Gratitude, Tradition & Pie

November 24, 2011

I am knee-deep in all kinds of goodies and food prep.  And I am wondering, honestly, how did Thanksgiving get here already?

I feel like it was just yesterday I was hatching plots to gain admission to my town pool for the summer.

And yet, here I am, helping my friends in town find a way off the Thanksgiving wait list for the highly in-demand Williams-Sonoma Gravy Starter.  {This was my first exposure to the WS Gravy Starter Scandal — it’s not pretty.  Add this to the list of reasons why I won’t be making the turkey.}

Here I am, wondering who the secret local Extreme Couponer is, because she clearly hoarded all of the heavy cream within a five mile radius.  It’s not nice to put my pies in jeopardy.

And here I am, making a tray of appetizers for tomorrow’s dinner, complete with a friendly PSA that any food item stuffed with goat cheese and wrapped in prosciutto is sent from Heaven {figs, in this case}.

So, with the holiday season about to unfold, I want to take a deep breath and soak it in.  I want to say I won’t get stressed out with holiday logistics and preparations.  I want to say I will remember every day to be grateful.  And I want to say I won’t eat too much pie.  But, try as I may, I’m guessing that all of these things probably won’t pan out quite as smoothly as I hope.

But I will do my very best to create new memories for my kids and show them what the holidays are about.  To remember those less fortunate and those who are missing loved ones.  To not sweat the small stuff.  To keep some perspective.

Thanksgiving headgear: Check

 

This weekend I’ll enjoy the small but fun details that make traditions in a family.  Like eating my mom’s famous Pumpkin Chiffon Pie and playing super-competitive/out for blood rounds of Catch Phrase, complete with a tournament bracket construct and accompanying headgear.  And I’ll think about what traditions to begin with my kids, so that they don’t forever associate Thanksgiving Week with “that time when Mom & Dad went apeshit on the general contractor.”

I’m snarky on the whole, as you may know, but I’m a sap at this time of year.  I don’t wish this season away for a moment.

So here’s to you and yours this Thanksgiving — I hope you have a holiday filled with love, tradition and good pie.

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Family, Food & Drink, Friends, Holidays 8 Comments

Still Standing

November 23, 2011

For those of you who think I’ve been incarcerated for clubbing my General Contractor in the knees, it’s not so.  So where have I been?  Well, I’ve just been recovering from the anxiety of Operation Presto-Change-o, whereby the phantom contractor and his crew made a one-day cameo appearance to take out the beams that were supporting our house to replace them with one ginormous piece of steel.

Never one to overreact, I figured I’d evacuate for the day.  But the logistics didn’t work out, so I decided on the next best thing, which was to have my good friend Beth come over and distract me with the ridiculous cuteness of her six month-old twins.  I figured, since she has two infants, she probably has a high threshold for noise and maybe she wouldn’t even notice the construction.

After distributing hard hats and reviewing safety drills highlighting the nearest exits with Beth, we had a lovely visit that managed to take my mind off of what was going on under the house.

{Side note:  My husband is also a big fan of Beth’s but he has begun to dread her visits.  Not because he doesn’t enjoy her company.  That’s not the case at all.  It’s because he sees the maniacal “I-might-kidnap-these-infants” look in my eyes.  And he knows that, hours later, the other side of my split personality will emerge and tell him we should have four to six more kids.}

We actually had a full house, as P worked from home that day — either to keep me from kidnapping Beth’s babies or to assist me with any necessary evacuation — I’m not sure which.  So he took the opportunity to bring me down to the basement — where I have not ventured in a while, to avoid a nervous breakdown — and showed me how they were switching out the beams.  It was a real, live HGTV show right under my house.  See, we don’t need high def after all.

In the most non-technical and unprofessional craftsman terms, here’s my understanding of what they did.  First, they took out the old beams and replaced them with this makeshift support structure.

I’m not an engineer or an architect but this seemed like a flimsy replacement to me.  Should it really look like a fort?

Then they took this big-ass beam and, somehow, moved it to the back of the house.  Eight guys.  One beam.

