tea time
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Annabelle picked this lovely arrangement of weeds flowers for the centerpiece. She kept telling me Mrs. Jim would love them so much.
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Annabelle picked this lovely arrangement of weeds flowers for the centerpiece. She kept telling me Mrs. Jim would love them so much.
The whole operation caused a lot of excitement among the female members of our house. We spent a significant amount of time watching the proceedings and critiquing the workers. I’m not a concrete expert but that didn’t stop me from evaluating their work. The Jims are obsessed with keeping the yard in pristine condition. The quality of care they give the grass is similar to the level expected at the White House. After the embarrassing condition of the lawn at our Fort Campbell home everyone is glad we aren’t responsible for the yard work around here. I knew The Jims wouldn’t be happy with the pile of dirt and rocks thrown onto the grass.
I would have talked to the workers about it but I tried to avoid eye contact with them. One of them showed up unexpectedly a while ago to give an estimate. It was early in the morning and I saw him when I opened the blinds. He looked at me and I looked at him. Then he rang the doorbell and I ran upstairs to hide because I was in my pajamas with no bra on and I refuse to answer the door like that.
* Annabelle said she was sick and needed ”hot tea and a get well card.” I gave her the tea but didn’t make the card. I said if she was still “sick” in the morning I’d make her a card. The next morning she was acting fine but insisted she was “very sick in my stomach” so she got a card.
She’s gotten so big. Look how long her legs are.
* I love a good joke. A well timed pun makes me so happy. Today at the zoo we were watching the otters and I told AB she “should be otterly happy about seeing them.” She didn’t get it but I was proud of myself. I texted Christopher a few jokes the other day. I know they’re corny but they made me laugh.
On Saturday we hosted 19 people for a cookout. I had never met half of them. Needless to say I’m still recovering.
Our church has been encouraging regular attenders to host cookouts this summer and invite friends/neighbors who don’t normally attend church. Being the most introverted of the introverts we did not jump for joy when we heard about this plan. I enjoy hosting people, but if I’m going to have someone into my personal space I like to know them. We decided to host one anyway because it was the Lord’s work and, to be honest, I was hoping for some extra heavenly treasure for my efforts.
It first it was a manageable size. We invited the landlords, four neighbors and two friends we knew from Fort Campbell. Nine people was a nice size and we knew them all. Then Christopher decided to invite the people on the other side of Hippie Bob and Sue. That was venturing into uncharted neighborhood territory. They weren’t home but the people on the other side of them were so Christopher invited them. While he was talking to them, the guy next door came to see what was going on so he got invited too. Then Matt from work got an invitation. Then a family from church said they’d come help out. The numbers quickly got out of control.
I channeled my nerves into selecting the right color scheme and planning cupcake flavors. At one point I said something about how my gold and white with touches of pink color scheme didn’t make one bit of difference. No one would notice anyway. I didn’t even want to bother with coordinating straws. (WHO AM I?) Let’s cancel the whole thing and move to Montana. Christopher thought I should ditch the color scheme and we should focus on more important things like how much food to buy and having enough seating.
Matt and Phil (an unexpected addition) arrived early. The neighbors old and new trickled in shortly after. Most of the neighbors had never met. We were the new kids on the block bringing everyone together. Bob and Sue couldn’t come because he was running his 25th yard sale of the year. I asked him where he gets all the items he sells (he has a never ending supply in his yard) and he said “they fall from the sky. It’s bad for business when it rains.” I’d imagine so. The family from church came just in the nick of time. They socialized and helped and saved the day. We could have survived without them, but they made the experience a million times easier. If we get a few treasures in heaven for this they will certainly get several mansions. The moral of this story is introverts hosting a party should always have extreme extroverts on the guest list.
All in all the event went well. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and we were glad we did it, even though we did look like this the second everyone left.
