasion, as what could be more fun than crawling around the floor with goulashes on your hands, but have always been told that no, I MUST be Hamilton. Only A or C get to be the Beast.

When M got home tonight, A begged him to play Maggie with her. When he asked who he should be, she thought for a moment, and then exclaimed "Why the Beast of course!" I was somewhat offended. Is M that much more fun than I that HE can play the Beast but I can only play neurotic Hamilton?

Snow? There is no snow.

I wish. It is snowing as I type. Sigh. Apparently burying my head in the sand like an ostrich didn't work so well. I think we can at least get out and get through our morning, it sounds like the worst of the snow isn't going to get here until the afternoon....

Overheard at the playground

As A is scaling a climbing structure labeled for 5 to 9 year olds...

7 ish- year old boy: "How old ARE you?"

A (staring him down): "I'm not going to tell you. I don't KNOW you."

And she scooted right past him and headed down the highest, most twisty slide on the playground.

7ish-year old boy: "Are you sure she should be here?"

Chichimama (with a shrug): "You saw her climb, what do you think?"

7ish-year old boy: "I've just never seen a baby who could climb..."

Visual DNA

As seen at Steph's and Suzanne's.....

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Doing a happy dance

I'm not just dancing because it is spring (although that makes me dance as well). I am dancing because I just found a local Community Supported Agriculture group and the pick up location is four blocks away. Happy happy happy am I! If you are interested in joining a CSA group, go here and do a search. But hurry, I got one of the last shares at ours!

Spring Cleaning

Today marked an annual tradition at Chez J-E, spring cleaning. No, not of the house (shame on you for even THINKING that), but of the outdoor toys and paraphernalia. Because spending three hours outdoors in early spring is JUST what the doctor ordered for those suffering from sinus issues. Ahem.

Anyway, for the past few days the kids have been playing outside with all of the shovels and pails and golf clubs and trucks and balls that encompass our slightly eccentric collection of toys that live in the great outdoors. And every day, I look at the filth and think "I really need to clean those." And then I think "Next fall, I must remember to clean the toys at the END of the season and then store them IN the garage instead of leaving them strewn all over the lawn and deck for squirrels to play with, because really, it would be SO much easier to just open up the garage on the first nice day and have clean toys." And THEN I sit there and ponder why our lawn is such a squirrel magnet and forget all about the toys that need to be cleaned.

But it was finally nice enough today that I got inspired and decided that instead of sitting in the window contemplating the filthy toys, I would join the kids outdoors with a bucket of sudsy water and a box of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. And so I began to scrub. And scrub, and scrub some more.

Of course, once I got going, the kids decided that they were done outside and headed inside to wreak havoc in the playroom and wave out the window every few minutes "Mom! It isn't sparkly shiny yet! Keep scrubbing!" They are so helpful, my kids. But then I realized that it was kind of nice and peaceful out there all by myself, and if I just ignored the fact that every indoor toy in the house was being assembled into a "gigantic contraption of amazing proportions," I was actually having a lovely afternoon, sinuses and all.

Since I was having such a peaceful afternoon cleaning, I started scrubbing the outdoor toy box, the windows, and the folding chairs. I even thought really hard about starting in on the picnic table and chairs, but then remembered that oxyclean spray had done wonders on the chairs last year, so continuing would require a run to the grocery store. And I wasn't THAT inspired to continue scrubbing. Thus ended the annual spring cleaning day.

So come, play in our backyard! The toys are clean! A few are verging on sparkly shiny! You can even sit on a clean folding chair! But please, don't use the bathroom, OK? Better if you just go at home...

An open letter to my sinuses

Dear Sinuses,

I know not why you hate me so. I thought we had finally reached a truce this winter, I made sure to drink lots of tea, I tried to sleep in a more upright position, and I indulged you with steam treatments on a regular basis. You rewarded me (so I thought) by remaining somewhat clear and allowing me to breathe through at least one nostril at a time. I could live with that. I wasn't asking for perfection.

But this morning when I woke up, Left Eye and Teeth registered a formal complaint. It seems that overnight you decided that your working conditions left something to be desired, and you made your displeasure known. Was it the new tea I tried yesterday? I know it wasn't what we were used to, but I thought Tastebuds might want some variety. Or is it the fact that I commented on how well-behaved you have been? I was just trying to pay you a compliment.

Whatever I did to upset you, I deeply, deeply apologize. Please let me make it up to you, just let me know what you need. I truly hope we can resolve this misunderstanding before the trees start blooming.

Sincerely,

Chichimama

Evolution and the Louse

For some reason I found this article fascinating. I include the link with apologizes to Undercover Angel, who is battling the louse (of the head variety) as I type...

Who am I kidding?

I can't go back to work, I can't even manage to keep my kids dressed in clothes that fit them. A came up to me this morning after getting dressed an announced: "Mommy, these clothes are too small on me. I tried on every pair of pants in my drawer and they are all too small." And, indeed, I looked and all of her pants are capri length at best. How did I miss this one? It is not like she grew three inches overnight. C, when asked, admitted the same thing. "But that's OK mommy, they don't really hurt my tummy that much."

