Feb 14, 2020 | What's going on |
Elizabeth (aka Bettina/Betty Boop/Boop/Tine/Tina/Squiddzen/Squiddz) is always complaining that she’ll call and ask for life updates and I’ll say I don’t have any because not much worth reporting happens. She says that later on, she’ll read a laundry list of updates on the blawg. This is for you, sister.
Our church is in the middle of 21 days of prayer. Every
morning they have a prayer service at 6:33 as well as additional prayer
services on Thursday and Sunday nights. I’m all for worshipping the Lord but we haven’t gone to any of the morning services because again, 6:33 IN THE AM. I couldn’t
figure out why it was at 6:33 and not 6:30. Being the mathematical genius that
I am, I said, “Maybe it’s because 6×3+3= 21 and it’s for 21 days.” Christopher replied, “Or it’s
because the bracelets they handed out to remind us to pray have Matthew 6:33 on
them and that’s the verse they’re focusing on.”
That could be it. It does make more sense than my mathematical jibberish.
I keep a document on my phone with all my usernames and passwords. Everything is very abbreviated and written in a code only I can understand so I’m not too concerned about it being used for hacking purposes. The problem is I did so well with the abbreviations and codes that I don’t remember what site/account It- *franks* is for. I’m too clever for myself to decode.
Last week I made an extra-healthy meal of baked tilapia and
cooked carrots. I haven’t gotten used to cooking on an electric stove and every
so often I’ll accidentally leave the burner on because there’s no obvious flame.
AB and I were having a living room picnic while we watched an American Girl
movie. Suddenly there was a loud pop and the sound of shattering glass. My
first thought was what did the cats break now? as they have a history of
knocking things off the counter. I went to investigate and the stove, floor, and
counters were covered in thousands of pieces of broken glass. I put
the 9×12 glass baking dish on a burner that hadn’t been turned off. It took
almost an hour to clean up. If this is what’s going to happen when I make extra
healthy meals it might not be worth it.
In other kitchen issues, every night the refrigerator has been making a horrible noise that sounds like a jackhammer. The only remedy we’ve found is to unplug it. We finally called Tim the refrigerator repairman and he came today to assess the situation. Naturally, it was quiet as a mouse for the first thirty minutes he was in the kitchen. It was like taking your sick child to the doctor but the second the doctor walks in the room the child goes berzerk and starts spinning around on the rolling stool, looking healthy as a horse. Tim asked if it happens when the refrigerator turns on and off. I was not aware that even happens so I for sure didn’t know if that’s what causes the noise. Tim said he couldn’t do much without hearing the sound firsthand even though I did a great job of recreating it. I shared my diagnosis of it being an ice machine problem but Tim disagreed. I tried to find a recording of the noise I had sent a friend but it wasn’t there. Tim kept staring at the refrigerator and I stared at the counter because I wasn’t sure when this standoff with the appliance would end. I really thought Tim might hang around for an hour waiting for the noise and I’d have to offer him lunch. Suddenly the jackhammer sound started again and we both perked up with much more enthusiasm than is generally given to a refrigerator. It reminded me of the over the top enthusiasm when a child finally uses the potty. I ended up paying Tim $79 to tell me the noise was indeed from the ice maker after all. As you may recall, I told him that at the beginning of the visit. He should be paying ME $79 for doing his job.
Speaking of American Girls, we’re knee-deep in the dolls and
their stories. Annabelle has listened to all the Felicity, Kirsten, Kaya and
Addy books. We’re learning history using the books and it’s been so fun. Annabelle
is currently on a Kaya kick so every day we’re Indians who are moving camp and
hunting for berries in the forest. Oma gave her a Maryellen AG doll for
Christmas and we’ve read two of her books. The American Girls have some hard-hitting
stories. Kirsten’s best friend dies. Kaya and her sister are kidnapped. Addy has
to run for her life. Meanwhile, my little American girl is sighing and telling me, “Sometimes I wish people wouldn’t compliment me so much.” Their life adversities could not be more different.
