The Doldrums

Sick and tired. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. Blah. I feel sick, and no, I’m absolutely, positively 100% sure I’m not pregnant. At least that would give me a reason for feeling so crappy. No, this is just garden variety doldrums. I feel hopeless and listless and groggy and all I want is to be left alone. For a few days. But no, I have three little kids, a husband who is looking for work, and a home to manage.

It’s the same old refrain. Nothing new under the sun. I can’t pick up the house as fast as the kids wreck it, I don’t have the energy to deal with them properly, I yell, they ignore, add more, rinse, repeat.

So I’m on strike. I actually took Jeffrey to the second-hand store on Saturday because that’s HOW BADLY I don’t want to do laundry. He got two shirts and two pair of shorts. That gets me to Monday. I can make it that long.

I wash all the clothes in the house. Fold them, put them away. It takes an entire day. Within two days, everyone has rifled through their clothes and it’s a disaster again. What exactly did I just spend a day of my life doing? Why? And I get to do it again? And again? for years? *SIGH*

Not feeling a lot of personal satisfaction in my role.

Same thing with food prep, meals, the play room, the yard, even my own hair. I do it today, and holy crap, I have to do it again tomorrow? And again? For the rest of my life?

See? Not feeling my chipper self. I’ve medicated myself with some Haagen Dazs- yeah, all that does is make me really really sick. And fat. And tired. Whoo hoo.

Took the kids swimming at the local pool last night. It was more fun than anticipated- until it was time to go. Abby and Bean both had simultaneous reactor-core melt-downs. Tired babies, too much sun, late dinner, tired mama and daddy = Yay! Let’s go do it again.

Sometimes I just want to run away.

Random Crap, Hot Edition

Yard Sale haul today: A dozen metal cookie cutters- $1. Primary reader copyright 1900- $1. Two dress-up sequin and tulle outfits, ostensibly for Abby, but surely Beanie will enjoy them more- 50 cents. Vintage pattern- 10 cents. Pterodactyl Hot Wheels Race Track with flying Pterodactyl, already causing fights and tears and much screaming- $3. Priceless.

Only six days until my cousin is here…

One of my quilt groups met last night for a tea party. We dined al fresco, under small chandeliers, ate tiny little cucumber sammies (I hate you Rachel Ray) and puff pastry strawberry thingies, drank peach lemonade from demitasse teacups, and generally had a very good and very loud time. I’m probably the youngest member in both the quilt groups I belong to- seems not many younguns like the quiting these days- but I have a ball hanging out with the old ladies. Old ladies rock.

We’re tipping the century mark this weekend. I’m digging a hole to hide in now.

Stella is finally getting comfy with the chaos that reigns in-house. Now, when the din grows above a roar, she chimes in and peeps along with the monsters. It’s cute, and I’m glad she’s not a hyperventilating terrified mess anymore. I like her happy little noises over in the corner. At least I think they’re happy. Oh, and my kids are WAY messier than she is- Yay Stella!

It’s almost July. I hate July. It’s my worst month. Except for strawberries. They make July OK.

I’m lost for the summer. All these unstructured days leave me feeling like a forlorn pool toy, half deflated and floating juuuuust out of easy reach. The idea of superimposing structure on myself sounds good in theory, but I lack the substance to make it happen. That doesn’t mean I lack substance, mine just seems to be make of lots of floatier stuff, and not so much stiff stuff.

I haven’t been back to California in two years. I have a new nephew due to arrive in a few weeks, and it doesn’t look like I’ll make it for his birth. Once again, unemployment sucks.

I have to give a shout-out to Mythbuster Beauty, my favorite beauty blog- Jen, and mom of five, yes five(!) fabulous girls, writes daily about make-up, skin care, tid bits of fashion and girl stuff galore. Check her out, and enter some of her monthly give-aways of tres chic make up and skin care products.

Abby has learned to shriek-scream, which she does all day, much to her delight, and my ear-drum’s dismay.  She also tells me now when she requires a diaper-change. She does so by bringing me a clean diaper and backing her bum up to whatever I happen to be doing. beeep…beeep…beeep- she needs an alarm. Potty training must be close. Right? Right??

My children have selective deafness. I wish I did, too.