I bet you anything the kids shoes are too small too. Because I tried to remember the last time I took them to the shoe store and couldn't, which is never a good sign.

Am I nuts?

A job. I think I am applying for a job. (Good morning honey, I would have called you but you know, the time zone thing...). I'm spinning around my kitchen in a tizzy, trying to figure out how one goes about doing such things since it has been eight years since I did my last job search. How do I do this? Did I bother to update my resume before I left my old job? I bet I didn't. A cover letter. I am pretty sure I need one of those too.

It's not a big job, only a 12-15 hours a week, work from home most of the time, position. Which is, well, perfect. A way to ease back into the world of paid employment. A job that I am, on paper at least, well qualified for. Responsibilities that line up with my former ones. An organization that does advocacy in an area that is somewhat interesting to me, but will send M screaming up a wall in a conservative rage.

A job. I think I am applying for a job.

Yet Six More Weird Things About Me

Not So Little Sister tagged me for this one a while back. As did Boogiemum I think... A little embarrassing that I can come up with so many weird things about me, since I did this one about a year ago too, but hey, it makes me unique, right?

1) I believe in frequent pedicures, but never remember to cut my finger nails until my kids remind me. I think it stems from years of being a nail biter and not having to worry about cutting them. Now that I don't bite my nails, I forget that they do in fact grow...

2) I hate to cook the same meal twice. There are a few repeats in our menus (chili, enchilada casserole, quiche) but in general, I cook something different every night.

3) I only drink chardonnay in the winter and sauvignon blanc in the summer. If you try to serve me a chardonnay in July, I'll drink it, but it won't make me very happy. This time of year is a challenge. I end up keeping a bottle of both on hand, and which one gets opened depends on the temperature.

4) I hate to make left turns into traffic while driving. I try very hard to figure out how to get around without making a left turn. Which is why I love the jug handle. Love. Them.

5) I drink a diet soda almost every morning. I know, it grosses me out too. But I can't drink caffeinated coffee or tea because it sets off my heart palpitations. I can, however, handle the amount of caffeine in a Diet Coke, and it gives me enough pep to get the kids dressed and the beds made.

6) Walmart scares me. It really does. But yet, I can happily spend hours in Target. Are they that different? Not really. But yet, one causes me to have a panic attack and the other makes me do a happy dance. I can't explain it.

I won't tag anyone, but if you missed this one somehow, feel free to join in!

International Women's Day Meme

Landismom tagged me for this one (and yes, I know I still owe you a meme too Not So Little Sister...).

Name your five favorite things about feminism, and tag five other people.

1) The fact that I can vote. The ability to vote is one of the most underutilized vehicles for change in this country.

2) The fact that I can chose to be married, or chose not to be. Clearly, I chose to be married, but if I hadn't found "Mr. Right," I still could have owned property, gotten a job, and adopted a child.

3) The fact that I could get a high quality education without having to fight for it. My grandmother was one of the first female doctors, and I will always remember her stories of how she was treated in medical school.

4) The fact that I can wear a dress, high heels and makeup or yoga pants, a tee shirt and sneakers and either choice is acceptable.

5) The fact that (for the moment) my body is my own, and I can choose what to do with it.

I'll tag the last five people who commented on my blog: Steph, Undercover Angel, Gina, Beach Mama and Kristy. But everyone should feel free to join in and play...

There is nothing that drives a gal to the brink of insanity...

like finding out your former apartment in the city you love is worth almost three times what you sold it for. Especially right after you sell the house you bought after selling said apartment for less than you paid for it.

We never, ever, should have left the city. With that kind of profit we could have afforded private school. Green grass is soooo over-rated.

Opinions needed

OK, I know I have a bunch of opinionated readers, so I need you to weigh in! I am supposed to be knitting a baby cardigan for the church auction. I wanted it to be a gender neutral color to appeal to the most bidders, but not a boring yellow, or a white that we all know will get stained and ruined within hours. So I went with an orange,

but now that I am knitting it up, it is looking more salmon, and I am not so sure it is very gender neutral any more.


In my stash, I have enough of this Jaegar Roma yarn
to make the sweater. Unlike the Cashsoft above, however, it is not machine washable.

Before I get any further invested, what do you think?

Overheard from the playroom

C: "A, I want THAT shoe box!"

A: "No!"

C:"But I really WANT that one! I'll trade you this one, I don't like this one..."

A: "No!"

Chichimama: "C, you know TELLING A that you don't like the shoe box you have is probably not the best negotiating technique in the world. Point out the good things about the box."

C: "A, this is a nice box, but yours is better and I want it."

A: "No!"

Chichimama: "Like this C. A, look at the cool box C has. It has finger holes so you can carry it around! And the top is attached, so you'll never lose it! It is really a great box."

A: "Oh! OK! Thanks C!"

