Mid Life Crisis

I am an adulterer.

I'm not proud of it, but it is what it is.

See, for decades, basically since I was out of footie jammies, I've not been a lounge-around-in-a-robe sort of person. It's not that I don't own a robe. I own a perfectly fine robe. Its got flowers on it. Blue and maroon ones, if you will know, lined in a blue terry-cloth. It wraps around and ties with a tie and hangs to the mid-calf. I wear it when I'm ill or chilly of an early morning. A perfectly fine robe that, as it does fairly light duty as a garment, is only washed a few times a year and is only slightly rattier than the day it was bought, I'm guessing some 20 or more years ago. I'm pretty sure I got it to go to college, primarily for schlepping down the hall to and from the dorm showers, again of an early morning. So, as you can see, Faithful Flower Robe was set to go through life with me and would probably have attended me on my death bed, should I have died of an early morning, before a shower.

You can see where all this is going, of course. I'm led to believe that this is how most affairs occur. You truly aren't looking. Perhaps you've wondered about it, why others seem so enamored with their robes that they seem to seek out their company. They speak of whole days lounging around together, reading or watching romantic movies, sharing a carton of ice cream, falling asleep together on the couch. But not me. No. FFR was perfectly comfortable, if neither handsome nor sexy. Why jepordize a nice, stable relationship. I'm not that sort of person.

And then, there I was, of an early Friday afternoon, killing time while Lilian was doing her time in rehab (cardiac, not ilicit substances; what kind of folk do you think we are?), wandering around the town's Shopko, looking at this and that, and what do I spy? A table with these young, nubile, soft robes piled on top. On sale. Before I knew what I was doing, I was fondling them. Surely there won't be one in my size.

There were two.

Surely they must be flawed: Bad breath. Some odd ink stain on the front. Dry clean only. But no. Pretty, washable, no embarassing ink tattoos in visible places, and a cheap date at under $ 20. Before I knew it, I had chatted him up, plopped him in the cart, whisked him home, washed him (who knows whose grubby hands had been on him before I found him?) and, before dinner was even thought of, I was wrapped in his arms. And since then, I've looked for any excuse to curl up with him. Instead of a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, when I come home, it's straight for him. He's had to be washed twice in two weeks after two unrelated food incidents marred his good looks, and he just gets softer. I find that wearing him over sweats just isn't nearly good enough and have taken to wearing shorts and a t-shirt in Wisconsin in January, so I can feel him snuggly 'round my arms and legs. If I lived alone, I'm sure I'd wear even less, channeling that wretched Brooke Shields / Calvin Klein ad from 20 years ago, "Nothing comes between me and my {obscenely soft robe}."

And the worst of this? Where have I installed Obscenely Soft Robe? In my closet, on the same hook as Faithful Flower Robe. FFR has to know about us, despite my tale of telling him that OSR and I are just friends and that I'm doing OSR a favor by spending time with him when I'd clearly rather be with FFR. I mean, they must talk, mustn't they? The sweaters on the facing shelf must also be aware, them and the shoes (such a clique-y bunch, the shoes) which means the rest of the closet knows. How can FFR hold his head up? I should do the right thing and just end it all, once and for all, with OSR, but here I am, on the couch, wrapped in his soft embrace and I know I'm not strong enough. Plus, I can't return him. I've lived in him for two weeks and I'm pretty sure I've (ahem) lost the reciept.

But there may be another side to this, which occurred to me as I saw them together this morning, sharing a hook, sleeve-by-sleeve. I wonder if OSR may possibly be sharing his affections when I'm not around.

If so, I don't want to know.

Retail Therapy

Really, as a confirmed Christmas nut, it takes so little to bump me into the season:



This past weekend, surfing around for Christmas present ideas, these caught my eye and my hands, without my control, one-clicked them off the site. A couple of days ago, in the midst of my "I just don't feel like doing a damn thing for Christmas" funk, they arrived: Two large wood boxes filled with sparkly, glittery, glass ornaments. I'm such a fool for pretty-pretty ornaments.



Aren't they great? Don't you just want to put them in your mouth? Or at least dash out and kill a tree to hang them on?

Follow-Up

So, Diana, what's going on out there in the land of brats and cheese, corn and cows? You've had a thing or two going on and have provided no feedback. What gives?


Well, thanks for asking! (Aren't you the kind ones to do so?)


Let's see...


Thanksgiving was nice and quiet and all the food turned out, so that was pretty perfect. Sadly, we were to a man Jack of us (Woman Jill? Kid Joe?) coughing and hacking (the bouquet of the phlegm blended so nicely with the gravy), so Lilian decided that an upper respiratory infection just wouldn't go well with her sternotomy scar and stayed away from all the festive nose-blowing. As her skilled nursing benefits were up (and as she was up and around), she and her few belongings shuffled across the small parking lot and back into her own apartment under the watchful eye of her neighbor, on Saturday.


Yes! Lilian has re-entered the building! She was to have come to us after leaving the nursing home, but, again, the coughing and sniffling and liberal usage of tissues made this not the place to be. She still plans on returning to us in the near future, though, so that's where we are on that front. So, cheers!


After our usual 2 false-alarm forecasts, we had our first snow on Thanksgiving, which was pretty and went away after a few days. Molly-dog and the kids were ecstatic. I was cooking. So, cheers!


After 7 months, my favorite road re-opened, "New! and Improved!". Before all the grading and paving and levelling and all, it had been this thrilling roller coaster that, if you theoretically (ahem) exceeded the speed limit, you could get the pit of your stomach to drop several times along it's length as you crested hills and plummeted down the other side. Yeah, sure, it was somewhere north of hazardous during a winter storm, but who the hell drives a roller coaster during a blizzard? That's when you take the interstate that's flatter and frequented by lots of snow plows. Now, while not flat, the high hills and big drops are gone, which is sad. I'm assuming it's still pretty (one of my favorite places on Earth is along this road: a bucolic pasture where cows graze and calves gambol and a stream wanders through it) but as it's dark when I drive in and dark when I drive back, It's going to be a while before I see more than the newly installed guard rails with their high-visibility reflectors. The whole thing has the feeling of a top-secret military landing strip. (Remember, this is waaaay out in the country where we don't believe in such wussy things as street lights. The moon and the stars were good enough for our fore bearers, so that should be good enough for us. If you're stupid enough to be out on a moonless, starless night, well, you just deserve what you got coming. Plus, most of the dark months are accompanied by a nice, reflective blanket of snow, which should be more than enough for the team of horses pulling your sleigh to see by, right Half Pint?)


Still and all, it's good to have the county road back, face lift and all. Trims a good five minutes off our commute each way. So, cheers!


For some reason, I'm just not in the holiday spirit right now. I've dragged out a few decorations (and by "few" I mean "3"). Santa has ordered a few things online but hasn't the slightest interest in trotting off on Rudolph to an actual store. This is very odd as I'm usually a Christmas fool. Good thing we've got a few more days this year. I'm thinking I'm going to need them.


As of yesterday, I think we've finished Lousefest '07. The last dousings of Rid were done. The final combings of the locks were clear. The microscope was returned from the counter of our bathroom to it's rightful place, the microscope-shaped space in the dust on my son's desk. Well, it's mostly done. The toys and such in the plastic bags in the garage still have a week to go, but think of how happy we'll be to see them. Sort of like a mini Christmas at the start of December! Maybe that's my problem. I'm missing my wood-handled, soft-bristled hairbrush. The nasty-assed cheap-o hard plastic brush that I found at the back of Charles's drawer is so cruel to my delicate scalp. The kids are well-versed on the evils of coming into contact with any spare hats or hairs of anyone else on the planet. They now don't even flinch when I leap out at them from various closets and doorways shouting, "True or false! We never, never, upon pain of death, even if it's 180 degrees below and we've forgotten our own hats put someone else's hat on our head?!?" More importantly, they get the answer to the question right with 100% accuracy.