Then they slid it under the house, through the makeshift wooden fort.  And by “slid,” I mean yelled a lot and moved the Earth under my feet for about 90 minutes.

 

Then.  They jacked up the beam to its proper place.  By this point, Beth took off with her kids, which was smart.  Because I was convinced my 100 year-old house would not withstand the amount of shaking that this process brought.

But it did.  We’re still here. Somehow.

I should also mention that while P and I were touring the makeshift fort, the head mason was down there.  So we took this opportunity to corner him and try to get more clarity around things like, say, why the hell his crew shows up on a random and increasingly rare basis.

It went like this.

Us:  “Bill, what’s going on with the schedule?”

Bill:  “The schedule?”

Us:  “Yeah.  You know, we are on week 12 of a five week job now and we’re not really feeling like anyone is communicating with us.”

Bill:  “Oh but we’ve had problems with {inaudible} and {mumbling} and look, is that a bird over there?”

Us:  “Bill.  You promised us the beam would go in today {Friday} and the concrete floor would be poured on Monday.  Is that still going to happen?”

Bill {reaching for pocket}:  “I have to take this call.”

Us:  “I don’t hear a phone ringing.”

Bill:  “Oh.”

Us:  {blinking audibly}

Bill:  “Well, we need an inspector to come out here before we can pour the concrete.”

Us:  “Fine.  This is the first we’ve heard of this.  Did you schedule the inspection?”

Bill:  “No, no, not yet.  But I will, first thing Monday.  And they should get here on Tuesday.  And then maybe we can pour the concrete on Wednesday.”

{Translation: Concrete floor will not be poured until after Thanksgiving weekend.  Probably once the calendar reads December.}

___________

We could have said more.  Much more.  But the timing felt wrong.  Vulnerable, even.  I’m usually not afraid of confrontation, but I didn’t think I wanted to piss off the guy in charge of holding up my house at that moment.

And so the house stands.  Even if our nerves are hanging on by a thread and we’re about to be awarded VIP status at the laundromat.  Because, 12 weeks in to my five week project, this doesn’t really feel like quite the milestone photo I’d hoped to post.

Baby steps, my friends.  Baby steps.

As for Bill, he somehow slipped through our fingers right after our conversation and disappeared into thin air, much like Kaiser Soze.  And just like that, he was gone.

 

 

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Holidays, Project Colonial, That Which Drives Me Crazy 10 Comments

Holiday Shopping Tangents, Volume I

November 15, 2011

Good news:  I’ve decided to start my holiday shopping early this year.

Bad news:  I not motivated and, therefore, am easily distracted.  As you’re about to see.

* * *

So.  A few days ago, 17 catalogs — really, 17 — arrived in my mailbox in the hopes of getting my holiday attention and dollars.  Most of them were from places I never shopped at before.  Or even heard of, in some cases (what the hell is a Pajama Gram, anyway?).  But there was the trusty Pottery Barn Kids catalog, just begging me to overpay for something for my kids.

So I had a quick look.  And that’s when my level of distraction increased.

It started on page 78, when I noticed the Gourmet Kitchen Collection, pictured here.

{Image Source: Pottery Barn Kids}

Keep in mind that I’m a woman who is allegedly getting a new basement sometime before 2017, so I have spent a lot of time recently looking at cabinetry, appliances, tile and more.  I notice these things.  But I didn’t expect to notice — no, envy — them on a fake kitchen.  For toddlers.

But it’s true.  I found myself mentally complimenting the features of this PBK kitchen.

Here.  Read on for yourselves.  The official product description:

“Gourmet Kitchen:  We’ve given each piece of our compact kitchen interactive elements that encourage creative play in preschool age kids.  You’ll find knobs that spin, a pull-out dishwasher drawer, spinning temperature dials, a soap pump that goes up and down, and an ice machine with four wood ice cubes.”

Niiiice.

I admired its updated features and layout, blocking out the fact that this was for pretend cooking.

And then, it hit me.  This kitchen was bigger and nicer than the one in my first Manhattan apartment.  