C: "Wow. Thanks mom. (big pause) Wait, is that how you get me to do things too?"

Dumb Chichimama, dumb dumb Chichimama.

Your feet can thank me later

The most comfortable shoes ever, on sale for $29.99. Regularly $79. I have mine on right now, and it is just like wearing slippers. Ahhh....

Finishing is a bitch

So I lied a bit yesterday when I said I was done with the mystery project. I AM done knitting it, and I had all intentions of sewing it together last night, and I did, but then, YET AGAIN, I sewed it together backwards. Clearly, I don't learn from my mistakes.

There has to be someone out there somewhere who actually LIKES to sew things together, right? I bet someone could make a FORTUNE offering to finish up knitting pieces for folks. Although I guess that is kind of cheating, eh? However, as my cousin and I had no shame when cheating in Monopoly as long as it got done with style, I think I would feel no guilt in letting someone else sew up my sweaters. I'm just saying...

Random Bullets of Boredom

• We have been home all. day. long. because C has a) a random viral/fever/sore throat thing or b) strep. Every time I pick up the phone to call the doctor, the fever miraculously disappears and he has a half hour of cheerfulness before he descends back into cranky sick whinyness. But on the upside, he DID take a two hour nap both yesterday and today.
  

• I know, I know. That fever coming and going totally points to random viral thing. But the only times he has taken a nap in the past year and a half have been when antibiotics were needed, leading me down the "I should really call or it is going to be like the time he had pneumonia all over again" path.
  

• I've decided that it is a fine line between running to the pediatrician too frequently and not enough. In fact, I don't know that there is a middle ground. Because every time I bring someone in and it is nothing, I get the "There are lots of random viral things out there" talk, and every time I bring someone in and they have something, I always get the "You should have called two days ago" lecture.

• I so miss our regular pediatrician who is out on maternity leave (may she please come back). I am not a huge fan of seeing random doctors who have no idea who we are or what all of our issues are.

• Y'all were really, really quiet today. I kept refreshing my bloglines all day, and there was nothing. In fact, I even typed in some addresses in hopes that bloglines was broken.

• Didn't you get the telepathic memo that I was bored silly and couldn't stand one more minute of PBS kids programing?

• But, because of your lack of verbosity, I did finish mystery knitting project number one. It had some issues that will be discussed, with pictures, at a later date once the surprise has been sprung.

• Now I have to turn to a baby sweater I agreed to knit for the church auction next month. It is going to be orange. What do you want to bet that I'm going to end up buying back my own donation? But the yarn was just too nice and the color just too cool to pass up. So much better than the boring gender neutral colors like yellow or green, don't you agree?

• Is it bedtime yet? Please, let it be bedtime.
  

Since we're on the topic of books...

Well, after Amy's comment, I went digging to find the link between the books on the previous reading list. I didn't find it (I'm still going with my number of weeks on the NYT Bestsellers List theory, except the Joyce throws that off a bit...) but ran across this list and it struck me as an interesting one. And I would be particularly curious to see which books my readers have read and what you thought of the ones I haven't (hint, hint).

Anyway, courtesy of the Women's National Book Association (WMBA), here is a list of 75 books by women whose words have changed the world, as selected by WMBA members. If you check out the list on their site, they have even included brief synopsis, particularly helpful to those like me who sometimes forgets which books have actually been read and which have just sat in the "to read" pile so long that you think maybe you've read them through osmosis.

Jane Addams, Twenty Years at Hull House

Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

Isabel Allende, The House of the Spirits

Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex

Ruth Benedict, Patterns of Culture

Boston Women's Health Book Collective Staff, Our Bodies, Ourselves

Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

Susan Brownmiller, Against Our Will

Pearl S. Buck, The Good Earth

Rachel Carson, Silent Spring

Willa Cather, My Antonia

Mary Boykin Chesnut, A Diary from Dixie

Kate Chopin, The Awakening

Agatha Christie, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson

Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health

George Eliot, Middlemarch

Fannie Farmer, The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book

Francis Fitzgerald, Fire in the Lake

Dian Fossey, Gorillas in the Mist

Anne Frank, Diary of a Young Girl

Betty Friedan, The Feminine Mystique

Emma Goldman, Living My Life

Germaine Greer, The Female Eunuch

Radclyffe Hall, The Well of Loneliness

Edith Hamilton, Mythology

Betty Lehan Harragan, Games Mother Never Taught You

Karen Horney, Our Inner Conflicts

Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God

Helen Keller, The Story of My Life

Maxine Hong Kingston, The Woman Warrior

Elisabeth Kebler-Ross, On Death and Dying

Frances Moore Lappe, Diet for a Small Planet

Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

Doris Lessing, The Golden Notebook

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea

Audre Lorde, The Cancer Journals

Carson McCullers, The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter

Katherine Mansfield, The Garden Party

Beryl Markham, West with the Night

Margaret Mead, Coming of Age in Samoa

Golda Meir, My Life

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected Poems

Margaret Mitchell, Gone With the Wind

Marianne Moore, Complete Poems of Marianne Moore

Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon

Lady Shikibu Murasaki, The Tale Genji

Anais Nin, The Early Diary

Flannery O'Connor, The Complete Stories

Zoe Oldenbourg, The World Is Not Enough

Tillie Olsen, Silences

Elaine Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels

Emmeline Pankhurst, My Own Story

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Katherine Anne Porter, Ship of Fools