I'm also positively giddy at the thought of not dealing with 2-3 times the amount of laundry in the course of a week and am looking forward to not having to make my kids' beds more than once a month. (Hey. They're little. They don't stink. Much.) So, cheers!


Sara's first kid birthday party went well. It was apparently the first birthday party for several of the little girls in her class and quite the social event of the season. The pinata was an especially brilliant touch, as it took up lots of time in first, getting everyone in their coats and shoes, then trotting them out and around the back of the house, where we'd hung the damn thing from the balcony (it was a large, pink crown. I'm regretting it wasn't a huge Dora The Explorer head or something equally despised) and then giving each kid multiple whacks with first, a soft bat, and then a hard plastic bat and finally, a hefty stick, until one girl had enough and took it to pieces. Go her! Then more time was spent with all the gathering of the candy and putting it in their bags and then going inside and shedding coats and shoes and all. Basically, with the pizza before and the cake and presents after, that was the whole damn party! Double cheers!!


Colin's birthday is in a few weeks and none of us, including the birthday boy, himself, can decide on a party idea. In a few years, he'll be old enough to do the planning himself. I'm secretly hoping he'll go my route of least bother and just have a family party from 5th grade on. And if he doesn't decide on that, I'm thinking a well-placed bribe may swing things in my lethargic favor.


I just don't do parties well. Guess that's one more thing for their future therapy sessions.


Speaking of which, that may be an idea for Christmas: Therapy gift certificates as stocking stuffers. That and journals in which to write down all my parental failings, birthday parties and all. I get why children's party planners are in business. I can see the appeal of just pulling out a check book (or applying for a bank loan) each year to give Junior a lovely birthday without ripping parts of your soul out to do it. I'm even dreaming of googling the location of the nearest Chuck E. Cheese, which goes to show the depths of my desperation. I won't actually do it, mind, as that'd take effort, but I'm dreaming of it.


And the furry ones? How are they now that they've turned 2? Very much the same. Mad-Kitty still has the propensity of getting herself shut in drawers and not meowing for release (meaning we still get to literally comb the house at 10 pm after we've gone to bed and realize that not only is she not in her usual place, curled up next to me, but we've not seen her for hours). Molly-dog still loves everyone and pees at any bit of praise or censure. A few days ago, Charles was dismayed to find her at the study window watching the UPS guy deliver a package. She was not barking (like any respectable German Shepherd). She was not even just watching. She was wagging her tail so hard that her body was moving back and forth, her ears flat to her head, whining in excitement that here, at last, was someone new! Someone she might possibly get to go out to greet and pee all over the shoes of, just to, you know, demonstrate her adoration and all. And, by the way, if here were interested, show where we keep my grandmother's silver and the stereo equipment. Clearly we need another dog if home security is a concern. We'd wanted a Shepherd who was submissive and non-agressive, but this is ridiculous.


And, finally, there've been no further zombie squirrel sightings on the UW campus, and I never did get that caramel latte, with or without the ricotta.


So that's the state of my Union. Yours?

Curses

Our scene: Evening. Large waiting area with big comfy chairs and soothing, sage green decor. Seems to be a hospital, but without the smell. I am ensconced in a double-wide chair with an acquaintance, Heather, who is like a daughter to my MIL, having a lovely chat and catch-up. I've always liked Heather. Lilian, herself, is seated several feet away in another overstuffed, comfy chair, smiling and happy. 2 others are seated near by, part of our party. Shouts of "Mom! Mom!" and Colin and Sara run up, giving me hugs, accompanied by Charles and my dad.

Charles: I'm going to the coffee cart. Anyone want anything?

Diana: Ohhhh! That'd be lovely. How about a decaf caramel latte. Or maybe a pumpkin one....NO! I know. One of those Venetian ones if they can do it all fat free.

Dad: Hey, that wouldn't be too bad for you, especially if they have the fat free ricotta cheese along with the fat free milk.

Diana: No it wouldn't, especially with the cinnamon. Actually, though, I think I'll go with the caramel latte. With whipped cream.

As Charles exits in search of a lovely caramel latte, harsh, harsh light suddenly streams into the room, morphing it into my chilly bedroom at 4:15 am. It seems a child has gone to the bathroom and left the light on to hit me square in the eyes. Weeping with sorrow and frustration, I haul my sorry self up and out, staggering to the bathroom, eyes screwed up against the assault, and hit the switch. Bother. Might as well pee.

Back to warm bed in search of those last 45 minutes of sleep (success) and that promised caramel latte (failure).

The office coffee this morning, while good, is just not the same. I'm not even overly fond of caramel lattes. Pumpkin, yes, but caramel seems just sweet without the flavor. So now I'm craving something I'd rather take a pass on.

Yes, we must live with life's little disappointments but was 5 more minutes too much to ask? And why does this never happen with broccoli? Or that odd Venetian latte? Awake, I'd certainly not be craving a coffee drink with ricotta cheese, cinnamon or no cinnamon. I'm not into chunks of cheese in my beverages.

Santa will remember and note this little incident on his list. At least he would if he knew which innocently shut door hid the evil child.

My Turn III

And, so, we come to that fall back post series I reach for when I'm truly desperate for something to post: The turn about questions! You who have been with me for ages know how this works. I get to ask a series of pointless questions and I solicit your answers. It works both as a way to throw up a post without having a single damn thing to say (like that's any different, you'd quickly point out) and get those beloved comments flowing, because who doesn't like giving their opinion to a captive and supportive audience? As I am a fair and balanced person, I will answer in green. Green for the color of the grass and leaves that I am starting to pine for. (There, is that pathetic enough?)

1) What is the one food you would choose if you were condemned to eating only one thing for the rest of your life? Pie. Can't go wrong with pie. All sorts of pie to choose from: Shepherd's, sour cream apple, chocolate. Oh yes. Pie. You might even be able to finagle some sort of loophole and claim 'pizza' as 'pie', especially if you had some sort of New England/ New York/ New Jersey tie.

2) What famous person do YOU think you look like. Doesn't have to make sense to the rest of the world. Bridget Fonda. We've got the same chin and cheeks. I also like most of her stuff, so that's incentive to think I look something like her as opposed to, say, Andie MacDowell, who I have neither her chin, cheeks nor do I like pretty much any of her work.

3) What did you have for breakfast today? Some turkey lunch meat slices, 2 pieces of cranberry bread, coffee and 2 chocolate cookies. Oh, and a handful of peanuts. (Sugar, salt, caffeine, grease...yup. All 4 food groups well represented.)

4) Any vacations planned for the summer? Where? Bah. Sore subject with us. What fool asked this stupid question? We would dearly love to be able to journey back to The Old Country, (Portland, Oregon), but it will depend on Charles's summer class schedule. Bah. If that falls through, we hope to at least take a long weekend and head to northern Wisconsin or the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, which we should be able to reach by car in 1/2 a day. Woot! The life we lead. I do get to go to a training conference in New Orleans in a few months, but as I will be needing to cram scads of things in my brain, I will only be able to have a few hours to wander around the French Quarter before I leave. Oh well, better than nothing.

5) If you could bring anyone back to life for 5 minutes to yell at them, who would it be? Jim Henson. I'd berate him good for not treating his pneumonia in time. The world's gone to hell in a hand basket and needs his creative touch. The Muppets are not the same and he's to blame. He should still be alive and I'm pissed at him for not being so.

Aw, that's enough.

Your turn.

Off Kilter

I'm thinking that part of why I'm feeling a bit 'off'' is that my seasonal cues are terribly messed up.