Whew

It wasn’t until we sat down to dinner tonight that I realized today was Wednesday, and not Thursday. Whew. All day I had been rushing around, trying to get everything taken care of, worrying about a meeting I have at 7, needing to get to the market before my WIC coupons expire- and then I flipped open my phone, and it said, in tiny little letters, *wed* . A weight the size of Rhode Island lifted from my shoulders, and I think I exhaled the first time all day.

Even now, just getting back from the grocery store, I kept thinking tomorrow was Yard Sale day. Nope. I feel like I’ve been given a little present.

The Results Show!

OK, so I made a 9′ and a 6′ (that’s feet) set of these jabot swags for my friend who just got a new kitchen after 21 years of marriage and four kids. She so deserved something wonderful, and I made them out of dupioni silk in a luscious stripe pattern, and the lining was green.

             

Here is Abby’s new dress- I positively adore, adore the Amy Butler fabric- I had it in my stash, and was not sure what to do with it- turns out it makes a darling little dress. I got the vintage 70’s pattern for the dress at a yard sale for 25 cents.

 

The part I am most pleased with is the insides- for the first time, I used French seams. It was not hard, and made the dress hang and come together beautifully. Not a raw edge anywhere, and no serging. If you don’t sew, none of that will mean anything to you, but I’m am just so happy with it, I plan on using French seams again-  things look so finished and professional.

The next dress I’ve started for Abby- I love the birds. I’m up in the air on whether I should make the skirt from the birds, or go with a bright green or solid yellow- again, using the vintage pattern and French seams. Loves it.

This is a table top I am painting for a friend. She and her husband love squirrels, and that was their only request. I opted for anime, since she loves that- and I have to get this finished today and out to her, since her husband deploys tomorrow and she wants him to see it before he leaves.

And this is my sewing room. So that’s what I’ve been doing the last few days… My poor kids have been neglected and ignored- but they got me back. They snuck into my sewing room when I was upstairs, stole a ball of hand-spun yarn from Peru and cut it into tiny little pieces, just for fun.  They also found my bag of rubber bands and used them as confetti in the play room.  It’s the price we pay.

I hope someday they understand how all-encompassing my need to create is; I hope they don’t resent mama being preoccupied and basically leaving them to their own devices for a day or two. I do feed them and change diapers, but otherwise, as long as no one is bleeding, they pretty much have the run of things. I don’t know how to balance our needs any better than that.

BusyBusyBusy

I’m making stuff- busy busy busy. Dresses, drapes for HT’s new kitchen, some darling Amy Butler fabric for an outfit for Abby… busy busy busy. Pattern order, shipping stuff, taking pictures, cleaning kids, ignoring house, kids dirty quotient, house is disaster, don’t care… busy busy busy. Be back tomorrow with pictures…

Good Sunday

Supposed to be at church right now. We’re not. Obviously. The last two Sundays, Abby has screeched with such rabid abandon as soon as we open the chapel doors, we end up out in the hallway for the entire meeting. “No! No nononono! NOOOO!” I mean really, what two-year old can sit for an hour? Why? Beanie  cries and covers his ears whenever music or singing occurs, and we end up out in hallway. Again. I like church. I like going- I get good things out of it, and it’s good for our family- and yet, going with a two, four and six year-old for the 1 o’clock block is just torture. So, today we play hookie.

Abby has been eating cherries picked from Auntie Joy’s yard, and her cheeks and chin and nightgown (yes, I haven’t even gotten her dressed yet) are all stained a glorious Bing crimson. She’s sitting in the garden digging in the dirt, at watching the butterflies flutter around her hair. Beanie is wearing a dress and eating some peanut butter, Jeffrey is playing Lego, David is trying to teach Stella to whistle, and I still have my jammies on too. The windows are open, the house is quiet and the trees in the yard are whooshing peacefully in the soft breeze, giving us a break from the stiffling heat of yesterday.

I call that a good Sunday.

Murakami Jackpot

Lookie what I got, lookie what I got!! (Sang in my best sing-songy voice) Yes! Ok, so it might be a fake, but you know what? If it is, it’s a dang good fake! AND, the best part? Garage sale! One dollar. Yes, ONE dollar. It was in a pile of other purses, and the lady said all the purses were a dollar. Even this one? I said, holding it up- she didn’t look up, nodded, and I handed her my dollar and moseyed away. Like a jackrabbit bunny.