 

See?  That’s the kitchen in question.  You can’t see the sides because, well, there was no room stand inside of said room while taking photos of those angles.  There was a small, non-standard sized refrigerator and dishwasher.  Small.  But, unlike the PBK model, I did not have an ice maker.  Or dials that spun reliably.  Or a built-in soap pump.

Hmmm.  Could it be that the PBK toddler set had access to better appointed household items than, say, adult urban dwellers on a fixed budget?

I was on to something, I thought.  And then it was confirmed on page 116.

Behold:  The Cottage Loft Bed.

{Image Source: Pottery Barn Kids}

Areyoufuckingkiddingme?

“…our  magical loft bed has French white paneled siding, French green shutters, decorative window boxes and an attic window.  Inside you’ll find plenty of room for an activity table, play kitchen and toys…”

I had to refill my wine.

Let’s go back to my studio apartment in Manhattan circa 2002, shall we?  No French white paneled siding.  No French green shutters.  No French anything, except a very stinky and creepy dude in his 60s who lived on my floor and occasionally stole my mail.  And we’ve covered the kitchen.

My apartment had plenty of room for — well, let’s see — not much at all.  A bed, a desk, a love seat, a table and a bookcase.  After walking up four floors.  Past the stinky/creepy French dude’s apartment.

So, it’s official:  The PBK Cottage Loft Bed is both nicer and bigger than the entire home I had as a grown adult on my own.

Sad but true.

I feel it’s my duty now to impart some wisdom to young city people with modest budgets:  Find yourselves a spoiled niece or nephew and move into their fucking pimped-out PBK playroom.  Because it will be so much more comfortable than your crappy studio.  And — hey — they can make you a killer vinaigrette reduction sauce while admiring their pre-school reflections in the stainless steel appliances.

Yes, say goodbye to that nasty, overpriced apartment and live large in the playroom.  Do it.  Now.  I know, the local social scene may not be exactly what you’re looking for, but I have no doubt that the next PBK catalog is going to have an amazing play mini bar for your comfort and convenience.

Now, back to my holiday shopping.

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Holidays, Places Near and Far 15 Comments

Lawyering Up

November 2, 2011

NOTICE OF LEGAL ACTION

TO:            Residents of Fordeville

FROM:       Señor, Head Household Pet and Chief Bacon Officer

DATE:         November 2, 2011

SUBJECT:   Options Related to Legal Emancipation

* * *

Please be advised that I have retained an attorney to seek legal emancipation on the basis of breach of contract.

Specifically, we had an agreement pursuant to Halloween 2010 (see Exhibit A) that I would no longer, as a middle aged dog, be subjected to unwanted holiday gear, costumes and the like going forward.

Exhibit A

Following the recent events of Halloween 2011 (see Exhibit B), it has become abundantly clear to me that you have purposefully and flagrantly breached our agreement, at the expense of my personal character.

Exhibit B

If necessary, I am willing to dig up previous examples of the indignities I’ve suffered and further evidence of my costume disdain, like the Santa collar of 2006 or the Señor Halloween costume of 2005, complete with sombrero and cape.  I think you know what photos I mean — and they speak for themselves.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that and we can settle our differences amicably, based on our past history.

 

Exhibit C

Because I generally like you, despite the fact that you have brought two human children into the house to live without my consent (see Exhibit C), I am willing to postpone filing for legal emancipation if you agree to meet the following conditions:

–Submit to a restraining order that prohibits you from coming within 100 feet of any pet costuming stores.  Similarly, you agree to block all related websites from your computer.  Holidays included in this demand consist of Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day and Easter.  {Note:  Sweaters and related canine apparel are generally acceptable, as long as they exude good taste and functionality.  I’d be particularly grateful if you could resurrect my winter faux fur camouflage jacket.}

–Agree to provide me with an acceptable amount of treats — preferably of the bacon or chicken variety — on a twice daily basis.  Said amount will be at my discretion and only overridden if health issues arise.

–Enforce a Zero Tolerance policy with regard to the human children riding me like a pony.

–Allow me to sleep in your bed — all night, every night — despite my snoring, drooling and shedding.

It is my hope and expectation that, given my loyalty and charming personality over the years, you will agree to my conditions without reservation or modification, effective immediately.

