Oh the Photos I'd Share if Only I Could!

Isn't it true you don't know what you've got till it's gone? Our digital camera (which I dubbed Lucille on our trip to England, I forget exactly why except that I was jealous and exasperated because of The Viking's obvious preference for gazing into her eyes rather than mine) has gone mysteriously missing and don't you know I am overwhelmed by sudden and desperate needs to photograph things now that I don't have access to her? So we're going to have use our imagination a bit while I show you the photos I would have taken if I could.


First, the climbing rose next to the gazebo. Now, keep in mind, the above photo is not actually my rose-covered gazebo, of course, but it was the closest to it I could find. This year the roses have blazed out into gorgeous bloom. They look exactly as I imagined when I planted the 12-inch-tall vine with one scrawny rose on it. I had bought it from a sweet old man who was moving into a nursing home and selling seeds, cuttings and suckers from his garden so his beloved plants would be able to survive, thrive and bring joy to others in his absence. I brought it home, set in on the ground next to the kitchen stairs and promptly forgot all about it. For an entire year. Until the darn thing caught my eye the next Spring by producing a fresh, stubborn rose. Shocked, I planted it. And it took. And thrived exactly as its previous owner had hoped. And now there are lovely, palest pink, fluttery roses climbing all over one side of the gazebo. Almost exactly like that photo up there.


I don't know who this woman is, but her costume is almost as good as Redheaded Snippet's. She was absolutely brilliant as Miss Hannigan. I watched her on that stage thinking half-fearfully, "She's going to wind up in Hollywood in a few years!" I really hope she doesn't, but I think she could. She's a natural actress, is gorgeous, funny and can sing. But then, I am her mother and could be just a tiny bit biased. See? If only I could post a few actual photos!


Others I'd like to share? My mother, my aunt and I all presented Redheaded Snippet with flowers after the play and I have them arranged on the dining room table in the largest vase we own. Yes, the above photo is a work of Monet's (or is it Manet?) and, as such, is much more splendid than the actual vase of flowers standing in the dining room, but it's pretty darn close. It's amazing how many flowers $20 can buy at Produce Junction.


And then there's Man-Cub's new Summer haircut. The Viking went to get himself shorn today and Man-Cub decided, on the spur of the moment, to get himself a very cool buzz. He did this last year on the very first hot day of the season. So he looks quite adorable (but don't tell him I said that, he hates when I use that word to describe him. Instead tell him I said it makes him look macho. No, wait, nevermind).

Hopefully, that dang camera will turn up. I don't know what I'm going to do if The Viking winds up with a valid excuse for purchasing a new one. He was already starting to hint at needing a new one. Hmmm...maybe he's hidden it on purpose for that very reason...


Anyway, my only other news is that Thursday was my birthday. I'm 36 now, even closer to 40, which, for some odd reason, is freaking me out a little. I guess that's normal, but I never expected it to matter to me. My actual birthday was very busy, with school stuff and Redheaded Snippet having to attend her field hockey clinic that night, so we postponed most of our festivities until the next day. I did get to enjoy a most capital luncheon with Daria, our aunt and a family friend at one of my favorite restaurants, The Mulberry Tea Room, with lapsang souchong tea, dainty cucumber-and-watercress sandwiches and that most delectable of desserts, sticky toffee pudding (or "that titty pudding" as my aunt later called it). It was heaven.


Yesterday, the day of officially declared birthday activities, The Viking let me sleep in while he got the children off to school, arranged for my mom to pick them up from school, took a half-day off from work and took me shopping. We have never done that before. He took me first to Ulta where I thought I was just getting the makeup I had run out of and discovered I can't live without, Bare Minerals. Instead, he urged me to pick up several eye shadows, applicator brushes, blush and lipliner I've had my eye on in addition to the all-important foundation.