It’s got all the marking right, the rivets are right, the insides label is right- I think the lining may be the wrong color- but I’m not sure. I don’t have another to cross check. It is missing the padlock for the zipper.  But still? A dollar? You know you would have bought it too!

The Ironic Dinner

So today, to splurge and reward my children for being soooo good while I went Visiting Teaching, I promised a rare trip through the drive-thru. Yeah, yeah, I know we can’t really afford it right now, but I have a little stash for treats.

There was a bit of a line, and the car windows were down to alleviate the complaining of hot, hungry kids. Clearly, I could listen to the car in front of me placing her very, very long order- burger after burger- andcrackly intercom girl squawked out her total of $29. Yowza! I admit, all I was thinking, as I placed my order for three kids meals with milk, was that this was going to take forever. My kids were hot and grumpy, and was too.

Wait. Wait. Wait… Wait some more.

As I finally pulled up to the window, the girl began to hand bags out to me- first, three kids meals, three milks, and then four more large bags… wait, this doesn’t make sense- “Uh, miss, I don’t think this is my order… I had three kids meals, and that was all.

I hand the four bags back through the window, and the girl calls her manager over. He looks at the ticket and asks me what I ordered. Repeating it again, he looks befuddled. “OK ma’am, I think we gave your order to the car ahead of you, and this is theirs. We have to throw it away since you handled the bags-Do you want it? We’ll fix you your order right now, and we’re really sorry.”

So, while I patiently (*snerkle*) waited for my correct food, they handed over the four ginormous bags of burgers the lady ahead of me ordered! All $29 worth!

So for the price of three kids meals with milk, I have eight enormous burgers, a chicken sandwich, three more kids meals, and six french fries. Ha! David’s going to be happier than a pig in poop when he gets home! AND I don’t have to cook dinner.

wiggling my behind and *doing a happy dance*

The Humble Market

The coupons were concealed carefully inside my purse, but I had to keep peeking at the list to see what was approved for me to purchase. A dozen eggs, four gallons of milk, some breakfast cereal of specific brand, cheese- all carefully lined out on the coupons the nice lady at the WIC center had given me.

It was explained that WIC (Women, Infants and Children) is a federally funded program to provide nutritional food to families of limited means. I was encouraged by the Nice Lady to spend all the coupons each month, as WIC’s annual funding was predicated by the previous year’s grant being spent. She was kind, soft spoken and I left the office in tears anyway.

Never had I imagined needing something like a WIC coupon. I was the person who helped others. I was the one working in the soup kitchens, the one cooking at the Bishop’s Storehouse, the one who donates to help others. Not me. Not me.

And so the coupons remained concealed from casual observation. Though I had waited until very late to go the market, I still felt the sting of shame as I carefully chose the approved brick of cheese and large tin can of apple juice.

In an empty aisle, I tallied my groceries, making sure I had used the coupons to the full and honest extent. When another woman turned her cart onto my aisle, I quickly stuffed the papers back in my purse, and pretended to study the label on a can of soup, my cheeks coloring with humility.

At the front of the store, I looked for a register with no line, and settled my basket in behind a woman with only a few items. As I began unloading my cart, I realized I had been in this line before. I had been in line behind women with these very same items, with small children, and my thoughts had not, I was ashamed to admit, always been charitable.

Looking at me, so many would not be charitable either. For the world to see; a nice car, a designer handbag, a big house in a nice neighborhood, a flashy cell phone and an large diamond wedding ring. I could practically hear the catty voices: Why would that woman need WIC food? She must be one of those. One of those people who use and abuse the system.

And there I stood. Tears sprang to my eyes. My cheeks stung with shame. On the outside, what, indeed, did I lack? Hidden from the world: the unemployment going on six months, a health crisis for my husband, the reserves of savings dwindling as the prices of staples rose, the food storage being used up, and the quiet desperation creeping up in our family.

Maybe there was another way for me to learn that lesson. Maybe not. What I do know is, I will never, ever stand in line at the grocery store the same way again.

Matthew 7:1-2 has surely been written in my heart:

Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.

Maybe I Have a Thing for Bees?

Mmmmmmmmmmm. Meet my new best friend. Lusciousness that requires the closing of your eyes to fully appreciate the sweet, flowery, subtle flavors on your tongue. Easily the best ice cream. Ever.