My attorney is currently somewhat pre-occupied with a high-profile Hollywood divorce case (something about an absurd 72-day reality TV union), so please feel free to communicate with me directly during my waking hours near my water dish.

Thank you for your immediate attention to this matter.

 

_______________

{Addendum:  October 29, 2012.  It appears I slipped and have violated the terms outlined above, as demonstrated by this weekend’s photos below — soon to be known in the public record as Exhibits D & E, respectively.  The pug and I will be speaking with a mediator as soon as the wrath of Sandy passes.}

 

 

 

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Family, Holidays 19 Comments

Party Planner For Hire

October 5, 2011

I have read several times over the years that October 5 is the date with the most American birthdays.  Mostly because of New Year’s Eve.  You know, people liquored up, jumping under the covers in the chill of December.  And voila, a baby arrives around October 5.

My husband is one of these babies.  And now I have unfortunate mental images of my in-laws on a cold winter’s night that I’d prefer to block out forever.

But anyway.  Today is my husband’s 16th annual 29th birthday.

I like to tease him about his age.  Not just because he’s older than I am (though this is most of the reason).  But also because he doesn’t care.  And because he looks about 34 and acts feels about 27. Which is probably why he doesn’t care.

In honor of his birthday, I won’t pick on him.  Much.

I’ll instead say how grateful I am that he puts up with me.  Which is the purest truth.

And what better way to show him how loved he is on this special day than by taking the family out for — wait for it — Back to School Night.  Because nothing says It’s a Party like cramming the halls of a pre-school with your kids right as the bedtime/meltdown point on the clock approaches.

Except for one thing:  It was a parents-only event.  Which I somehow overlooked.  Somehow.  In my Type A-ness, this kind of big detail escaped me.  Don’t ask me why I thought kids were supposed to attend this thing.  It makes no sense at their age.

My brain should not be donated to science.  Clearly.

So, there we were in the parking lot of the pre-school, with this revelation upon us — the birthday man, me and two kids who weren’t supposed to be there.  To really put the evening’s party effect over the top, I went into the school alone and he circled the neighborhood with the kids in the car until my 30 minutes of pre-school mingling were over.

Yes, he’s a lucky man.  It’s true.

But don’t you worry.  I’ll take him out for dinner and copious drinks one night soon.  So that we can catch up on other exciting things — like why our living room floor is now buckling from the endless basement renovation.

And in the meantime, we had cake.  Baked by my awesome sous chefs and me.

There was palpable anticipation as they waited by the oven.  And, during which time, I began to wonder if I should have eaten my weight in uncooked cake batter.

 

Then there was the frosting process.  We might have eaten more than we used.

 

And, if you’re four years old, it’s important to be a good cake eater.  Like a world record setting, where-the-hell-did-that-piece-of-cake-go eater.

 

So, as you can see, all was not lost.  Our kids got to cruise the neighborhood after dark to check out Halloween lights.  And our son showed us his future in competitive cake eating.

My husband?  He totally rolled with it.  Which is what makes him the best.

Happy Birthday, P.  I promise to give you a proper celebration that doesn’t entail construction paper, toddler meltdowns and wife dipshittery real soon.

 

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Family, Holidays 11 Comments

The Untold Terror of Halloween

October 2, 2011

Last year was our first year living in the suburbs for Halloween.  And we totally underestimated what a big deal it was.  On several levels.

Not this year.  We’ll be ready.  Bring it, I say.

But before I can join my neighbors in Christmas-level outdoor decorations and buying enough candy to feed a small country, I have to get the basics done.

That means costumes for my kids.  Which, it turns out, is the real terror behind Halloween.

Because, at ages four and two, they have definite opinions about their costumes.  Which would be fine if said opinions did not change, on average, every 7-9 minutes.  And were not accompanied by numerous public tantrums.

I’ve tried several strategies to take the pain out of this process.  For example, I don’t ask open-endedly anymore “So, what do you want to be for Halloween?”  Because that’s just signing up for pain, coated in confusion and sprinkled with disappointment.  When given this free-wheeling positioning, my kids will either choose obscure characters or overly specific creatures {e.g., not just a dinosaur, but a purple Brachiosaurus} whose likenesses are impossible to purchase.  They are even more impossible to recreate, particularly if you have my distinct lack of artistic vision coupled with zero crafting execution.  Or desire.