I don't think it's right that I just spent a very comfortable 5 minutes standing on the deck cajoling Molly to just. pee. already. while wearing jeans and a t-shirt, barefooted and wet-headed. We've had no snow in a good month. We've hardly had the temperatures drop below freezing. It looks and feels like late March or early November. Christmas doesn't seem to have happened at all.

No wonder I'm not-so-subconsciously looking for bulbs to shoot up (not yet, thank goodness for their little green hearts) and branches to swell and start to bud (certainly happening to the silly lilacs, forsythia, crabapple and a plum, foolish things).

No wonder I keep resisting the urge to go and till things and dig holes for new trees.

No wonder I'm restless, still not wanting to be in front of the computer at-all-at-all.

Getting sick for the 3rd time in a month is also not doing much for my psyche.

Guess the only cure is to curl up with a gardening catalogue and a cup of tea, taking time hourly to repeat the mantra: It's only early January. 3 more months of winter. It's only early January. 3 more loooong months of winter.

Meh.

Hullo. Just letting you know that I'm alive, just not feeling much like blogging.

I'm an asshole, I know. I just need a break and am in a bit of a funk. Nothing serious. Really and truly.

Happens.

I'll be back around in the near future, I'm sure, I just have no desire to write right now. Didn't want anyone to worry.

Love and kisses.

What Would Freud Say?

So, there I was. Driving along, trying to get to the old Victorian house where our clinic was, trying to make it to the reunion in time, when I saw them as I passed the grade school playground along the way. There were 6 of them, all Emperor penguins, all using the slide. They seemed to be co-existing nicely with the 2 bears on the merry-go-round. I was vaguely worried that they would get wet as the sky was dark and threatening rain, but was excited that I finally had something interesting to blog about.

"I must remember to blog this, as everyone will be interested to hear about the penguins, although not so much about the bears," I made myself a mental note. I mean, bears are not unheard of in Wisconsin, but penguins, not so much.

And so I continued on to the clinic/class reunion. The one in the Victorian house, where the lights didn't seem to work. Nothing else happened, although I don't think there was any food and I had been hoping for some cake, at the very least.

It took about 20 minutes after I woke to realize, with regret, that the penguins hadn't actually been playing on the playground.

But that didn't stop me blogging it.

Looks like another slow week.

The Doldrums

Nope. Nothing going on here. And to demonstrate that, I bring you yet another Day in the Life:

06:50 Got up, cursed the fact that it is now over 2 weeks since my glasses were eaten by Evil Dog and I must hop in the shower instead of lazing in my jammies while I eat my breakfast and dick around on the 'net. Very pleased that I finally got more than 5 hours of sleep. For some reason I've not been able to get to sleep before 12-1 AM the past 4 nights.

07:05 In the kitchen with latte, pancakes with jam and some peaches and melon. Hummmmm. Get sidetracked at A Little Pregnant on the blog roll and read some other blogs about BlogHer. I'm strangely fascinated by BlogHer. I don't think I wish I'd gone, but wish I could watch the thing on a 2-disc DVD with the second disc devoted entirely to 'extras' of the various parties and such. The knowledge that next year's conference is in Chicago, just a few hour's jaunt down the freeway, keeps tickling my consciousness.

07:25 Colin is up. I love it when they sleep past 6 AM.

07:26 Realize that I've not seen the cat since last night. Find her curled on Sara's bed with Sara contorted around her. The relief that there is no smell of cat excrement in her bedroom is indescribable.

07:55 Sara is up. Play waitress for the kids. Play waitress for the cat. Receive no tips.

08:15 Put a pot of eggs on the stove to make them hard boiled. Vow to not forget them. Know this is a worthless vow as I always forget them. Still, I do not do something sensible, like setting a timer.

08:25 Muse more on the whole Mommyblog controversy. Wonder if I'd be considered a mommyblogger. Wonder how I'd describe my blog if asked. Decide I'd just say it was a blog about the piffle of my life and leave it at that. Decide that I just do not and never will understand the wide spread need for many to create The Other. Aren't we all just bloggers, recording our thoughts and connecting with others?

08:26 Try to dislodge the song Why Can't We Be Friends from my over suggestive brain.

08:28 Do the laundry round-up. Scold the dog for going in the kids' rooms, looking for toys to abduct and mutilate under our bed.

08:32 Still unsuccessful with the song-in-the-brain thing. Try humming it but this makes it worse as all I know of it is just that one line: "Why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends, lalalalalala."

08:34 Realize that I've forgotten that I put eggs on the stove and they've been boiling away merrily for who really knows how long.

08:40 Pull eggs off stove. They'll either be over done or under done. We'll see when we have one at lunch. Every day should have a touch of mystery. Keeps you feeling alive.

08:43 Decide that I simply can't bear the fact that I've not posted anything in nearly a week (A week!) and, after trying to figure out what the hell to natter on about and coming up with absolutely nothing, not even a meme that will kick things off, decide on this. Aren't you sorry I didn't just leave the old post up?

08:52 Reward myself for starting the wash and running the dishwasher by making a pot of tea. Found a new brand, London Fruit and Herb Company, which had some intriguing tea medleys. Today I'm trying 'Lemon and Lime Zest'. It's not why I bought it as I think it sounds a bit vile, but if it's horrible, I can tell you all about it.

08:53 Tea steeping. Can I tell you how happy I am that the heat wave has finally gone? There's a fresh breeze and it rained last night and now every single window that has a screen over it is open and the ceiling fans are valiantly pulling the clean air through our poor smelly house.

08:54 Decide to start cleaning the disaster that my house inevitably is on Thursdays. (I am essentially not home Mon-Wed and things seem to happen involving mud, pet hair, and scum of assorted varieties. Anti-House elves, I'm sure.) OH! Saw my current favorite bumper sticker Saturday in Madison (liberal Madison, how I adore you. Most cars seem to have some sort of anti-Bush sticker or at least a fading, peeling Kerry-Edwards sticker, if they are merely passive aggressive.) It says, "Republicans for Voldemort" over a flag-themed background. (OK, yes, the rest of you have probably seen it and have one of your own, but it was new to me.)

08:59 Tea is steeped. Siiiipppp. Not terrible but smells better than it tastes. Reminiscent of what I think microwaved 7-Up would smell like.

09:03 Ok. Enough stalling. Time to clean like a banshee while the kids are playing nicely so we can go outside in a bit. Must. Go. Outside. Must. Tire. Out. All. Occupants. (Except me. Must run after lunch.)

09:17 Oh my. I've gone and gassed myself. I started in the laundry room, first cleaning the hand carpet cleaner, which I'd called upon a few nights ago to clean the enormous amount of dog vomit that she spewed on the carpet after eating her dinner too fast and then running around in the heat for 10 minutes. Truly horrifying the volume she spewed. Anyway, after attending to that, I hadn't the oomph to clean up the machine that had cleaned up after the dog and merely left it on top of the cat box (it's covered) with the hose dangling in the utility sink. So, as no one else had cleaned the damn thing (What, surely you hope the magic cleaning fairies will step in and deal with such situations. And, no, they never do but one can keep hoping.) I tackled it first. Possibly the worst smell I've ever smelled. Ever. And you know that's saying something. Then I cleaned the cat box and added the aroma of old ammonia/kitty pee and feces to the mix. For some reason I had little sympathy as Colin, 3 rooms away, complained about the odor.

10:57 Done. Well, done enough. Vacuumed, mopped, bathrooms cleanish, laundry tumbling, stuff sorta picked up. Everybody outside!