Scene: my kitchen
Time: every morning when Annabelle is getting cereal and milk
Cast of characters: me and Linus
Linus: Meow
Me: No, Linus. I’m not going to give you milk.
Linus: MEow.
Me: Linus. I have to stop giving you milk every morning. It’s not a good habit.
Linus: MEOW
Me: Ok, fine. Move your face out of the way while I pour you some milk.
And Christopher tells me I spoil the cats. How absurd!
Jan 24, 2020 | What's going on |
I have thirteen minutes to pound this out before I have to pick up Annabelle at ballet.
Sleep or lack thereof: I’ve been doing a better job of being up and ready for the day before AB wakes up. Five out of seven days she would wake me up by appearing at the side of my bed and asking for breakfast, telling me a fact about Elana of Avalor or where her rag doll is and how she had her water bottle, lost it under the blankets then found it again. She wakes up ready to greet the day with all the enthusiasm and energy of a five-year-old/energizer bunny. My greeting of the day could not be less different.
 |
| Me when I wake up every morning |
For the last several days I’ve gotten up first and as much as I hate to admit it because it means less sleep, it has made the mornings easier to get up on my own terms. Tuesday I had to drag a sleepy Annabelle out of bed so we could make it to the homeschool group on time. I was doing her hair and singing a really superb song about how we needed to trim her nails next. She sighed very loudly and said, “Mom, it’s too early for all these shemanigans.” That’s exactly how I feel every morning! Too many shenanigans from the child of the house. Have a taste of your own medicine.
School: We attend two homeschool groups- a Classical Conversations group on Tuesdays and a regular homeschool group on Fridays. It took several weeks for me to start liking the CC model but it’s started to grow on me. I have no idea how to make what we learn on Tuesdays into an entire curriculum and I wish it was MUCH more hands-on, but Annabelle has learned quite a bit and enjoys going. She gives a presentation to her class every week and unlike her mother, there has never been any hyperventilating or tears before she gets up. Every few weeks a CC family has to stand in front of the entire group and tell a little about themselves. The mom who did it this week said, “We also have a son named Samuel, but he’s in the classroom right now because crowds and people looking at him make him very uncomfortable.” ME TOO, SAMUEL. Our turn is in March and I’m already planning on being sick that day.
Weather: it’s reached a brisk 42* at noon this week and the entire town is acting as if the sky is falling and we’re all about to die any second. Three separate people told me that this is supposed to be the coldest week of the year. I didn’t bother saying we’re only 23 days into the year so that doesn’t take much, but I tried to be outwardly sympathetic. Inwardly I’m all but putting up a billboard reminding people that January is winter and this is all totally normal. Nobody panic.
BRB. I have to go retrieve my child.
Still alive: our angel tree. It’s the Christmas tree that refuses to die and I refuse to throw it away while it still has so much life left to live. It’s been up for six weeks now which I think is long enough for a phone call to the Guinness World Record people.
Researching: the current situation surrounding the royal family. If you’ve got questions, I’ve got opinions galore. Christopher has tried to participate in my Sussex family conversations and I truly appreciate the effort, but it’s become clear he has not been paying attention. I was giving a lengthy soapbox speech about how they’re leaving the country of Harry’s birth and not even going to live in the country of Meghan’s birth. They’re up in Canada where the national snack is a weird dish of french fries with cheese curds and gravy. (Obviously, I’m not knocking french fries. I always have and always will love french fries. It’s the cheese curds I object to.) Christopher said, “Well, she is Canadian so that makes sense.” I was flabbergasted. Speechless. Has he learned nothing from me in the last several years?! She’s not Canadian. Didn’t he read all the headlines that said “American princess”? Was he not paying attention when I told him two and a half years ago that Lian’s son went to the boys’ version of the college prep high school in Los Angeles that Meghs attended? I would say I won’t share any more of my royal thoughts with him but we all know that isn’t true. I’ll be back at it tomorrow and there’s nothing he can do about it. It should have been written into our wedding vows. “In sickness and in health. In war and in peace. In times of royal gossip triumph and royal disdain.”