We’ve got to keep the economy running, people.  I’m buying costumes.  There will be plenty of years to make them.

I also try to steer their choices, so that we are dealing with something that 1) I can easily purchase {see above} and 2) is not totally inappropriate {nothing trampy for my daughter or violent for my son}.

See, I’m all reasonable and practical.  Let them choose, but help manage their choices so it’s not overwhelming.  Or annoying.

Let me tell you how well my strategies worked today during a few stops at costume stores: Epic fail.

They were driving me crazy.  One minute, they each had four costume choices in their hands.  The next, they wanted nothing.

The feigned excitement in my voice became absurd with each new suggestion:

“What about The Backyardigans, you guys?  What do you mean you don’t like them?  You begged for four episodes at breakfast.”

“Oh look, a cowboy and cowgirl!  No, it doesn’t have a horse but we can pretend, and — Guys?  Where are you?”

“Pirates are awesome!  How about pirates?  Yes, there are girl pirates, but their skirts should be longer.”

“The Cookie Monster!  You’ll love this. Remember, you love cookies.  It’s blue and furry — and probably comes with cookies in the sleeves.  Come on!”

Then I got it in my head that it would be fun to have them in some sort of pairing.  You know, Mickey and Minnie.  Red Riding Hood and The Wolf.  A baker and a cupcake.

Nobody was biting.  So to speak.

Then, my kids just got lame with their suggestions.  Or maybe they were hungry.

“Oh, you found one?!  A banana??  Really?  Well, no.  No, because, that’s just, well, not very fun and you’ll thank me later, quite honestly.”

I mean, come on, kids.  We have to represent here.

But, hey — they are children.  They should absolutely enjoy Halloween and feel some ownership/excitement about their choices.  So I just want them to pick something that they will still like 28 days from now.

Time is ticking.  I’m looking at the costume websites with their SOLD OUT red letters becoming more and more prominent.  Because the catalogs started coming in July.  Right before the Christmas stuff started showing up in August.

So we’ll regroup and try again in a few days.  But I have a few threats ideas in the meantime.

Threat Idea 1:  Garden Gnomes

They are creepy as Hell.  They totally scream Halloween.  Or The Full Monty, depending on your frame of reference.  They also scream “My mom chose this for her own entertainment and I had no say.”  Which is what it may come to if they don’t pull through with something soon.

Threat Idea 2:  Seed of Chucky and {not pictured} Bride of Chucky

Yeah, I know — totally and entirely inappropriate.  But let this be a warning about my Halloween sanity meter.

* * *

But.  Guess what?  We did make one key purchase and I’m so excited about it.

The dog’s costume.

It’s true.  I dress up Señor most years.  He was pretty pissed the time I got him a sombrero and cape and dressed him as, well, a señor.  Sort of.

And he’s still getting over last year’s hot dog gig.  But he was totally the hit of the neighborhood, even if we didn’t speak for a while afterwards.  He was all blah, blah, blah, animal cruelty, blah, blah, I want bacon, blah, blah.

 

But, today, amidst my kids’ indecisive insanity, my husband spotted a great dog costume.  We tried it on Señor this afternoon and he seemed pretty OK with it.  I can’t wait to show you.

But not until the I dress the small humans here for trick-or-treating.  Even if they end up with banana costumes.

 

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Holidays, That Which Drives Me Crazy 12 Comments

A User’s Guide to Welcoming Fall

September 15, 2011

 

“Hiii!  How was your summer?”

I hear this everywhere.  It’s the standard back-to-school or I-haven’t-seen-you-in-a-while greeting.

Mine sucked.  Can I tell people that?  Too much, right?

Yeah, so I’ve been using this euphemism, with a smile: “Oh, you know, it was crazy…”  Because, otherwise, I become that weirdo who overshares in the pre-school parking lot.