10:59 Kids doing kid things, I'm in the vegetable garden surveying the damage. Actually, not that bad. Last week, I succumbed to the inevitable that is my garden in late July, meaning that I was rapidly losing the bug war. This year, my old nemeses, the squash bugs, have been out in full force, despite the painstaking dismembering I did with the bipass pruners on every adult I could find. Eggs had been laid and were hatching, the nymphs covering the poor zucchini, which were dying before my eyes. That evening, I stormed out and poured more of the diatomaceous earth (that hadn't done any good before) all over them. Then I drenched them in environmentally friendly spray (the stuff that you can use right up to harvest, although there was nothing to harvest, all the little fruits and flowers being the first to flump. And wept. See, I know when something's useless. That night, it poured. So the next morning, I did it again. Don't know why. Um. And, well, it seemed to have worked. Today, I harvested 2 decent sized zucchini and 1 yellow summer squash! I'm absolutely shocked. Also some pear tomatoes and 2 slicing tomatoes (the first I've managed to bring in before the Something with the Large Teeth had gotten to first), still slightly green, but nothing a paper bag can't fix. Oh. And green beans. Lots of green beans. We all then went for a walk, while the dog raced back and forth. Not that I would have urged her to do such a thing.

11:41 Tired, sweaty, ready to come in. Sara cajoles me into playing the memory game where you match pairs of cards that are face down on a table. She kicks my ass, yet again. This time I make a better showing and only lose by 2:1. Usually it's more like 4:1. No. I'm not letting her win. She's really good. I would not recommend getting into a poker game with her in, say 20 years.

12:07 Time for the lunch shift.

12:29 Sit down with a nice chicken Caesar salad (the eggs from the morning were perfect!) and blog this morning's drivel. Realize that the kitty is MIA, again. AGAIN! Colin and I start to systematically go through the house, searching through cupboards and closets. Luckily, we find her after about 5 minutes. She's in Sara's empty laundry basket. Apparently, she slinked in as I was getting Sara's laundry out several hours ago.


Aw, that's enough. I'm bored with this and I'm living it, not reading it. Hardly worth clicking on 'publish', but I've absolutely nothing else to put up. Sorry. The rest of the day is scheduled to include a whiny run! And a shower! And taking Colin to swimming lessons! The cliffhanger? Will Charles get home in time for me not to take Sara or not? Your heroine will be praying that he does, yessiree. Sara is less than enamored with standing on a bench, looking through a window and watching her brother master the intricacies of the kickboard. I've promised her swimming lessons of her very own in the fall, when he's in school.

So that's that.

Hey, anyone have a good recipe for using up all those green beans? I usually saute them in olive oil with scads of garlic, which is lovely, but getting a bit old. Recipes with canned mushroom soup need not apply.

Happy Thursday. I'll try to do better next time.

Don't You Have Something Better To Do?

As a means to completely alienate you with the dull that is my life, and because I haven't a damn thing to say, I feel the urge to inflict a blow-by-blow window into my Thursday (yesterday). Blame Dana for planting the seed.

4:something atrocious am- Forgot to pull curtains last night. Didn't close sliding door to balcony. Had a bit of brandy while curled up with Charles last night watching that BBC makeover show with Trinny and Susannah. End result is waking at this hour due to the confluence of dawn streaming through the window, birds behaving loudly, and a full bladder.

4:something marginally later am- Charles is rousted up by the evil dog, who moments before had been licking my toes, to no avail. I chalk one extra point toward my impending sainthood as I did not kick her in the pointy nose but merely moved my tootsies to a spot she couldn't reach. This caused the cat, however, to pounce on them.

4:45 am- Give up the sleep ghost, as the combination of Charles showering in one bathroom and the beloved and stupendously excited son using the other bathroom, each shred the small vestigial tissue of my sleep. Refusing to rise, despite insistent bladder, I grab my book, which I am nearly finished with. (Middlesex, by the way. Excellent book. All should read.)

5:something am- Give up the ghost of reading in bed and empty bladder. Stumble to kitchen. Charles, dressed in sweats and bundling his shirt and tie with him, has already left, to first work out and then boss teachers and students around.

6:20 am- After trying to read the lovely book on the couch with the kids (yes, Sara is up, of course she's up) while they watch TV, I decide the mixture of literature and Dora the Explorer are not a good combination. I send Colin off to dress and slog to the kitchen to contemplate coffee and breakfasts. I am blessed by being saved from certain loud and varied whining by the presence of 2 (not 1) pancakes in the freezer, the last of the batch made last week. No child will be pancakeless this morning.

6:35 am- Breakfasts on table, I log onto internet and read some blogs. I'm not sure if I left any comments. If I did, I hope I didn't sign my name as they were certainly worthy of only an 'anon' tag. It's all rather fuzzy.

7:00 am- Feeling greasy and sweaty as it is warm and humid with the storms coming in, I skootle to the shower, coffee in hand. I muse on the march of middle-age that is my present physical person. The coffee is decaf as I have found caffeinated coffee to make me rather more gassy and bloaty than I would like to be. Bye-bye sweet caffeinated coffee. It was a nice couple of decades we had, while it lasted.

7:25 am- I am dressed and no longer rancid. Son has had all he could take of waiting inside and had decided to pop out to the bus early. See, today is The Big First Grade Field Trip! Today! The 25th! Of May! They get to go to the geology museum, to McD's for lunch and then to a play. What raptures are in store, if only the bus would come!

7:41 am- The bus comes at it's usual time, despite his going out early and willing it otherwise. I am sitting in the study so I can watch and make sure he gets on the bus OK, sipping the decaf latte and eating my ham, bagel, and grapefruit. I muse on how the bagel is not stale, despite being 5 days old and claiming to have no preservatives. Wish I knew the secret. Mine go stale in a day when I make them.

7:42 am- Sticky, sticky, maple-syrupy-and-pancakey Sara is wiped down. She decides she must have a bath. Fine with me. She plays with her bath toys while I flop on my stomach in the hallway by the bathroom door, continuing to try to finish my book. Molly makes this rather more difficult than it should be by alternatively needing to go out and pee or poop or smell the daisies, or by stepping on me when I am prone on the floor of the hallway. Damn dog.

8:15 am- Bath water is cold. Girl must get out. She doesn't want to. (Neither do I, truth be told, as it is a nice excuse to loll, as, well, you must watch the small girl in the bath, right? Don't want her to drown.)

8:45 am- Girl dressed and detangled. Dog chastised for this and that. Books read to girl. Thoughts turn to vacuuming and mopping and other such exotic tasks. Instead, I am ordered by the girl to 'snuggle' and watch a show with her. I am her slave. I drift off to semi-sleep for a long half hour. Sweet, sweet semi-sleep.

9:25 am- Ok. No more stalling. House is filthy. As in smears of mud from tramping feet all over the kitchen floor. As in a pile of dishes needing to go in the dishwasher. As in a mountain of laundry. Spend the next couple of hours vacuuming, mopping, cleaning cat box, doing wash, doing dishes, playing in spurts with the girl, and chastising the dog. Somewhere in there, managed to clean the bathrooms, too. Also a pot of tea was consumed. The good of the shower is long gone. Sweaty and smelly am I. But the house is no longer a superfund site.

noonish- Lunch. Food, food, glorious food. Chicken Caesar salad for me, deconstructed chicken Caesar salad and bread for Sara (salad with chicken on the side). Ice cream sandwiches a deux afterward. And 2 pieces of dark chocolate for me, for it's health benefits, of course.

1:00 pm- Book (Madeline) for Sara, then songs and down for a nap for her. (The heavens open and the angels sing.)

1:45 pm- I skip down to the basement, where the TV and treadmill lurk. Netflix keeps me in shows which I only let myself watch if the treadmill is going. Currently, I'm on the second-to-last disc of the first season of Lost. (Is it as good as everyone says? Oh, yes. Absolutely.)

2:45 pm- Done with the run and halfway through this disc. Resist the temptation to 'just watch a bit more while I stop sweating'. More saint points. Double points, I'm sure.