You CAN Do It

So last night I banged out a post on home repairs for the mama- it ended up waaaay too long, and after posting, I got up at 1 in the morning and deleted the beast. The truth is, there are a ton of online tutorials available for any project you could possibly need doing. I highly recommend the How-To-Library at Lowe’s.

The most important thing, and I cannot stress this enought, is that you CAN do it.  If you can squeeze toothpaste out of a tube and use a putty knife, you can re-glaze a window. If you can spread peanut butter on toast, you can repair drywall. If you can turn a screw, you can hang a towel rack, a curtain rod or a TP holder. Really. You CAN do it.

So if you have something around the house you are tired of waiting on DH to get to, get to it yourself! Check out the How-To-Library, type in your problem, and tackle that job! And I want to hear what you’re doing~!

The Dirt Monster or How I Love Doing Everything Twice

So much of motherhood is an exercise in monotony. Rise each day, fix meals, wipe behinds, change diapers, do laundry, do dishes, fix more meals, drive somewhere, deal with a tantrum, do more laundry, do more dishes, bath dirty babies, lather, rinse, repeat again tomorrow. And again. And the next day, and the next and the next… Not a lot of personal satisfaction to be found there, at least for me. Oh, there is immense satisfaction in clean babies fresh from a bath, in little arms hugging your tightly, and other shiny moments that carry you. But I don’t think many mamas would argue there is a lot of boring repetition in motherhood.

Usually, by the end of the night, I’m done. And I mean, Done. Once they are bathed and in their jammies, I can taste the end of the day- and I know soon, I will be able to collapse and have a tiny bit of peace. So last night, after their baths and teeth brushing (why oh why do they ALL smear toothpaste on the mirror? Why?) everyone was in their jammies, and I sat down to read a little bit of a magazine that came yesterday. La la la, sittin’ on the couch, looking at pretty interiors and how nice and clean the mama in the magazine’s house is- and knowing, just knowing, how much she stressed and had hired help to get ready for that quaint shot of her toddler playing in the spotless, designer kitchen, I heard a sound that frightened me…

Silence… Oh. No. Nothing strikes fear in the hearts of little kid mamas quite like silence. Oh. Crap. Where are they?? Getting up off the couch, I look around the quiet, peaceful, house- yes, there were the crumbs and goldfish on the floor, there was the stray socks and untied sneakers, there were the plastic dinner plates still on the table… but no kids.

A blur of pink and bright green catch the corner of my eye- and I look out in the backyard. Oh. My. Craptastic. This is what I saw:

Remember, she has already had her bath, and those are new jammies… As I got closer, the horror became more apparent:

\

Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oooooooh. Noooooooo…

The boys quickly rushed to strike super-hero poses once they saw mama. Protecting the Dirt Monster, I see- and then this final shot- of my darling little bunting of a girl:

You should’ve seen the bathwater. Second bath, that is. Even her diaper, yes diaper, was full of dirt.

STELLLAAAAAAAA!

Stella. That’s our new pet’s name. Yes, the birdcage does now have a tiny inhabitant. She is turquoise and grey, and as soon as she is not terrified of her new family, I will take a picture of her cute, tiny parakeet self. Right now, she is hiding under a towel, hyperventilating and wondering to what level of hell she has descended.

I’m going to record myself saying “Leave her ALONE!” and play it on continuous loop. Poor baby.

Random Crap, Early Summer Edition

Unbeknownst to me, Beanie was standing on the toilet paper holder, looking out the window in his bathroom the other night. He was supposed to be in bed- but he was into mischief. The toilet paper holder, meant for Charmin and not Beanie, ripped out of the wall and tore a large hole in the Sheetrock. Super. Awesome. Cool. I’m so glad I get to fix that now.

Jeffrey evidently felt too tired while sitting on the potty yesterday, so tired actually, that he had to grab the hand-towels and hang on them. Guess what? The towel holder ripped out of the wall too! Only this was in my toile bathroom- you know, the pretty one guests and nice people get to use- but now their are large holes in the Sheetrock, torn wallpaper and fun galore! I get to fix that too.

On my way, alone, to Lowe’s today to buy all the crap we can’t afford to fix all the Sheetrock, I stopped at some garage sales. It extended my time away, and that was fine by me. Spackle, drywall anchors, plaster patch compound, a putty knife, some insulation for above the french door waterfall from the other night, some new super-duper caulking, and a combination lock to keep Beanie in the backyard.  Oh, yeah, he likes to escape and run down the street. I figure it ought to take him at least a few weeks to figure out the combination- much longer than if he had to find the key.