{Not to be confused with the weirdo who overshares online several times a week.}

So, as my Summer of Discontent officially winds down, I should be happy to welcome a new season.  And I am.  I love fall the most.  The crisp air.  The foliage.  It’s nice not to have to worry 24/7 about acquiring an ER-level sunburn or wearing a bathing suit.

It will be a nice little reset button for me.  Just a few little transition bumps to work out first, like these:

  • Dressing the kids for school when we often have a 30+ degree temperature swing in a single day.  I found myself putting long sleeves and pants on my son the other morning — with sunscreen on his face.  He asked me if it was going to be hot or cold outside and I said, “Yes.  And don’t forget your umbrella.”
  • Surviving Parent Volunteer Season.  I feel like I am dodging people in parking lots and grocery stores all over town.  There was even a narrow escape on the treadmill at the gym, where I may or may not have faked a leg cramp.  Come, sign up to be class parent!  Or chaperone a field trip!  Or just give us some money to absolve yourself from any list. {OK by me on that last one  — I’ll buy my way out, thankyouverymuch.}
  • The return of skinny jeans.  Which, I’m sorry, get smaller each year.  And now, to add insult to injury, I am seeing — gasp — high-waisted skinny jeans.  I believe these are also known as tights.
  • The reality of how much I underestimated the in-town space/time continuum when putting our fall schedule together.  For example, that ten minute gap between drop-offs at the different pre-schools (don’t ask — long story) — no problem, I thought.  Not only was I beyond wrong, but as a result, I am now the face of Suburban Road Rage.  I will likely be arrested by Columbus Day.
  • Making substantial concessions to allow for what I call the Off-Season Fruit Budget.  When your kids like a total of five foods, and most of them happen to be summer fruits like berries or melons, now is the time when one begins to dig deep into one’s pockets for uninterrupted access to these items.  Probably because they have to be imported from Papua New Guinea or somewhere equally convenient.
  • Easing into the required adjustment period for seasonal drink allegiances.  For example, transitioning from iced to hot coffee (and perhaps thinking about those pumpkin spiced lattes, chai, etc).  And, in my case, from white wine to red.  As you may know, I have strong feelings for both my caffeine and wine, so this is not to be taken lightly.  I find it’s best not to go cold turkey on these things — sort of like a methadone approach.
  • The onset of Halloween Mania.  Things are already selling out.  It’s also time when all pre-schoolers change their minds four times a week about this year’s costume preference.  Choices will invariably include the impossible, obscure character.  This week, it’s Finn McMissile from the Cars 2 movie.  Oh, but not the standard version — that won’t do — it has to be the submarine configuration from that one scene in the movie that a certain four year-old still remembers from June.
  • Giving up the sandals and other open-toed shoes.  Boo.  Hiss.  This means socks must be located for each member of the family.  Preferably in pairs.  {Related:  Finding a good toenail polish color for autumn that no longer screams “I’m going to the town pool with my pina colada” — I mean, if we were allowed to smuggle booze in.  Because I never would if it were forbidden, you know.}

That should do it.  Once I get through these minor adjustments, I’m ready to officially let go of The Worst Summer Ever and enjoy a new season.

Did I miss anything?  Are you guys ready for fall, or are you mourning the end of summertime?

Or — worse — are you running around in high-waisted skinny jeans, chasing down parents in the grocery store to volunteer at school?

 

 

 

 

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Holidays, New to Town, That Which Drives Me Crazy 6 Comments

Are We There Yet?

July 13, 2011

We made it to Pluto North Carolina.  I say that with no disrespect to this beautiful place or its people — I just mean that it felt like the longest trip in the history of mankind, as I feared.

No, worse than I feared.  I’ll tell you why.  Because I tend to overshare.

Everything started out just fine.  The engineer husband, as usual, packed with impeccable precision.  Our trunk looked like an advanced level game of Jenga.

We were ready for the open road.  For our adventure.  Bring it.

And then our momentum was kind of deflated at a traffic standstill just 30 miles from home.  Which was discouraging.  The kids got restless.  I started to stare at the (un)moving blue GPS dot on my map and tried to will it to go faster.  Maybe it was broken, I thought. My kids must get the unpatient gene from me.  Just a guess.