If I've never before offered an unsolicited plug for Bare Minerals (I have not been compensated by Bare Escentuals in any way) let me do so now. The stuff is absolutely fabulous. I have problem skin, have had it since my teens, and have spent countless dollars on different varieties of foundation, cream, liquid, powder, liquid to powder, cream to powder, pancake, specially formulated for scars, expensive, inexpensive, you name it. No matter what I used, it never covered adequately, it caked, it ran, it sweated off, it made me break out and it was never the right shade as I am extremely fair but with an olive undertone to my skin. Bare Minerals covers everything, does not wipe off, flake, cake or run. It doesn't sweat off and does not transfer to people's lapels when I hug them (I'm rather short). It doesn't make me break out, it lasts all day long, it matches my skin tone (I use the lightest one, fair, and I don't have to use a separate concealer. I. Love. This. Stuff.


After following me patiently around Ulta, The Viking spotted a young floozy with a large, frosty-looking Starbucks drink flouncing by and asked if I fancied a latte or something. So we went into the grocery store nearby which has a Starbucks counter inside. While trying to decide on a Frappucino, we remembered the sushi counter. I ran and picked up some sushi while The Viking ordered me the most sinful drink ever to associate itself with coffee and we sat in the grocery store cafe' and had lunch. We had a good laugh at ourselves, enjoying sushi and Starbucks in a grocery store, but the important thing is we had fun.

As we walked out of the cafe' I thought the day's fun was over, but The Viking announced he was taking me to my favorite store ever, Home Goods. I know I've mentioned this place before, but I love it there! It's like a rummage sale in a store. The Viking had never been there before, but knew I loved it and wanted me to pick out a non-stick omelet pan or skillet (he knows I've been wanting one). We had a blast in there; The Viking loved it as much as I did! We didn't find the 12-inch skillet I wanted, but we grabbed a 10-inch one to hold us over for a while.

By that time, it was time for Man-Cub's baseball game, so we decided to divide and conquer. I took him to the game while The Viking stayed home with Redheaded Snippet to tidy the house and make plans for dinner so I didn't have to. After the game, The Viking informed me that Redheaded Snippet would be attending a cast party and Daria would be staying with Man-Cub while he and I went to a wonderful little Indian restaurant in the neighboring town. After a perfect meal accompanied by a bottle of one of our favorite wines The Viking had brought along, we went home so the children could give me their presents. I got a tray of Ferrer Rocher chocolates and a box of Ghirardelli chocolates from Man-Cub (he picked them out himself), and a wire whisk, wooden spoon, rubber scrapers (in colors coordinating with our kitchen), chop-and-scoop utensil, and set of steak knives from Redheaded Snippet. All things I needed and wanted. I was so touched by their thoughtfulness. Then we changed and went out to see a late showing of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. It was a little fantastical, but fun. It was great seeing good old Indy again and the kids got a kick out of being allowed to be out and about until midnight. It was, truly, a most fun and delightful birthday!



Since then, we've been keeping busy trying to stay cool which is extremely difficult when it's 95 degrees with 72% humidity! It's like walking into a brick wall whenever you step outdoors. The kids spent the day in the pool, but I chose to remain sequestered in the frigid interior of my airily conditioned house where I will remain until this wretched heat wave is over. Which probably won't be until September 14th, but I'm okay with that.

Well, it's off to bed for me. I have a busy day tomorrow, taking Redheaded Snippet to the orthodontist, catching up on laundry, grocery shopping, stripping the beds, and my mom gave me a gift card for my birthday so I just might get to do some more shopping! Yay for birthday money!

Righto, Goodnight!

Ugh! What's That Smell?!

So, has anyone else experienced the joys of living with the delightful aroma of sewer gas wafting through the house?

That's right. Feel free to shudder. It's disgusting. Apparently, there is a leak somewhere in the powder room wall. I don't know the particulars of the size or location of the leak, but, fortunately, The Viking does. He's going to have to tear open the wall (maybe even two walls) and he seems to be facing the task with a mixture of dread and excitement. He likes tearing walls open. He just does. Demolition, to any degree, is always fun. For him. But he can't be sure of what he's going to find inside that wall and that has him feeling a bit trepidatious. I'm more than a bit trepidatious, I'm all over trepidatious! But if we have to tear holes in the walls to get rid of that terrible smell, I'm on board!