So, my garage sale haul- small and puny- is as follows:

• One dozen antique Christmas balls, in original package, 50 cents
• 1887 copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, $1
• 1902 copy of Sonnet of Shakespeare, $2
• A completely new, unused baby book from 1951 for a baby girl, 50 cents
• An antique colander, $1
• Two rubber stamps, 10 cents each
• Three antique Schylling tin spice containers, 5 cents each
• An embroidered pillow case for Abby, 10 cents

So what’d I spend? $5.35? A lot cheaper than therapy.

I forgot- the toilet flusher thingy broke too, and I have to replace that in the downstairs bathroom.

Bright spot I’m looking forward to? My cousin Heather is coming up for Independence Day weekend. I’m so excited- I haven’t gotten to spend much time with her in years, and she is one of my favorite people. When I go down to California to visit, it’s always so rushed and we never get more than an afternoon together, so I’m really looking forward to three days with her. She’s never been up here, and well, I’m just very happy. Oh, and Crazy Chicken Annie is her mama. See? My favorite people.

Spring is finally really here in the Northwest. Nice, mild 70’s, breezey in the afternoons, lovely. The only problem is, it was so late getting here, all the gardens are about a month behind schedule. Picking strawberries is my July 4th tradition, and it doesn’t look like they’ll be ready this year until the end of July. Crud.

We have a new clothing trend in our house. Beanie has given up a lot of his pink things, and now Abby is wearing his clothes. Sometimes I think I should just scrap the whole “ownership” thing and just have a big, communal, unfolded laundry pile that all pick from… oh, wait. I do. Abby is currently sitting to my left, munching the already mentioned Cheetos, wearing Bean’s snow boots, a t-shirt of Jeffrey’s and a flowered necklace as a hair band. Her fingers and face are day-glo orange. Awesome.

Mighty Big Shoes to Fill

Can you miss or grieve for someone you never knew or met? I don’t know, but today when I heard Tim Russert had died of a massive heart attack at the too-young age of 58, my heart sank. News people in general don’t inspire much trust, but I always liked when Tim Russert was on my TV- he seemed genuine, trust-able, and, well, normal. Catching Meet the Press on a Sunday morning was something I like to do once in a while. He seemed to care about journalism, care about being honest, impartial and unbiased- kind of a rarity these days, when every cable channel has some lip-glossed and hair-clubed pundit telling you what to think.

Godspeed, Mr Russert. May the four winds carry you safely home.

Will Posterity Even Care? A Meme.

Answer these questions (is it me, or are meme’s like giant versions of grown-up mad-libs?).

What were you doing ten years ago?

• 1998- I was working for a toy company, travelling to toy shows in Germany, snowboarding with friends in Austria, living in California, driving a convertible and wondering if I would ever get married and have kids.

What are five things on your To-Do list today?

• go to the grocery store for milk, eggs and cheese- you know, food.
• my monthly quilt guild meeting- and I forgot, and I’m the president.
• Have a mommy-date with Beanie
• Call my mom
• Insulate and caulk the waterfall potential over the French doors.

What are your favorite snacks?

• Salt. A nice salt lick would be nice- I could put it on the coffee table- when I walk by, I could swipe a lick and be happy.
• Did I mention cheese?
• Bubbies half-sour dill pickles- and even tiny sips of the brine. Did I mention salt somewhere? Yeah, it’s a problem.
• Frozen red grapes.
• granny smith apples and a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese

Places you have lived?

• Sunnyvale, CA
• Santa Clara, CA
• Santa Cruz, CA
• Capitola, CA
• Seattle, WA
• Somewhere in the Northwest…

Five things you would do if you were a billionaire?

• Pay off all the debt for all my family members. Then I would buy a piece of property so we could all build natural straw-bale, solar houses close to each other again. But not too close.
• Open an art gallery for really quirky and fabulous things that might not otherwise be considered art- things like textiles, mixed media crafts, stuff like that.
• Did I mention cheese?
• Travel. And travel and travel some more. Show my kids the world.
• Start my own line of cool stuff- fabric, art supplies, organic cheese.

Five people you want to know more about?

• Abigail Adams
• Julia Child
• Amelia Earhart
• My grandma Kathryn
• Her mother, Emma Christina

 What are your favorite scents?