2:46 pm- Upstairs to drink water and dick around on spider solitaire, cooling off.

3:15 pm- Several games later and no wins, of course, am now chilled in sweat-soaked shirt and shorts, sweat dripping off my weenie ponytail down my neck, I am able to pull myself away from the crack that is spider solitaire. I shower.

3:30 pm- I am overcome by gravity and flop on the bed, legs hanging off the side, leafing through a plant ID book, searching for the name of the little blue wildflowers that grow by the road out front are. No success. Eyes close.

3:40 pm- I realize that if I nap, it would be bad as I neglected to unlock the front door before flopping, so Colin would have to ring the bell, waking Sara. This must NOT happen. Naptime is sacred and NOT to be interrupted unless you want an unreasonable banshee in place of your delightful, sweet daughter. I spring up and head to the study so I can watch Colin get off the bus. Hmmm. Spider is on the computer in the study. A few more games won't hurt.

4:01 pm- Colin leaps off the bus and tears down the driveway. I leap out the front door, intercepting him to hear all about The Day in the great outdoors, where he can shout and exclaim all about the fossils and crystals and the globe that you weren't allowed to touch. Another bonus is that there is no homework today. Who knew the geology museum was so stupendously cool? Promise him that we'll go ourselves in a few weeks. Ever since his class did a unit on rocks, he's been rather rock obsessed. Pretty much every room in the house has a rock or a pile of rocks that he's left after studying them. At least it isn't bug carcasses.

4:20 pm- He asks to go play some games. Sure. I take Molly out and then we are driven back in by more rain. Poor pup. Little outside time. We are in for it tonight as she has not had her proper exercise. Sara is still asleep.

4:40 pm- Book finally finished. It even had a good ending. Contemplate dinner. Realize that I was going to make some bread a few hours ago. Decide to throw the ingredients in the bread machine, anyway, and curl up with cookbooks to decide what to do with the chicken. Decide to pan fry it in olive oil and serve it with a gratin of eggplant and tomatoes with Parmesan.

5:10 pm- Drat. Girl not up. Open her door and put up the anti-dog gate so Molly can't go in and jump on her. Banshees don't like to be woken from a sound sleep by being jumped on by a dog that weighs twice what you do.

5:30 pm- Sara emerges, smiling. We snuggle on the couch some.

6:15 pm- Wrestle the bread dough from the machine, knead it into submission and confine it in a pan. Buttermilk light whole wheat bread. While bread rises, attend to eggplant, which must be broiled, brushed with olive oil for a bit, then tossed with tomatoes and sprinkled with Parmesan and returned to the oven. If all goes right, the bread will be done by the time the veggies are ready.....aaaaannnndddd YES! It all comes together. Cook the chicken while the oven does its work. In the midst of all the cooking flurry, my mother-in-law calls from her doctor's office. Charles was supposed to pick her up on his way home and he hasn't come, yet. As things are in the middle of broiling and I can't leave the kitchen for about 5-10 minutes, we decide that she'll call back if Charles hasn't shown. I'm now a bit concerned as Charles NEVER forgets stuff like this. Thankfully, he pulls into the drive a couple of minutes later and, after slapping his forehead, drives back to get his mother.

6:50 pm- Dinner is on the table. I personally think it's a delish dinner. The kids disagree. Sara eats not a bite except for a bit of the middle out of her bread. Colin does a better job and is nearly done when he gets sent from the table for continuing to use the word 'poop' at the table. (We are working on appropriate meal time conversation and avoiding the word 'poop' unless needed to describe poop.) He makes the supreme error in blowing me a raspberry as he heads to his room. He expresses extreme remorse but Evil, Horrible Mom sends him to put on his pajamas and await the arrival of his father so I can decide the punishment for such disrespect. I try hard not to smile or laugh. Really, I know it's not a severe transgression, but we are trying hard to raise kids who are respectful of others, and that needs to be nipped in the bud. I also know that when I am old and dottery, I'm not going to be put in the nice nursing home, but the stinky one that smells of urine and feces and harsh disinfectants. And canned peas.

7:20 pm- Dinner is over and Charles finally gets in. Poor guy. I sit him down to eat tepid dinner and have a chat with the son, now in bed. He looses electronic game privileges for Friday and all is better, again. He finds his long-lost crystal book in his bookcase, so all-in-all, the day ends well for him. I fold a couple of loads of laundry, chat with Charles, hang with Sara, reading more books, well really one book, over and over. For some reason, we watch a show detailing the lives of the actors of the show Charles in Charge. I don't think either of us have ever seen the show. We don't like the actors very well, and yet, like some accident scene, we couldn't look away, and watched it to the bitter end. Then, to atone for some previous crime to humanity that must lurk in my past, I stayed up and watched the first 1/2 of a show detailing the lives of actors who played nerds and dweebs and such in other sitcoms that, to my knowledge, I'd never watched. Really bad '90s sitcoms. Charles, in his wisdom, decided to bail and go to sleep.

9:30 pm- I finally rouse myself and realize that, instead of loosing IQ points by the minute watching this dreck, I could get up, find a new book, and go to bed. Which I did. The new book is The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins. Written in 1868. There's a diamond. With a curse. And it's stolen.


So. That was my day. Dull, yet nice. Today was supposed to be 'partly cloudy' but so far there's no partly about these clouds. I have a full morning of outside stuff to do, so hope for this to burn off, okay? Time's a-wasting. And for us Yanks, a very happy 3-day Memorial Day weekend. Go grill something good.

Questions

1. Why, oh why, is cellulite so fond of the backsides of women? Butts and thighs. Occasionally bellies, rarely upper arms. Never backs or chests. And, especially rarely, any parts of men? Unless they are quite hefty men. Seriously. Why the exclusivity of these cellulite neighborhoods? Even slim women have some 'back there'. Is this just further evidence that God is not a female?

2. What is it with my cats and the toilet? You can not use the facilities without a small black creature writhing on the bathmat next to you and twining around your feet, as they are planted at the base of the porcelain? She then must evaluate the deposit and watch the swirling of the flush. Should you be so very stupid to leave the lid up, she'll use it for a drinking fountain (preferable to even the dog water). Should you be so extremely stupid as to leave the lid up after you've tossed a used kleenix in, she'll fish it out and drag its sopping carcass all the hell over the bathroom and into your bedroom, leaving it in the traffic lane for you to step on. Its not just this one, either. Our beloved Booger did the same, lo those many years ago.

3. Why, oh why, must I pick my hangnails. I know ahead of time that they will bleed and fester if I do so. I know during the deed that they will bleed and fester afterward. And now I have 2 festering, initially bleeding, former hangnail sites. With one waiting in the wings, so to speak.

Finally, I think I got the best Mother's Day gift ever. It even tops (possibly) this one (sweep past all the plant drivel, way to the bottom of the post) from last year. First a the classmade card the size of my torso: a still life composition of vase on table with various pasted-on flowers, including a Q-Tip-and-cotton-ball one representing a pussy willow. Then 3 more hand drawn cards, each featuring Colin as a Jedi. Finally, wrapped in yellow school-type paper, an honest-to-gosh hardcover book, about 8"x10", with a mom-dragon and a kid-dragon on the cover (both green on green grass), titled 'Mom ABCs'. Each page lovingly created by my son. I think my favorite pages are M: I've never seen a moose, followed by N: I've seen a nail. Priceless. Amazing. I wept. Nearly. Charles, Sara and Colin, together, also gave me store cards and the new theater version of Pride and Prejudice, which is really quite good, but has the limitations that the splendid 5 hour DVD does not. (The version I have dubbed as the Best Thing Ever to grace a screen. Please watch it some long afternoon or night. Pretty-please with scoops of sugar and candied cherries and extra whipped cream and nut sprinkles and chocolate sprinkles and a microbeer on top.)