Oh, the smell! Oh, the odor! I keep walking downstairs and thinking, "Ugh, who funked up the bathroom?" And then I remember this is not one of those everyday, run-of-the-mill bathroom odors that may irritate for a few moments and then, accommodatingly, dissipate. Oh, no, this is a stench that lingers. There's no getting rid of it. Not without tearing into the walls! I would describe the smell for you, but I think you can well imagine what sewer gas smells like. I'm going to describe it to you anyway. It smells like poo. Only rotten. Rotten poo. Say it with me, "Ugh!"

Enough about corroding crap. We're coming down the home stretch school-wise. I believe we have 13 days left. Yes, we get out late here in South Jersey. I don't know why. And our school, in particular, always gets out later than any other school in the area. I don't know why. But we're down to 13 days and I just cannot wait. We're going to sleeeeep innnnnnn like crazy around here!

Redheaded Snippet's school play is tomorrow night so we've been back to Costume Central-Goodwill-and working hard to put together a fantastic costume for her. The play is Annie and my Snippet is playing Mrs. Hannigan. I did get some photos of the costumes in progress, but we've been having computer issues--did I mention that?-and I can't upload any photos right now. But she gets to wear two pretty kick-ass costumes. She makes her entrance wearing frighteningly fuchsia satin pajama pants, a garish satin kimono, my grandmother's clear plastic boudoir slippers, a fuchsia turban and holding a cigarette holder. Then she changes into a fugly '30's style dress with a pair of my other grandmother's shoes, 4 ropes of pearls and metallic beads, and her hair up in a loose chignon with a finger wave and a huge peony behind her ear. I did the best I could with the finger wave with the limited amount of time I had and did her makeup with Clara Bow lips, dark eyes and a nice big beauty mark on her cheek. She looked very Norma Desmond. She looked smashing. I will do my best to get lots and lots of photos tomorrow night to share.

So, as I mentioned, we're having computer problems. Something is seriously wrong with ours. The Viking thinks it's the video card or something or whatever? Whatever it is, it won't let the computer work right! I can only steal a few minutes on The Viking's laptop each night and don't have access to all my files, programs and photos so it's been very frustrating. I'm really hoping he can fix all our household problems this weekend. I don't know how much longer I can roll around this smelly house with no computer to break the monotony of all my housewifely duties! Heh heh, I said doodies. Gah, can you believe me? You'd think I'd have had enough with the smell I've been marinating in for the past two days, but my immaturity overtakes me once again!

As for my case of the Blues, it was a bad one, but it did pass. I'm still not sure what the problem was, except that it was that time of the month and I was pretty stressed out and don't typically deal with stress very well. Strike that. Actually, the truth is that I typically deal with stress by eating and I'm trying very hard not to do that anymore because I am tired of looking like a beached whale and am trying to lose weight sensibly and permanently, so when stressful things come along, I'm kind of helpless. Maybe I should start smoking. I'm kidding! No, I know smoking is serious and something we should never joke about. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it's stress. Anyway...

I had a good cry all over The Viking's chest and Daria came over and bade me bake scones and partake of good British tea with her and then everyone let me mope around the house all day Sunday and return to my senses all on my own. I am surrounded by very understanding, very kind, very gracious people who go out of their way to help and support me. I don't deserve them.

So, no matter what the calendar says, Summer is here. Like an over-bearing relative whose visit you're dreading but just can't avoid, she's shown up on the doorstep, early, with no regard for the possibility that we just might not be ready for her yet. She's made herself very comfortable with her dusty feet on the coffee table and her ill-tempered cats shedding all over the place and her constant helpful hints about the correct way to prepare every meal you serve her and has no intention of going anywhere until someone tells her to her face she just has to leave. And you know that won't be until September. Sigh. It's going to be 90 degrees with 70% humidity on Friday. Stupid, Great-Aunt Summer.