To sum up my thoughts on the current Sussex situation, I’d like to borrow a word from AB. It’s a bunch of shemanigans.
Dec 20, 2019 | Party people, What's going on |
For those keeping up with the saga that is Lucy’s allergies (and who isn’t?), I had to take her back to the vet for recurring sores on her legs. They took her back without me which was fine because I needed to focus on AB who had attached the leash to her dress and wanted me to walk her like a cat. I asked the very timid vet assistant to ask the vet for a more concrete plan than me bringing her for a shot every month. She returned several minutes later with the following medical plan: put hydrocortisone or antibiotic ointment on the trouble spots and make sure Lucy doesn’t lick it off. Sure. No problem. I’ll do that right after I stop the waves in the ocean and keep the world from spinning. There’s no way I can control where the cat puts her tongue.
On Sunday we had a little Christmas party for a AB’s friends. I told the family several times in the days leading up to the party that I wasn’t going to go crazy about it. It was going to be very relaxed. I scheduled it for 2 o’clock so I wouldn’t have to serve lunch or supper. All we needed to make was snakcs. Everyone would be impressed with how non-OCD I was about the napkins. Weekday Sarah forgot to tell party-eve Sarah the stay chill plan. I won’t go into details but it was not chill.
This was pre-craft and cookie decorating. The whole house was clean and quiet for all of 7 minutes.
To be honest, the house wasn’t entirely clean. We piled stuff into a laundry basket and hid it in the closet. The picture has been leaning against the dining room since we moved in several months ago.
I planned on making a bead snowman craft but when I went to Joann’s they were out of beads. I stood in the fake flower aisle and scrabbled to find another option that didn’t involve paint. Plastic ornaments were on sale so I bought a bunch to stuff with tissue paper and decorate to turn into reindeer.
The kids crafted, decorated homemade cookies, ate played, scarred the cats for life and genuinely seemed to enjoy themselves. Annabelle, who had done 12% of the preparations told me, “I’m glad I’m learning to be a host but it’s A LOT of work. I need a nap.”
Me too, sister. Try orchestrating a kid’s party AND making sure your cat doesn’t lick her legs.
Dec 6, 2019 | North loving, southern living, What's going on |
I currently have both apple butter and pot roast cooking in my kitchen. If ever there is a time I feel like Betty Crocker, it’s when I have pots bubbling on the stove.
Suddenly it’s December 5th. I’m not sure how that happened but here we are. I’ve been getting snail mail and emails saying “Last minute deals for your last-minute gifts!” in a very bold and panicked font. It’s 20 days until Christmas. I don’t consider that last minute. I’m never in a rush to finish shopping by December 1st. I spend all year making notes and gearing up for the gift-giving season. I consider birthday gifts throughout the year to be warm-up for the Iron Man marathon of Christmas time. I live for this time of year. Don’t be telling me I have mere minutes to wrap up my shopping!
I finished up my Christmas cards last night. I plan out the card in my head for several months and spend many an afternoon perfecting it. This year’s card is not my shining glory. It’s fine but I could have made it better. Christopher and Elizabeth both told me it’s good but my inner perfectionist was screaming it was borderline boring and blah.
The house decorating has been a little rocky. There’s a stack of fake greenery, little village houses and fake berries in the corner of the living room. I’m trying so hard to get everything put together, but I feel a little less Christmasy this year because I was so hoping to buy a stocking for baby Elliot but now I can’t. We put our fake tree up on Sunday and Lucy climbed to the top of it and knock the angel off. Her weight, slim though she is despite all the food she sneaks, is bending and breaking some of the fake limbs. I spent part of the afternoon twisting together pipe cleaners that look like greenery and jerry-rigging the tree back together.