Oh. You want to see them?

OK.




Here, we have the still life card:
















And here, we have the fabulous book. (The mom dragon has red and orange flame coming from her mouth and purple scales; the sky is blue, natch.):

Dribs and Drabs

Ah hell. This is not going to be much of a post but what can you expect of an early March day in the Upper Midwest? A few little things are going on. Little, like the small noses of bulbs poking hopefully out of the mud. Well, they are there. Just under the several inches of snow that fell this weekend. And we are supposed to get thunderstorms with rain tomorrow. Actual rain. To melt all the white and turn it brown, the better to be tracked in by the dog and kids!

I'm giddy at the thought.

Really. I am. Giddy, I tell you.

Oh, ok. Maybe not quite yet, but give me a day or two and I will be.

Spring really is here, just a little bit. The turkeys were even doing their equivalent of "Hey, Baybee! How's it shaking? I've got me a lotta loving that needs to go around!" It actually sounded not even that cool as it was a geeky "gobblegobblegobble" across the street in the cornfield, but still. Hot turkey sex in the copses is surely a sign of spring around here. Soon the pheasants will be yodeling.

Poor Charles got cornered into playing dress-up today for school. As principal, he usually gets to pick and choose the ones he does, often when no one else has to, like the time he agreed to don a women's pink sweatsuit with paper pig snout and tail and kiss a piglet for some fund raiser. That made the front page of the city paper. He also gets to dress as a cheerleader with the male PE teachers as part of a rah-rah-rah to start standardized testing week. Today, he was bullied into "dressing as your favorite character". So, he grabbed Colin's lightsaber and his (Colin's) brown cape from the Legolas costume he wore Halloween before last and proclaimed himself to be "Obi-Wan". I don't even know if the cape will cover his butt. Sad. Just sad. Particularly as he didn't model for me and certainly wouldn't have allowed a photo for all of you. Selfish man.

So, what else of interest?

I had granola for breakfast.

I am wearing black pants.

My hands and feet are cold.

Yeah. That's the highlights. Still, more interesting than the Oscars, yes?

Movies I Love

Spurred on by Joe In Vegas, I now hang my lily-white-ass out in the breeze and expose myself for what I am: Someone with, at times, appalling taste in films. All my credibility will now fall and you can now gather in groups and laugh at what I will watch slack-jawed and unblinking, over and over again. Especially #s 19, 27-29 and 38-41.

But please laugh quietly, I hate it when people make noise during a film.

In absolutely no order except as they hit me, well, except for the first one:

1. Pride and Prejudice (1995). The.Best.Thing.Ever.Sigh.
2. The Lion in Winter
3. Grosse Point Blank
4. Every single thing done by Monty Python
5. The extended versions of The Lord of the Rings Trilogy.
6. The Hobbit. By Peter Jackson. (Nope, not done yet. Not written, as far as I know. Not cast. But he has publicly said, somewhere, that he's interested, by gum.)
7. Bridget Jones's Diary
8. Raising Arizona
9. Sabrina (1954). Hepburn, Bogart, Holden. Bliss.
10. Philadelphia Story
11. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead
12. Oklahoma
13. Rear Window
14. North By Northwest
15. Casablanca
16. Silence of the Lambs
17. My Fair Lady
18. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
19. Seven Brides For Seven Brothers
20. Arsenic and Old Lace
21. Vertigo
22. What the Bleep Do We Know?
23. Harold and Maude
24. Bend it Like Beckham
25. Matchmaker
26. Bubba Ho-Tep
27. 4 Weddings and a Funeral
28. Notting Hill
29. Love Actually
30. Hope and Glory
31. Gosford Park
32. The Commitments
33. Say Anything
34. Roger and Me
35. Lilo and Stitch
36. The Harry Potters
37. Fame
38. Pirates of the Caribbean
39. Tremors
40. Lake Placid
41. Evil Dead, Evil Dead 2, and Army of Darkness
42. Excalibur
43. The Big Easy
44. Fargo
45. Breakfast at Tiffany's
46. Dangerous Liasons
47. Singles
48. While You Were Sleeping

Oh, god, that's enough, already. Aren't you sorry you asked, Joe?

{Edited to add-

Apparently not enough:

49. Mr Blandings Builds His Dream House (thanks, Stace)

50. Impromptu (thanks Colleen)}

Movies I Hate

Adorable Teri recently shared an extensive list of movies she loves.

As I am her Evil Twin, I was frankly surprised to find that there were very few movies on her very tasteful, highbrow list of flicks that I had seen. Namely, the Monty Python, the Muppet Movie, Super Size Me, L.A. Confidential, The Full Monty and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Then, I realized that it was because I was her evil twin, not her good twin, that I had missed all this good fare.

So, in the spirit of Evil Twinhood, I started musing on all the horrible movies I have seen. Not those universally accepted horrible movies, like Ishtar (which I actually never saw, heeding the advice of every living soul who went and saw it, even with benefit of alcohol). No. Movies that most others seemed to love, at least based on the box office receipts. The list is partial because I can never seem to remember what I have seen and what I missed and what I was in the room with but was sleeping through, while Charles watched and teased me about not being able to stay awake afterward. Apparently, this happened a lot. What can I say. It was during the On-call Decade (basically 1989-2000). Loosing a night's sleep every 2-8 nights, depending on your schedule, will do horrible things to one's movie-watching memory.

Without further ado:

Movies Everybody Loved That I Despised

1. Titanic
2. Ghost
3. Braveheart
4. A Few Good Men
5. E.T.
6. All of the Rocky movies
7. Spider-Man and Spider-Man 2
8. Elf
9. Seabiscuit
10. Something About Mary
11. Van Helsing
12. National Treasure
13. Most Woody Allen movies
14. The Matrix
15. Star Wars 1, 2 and 3 (Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones, Revenge of the Sith)
16. Austin Powers

That's enough. No justification aside from a blanket, "Gosh, I thought _____ movie was stupid, un-funny, without redeeming plot, horribly acted, pretentious, and/or made me want to throw something through the screen." There are probably many, many more, but I can't come up with them.

Sorry if I offend anyone by disliking your all-time favorite. Several didn't make the list as I felt quite sure that I'd hate them, so why try them. (Yes, yes. Terribly mature and open-minded of me.) Movies like Gangs of New York and Gladiator. So, in honor of the self-serving movie awards season, which would you add to the list? Go ahead. Make me shake my head in sorrow if you thought each and every minute of the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy was utter agony or if you thought Raising Arizona was the most un-funny 2 hours you have ever seen. I forgive you.

I Was Feeling Left Out

Well, just everybody I read and love is coming up with all these resolutions. I fought the urge to be all sheeplike, but as my middle name is "Fleecy", I guess it was just a matter of time. The thing is, I'm just not a resolutions gal. Nothing against them, I just feel like a failure enough without asking for additional confirmation.