Well, that's enough for me tonight. I have family coming in tomorrow to see Redheaded Snippet's play, I have to make sure all of her costume things are ready for tomorrow night, not to mention packing lunch for Man-Cub, tidying things up and making sure everyone has clean clothes. So, it's off to the salt mines once again!

Grey inside and out

So here I am, on a Spring day, having just enjoyed a lovely breakfast of sausages, eggs and tea, updating my blog, awaiting a visit with dear friends. I should be absolutely contented, happy, excited even. And I'm not. I'm miserable. Miserable. And I'm not sure why. Don't you just hate that??

It could be the weather. It is, after all, disgusting outside. This is our very first day of typical New Jersey weather. Digusting and humid, disgustingly humid. We've even got a tornado watch until 5:00 and that almost never happens.

It could be that time of the month. You know, hormones. You know, cramps. You know, discomfort. You know. I did have surgery last Fall in order to alleviate some of the horror I experience each month, but there's only so much modern technology can do (and I'm not quite ready for a complete hysterectomy--yet).

It could be having to deal with some family issues that rear their ugly heads every once in a while. Ugh. I don't even want to elaborate on that at all. It just could be that.

I really don't know. I just know whatever it is is sapping all the enjoyment out of my days and the restfulness out of my nights. I sure do hope it's hormones for that means it will pass in another day or so. There's precious little I can do about the weather or my dysfunctional family.

Sigh. So there it is. No pretty Spring pictures, no amusing anecdotes, nothing to entertain at all. Just a grey little blurb. It's all I've got today.

Mothers' Day

So, has everyone had a nice Mothers' Day? Mothers' Day is rather a non-Holiday in our house as I, the resident Mother, think it's kind of silly and wouldn't miss it at all if it were abolished. Mothers' Day is usually a day full of frustration, obligation, fake smiles and me asking myself, "WHAT am I doing here?" Fortunately, my own mother is of a similar opinion concerning Mothers' Day so years ago we (as the only mothers in the family at the time) decided to do away with the traditional celebrations. For years we packed everyone up and went out for a picnic instead. We got to spend time together, enjoy some fresh air, hopefully have some fun, and we exchanged NO CARDS. It was delightful, a breath of fresh air.

That worked very well until my Evil Grandmother of Doom moved back from Florida. Unfortunately, she is the, "Take me out to brunch, get me an enormous card-I don't care what it says as long as it sprinkles glitter all over my Mothers' Day corsage (and there damn well better BE a corsage or I may threaten to cut you out of my will--oh yes I will!) when I open it-and follow behind me bowing your very showy thanks for giving you life every three steps we take" type. Aye me. Thus ended our merry, anti-Mothers' Day observances.


Now we're back to going out to lunch with EGOD (and, no, that's not really her, just an interesting facsimile thereof), always at an Italian place. It has to be Italian cause she's Italian and don't you ever forget it. She always harasses the waiter (until she's had a bit of wine and then she starts flirting with him--honestly, I don't know which is more horrifying to watch) and orders the same thing: pasta aglio y olio, pasta with butter and olive oil, which she has to order "in Italiano" but horribly mispronounces as a squawked, "Ah-Yo-Yo". Great ceremony is made of the exchanging of cards carefully chosen so as to avoid lying completely through one's teeth. I can never, in good conscience, bring myself to buy the ones that say things like, "You fill our days with sunshine," or "Your wise and caring spirit sustains all who are blessed to know you," or "The world has never known a more selfless, gentle soul," in good conscience. During the white-lies exchange, I'm always thinking, "These are just painted pieces of paper filled with someone else's words for which we've all paid way too much money." As you can see, I'm not a girl who needs cards. Give me something I can use. Or chocolate. That always works.

Mothers' Day on The Viking's side of the family is a bit of a farce, too. We go months without seeing them and have no real relationship with anyone but his brother's family, but on Mothers' Day we have to send these saccharine cards full of fervent, throbbing gratitude we don't really feel to his mother and grandmother. And because we don't live near them or see them on Mothers' Day, The Viking has to call them. Which is all wonderful when you consider the alternative. I cannot imagine having to spend that day (I'm sick of typing it out) with The Viking's family. What. A. Nightmare.