Turns out that slow-going was to be the least of our issues.  My two year-old, as you may have read in the past, really is consistent and hates to miss an opportunity to vomit for any major holiday, getaway or other important occasion.  So of course she didn’t disappoint somewhere near the DC Beltway.  I thought it was a political statement at first but then she repeated the episode in Virginia.  Two more times. 

So when we rolled in to the Richmond area at the end of the first leg, she was on her fourth outfit and I was kind of beside myself. 

357 miles.  Four stops.  Three pukes.  Eight and a half hours. 

No wine.

Well, at least we got her out of the car for the night.  I figured that now we knew we had a car sick-prone kid in the family.

Except she wasn’t car sick after all.  As evidenced by the land-bound vomiting in the hotel room that next morning. 

There’s really nothing like 1) having someone get sick in a hotel room that starts to feel like prison after a few such episodes and 2) knowing you have to put a kid with a virus in the car for another four hours. Unless you want to live in the Fairfield Inn.

So, once she seemed a bit better, we threw ourselves at the mercy of the Road and Vomit Gods and set off for the second leg.  Not without some dread. 

That blue dot wasn’t moving quite fast enough for my taste.

Speaking of legs, let me not steal all the pity.  The whole trip was down to a last-minute “go or no go call” Friday night when my 13 year-old niece broke her leg and almost needed surgery.  But she avoided going under the knife, and her parents + three siblings packed her in the car with a hip-to-toe cast to make the trip.  How’s that for adventurous? 

Anyway, I’m happy to report that Day Two to Pluto went much better.  Because we fucking earned it after Day One.  The kids slept more than half the drive, nobody got sick and I even got my husband to turn off his heinous Sirius stations for a bit. 

We were told the drive would all be worth it.

And it totally was. 

It’s so beautiful here.  The house we rented is amazing.  The beach is glorious.  I don’t see any hurricanes in the forecast.  And I’m glad to report that, apart from the ride, my list of concerns has not produced any other issue. 

So there’s just one question remaining:  Who’s going to airlift us home at the end of the week?

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Family, Holidays, Places Near and Far 17 Comments

Always a Party

May 30, 2011

Ah, Memorial Day.  The unofficial beginning of summer. 

{And, by the way, Summer, listen up:  We’ve had a long and harsh winter here, so be good to us.}

Memorial Day is such a party day.  So festive.  But as I think back on the Memorial Days of years past — the pre-marriage and pre-children years — there are a few subtle differences from how I spent today.

—–

Then:  Sleep in until at least 11am.  Because I can.  Meet up with friends for brunch somewhere around 2pm.

Now:  Rise at 6am with children.  Explain to them, over the crunching sound of Cheerios in their ears, that the definition of “federal holiday” means “more sleep, dammit” in their language — to no avail.  Be among the first in town to arrive at the 9am parade because, well, I’ve been up for three damn hours already.

The Future Grand Marshall

 

A little concerned about catching the candy from her seat

 —–

Then:  Relax on the beach, armed with latest issues of People and Us Weekly.  Discuss with friends who, in fact, wore it best.

Now:  “Relax” on the couch, folding laundry, while my daughter naps and my son digs in dirt outside.  Catch a few glimpses of Real Housewives marathon in between 26 requests for child assistance.  Browse half-ripped, three-week old issue of Us Weekly, wondering not who wore it best  — but what the hell they are wearing.

—–

Then:  Cap off a fun-filled Fleet Week, complete with a sailor telling me I have a bad mouth.  Briefly consider cleaning up my language.

Now:  Hear a passing reference to Fleet Week on the 6pm news.  Spell all profanity if children are present.  Which really loses its punch.

—–

Then:  Begin consuming holiday cocktails just after noon. 

Now:  Begin consuming holiday cocktails just after noon. 

—–

Then:  Apply sunscreen to myself every six minutes to avoid inevitable ER-level sunburn that makes strangers wince in pain.

Now:  Add two kids to the sunscreen equation who have inherited my unfortunate “are you just pale or sick?” gene.  Chase said children down every six minutes for sunscreen application, a la catching a greased pig.  Reach for cocktail.  Repeat.