So, here goes. Resolutions I can live with:

1. Eat lots of food that is bad for me.
2. Drink lovely wine, beer, and spirits when the fancy takes me.
3. Drink plenty of coffee and tea.
4. Realize I should drink more of that dull, tasteless watery water stuff but fail to do so.
5. Sit with a foot or two on the dash when in the passenger's seat of the car.
6. Fart and burp.
7. Dress with dull and comfortable abandon.
8. Mock anything I think deserves mocking.
9. Blog about anything that deserves mocking that would not hurt someone I love or get me fired. (Actually, with those conditions, it is hard to find material, sometimes.)
10. Kiss my kids and pets with annoying frequency. Charles is also kissed frequently but doesn't seem at all annoyed. Good man.
11. Shamelessly pander for back and neck rubs from poor Charles.
12. Grouse about all the mess in the house, yet not ask for help.
13. Listen to more music.
14. Buy a fuckload of plants for the yard, plant them, and then buy more.
15. Continue the War of the Thistles
16. Same for the War on Garden Bugs Who Try To Decimate The Plants I Have Slaved Over In Their Own Selfish Interest Of Feeding And Procreating.
17. Continue to lose ground in above wars.
18. Tell you all about it in excruciating detail, as though you had any interest in the hobby garden of a Midwestern middle-aged woman with poor fashion sense and short nails.
19. Make inappropriate comments but only partly regret them.
20. Read as much as possible.
21. Spend too much time reading blogs, but not as much as I could spend.
22. Nap. With a quilt. And a purring cat. A lot.
23. Feel that I should be doing more with my career and training than being a Doc-in-a-box in a stripmall, but then remember how much I dislike camping, let alone living in places of tents and latrine trenches and still feel guilty but realize that for me, running off to a truly high-need place is not what I am cut out for, so do what I can where I am at present. What a cop-out.
24. Swear too much.
25. Laugh loudly.
26. Hate meetings and when forced to partake in them, entertain myself with more inappropriate thoughts involving Those Who Mandated Said Meetings, the evil bastards. Death's too good for them. Why the hell did they think I went into medicine, I ask you?
27. Fall more in friend-love with you, my blog friends.
28. Be insanely proud of the smallest accomplishments of my amazing offspring.
29. Be petty.
30. Hate my hair.
31. Be horribly bored with my clothes but do nothing about it.
32. Wear almost nothing but jeans when not at work, jean-shorts in the summer.
33. Wish I could just wear jeans to work and be done with it.
34. Nitpick horribly. It truly is amazing Charles has not offed me and hidden the body. The man is a fucking saint, I tell you. Well, he would be if he just loaded the dishwasher correctly and didn't leave his socks all over the house, all balled up.
35. Basically live as I have for the past several years and mostly like it.

So there.

Bah. Baaaaaaaah.

Car Wars

Amid all the badness of the last couple of weeks, one small bit of selfish good has happened in our little household as a direct result. We were finally able to justify a 3rd car.

Let us all take time now to throw things at our heroine as she hangs her head in shame, for shameful it is.

It is true. Three. Cars. In a family of two drivers, who, truth be told, almost always carpool anyway.

Let the justification begin!

Let us now take time to go find new, heavier things to throw, having already let fly with our stock of rotted tomatoes and wormy apples. There must be a "D" cell battery or 3 around here, somewhere...

The first vehicle is el minivan, complete with 57 cup holders and a good safety record. It has surprisingly reasonable gas mileage, too, as good as the small sedan it replaced. We tote kids and often a grandparent or two, at least once a week. We anticipate that our children will have friends that will need toting in the near future, too. So, really, the van makes good sense. Fine. I am somewhat able to sleep with that and rarely cringe as I get into it anymore.

The second vehicle is a several-years-old (mumbles) SUV. It has 4-wheel-drive and is paid for. It has horrible gas mileage but there are about 10-15 days each winter that we have to have it to get to work. Neither of us has a job that recognizes "snow days". We live way out in the country with the cows and deer. Wisconsin is also surprisingly hilly, the county road that we drive for much of the way resembles a rollercoaster, enough so that Colin shrieks with glee when we drive it. We are into cheap thrills in this family. Try as we might, we just can't get around needing the shameful SUV. We need the weight as much as the 4-wheel-drive and anti-lock brakes. A nice little Subaru just won't do it. The wind in a blizzard will just blow it off into the ditch and the cows will then laugh and shake their heads when they find us come spring. Cows are like that. Bitter creatures.

That leads us to the new car. It is small, it is stripped down, it is fairly gutless, and it gets really great gas mileage. If gas stays at this price, we actually make money with the purchase, given the commute. The seats are less comfortable than a gym bleacher, the windows, mirrors and locks are all dealt with by using your hand, rather than some remote, infra-red button or switch. It has 2 demi-cup holders. The radio is pure, tinny crap. It happily takes regular gas rather than "super". It is a stick shift. It feels like you are driving faster than you are, unlike the other two cars, where you frequently glance at the speedometer and then quickly in the rear-view mirror, expecting the flashing lights of the patrol car.

It is little and black and sexy. Well, sexy to two people with a minivan and a shameful SUV.

We have taken to covertly staking our individual claims to this piddly car. I started things by saying, "I love it. This is MY car," during the test drive. Hah. Dibs. Charles trumped me by driving it home while I took the kids and his mom in the minivan. Grrrrr. I drove it last week on the day we couldn't carpool, citing some obscure law about wives getting to drive the vehicle of their choosing on Wednesdays. Plus, as principal, he often has to drive kids home (yes, chaperoned, of course, such are times). He should have the vehicle with most seating. Yesterday, we were again unable to carpool, as it was "Family Fun Night" at school and I really didn't want to wait hours after the clinic closed to go home to the kids. I again claimed the car on the grounds that he should have the more deer-resistant vehicle as he would be coming home after dark. He countered with "squatters rights", placing HIS lunch, work-out clothes, pile of papers, coffee mug, PDA, and all in the front of the car. I ceded defeat of yesterday's battle, glaring beetle-browed through the car window, MY coffee mug, coffee pot, purse and lunch bag in hand, and vowed to piss on the driver's seat in the near future. Today, we are at a limited cease fire as we carpooled.

I am drinking lots of water and coffee. Better to fill a bladder.

So, there we are. A sad, sad pair.

Fire away.

Of French Fries and Salmon and Mixed Media

Sometimes, Charles has to go out of town to attend some sort of principal-related event, like a conference. Yesterday, he left to go to the state awards banquet, where one of his teachers was being given a Big Award. So, off he went, to the glamorous burg of Decatur, where I believe they are staying at a Best Western Deluxe, and will dine on rubber chicken and hear many speeches. I am green with envy but am making the best of the situation by doing what I usually do when he is gone overnight. I cook a big piece of salmon. Charles hates salmon (everyone has a flaw), even hates the smell of it cooking, no matter how fresh it is. I also let Colin choose dinner: Hot dog in a Wonderbread bun, with french fries. Sara turned her nose up at everything except the fries (she is a fiend) and the carrots I gave her as an appetizer. I then put them to bed and curled up in The Big Chair with a glass of pinot noir and a movie. Dessert? None, just too full from the salmon and fries. The movie? The Stepford Wives, the remake. I've heard the original is great, this one is not.

So my question to you, my darlings, is what do you do when your amour is out the door?

On another subject, I must let you know that I am not much of a TV person. I find the usual schlock that is advertised mind-numbingly dull and I would truly rather clean the house. That said, there is some very good stuff out there, shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer (watch a season or two before you roll your eyes), Huff, and others. The other problem is that I get oh-so-annoyed with commercials, to the point that I essentially only watch something rented or that I've recorded, so I can zip through the ads. That said, there is a radio station we listen to on our Saturday trek in to Madison, just so we can catch this one commercial. It is from an extermination company called "Will Kill". Yesterday, the spot was about getting rid of things that messed up your lawn and contained the lines, "You don't want someone to just get rid of them. You want someone to come over with a big can of Smack-Down and completely eradicate the Evil Little Devils. You don't want them dead, you want them graveyard dead!" We drive impaired by the tears of mirth streaming down our cheeks. It's almost worth having them come out and cause Armageddon on your land, unless, of course, your water comes from your well. That and the fact that you probably don't want to eat the Smack-Down with your garden fresh vegetables.

The other thing is a show we stumbled across last week when I joined a brain-dead Charles in The Big Chair, where he was channel surfing, waiting for me to join him in a Buffy. We happened on a show called Showdog Moms and Dads, on Bravo, the wonderful channel that brought us the delightful Queer Eye. It follows about 5 people and their poor purebred dogs as they pursue their dreams of having a champion pooch. Trust me, this show will make you feel so utterly normal, so very amazingly well-adjusted that you won't even flinch as you holler at the screen and your normally non-violent and erudite guy mutters for the 47th time, "That guy needs someone to take him out. I could take him." TV worth watching. We have 4 episodes recorded. I know what I'm doing tonight.