That being said, the kids still get into both Mothers' and Fathers' Days (Fathers' Day is marginally better than the other because neither of us have grandfathers living any longer and neither of our dads have the histrionic tendencies the women in our families tend to have), so we enjoy it for their sake and, indeed, because of them.

This year, it just so happened we were in New Hampshire and more than 300 miles away from EGOD and all our usual Mothers' Day obligations. We attended a surprise 60th birthday party for my aunt, which happened to fall on the day before Mothers' Day. So we were free to do as we pleased. It was actually pretty wonderful as Mothers' Days go. No uncomfortable lunches, no obligatory, meaningless words, no glitter!

The day started with my husband and children presenting me with a bottle of perfume that Redheaded Snippet had overheard me say I liked the day before. It smells of lilacs and I love it almost as much as I love the fact that my Snippet's little scout ears caught my casual remark and made a point to relate it to her father. Then Redheaded Snippet bade me open the thick envelope she had propped importantly on my vanity which had been grinning tauntingly at me for almost a week with the message, DO NOT OPEN UNTIL SUNDAY emblazoned upon it. She may be almost a teenager, but she's still so much a girl in so many ways. The letter read as follows (with some personal information altered to protect the innocent):

"Mom,

First of all I'd like to wish you a Happy Mother's DAY! (even though I know it wasn't that happy for you in some past years! haha!) But this year I am going to make a change to that. When I think about how much you do for me and how much you sacrifice for me, it kills me inside that I'm not showing my gratitude towards you 24/7. I'm sorry for times when I just plain old don't listen to you. The Bible says to honor your mother and father...I know I don't do that as often as I should. I want to thank you for all of the meals you cook and for keeping a "tidy" house (ha). I want to thank you for bringing me every forgotten music book or shin pad. I want to thank you for being The Best Mom in the world. You have taught me everything from little things like teaching me how to tie my shoes, to teaching me how to take care of my future family. And yes, I will take care of you when you're in the loony bin! Don't worry! haha! Sure we may have our occasional mishaps, but through them I learn and I grow stronger with you. I couldn't be more blessed. God has put me here for a reason. Part of my success in life will be from you. If I never had you in my life...who knows where I'd be. Probably...In a van Down by the River! HAHA! You are my role model. You are doing a FANTABULOUS JOB! hehe! I see the difference in me from other kids and I begin to realize that it's because I've learned from the best. Sure you may have your faults, but that shows me that you are HUMAN (even though it may not seem like it at some times.) LoL! JK! oops I mean "just kidding" Mom you will always be the person I look up to for boy issues, girl problems, me issues and just to chat. I LOVE YOU MOM. From the bottom of my heart, you mean Everything!

From your super star Daughter!

Love,

[Redheaded Snippet] <3
A.K.A...Flexicon (ask me later), Dorkhead, and (my personal fav.)
Embertbumperdink!

TRALALA!"

Let me tell you, I laughed, I cried, I cheered. I think it's my favorite letter to date. And it's so full of her. Her bubbly, sweet personality shines through every phrase.

Man-Cub, after spending countless days mysteriously sneaking down to the basement to hammer, sand and paint, presented me with a personally hand-made plaque complete with rubber bands stretched over nails in the shape of a heart. It's the sweetest thing.

After the gift-giving and going to church with my aunt and uncle, we took the kids to one of our favorite fun-spots in New Hampshire, Cold River. We used to go there when my sisters and I were kids. We'd put on old sneakers and old clothes and spend the day splashing in the river, slipping on the rocks, trying to catch minnows with our hands, scaring waterbugs, avoiding cow plops. Now that I have kids, I like to take them there when we get the chance to visit and I love that they love it.

As you can see, Man-Cub went a little Lord of the Flies on us, but, thankfully, no one was harmed in any way. We haven't had any good photos of the four of us in a long time so our deep and sincere thanks to Daria for taking them (she's pictured in the Wellies, claiming that rock for Scotland-though she has no flag-by the way. Daria, I still envy your lovely, slim calves)!