—–

Then:  Go shopping for cute and trendy summer clothes to wear to Memorial Day barbecue.

Now:  Go!  Now!  To Sears!  All appliances 30% off!  Areyoukiddingme?  Fantasize of replacing washboard/tub ancient  washer/dryer with shiny new front loaders.  Revel in the options of steam drying and load balancing.  Because I’m pretty sure, if you read this closely, the current dryer has a specific setting for “Polyester Leisure Suit.”

Oh, and my daughter’s shoes are on top of the machine because she managed to keep her Holiday Vomiting Streak intact.  The girl is nothing if not consistent.

—–

See?  It’s always a party around here.  A few details have changed, but I still know how to make the most of a holiday.

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Entertainment, Family, Food & Drink, Holidays 4 Comments

Four

April 25, 2011

How can he be four? 

And how can I get upset that he’s already four?  What will I do when he’s five or, say, 18?  I’m going to embarrass the crap out of him with my sappy ways.  Poor kid.

Here he was four days old.

One year.

Two years.

Three years.

What’s he like at four? 

He loves transportation of all kinds, but is beyond obsessed with trains.  If you don’t speak railway, don’t even bother talking to him.  Now that every engine from the Island of Sodor lives here with us, and I can finally distinguish between a steam and diesel train, I can keep up.  Good thing, because Train Rehab is not cheap.

Recently, he has begun to love dinosaurs as well.  This morning, he taught us all about the club-shaped tail of certain carnivores.  In detail.  Before my coffee.  But I love it.  And I’m secretly hoping the dinosaurs will unionize and take over the railway — perhaps eat the trains or just step on them.

He eats like most kids his age, which means an aversion to protein and a distinct pro-dipping/condiment position.  And a love of all nugget items.

He laughs easily and yet also turns on a dime.  He’s sensitive, tentative and studious.  I hope he’ll grow up to the be a solid Reformed Nerd — you know, smart with a geeky-is-cool edge.  I was just geeky, no edge.

Or, he can grow up however he wants.  That’s fine too.  As long as it doesn’t happen too quickly — that’s my only request.

This year, he shared his birthday with Easter Sunday.  That’s hard to explain.  Yes, it’s your birthday and the day we celebrate Jesus’ resurrection.  The streamers are for you.  The church-going is for him.  The bunny with eggs thing is just odd but there’s candy *and* birthday cake.  Got it?

So we had 30 people here for the dual celebration.  I love entertaining as long as everything goes smoothly.  Which it never does.  Then I’m sort of the maniac hostess with the eternally re-filled glass of wine.

But, overall, it went well.  I did a lot to prepare but I forgot one key thing for the egg hunt.

Anything here look amiss to you?

Baskets.  None.  We had a classy egg hunt with plastic Target bags.  I do everything with elegance.

Speaking of which, and as most moms know, it’s not really a holiday until a child vomits.  Luckily my daughter allowed us to keep our family winning streak intact.  Thankfully, it was nothing like the Fordeville Christmas Vomitfest — I think she was just on the swings too long.  She bounced back.  Her pretty new dress, not so much. 

Here she is before.  Don’t worry, I have no after photo. 

My sister-in-law took this picture.  I love it.  My daughter and niece, definitely scheming about how to win the egg hunt.  I think I heard one of them say “Sweep the leg!  Finish him!”

And now, the moment of truth.  Project Stegosaurus Birthday Cake. 

I really struggled with whether or not to post this comically awful result.  But, hey, I owe you guys this much. 

First, the prep.  Which was extensive, and may explain the end product.

Now, a sneak peek with the promised look of confusion on my son’s face (subtitle: “WTF is with my cake?  Is that an armadillo?”)

Aaaand, the close up.  Go easy on me.  I tried.  Hard.

That’s right — you can call me Cake Boss. 

Or Unpaid Cake Intern.  Or just Crazy Person Who Will Purchase Cupcakes Next Year. 

And yes, I’m available for weddings and anniversaries too.

Did you like this? Share it:
Filed Under: Entertainment, Family, Food & Drink, Holidays 25 Comments
« Older Posts
Newer Posts »