I do love how the mantle turned out. The lights from the mantle and the lights from the tree make the whole living room glow.
Speaking of Christmas and winter, while my family up north are shoveling snow off their cars, we FINALLY have enough leaves to jump in. AB insisted upon bringing her wooden chair out and jumping off it into the leaves.
When you can’t make snow angels you make leaf angels.
Nov 28, 2019 | What's going on |
My car died last weekend. Christopher jumped it on Sunday and it started working, but it was dead again on Monday. Naturally, we had a playdate and four time-sensitive errands scheduled that day. Instead, Christopher came home over lunch to jump it again and I went to buy a new battery. The GPS brought me to the wrong garage so I had to go to an Auto Zone on the other side of town. I think I could identify four items in the entire store- tires, air fresheners, tictacs, and a pocket knife. The very nice man asked if my Rogue is an S, SL or SV. I had no answer to that question. I told him all I know is that it’s a blue Nissan and I like it. I don’t know about cars. He followed that question up with “Is it a four-cylinder?” I got the feeling he wasn’t listening when I told him I DON’T KNOW ABOUT CARS. I’m part of the reason why there’s a stereotype about women not being knowledgeable about cars!
One of our stops after getting the new battery was to drop off our Operation Christmas Child boxes. I’ve been doing them for over 12 years and now AB gets just as excited about packing them. We’ve learned how to really maximize every square inch of the box.
We’ve always included a card, but this year at the homeschool group we were given OCC sheets to color and put in the box. Look at the care with which Sesame drew our house. Such attention to detail and dedication to including all the loving decor touches I’ve labored over.
Annabelle’s future husband invited her to friendsgiving today. She was the only girl in a group of 9 children and she wasn’t sure how to handle it. She kept giving them the side-eye and covering her ears (both of which I wanted to do myself).
It’s not as if she’s always a dainty flower at home. She makes plenty of noise and ruckus by herself. She’s constantly asking, “Do you want to hear how loud I can yell the word ________? Can I have a snack? Can I watch a show? MAAAAAAMMMMMMAAAAA!!!!!”
Her talking could fuel all the vehicles needed to transport the shoeboxes around the world.
Nov 23, 2019 | What's going on |
Last week, Mom, Grandma, and Elizabeth came to visit. They never comment on the state of my house, but I was cleaning and vacuuming like they would arrive with a magnifying glass and sue me for every speck of dust they found. I assure you I’d have lost the million dollars I don’t have if I was fined for every spot left unclean.
The main outing of the trip was a visit to Jimmy Carter’s boyhood home. There isn’t much to do in our town, or within three hours of our town, so JC’s has become The Place to bring visitors. It’s JC’s, the library or the playground. The paparazzi snapped this photo of me playing secret service and escorting Grandma down the stairs while she asked why Jimmy wasn’t going to meet us for lunch. “I come all the way from Massachusetts and he can’t meet me for lunch?”
I’ll be honest. I tried to photoshop my double chin out of this photo. I rely on picmonkey to be my poor man’s botox but sometimes it doesn’t work and I end up looking like a cartoon character. We all have our burdens to bear and multiple chins is one of mine.
I didn’t picture my life one in which my little girl would be playing in a southern cotton field on a breezy 78* day in November, but here I am.
Multiple times a day I tell Sesame she’s my best girl. She always responds with “You’re my best girl too, Mama.” I’ve always wanted her to be close to her relatives but this trip presented an unexpected issue. “Actually Mama, you’re still mostly my best girl but Aunt Squiddzen (Elizabeth’s nickname) is my best girl too. It’s like, her than Grammy than you. You’re still my best girl but more like my third best girl.” Well. That backfired. I’ve promoted them too much. I’ve raised them too high on a pedestal!
She’s still MY best girl.