So, in spite of it all, Mothers' Day turned out to be lovely. We sat and drank in the sunshine and fresh air at the river and made it home from New Hampshire in record time later that night (5 hours)! Of course, The Viking lost his cell phone on the banks of the river, but my ever-intrepid uncle was able to track it down with his mad hunting skillz the next day and it should be arriving back to us sometime today. Yay!

Well then, I'm off to fix some lunch and enjoy an hour of my favorite cooking shows. America's Test Kitchen and Everyday Food are coming on!

Random Observations

Yes, this is the same view I posted last time. Only this time the clothesline has been resurrected! Yay! It is amazing what is thrilling to the minds of the simple. Just hang with me here (ha ha, no pun intended, but it's funny just the same, no? No? Oh, well), the clothesline will come into topic a little further down.

Here are some things I've observed today:

1. I can clean my house until my fingers are stiff and cracked and my children will never notice for one second. This week I have wiped, scrubbed, rinsed, swept, dusted, smoothed, folded, laundered and washed within an inch of my life and no one batted an eye (well, to be entirely fair, The Viking did thank me encouragingly several times. He is, after all, no Neanderthal, that loving man of mine. But right now, I am talking about my spawn, my fruit, my children...). But after spending nearly 24 hours at a friend's house, filling someone else's home with her particular brand of...let's say merriment, Redheaded Snippet took one step into the kitchen upon her return and stopped dead, looked around and said, "Something's different. It looks better in here. Oh yeah, Daddy mowed the lawn." Seriously? The lawn she notices, but clean sheets, clean clothing, hot, homemade meals, thoughtfully-packed lunches go right over her head? GAH.

2. No matter how many times I try, no matter what delusions I choose to entertain which lead me to believe this time will be different, I cannot comfortably walk my dog with dignity. She is a good, loving, obedient pet. The children love her, The Viking loves her and I tolerate her very well and can even muster an appreciation for her most of the time. But she is not leash trained and I, apparently, lack the skillz necessary to train her. I've seen Cesar Milan (love him, in fact) and know I need to be the pack leader and strut my stuff and simply will her into submitting to me. But though she is a very submissive dog almost to the point of being passive-aggressive, she will not let me lead. I wind up turning back halfway into the walk I had intended to take because my hand, arm, shoulder, indeed the entire side of my body, are aching with the effort of making her mind me. GAH.

3. No matter how refreshing and old-timey it makes one feel, utilizing a clothesline (see photo above) isn't very helpful if one a) takes one's chances with the wind and simply drapes one's wet laundry over the line sans pegs (see photo above), hoping it will not somehow wind up in the dirt below and b) forgets said unpegged laundry and leaves it to flap and flutter overnight in the rain. Two of my towels threw themselves in desperation to the murky depths between the deck and the picket fence last night. I found their remains in the dirt this afternoon and had to rewash them. It doesn't really help to save energy by not using the dryer when I have to use the washer twice as much, now, does it? I think I need to buy a new batch of pegs. I also need some plastic bottles so I can mix up my own cleaning supplies again. I bought a new bottle of lavender oil and the stuff has just entranced me anew. I put about 5 drops on two cotton balls and stuck one on the top shelf of the linen closet and the other in Man-Cub's closet where we store our out-of-season clothes and linens. It works so well I get a soft whiff of lavender every time I walk down the upstairs hall! So now I'm using it in the laundry again and have great plans for homemade bathroom cleaner and fabric refresher! Maybe this year I'll even be successful in planting some lavender in the yard so I can dry it and stash it all over the house. Well, we'll see about that.

Now the dryer has buzzed (I'm not putting all our clothes out on the line) and I need to finish planning this week's meals and grocery list. We're out of everything and dinnertime is fast upon us. So, off I go to fold and iron for no one to notice!

Tra la! It's May...

...the lusty month of May! That lovely month when ev'ryone goes blissfully astray!
Tra la! It's here, that shocking time of year!
When tons of wicked little thoughts merrily appear!