• Grapefruit peels
• Jasmine on a warm breeze
• Cotton bed sheets dried in the sun
• Old library books
• Newborn baby head

What are your favorite games?

• Kick the Can with my family on a hot summer night
• Swinging on a rope swing on an old oak tree (remind me to tell you a story…)
• Monopoly with my grandma and cold, tall glasses of Coke with tinkling cracked ice.
• Canasta, same as above.
• Wiffle Ball baseball at the Maka Memorial Day Picnic

 Play along if you want. Or not.

Too Much Excitement

So, this crazy lightning storm hit us tonight, making us fling open the windows in abandon and let the boys get up to watch the electricity crack and boom across the sky. It was intense and lovely, blowing from the northeast and filling the streets with torrents of rain and wind. Front porches are so wonderful.

As it died down, I sent the boys back to bed, and headed downstairs. I was checking my email, and suddenly, I heard water running- like a faucet- immediately to my left in the dining room- what the…? I got up from the computer, and pouring, I mean pouring down the french doors in our dining room was a waterfall. Inside. Did I mention inside? Yeah, inside.

David! David!! I holler- bring me some towels! Now!! What the crap…? This is a really nice and solid house, and so far, knock on wood, nothing has been wrong with it- ever. We don’t need this now… David comes ambling down the stairs, with two brand new, spa-size, never been used, given to us as a gift by his mother, white towels folded over his arms. I’m jamming kitchen towels along the door jamb as fast as I can and he has brought me my nice, NEW towels to help with the flood. Hooray.

Running to the foyer, I holler for Jeffrey to bring me the towels from his bathroom, and throw the new towels on the landing. Jeff comes downstairs with all the folded towels from the closet. I swear, it must be the genes. Is it only me that thinks NOT using NEW CLEAN towels for a flood is just a no-brainer? Is it only me? Is it a Y chromosome thing?

Anyway, it finally stopped raining and I was able to mop up the puddles and pull off the now-useless caulking around the doors. Near as I can tell, the old northeast side of the house (our backyard, where the doors lead to…) doesn’t really get pummelled by rain all that often- and the seal around the doors obviously failed- so I have wet Sheetrock, and a caulk-less door, and some work to do tomorrow.

Sometimes, I’m really glad my parents built the house I grew up in. I learned a lot of very practical things- I can hang a door, frame a window, I know how to lay and grout tile, and I beleive, with just a little elbow grease, I can seal the door and caulk the leaks tomorrow. *sigh* No rest for a pimp.

Just a Blip on the Radar

Grey drizzle has been coming down all day, and it made my drive home from the hotel out by the airport miserable. The large trucks on the freeway kick up and spit out such grit and slop, the wipers on David’s truck barely cleared a triangle for me to peer anxiously at the road. It was fitting the morning, and as the day wore on, the afternoon as well.

The seminar started at eight, but I was late because of the drizzle and road conditions. Also, because my kids are not used to having mom get up and leave before they do- yet, this morning, that was the plan. I forgot breakfast, and scarfed my allergy pill with a bottle of water I found on the passenger seat and called it good. When I got to the hotel, there was one seat left in the conference room, which I gladly grabbed and made myself comfortable.

Fifty or so doctors and therapists filled the room, and a stout woman at the front of the room was polling the audience- which let me know I was the only “just a mom” and not a medical professional in attendance. It’s ok- I’m brighter than a bucket of rocks, so I pretty much kept up with the jargon and followed along in the presentation materials.

The seminar was on Sensory Processing Disorder treatment in pediatric, clinical, and educational settings. It was fascinating- and answered more questions than it posed- at least for this mama. And as I begin this journey, looking for answers to the puzzle that may be one of my children, it was heartening to be surrounded by people whose entire profession is devoted to helping families and children. I am so hopeful for the future.

Auntie Brooke

The other one could be named Uncle Michael?

The Birdcage

Lookie what I got at a barn sale this weekend! My friend bought it for me in exchange for some quilting I did for her! I’ve been looking for one of these for years, and this came complete, with the stand and everything.  It’s exactly like the one my mom had in our kitchen when I was a little girl. I’m giddy. The only problem? Now the kids think we should get a bird. Should I put a birdie in my 1930 Hendryx art deco cage? I’m temped, I must say…

SatC The Movie

Helloooooow lovely. Guilty pleasures, ahhhhhhhhh. It was lovely. Positively lovely. I went to see the SatC movie last nigh with an anonymous friend- I’m not so sure she would want me fanning her name around- I mean, really, cavorting with me, and all! It was a delight. It was like catching up with old friends. I am satisfied.