Adrienne Rich, Of Woman Born

Margaret Sanger, An Autobiography

Sappho, A New Translation

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Susan Sontag, Illness as Metaphor

Gertrude Stein, The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas

Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin

Barbara Tuchman, A Distant Mirror

Sigrid Undset, Kristin Lavransdatter

Alice Walker, The Color Purple

Eudora Welty, Delta Wedding

Edith Wharton, Ethan Frome

Phyllis Wheatley, The Collected Works of Phyllis Wheatley

Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Women

Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own

Well Read?

Note to blogline readers: Apparently the formatting doesn't come through well, so if you have any interest in seeing the list, you'll need to click through. Also, I couldn't unitalicize stuff, so if it is bolded and italicized, it just means I read it and was too lazy to retype.

As seen at Barbara's. I was actually curious who had come up with this list, and followed the meme links back as far as I could, but couldn't figure it out. It's sort of an odd one. But I liked it as it makes it seem like I read much more than I actually do when really, I just like to follow the NYTimes bestsellers herd. Please note that almost all of these were read well before the introduction of small chaos generators into my life.

Look at the list of books below.
* Bold the ones you’ve read
* Italicize the ones you want to read
* Leave blank the ones that you aren’t interested in.

1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown)
2. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austin)
3. To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
4. Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell)
5. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Tolkien)
6. The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (Tolkien)
7. The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (Tolkien)
8. Anne of Green Gables (L.M. Montgomery)
9. Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
10. A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Rowling)
12. Angels and Demons (Dan Brown)
13. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Rowling)
14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
16. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Rowling)
17. Fall on Your Knees (Ann-Marie MacDonald)
18. The Stand (Stephen King)
19. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Rowling)
20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte)
21. The Hobbit (Tolkien)
22. The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)
23. Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)
24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
25. Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
26. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)
28. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis)
29. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
30. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)
31. Dune (Frank Herbert)
32. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
33. Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
34. 1984 (Orwell)

35. The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
36. The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)
37. The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38. I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb)
39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)

42. The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)
43. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella)
44. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom)
45. Bible
46. Anna Karenina (Tolstoy)
47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
48. Angela’s Ashes (Frank McCourt)
49. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
50. She’s Come Undone (Wally Lamb)
51. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
52. A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens)
53. Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card)
54. Great Expectations (Dickens)
55. The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald)
56. The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Rowling)
58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
59. The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood)
60. The Time Traveller’s Wife (Audrew Niffenegger)
61. Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
62. The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
63. War and Peace (Tolstoy)
64. Interview With The Vampire (Anne Rice)
65. Fifth Business (Robertson Davis)
66. One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
67. The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (Ann Brashares)
68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
69. Les Miserables (Hugo)
70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
71. Bridget Jones’ Diary (Fielding)
72. Love in the Time of Cholera (Marquez)
73. Shogun (James Clavell)
74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje)
75. The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
76. The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay)
77. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith)
78. The World According To Garp (John Irving)
79. The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
80. Charlotte’s Web (E.B. White)
81. Not Wanted On The Voyage (Timothy Findley)
82. Of Mice And Men (Steinbeck)
83. Rebecca (Daphne DuMavrier)
84. Wizard’s First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
85. Emma (Jane Austen)
86. Watership Down(Richard Adams)
87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
88. The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
89. Blindness (Jose Saramago)
90. Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)
91. In The Skin Of A Lion (Ondaatje)
92. Lord of the Flies (Golding)
93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
94. The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum)
96. The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton)
97. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
98. A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford)
99. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)
100. Ulysses (James Joyce)

Princesses do it better

One of the posts languishing on my dashboard discusses my ambivalence towards A's discovery of the world of princesses and fairies. Maybe I'll finish it one of these days, and maybe I won't but for now I'll share this.

This morning, her posse of girl friends came over while the older siblings were at school. These are the girls responsible for the introduction of all things princess into our lives, and when they come over they arrive in full princess regalia and spend their time twirling and granting wishes. Today was no exception.

About half an hour into the playdate, A arrived with a princess dress and the highest pink heels in her dress up wardrobe in tow, requesting assistance in snapping the dress. As I was helping her, one of the other mommies asked "What kind of princess are you today A?"

A looked her up and down and then very seriously replied, "I'm not just a princess, I am a doctor. A VERY GOOD doctor. I just like to wear my gown to work. Because why shouldn't I?"

Somehow, the whole princess thing doesn't bother me quite as much anymore.