I spent a good portion of my day thinking I didn’t have anything interesting to report from the weekend. Then I remembered that I made a wooden bowl which isn’t an every day occurrence. You’d think that would have been something in the forefront of my mind since I’ve been eating Skittles out of it all day.
For many years now I’ve been trying to get Christopher into a hobby that isn’t reading or drumming. I was specifically steering him in the direction of woodworking. I have a list several miles long of things I’d like built and he needed a hobby. It’s a win win for everyone. He finally agreed to try it and he’s fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Or saw, hammer and screws as the case may be. He’s bought the tools, signed up for classes and made endless trips to Home Depot. He signed us for a wooden bowl making class at a wood shop in town. He never complains about waiting for me while I shop at the craft store so I was happy to do something he wanted.
I’ve done some woodworking but not for years. Grandpa and I made Aaron a wooden fort with removable roof for his plastic cowboys and indians and two little wooden tanks. They remain the pinnacle of my (short) wood career. I had never used a lathe, a drill press or the plethora of other tools Joe the instructor taught us. It was a very new experience.
I’m just going to throw it out there that I’m really proud of myself for not crying during the entire three hours. The last time Christopher and I did a class together was when we got our concealed carry license at Fort Lee. I was too weak to pull the trigger so I held up the entire class. It was mortifying. I may have shed a few tears behind my safety glasses. I truly believed my bowl was going to be a disaster but Joe came by frequently with encouragement and fixed my many mistakes. Every time my tool hit the machine it made a terrible sound. I lost count of the times it made that sound. Eventually people stopped wondering who wasn’t using their tool properly because it was always me.
Before. Obviously.
I know my last post was all mopey and endless woe is me. I generally try to stay upbeat but sometimes your house floods and it’s hard to be optimistic when ants are covering the place you eat your meals.
Our neighbor Hippie Bob invited us to his birthday party on Saturday. He didn’t invite us until Friday night so it was obvious we weren’t on the original guest list. Our relationship with HB and his common law wife is very shallow. We wave at each other and he yells ‘hi’ to Annabelle until she verbally responds. She gets shy and doesn’t do more than wave which causes him to continue yelling. HB has a constant yard sale going on at the end of his driveway and while I can’t say how much he makes, I don’t think he does too poorly. There’s a constant stream of customers to buy his old bikes and expired infant car seats. Sometimes he decorates his yard with items he doesn’t want to part with. For months he had a giant stuffed horse on a tree stump. Much like the USPS it was there through snow, rain, heat and gloom of night. No matter the weather Bob wears a jacket and straw hat. He has a bushy white beard and wears his hair in a pony tail. Many a time the smell marijuana has drifted over from their yard. He and Sue make for quite the people watching. Not that I’m into that kind of thing of course. I’m always reminding Christopher not to be so nosy.
In preparation for his party he displayed not only an American flag but a confederate as well. He wanted all guest to feel welcome, no matter which side of the Mason/Dixon line they call home.
Hippie Bob spared no expense for the party. He had a horse, a pony, a rabbit, four goats and stage where Strawberry Jam serenaded him late into the night. Let’s not forget about the shipment of porta potties that arrived at his house the day before the party. He told Christopher there would also be a bull (it was not specified whether it would be a real or mechanical bull) but the only bull was a bull shaped grill. There was about 50 guests and we didn’t know a soul until our landlord and his parents arrived. We were the only non-family members invited and it was very awkward. We said we “had another event” after the party and made a quick getaway. Our other event was going hiking but Bob didn’t need to know details. He cornered me yesterday as I was watering plants to talk about the party. He said it was a great time, that he didn’t start drinking until 7 o’clock because he “wanted to be normal”, that his niece is a world renowned neurosurgeon who is “known not just here, not just there, but everywhere” and that Sue’s mother sold furniture to Martha Stewart. We covered a lot of ground in four minutes.
On our fifth day of potty training we went out to play in the rain. Sesame was in seventh heaven. She wore her puddle boots, winter hat and no pants. She was as happy as a clam.