Some of my best friends have been found in books- and I don’t mean in the stacks at the library- I mean really, fictional. Is that sad? I don’t think so. Fictional characters can be easily as real as some flesh and blood people- and when we care about their stories, sometimes fiction is more real that life. Now, *rolling eyes* I’m not delusional- but if fiction can help us understand the human condition, the nature of the heart, expand our minds, or even just be a good sounding board for our thoughts and fears, who’s to say that’s not real?

So, last night, I got to catch up with some old friends I really missed. They had to go home, but I feel great having spent the evening with them, and I know they’re all right. It makes me happy. Maybe someday I’ll get to hang out with them again. I may never own a Westwood gown, a Chanel suit, or a pair of sky-high Louboutin shoes, but I can sure appreciate the beauty where it’s offered.

Oh, and I can’t be the only one who thinks SJP is more in her skin as Carrie than she is when she appears as herself…. am I?

Studying Japan

For the end of year shenanigans, Jeffrey’s school is staging a mini-Olympics, and he has been asigned to represent Japan. So, like all good Foodie-Moms, I decided I would throw down a Japanese meal, complete with digging out the proper table ware and chopsticks.

Beanie was gung-ho to help, and he cut the tofu into cubes, peeled the garlic and the ginger, and measured the miso into the stock pot. I fixed miso soup, steamed fish, sticky rice, fried tofu, soba noodles with broccoli and tempura yam. As gung-ho as Bean was to help with prep, when we set the table, he asked for an English muffin with peanut butter. *sigh*

Jeffrey was a really good sport and actually tried everything on the table. We talked about Japan and the types of food they eat. The verdict was: tofu is tolerable with ranch dressing, the fish was fine, and rice needs butter, and yams were worth licking, but not eating. How can I argue- I mean, at least he didn’t ask for ketchup.

Sometimes I wonder how much of being a parent is really just trying hard. I mean, dinner was basically a flop- Abby ate the soba noodles, Bean ate his English muffin, and Jeff smothered his bowl in buttermilk salad dressing. But, I have a strange feeling, when they look back, they just might remember that mom made Japanese dinner, it was fun and different, and maybe that’s enough.

Besides, watching three little kids try and master chopsticks is priceless.

Big Girl Bed

Another milestone was passed at the M’s today. It’s not like passing a kidney stone or anything, but it was still just the tiniest bit sad as I took the crib down for what will likely be the last time.

It was past time. That crib was second-hand when we got it 7 years ago, and after both my beasty boys and Miss Noodle, who is far from docile, it was, quite literally, coming apart at the seams. Oh, I suppose someone with a vat of Gorilla glue and some woodworking know-how could salvage it. The wood is nice rock maple, and I don’t really want to toss it, but it’s in such poor shape I don’t even think the thrift store would jump.

When I had Abby, I was worried it wouldn’t hold up when Bean inevitably got in to see the baby- which he did, of course- but it did, too. Held up, that is.

Last summer, I picked up a darling antique bed at a yard sale. A little coat of fresh cream paint, and voila, it looks dreamy. An email sent to the ward list asking if anyone had a twin box and mattress they were looking to unload, and within an hour, I had one in my garage. At the mom’s consignment store, I found a bed-rail for six bucks.  I did splurge of some pretty girlie sheets. I mean, I know, I know- it’s not where our money needs to be going right now, but I just couldn’t put my girl to bed for the first time in her big girl bed with cruddy old Transformer sheets.

I know, Waaah. Big deal. I realize I sound like a privileged brat. Yes, I know how blessed we are, I know people in other countries are sleeping on dirt floors- and maybe it was irresponsible, but I cracked for just a minute. It’s been so hard, for so long now, and I wanted the Shabby Chic sheets at Target to match her totally darling, totally vintage head and foot board. I shall feel guilty about it, and I shall still be glad anyway.

You know what? She didn’t get up once. I tucked her into her soft, fluffy, sweet, totally girlie little white and pink bed, and she snuggled down into her ruffled pillows and went to sleep. Not a peep.