Note to the school administrators

Just because there are five snow days built into the schedule and it hasn't snowed all winter does not mean that you can just cancel school after a week off to use them up. I mean, the roads are BLACKTOP folks. The plow came through once at 6 am and the roads were cleaner than they were four days after the last "storm."

On the upside, it only took me an hour to shovel out, and I am so totally counting that as a cardio workout.

Blame it on M

The reason why winter weather is on its way to the tri-state area? The reason I can almost guarantee we will be getting the 7+ inches of snow the weather folks are hyping? The reason why there will be no fricking school and I will have to deal with the phone chain headache again? It is because M is on his way to sunny and warm climates for the week. He has successfully missed EVERY SINGLE STORM since we moved from the city. Every one.

I deserve some sort of hardship pay. Or I want to move back to the city where shoveling is not. my. problem.

A (Not So) Lazy Afternoon

I am apparently living in an alternate universe right now, as both my children have been entertaining themselves for almost an hour straight. I have only had to step in twice, once to clean up a botched potty trip and once to insist that a few things get cleaned up before another activity began. I'm afraid to step away from the computer in case it disrupts the time-space continuum and I am suddenly required to play referee or entertainer or ....

See, I jinxed myself just by typing that, I started this post three hours ago. Sigh. But hey...at least the peace lasted for almost an hour, right?

Overheard on the way out the door

C: "Do we have to run any errands today?"

Chichimama: "Yes, and you need to behave better than you did yesterday."

C: "What kind of errands are we running?"

Chichimama: "We just have to go to Trader Joe's."

C pauses and reflects for a few seconds, then responds: "OK, I can behave in Trader Joe's."

Picky Picky

Rebecca's last post scared me. It never ever occurred to me that some day my kids might eat dinner at someone else's house and the thought horrified me as all of their friends eat "real" food. You know, roast chicken, lasagna, tacos, rice and beans. And my children used to, they really did. But somehow over the last year they have moved from "adventurous eaters extraordinaire" (Empanadas? Bring em on. Sesame Thai tofu? You betcha.) to children who eat the same five or six foods day in and day out. Our list is fairly similar to Julia's, except we do have chicken (nuggets only) and quiche. Sometimes tofu.

So, in a massive panic that C might soon be asked to dinner at someone's house and my children's lack of dinner repertoire might be found out, tonight I braved the introduction of a new food, "Pizza Chicken Nuggets." Known to the rest of the world as Chicken Parmesan. As a side I served sweet potato "fries," as the bane of Nana's existence is that my children have lost their taste for sweet potato.

After the initial temper tantrums subsided, there was much interest in the concept of "Pizza Chicken Nuggets." Everyone oohhed and ahhed when it arrived on their plates, and a few bites were even consumed. Following Susan's advice, I studiously ignored their interest in the food, and occupied myself with cleaning under my fingernails. Which were astonishingly gross. I must remember to clean them on the days I manage to catch a shower....but I digress.

At the end of the meal, C had consumed all of his sweet potato fries and asked for more, and (maybe) a few bites of "Pizza Chicken." A consumed one bite of "Pizza Chicken" and one bite of sweet potato fry. She deemed the chicken "Yummy" and the sweet potato fry "not so yummy." Which kills me because the other day she ate my entire sweet potato off of my plate. It remains to be seen whether a sudden hunger develops right before bed, but I would consider this meal to be moderately successful. At least everyone tried something, and no one left the table upset.

Any suggestions regarding what I should try next? What would you serve a visiting child for dinner?

Neglect

I've been neglecting my blog as of late (Hi, mom, we made it back from Florida just fine, no worries!). I don't know why it is that I can't quite commit to writing down the posts I have in my head. I think it is probably because I am a fundamentally lazy person. So, for example, on the plane ride back today, I composed several posts in my head, as my laptop was otherwise in use as a portable DVD player. But did I write them up when I got home? No, I did not. I did laundry, and went to Trader Joe's, and watched American Idol. Because I couldn't commit to writing about the problem with princesses or the amazing lack of parenting ability on display at an airport near you.

You should see my Blogger dashboard. Littered with half finished posts. The demise of the nap and the advent of the travel season has wreaked havoc on my ability to focus for more than a minute at a time. Plus, one can't blog and knit at the same time, and I've sort of been on a knitting kick recently. Has anyone invented a really workable audio blogging device? Because I could chat your ear off while I knit...

Anyway, don't mind me and my lack of content. One of these days I'll commit to a blog post of consequence, or not...

Check

Dumb Cat located? Check.

Arrived safely in Florida? Check.

Children well behaved on flight? Check, check.

All bags and belongings accounted for? Check.

Children thrilled to see grandparents? Check.

Grandparents thrilled to see children? Check.

Alligator in the backyard? Check.

Snake on the patio? Check.

Lizard in the bedroom? Check.

There is a reason why I refuse to live in Florida, much to my husband's dismay. I like northern critters and creepy crawly things, thank you very much.