Way To Go, Kai!

I am the eldest of 4: My sister, Gail, my brother, Aaron, and my sister, Kai. Gail and I are 3 years apart and by necessity and, at least on my part, genuine affection, we grew up fairly close. As is usual in our world, our parents split up and re-married, something that has worked out quite well, as both our parents married lovely people, who never would have been in our lives otherwise. My mother, amazing woman that she is, had 2 more children with my step-dad. Aaron was born my senior year in high school and Kaitlin was born the day I started med school. I went to orientation and then to the hospital and held her for the first time. What an amazing day. Given the age gap and busy lives, sadly we are not close, so it was incredibly wonderful when the phone rang last night.

It took a few minutes to figure out what the call was about as the person on the other end was so giddy, shrieking and laughing with glee, that Charles couldn't understand a word for a full 2 minutes. He finally deciphered the word "Diana" and passed the phone to me. It was, I believe, the 1st phone call from Kai, ever. (Which makes it one more call than from me to her, ever.) She had apparently just received a letter of acceptance from University of British Columbia, complete with a scholarship for next year! Much rejoicing!

We here, at the Piffle household, are particularly partial to things UBC, as Charles was there for his 1st year of grad school, before we moved back down to Portland. It was one of the best years of his life and where he learned to write very well, something that was quite painful in the process, but has been invaluable. And what a fantastic city in which to go to school! Vancouver, BC. Clean, gorgeous, hip. Yes, the hint of envy is real. I love Vancouver. And Canadians. So, lucky, lucky Kai! You deserve it, sweetie. And now we have an "in" to the UBC bookstore cache of UBC sweatshirts. For some reason, they only have a couple available online, none of which are appealing. The one Charles owns has literally been worn to ribbons, yet wear it he does. So nice of Kai to make her choice of college for our benefit.

And here, once again, I am amazed by the switch into spring. The last of the snow melted Saturday, not counting the piles in the shopping center parking lots, which have gone from 10 Ft mounds to 3 foot hills. Yesterday, the grass turned from brown to green and the daffodils started to bloom. Leaves should be out in 2 weeks or less. We found a mosquito in the house Sunday. The construction of the stone raised garden bed is underway, painfully and slowly. It got up to 80 yesterday. The wild turkeys are in heat, filling the air with Gobble!Gobble!Gobble! A pair of pheasants seem to be house hunting in our back yard and a herd of deer stopped us in the road for a minute or 2 while they all sauntered across, a few hundred feet from our driveway this morning.

Now, finally, join me in a cheer in your deepest, growly voice:
UBC! UBC! UBC!

Goooooo Thunderbirds!

(Yeah, Kai!)

Pointless

In honor of the divine Lioness, a thoroughly pointless post:

So, what have I been doing for the past few days? I have been enjoying having my lovely husband home since Wednesday, that's what. While Colin had spring break last week, Charles has it this week. Now, being Principal, he does not get things like Spring Break or Winter Vacation as such, but he can use some of his vacation time during a school holiday and have himself one as well. And so he is, taking off Wednesday through the weekend. Poor sod. You see, I have plans. But more in a minute.

Yesterday, we watched Colin get on the bus and then snuck out, just the 3 of us. Felt so very odd. We went shopping. For stuff. Well, first, we stopped by Menard's, a thoroughly worthless and cheap in every sense of the word, home improvement store, for those not in the Midwest Know. Think Home Depot with less quality and even surlier and more disenfranchised help. Now we are aware how sorry we will be every time we venture in, but a month ago, we were driven by desperation: The need for pre-fab concrete blocks to build a lovely raised bed for the garden. We first went to trusty Home Depot, and were told that they should get such things in within the next several weeks. Or maybe months. Really couldn't say for sure. So sorry. Now, as Rozanne, my Mum, and any other gardener can attest, raised beds wait for no one. Last freeze here on average is May 8th. The tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, and all the other lovelies go in as soon past that date as the extended forecast will allow that no more freeze will occur. No messing around, people! We have a short growing season to contend with. The ground just thawed. I have a month to build a lasting (we are NEVER moving again) 2 foot high U-shaped garden bed to nestle around the strawberry bed. A month that also contains things like house-work, work-work, parent-work and possible disease.

So with great trepidation, we went to wretched Menard's and ordered the stuff, at 10 cents a block cheaper, to be delivered in a week or 2. They would call us. Promise. Well, that was 4 weeks ago. So, our 1st stop yesterday was to go in and see what was up with the nearly 1,000 bucks in concrete blocks we had ordered and they had charged to our credit card. 8 guys behind the order desk, no one actually doing anything if you looked at them but on the surface, so very busy. Finally, we are able to snag someone, who after discerning what we needed, discovered that, whoops, they just didn't get around to calling us. Stuff has been in and ready for delivery for a few weeks. Please step around the counter to speak with the other guy to order delivery. 25 minutes later (I kid you not) we have an iron clad promise that the stuff is to be delivered between 7am and 12 noon tomorrow. Yeah. So that is what our weekend will consist of. Poor Charles. Heh, heh.

The rest of yesterday was nice. I got new running shoes. We got a full length mirror. We had lunch. We went home and cleaned. Actually, the mirror is nice. I had been without one for the last 5 years and was pleased to find that one's calves and thighs look much thinner in the mirror than they do looking down with the eyes. I also think it will be handy to dress being able to see past the hips.

Today, we again ditched home as soon as Colin got on the bus and went to breakfast, where upon Sara had a rare toddler meltdown when she found that, after meticulously picking out the tasty bits in her muffin but not eating any of the actual muffin, I refused to let her do the same with mine. So cold of me. So, we left post-haste, got her calmed down and then slogged around the little Madison zoo and saw the bears and primate house. Everyone else was snug inside as it was a bit chilly at 40F (4C). Then we went (aren't you on the edge of your seats!) grocery shopping. And then home. Don't we live gripping lives?

Tonight, we plan to watch a movie. Last night, we watched a movie. (Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, which we both thought was damn funny, by the way in a light, stupid movie sort of way. It was made by Canadians, I believe, which explains a lot.)

So, there, you have it. Thoroughly mundane things of a thoroughly mundane person.

You have Lioness to thank for it and only yourselves to blame if you read it.

Subliminal

Last night, I dreamed I was eating very small bananas. They were about 4 inches long but tasted like regular bananas. I didn't particularly want them, either.

I think even my dreams want a vacation.

Anyone going any place interesting? Can I live vicariously through you?

I am awaiting approval for a medical conference in the exotic locale of Northern Michigan in mid June. I seriously think there is something wrong with me. I could have chosen a conference in New Orleans. Or Montreal. Or San Francisco. Or Hawaii. What is with that?

Oh, yeah, I remember, I have 2 kids and my beloved husband hates to fly. So Michigan it is and I will cash in the "let's get on a plane and fly" chips next summer. By then I will have forgotten what happened our last flight, from Minneapolis to Portland, when Sara, aged 7 months, would only stop sobbing if I sang a song I made up called "Where is Sara?" over and over in her ear. For 4 solid hours. What made it especially maddening was that the airlines had messed up our reservations and had to split us up: Charles and Colin in one part of the plane and Sara and I in another part. I kept meaning to see if Charles managed to slip someone a $20 to arrange that, being the forsightful person he is, but never got around to it. Plus, he is Canadian and therefore unable to be mean or devious. It's a mountie-thing.

Oh, yeah, Michigan sounds like just the ticket.

Pass the Off.