This whine is brought to you by the letters C and D

Why is it that Dumb Cat goes missing EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. we are about to go on vacation? Rebecca can attest, she has spent hours hunting for my cat while I have been off gallivanting around. Except unlike the other trips, which generally take place in the summer, this one is taking place when it is fricking cold outside, and icy and snowy and windy. And I am more concerned than usual. Because Dumb Cat is not a fan of the cold and icy and snow and wind. So that fact that it is 2:30am, and I am up, the lights are on and he is not home? Not good. AND, since Rebecca is, well, living in another country, she will not be around to hunt for the missing feline. Poor Lovely Friend, who I am quite sure is wishing she never met me right now, is going to get stuck with that job. Because for all my blustering, I will be rather upset if something happens to that cat.

And, it is supposed to be cold in Florida. Right up until the day after we leave. Whaaahhhh.

It's a fricking roller coaster

Wheee! The deal is on, no it is off, no it is on but with a contingency, wait! But what about this!

As of right now, it is back on. But don't expect to hear of it again until the keys are officially handed over. Because clearly, I am a major jinx factor in our lives.

Too good to be true

Our lawyer just informed us that we are not out of attorney review. Instead, we are in the midst of watching the deal disintegrate around us. Our real estate agent was perhaps hoping if she spoke the words, they would magically come true. I am familiar with that feeling, heck, every time I offer up a green bean to A, I commit the same offense. But somehow, announcing that green beans are yummy and telling someone they are through attorney review on the piece of real estate that just.won't.sell. seem to be of different magnitudes. Not that I am bitter or anything.

I'm going to crawl into a small hole and hibernate until this is all over. We are officially on school vacation for a week plus, I might just stay in my pajamas until school resumes. Because there is something very, very comforting about living in one's pajamas. In fact, I think I am going to go find them. Right now.

Late Breaking News

We are officially out of attorney review on the old house, and the closing is set for the end of April. I'm just going to dance myself a little jig over here. Don't mind me.

Thanks to all for all the support during the house drama. I would claim that I will now be an upbeat and cheerful blogger, however, I would be lying. But at least I'll have one less thing to whine about, right? And just maybe if I'm not constantly in a semi-panic state, I'll have more time to ponder the wonders of the universe. Like how some people manage to be on time to school every. single. morning. With all members of their household dressed in weather appropriate clothing.

The Diary of a Phone Chain

8:15 pm: Huh, it is actually snowing a little. Yeah! I don't have to clean for playgroup in the morning. I can curl up and work on my knitting instead of mopping the kitchen floor.

10:07 pm: Wait, if there isn't school, how will I know?

10:08 pm: Phone chain! I remember now, there is a phone chain!

10:09 pm: Where is the phone chain?

10:15 pm: Ah, the phone chain. Who do I have to call?

10:16 pm: Who IS that person? Is her child actually in C's class? Where is the class list?

10:18 pm: Ah ha! The class list. Huh. This is the class list from last year.

10:20 pm: Ah ha! The real class list. Why was I looking for this? Right! Who's mom am I calling? Now where did I put the phone chain?

10:21 pm: There is the phone chain...I should really file this stuff somehow...huh. I thought her name was Jane. Man, I hope I haven't called her Jane to her face. Why did I think her name was Jane?

10:22 pm: It doesn't seem to be snowing that much. I bet we will have school. I guess I should go to bed.

10:23 pm: I should bring the phone chain upstairs just in case.

10:25 pm: Where is the upstairs phone? Oh God, in A's room.

10:26 pm: Phew! Phone and phone chain on my bedside table. I didn't even wake A up.

10:28 pm: Damn, I missed the weather. Oh well. Clearly, there will be school. Just look at it outside. Barely any snow.

1:17 am: Have to pee. Is there much snow yet? Nope. I guess I need to dig out the juice boxes for the party in the morning. Gee, I hope I have enough. Gah, I never mopped the floor for playgroup.

5:28 am: "Mommy! I had a nightmare that the Valentine's party was canceled because of the snow!" "Don't worry, look out the window, no snow. Go back to sleep."

5:53am: Is that the phone? Where is the phone? Why is it ringing? Who is calling at this hour? "Hello? Really? But there is no snow! Ice, huh? OK. Bye."

5:53 am "MOMMMMYYYYYY! BUT WHAT ABOUT THE PARTY?????"

5:55 am: Wait, I'm the coordinator? What does that mean? Am I supposed to call everyone under me? It says I have to call everyone under me. But the woman who called me said to just call the next person on the list. Why is this so complicated? It's a freaking preschool phone chain. What happened to waking up and watching the news?

5:57am: "Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye."

5:58 am: Crap. I didn't say anything about calling the next person on the list. And the list says I am supposed to call everyone, so I should really call the next person.

5:59 am: Well, I'm not calling anyone else this early. I'll go back to bed an call at a more respectable hour.

6:03 am: I can't sleep. What if I oversleep and someone heads off to school and gets into an accident and it is all my fault? I should get out of bed and start calling.

6:05 am: But is is only 6:05 am. No one on that list is up at this hour. Even my kids are still sleeping.

6:11 am: I am never going to be able to sleep unless I call. I'm just going to call. I was called before 6 am, this is so not my fault.

6:15 am: "Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye."

6:16 am: Damn it, I forgot to tell her to call the next person on the list. I'll just keep calling.

6:17 am: "Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye."

6:18 am: "Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye."

6:19 am: "Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye."

6:20 am: I should really mention to someone at school that they could start the phone tree at a more respectable hour. "Hi, this is Chichimama from preschool. Yes, I know it is early, but they told me to call. OK, bye."

6:21 am: Phew. All calls made. NOW I can go to sleep.

6:22 am: "MOMMY! MOMMY! BUT WHAT ABOUT MY PARTY?????"

6:28 am: Next year, I have to remember to put my name at the VERY LAST SLOT on the list.

Underachiever

Nothing makes me feel like an underachiever like reading an email from my alma mater about a graduate who accomplishes something important and meaningful while I am wiping yogurt streaks left by little fingers off of my computer.

I think there should be an alumni award for the most impressive waste of an education. I could be a contender I tell you.

In case you wondered why my drivel has dried up over the last few days

I present to you, the finished bunting.


It's a little reminiscent of an unfortunate bridesmaids dress (which was thankfully never worn), or a certain McDonald's character, but it is done.


Done, done, done (just don't look too closely at how the zipper is sewn in, OK?). I hope Baby C2 wears it at least once. In fact, I hope it fits Baby C2 by the time it makes it to Texas, the child is growing like a weed.


Some (grammatically incorrect) lessons that were learned during this knitting project...

• Much like on a wall in your living room, colors that look good in small swatches take on their own life when knit into a large item of clothing.

• If I ever do a zipper again, I'm buying a sewing machine.

• Picking up stitches is not nearly as difficult as it sounds.

• When sewing something together, double check that you have pinned it together correctly BEFORE sewing around the whole piece.

• Stockinette is a really boring stitch when done for long periods of time.

• When knitting in boring stockinette stitch, never, ever pick a pattern that dictates increases and decreases by row number instead of inches.

My next few projects are hush hush, so don't be looking for any knitting updates over the next few weeks. But once the surprises have been sprung, I'll post pics.

There is something so wrong about this

So I haven't blogged about this, not wanting to jinx anything, but we finally had an offer on the old house. The inspection is this afternoon. I went over this morning to turn the heat up and low and behold, the pipes, they were frozen. Solid. I called Lovely Friend in a panic (and I mean a full-fledged, hysterical "OH MY GOD. I'M GOING TO HAVE A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN RIGHT. NOW" panic. And, because she is so much calmer and, well, saner than I, she came over armed with heat guns and fans and portable heaters, and most importantly, snacks for the kids.

And as I paced around the kitchen querying her on exactly which anti-anxiety medications she might have lying around her house, she went about setting up the heaters and fans and heat guns and, bless her heart, got them unfrozen. I wish I could be that kind of calm person, instead of the kind that runs around with her head cut off in the middle of a crisis. I always thought I handled crisis well, but I have been proven wrong time and time again this year. So if you have a crisis, don't call me. Unless of course you want Lovely Friend's number.

I think I will bring her wine. And perhaps knit her some new mittens. Seriously, how do you thank someone for saving your real estate deal? I somehow think that wine and mittens are not quite enough.

Oh, and the part that is so wrong? It is now almost 10 degrees warmer at the house in which we do not live than it is here. Wrong. Just wrong.

The magic number

Apparently, 70 is the temperature that my house should be at today to keep me warm. And I did in fact set it that high for half and hour or so until the fear of sky-high energy bills scared me into turning it back down to 64. But the half hour was blissful. Unfortunately, I discovered that it should have kept it warmer for a bit longer as the sandwich bread we are in desperate need of for tomorrow has decided not to rise.

I have also discovered that the downstairs powder room is about five degrees warmer than the rest of the house because it is so small, and because for some odd reason the air blasts out of the vent in there more more forcefully than in the rest of the house. So I spent much of the day knitting in the bathroom, and will be rising my bread in there from now on. I know, it is an exciting, exciting life I lead.

Cold

I am cold. I cannot get warm. I am wearing long johns, fleece pants, a turtleneck and a fleece sweatshirt. Wool socks and down slippers. I have even broken my cardinal rule of energy (and money) conservation and turned the heat up to 67. Unheard of in this house. But do I feel any warmer? No, no I do not. Even the cats have spent the day following the sun from one spot to another, and have now buried themselves in the middle of our bed, snuggled under pillows.

The arctic chill without any snow to make it all pretty? Not fun. Not fun at all. I am off to join the cats in their search for warmth under the covers in the bedroom. Come find me if I haven't emerged by spring.

It's a small world

Today, I totally forgot about the birthday party of a classmate of C's until 20 minutes after it had started. Stupidly, I mentioned this oversight to C, and somehow found us racing over to the local gymnastics studio with no socks and jackets on in 20 degree weather in order to make it "in time for the cake!" We screeched into the party, C flung himself into the fray of 25 five year olds playing some bastardized version of statue, and A burst into tears as she realized she was going to spend the next 45 minutes watching her brother and his friends have fun.

All of a sudden, a piece of paper appeared in front of my eyes. I looked up, and there was the knitting pattern I had been begging the internet to help me locate. Before me stood the woman in the funky scarf, who was almost jumping for joy.

"I got home and realized that the pattern was at Berroco, not Bernat!" she exclaimed. "So I printed it out and have been carrying it around in my bag hoping I would see you! And I did!"

It is a small, small world. And now I have a reason to finish that bunting for Baby C2.

Overheard from the disgruntaled

A: (muttering under her breath after a sibling battle over TtFTE) "When I am da mommy, I am going to give you time outs C. Yes I am. Long, long time outs. I can't wait to be da mommy and give you time outs."

Going for the Jugular

As C sat perched on a stool watching me frantically sweep and clean the kitchen before the arrival of our playdate (because of course I decided to procrastinate the cleaning)...

C: "Playdate Friend's mom's house is always nice and clean and white. She is a very good cleaner." He looks around critically, then adds "You're not such a good cleaner."

Five's a Crowd

I woke up this morning with four small bodies crowded around me. Two kids, two cats. No husband. I lay there and wondered, "How did I get here? Where oh where did I go wrong?" Clearly, we should have bought that king sized bed when we replaced the full after C was born. But at the time, the queen seemed so huge, and C was so small! Plus, he would soon be sleeping in his own room, in his own bed. So a queen would serve us just fine. Hah. Yet another fatal error in parental judgment.

While the kids start the night off in their own beds, somewhere around 1 C has started migrating into our bed. He migrates back to his own around 2 or so, just in time for the cats to arrive. At 4, A tries to wake up for the day and generally can be convinced to snuggle in bed with us until 6 or so. But C must have some sort of fairness radar that goes off the minute she climbs into bed, because he arrives shortly after demanding the opportunity to snuggle as well. After a few minutes of two children and two cats squirming around trying to get comfortable and carve out their own space, M generally gives up the ghost and starts his day. I try to eek a few more minutes out of the kids, but the sound of the shower alerts A to the fact that it is time to start our day, and so ends our night.

When talking with my mom a few days ago, I mentioned that my sister, with a toddler and a newborn, seemed to be getting more sleep than I was as Baby C2 already has day and night figured out, and is only getting up once or twice a night to nurse. My mom paused, and then finally commented, "Well, she is not quite as quick to go to them as you are. They have to really mean business before she heads in to them. Not that there is anything wrong with what you do!" And it is true, I have always gone with the "Cut the crying off at the pass" philosophy in hopes that the child would quickly return to a sleeping state.

So last night, I tried not to run up the stairs the instant A woke up. I sat and finished my row, and even debated starting another one. But then she climbed out of bed and stood in the hallway screaming "I want my MOM-MEEEEEE! I want my MOM-MEEEEE NOW!" By the time I made it there, she was lying in the middle of the staircase, about to roll the rest of the way down and crash land on the tile floor below. And then she continued to scream for an hour and half. So much for that experiment.

I really, really wish we had gotten that king sized bed. If you glean any advice from my blog at all, let it be this. If you are in the market for a bed, and you have more than one child, and you are of the "whatever works" style of parenting, do yourself a favor and get the king.

Bullets of Randomness

• I should be working on the bunting for Baby C2. But since I am almost done with it, I have instead spent most of the day pondering my next project. This is why I find it hard to actually FINISH a project.

• My hands are so dry and cracked I look like I am well over 100 if you look at my hands. Really. I need to get better at moisturizing.

• It is supposed to snow tonight. Which would generally be fabulous, but M isn't going to be home tonight and there are two houses to be shoveled out. Sigh. Double sigh. At least I won't have to worry about not getting to the gym.

• The Jello Pudding 100 Calorie Devil's Food Cake thingy's are perhaps the best invention ever. Although if you eat three of them in a day, I suppose the 100 calorie thing is not so relevant.

• We are supposed to have a playdate tomorrow with a child who was exposed to strep on Tuesday. Is it bad of me to hope that it snows enough that we won't be able to have the playdate? Because if he was exposed on Tuesday, he is ripe to be coming down with it on Saturday, and will be nice an contagious tomorrow. But what was I supposed to say, "Oh, no, we won't play with you because you MIGHT be getting sick?" I would have been much happier if she had just not told me at all. There is indeed such a thing as too much information.

• I guess I need to clean if there is a playdate coming over. But do I clean now? Or wait until the last minute because it might be canceled? Decisions, decisions.

• Despite the playdate and cleaning thing, I think I am still hoping for a lack of snow. Because all that shoveling, shiver. So I am off to ignore that weather alert blinking at me at the top of my browser. Weather alert? What weather alert?