It's May! It's May, that gorgeous holiday
When ev'ry maiden prays that her lad will be a cad!
It's mad! It's gay, a libelous display
Those dreary vows that ev'ryone takes, ev'ryone breaks
Ev'ryone makes divine mistakes
The lusty month of May!

La la! It's May, the lusty month of May!
That darling month when ev'ryone throws self-control away
It's time to do a wretched thing or two
And try to make each precious day one you'll always rue

It's May! It's May, the month of "Yes, you may"
The time for ev'ry frivolous whim - proper or "im"
It's wild! It's gay, a blot in ev'ry way
The birds and bees with all of their vast amorous past
Gaze at the human race aghast
The lusty month of May!

Tra la! It's May, the lusty month of May
That lovely month when ev'ryone goes blissfully astray
Tra la! It's here, that shocking time of year
When tons of wicked little thoughts merrily appear

It's May! It's May, the month of great dismay
When all the world is brimming with fun, wholesome or "un"
It's mad! It's gay, a libelous display
These dreary vows that ev'ryone takes, ev'ryone breaks
Ev'ryone makes divine mistakes
The lusty month of May!

I tried to find a video of Julie Andrews singing this Springtime Anthem (from Camelot, of course), because that is truly the only way this song can be enjoyed, but all I could find was the scene from the movie. And I'm sorry, but it just wasn't good enough.

So, yes, Spring is firmly settled in all her glory. I've mentioned it a few times before, but now I've got photos! Not very good ones, I'll allow, but photos nonetheless. We weren't blessed with brilliantly-colored flowering trees in our yard, but we do have a nice view of our neighbor's, as seen above. That house is, sadly, empty at the moment as the former occupants passed away and their son is currently renovating it for his own family. Hopefully we'll get new neighbors soon, but in the meantime, I will just amuse myself by taking photos of their lovely garden.

This is the view as it appears from Man-Cub's bedroom window, lucky boy. I would love a view like this. The one from our bedroom looks over the house left empty by our neighbor on the other side. Yes, we are flanked by abandoned houses. You'd think we had driven them all out. It is up for sale and not nearly as picturesque as the old, white farmhouse with the lovely trees (in fact, in my quite unprofessional but strong opinion, the place needs to be bulldozed so someone can start over fresh, but what do I know, right?). But pressing on,

a bit of a closer view of the lovely neighbor's yard. I think this view has featured in Wintry shots I've posted, complete with sagging, dilapidated fence (it's been that way since we moved in 10 years ago). It just gives me a soft smile every time I glance out one of the North-facing windows.

I tried here to get a closer shot of what I think is the cherry tree with it's carpet of lavender blossoms. Every time the wind blows, it looks like it's raining big, fluffy blobs of purplish-pink snow. This was taken the morning after a fierce storm so you can see nearly all the petals have been blown off. I foolishly bade Man-Cub to join me in admiring the petal carpet when I woke him one morning, but he just looked at me askance as any 7-year-old boy would when invited to consider the glories of wind-strewn flowers.

Speaking of my little imp, is this the face of T-R-O-U-B-L-E, or what?

Whence that toothy, jack-o-lantern grin, you may ask? His two upper front teeth have been ever loosening for some time now. One had just started while the other had begun to display that "dangling" look, you know when you can just look at it and see that it's ready to drop out? Twice in the past month Man-Cub had a close encounter with the school gym's floor, giving himself a nice big fat lip, but somehow narrowly avoiding knocking those teeth out. I did know how that really loose one had held in there. Then, last night, he spent the evening with Gram. When we came home, she announced he had finally succeeded in knocking one of his front teeth out with the seat of one of her backyard swings (don't ask me, I don't know). I sighed and commented, "Fortunately, it was pretty loose to begin with..." when I noticed it wasn't the Snaggletooth he had knocked out, but the other one!

Does anyone else think he could pass as a Redneck? Oh, I am so proud.

Well, I must be off. The Viking is mowing the back forty, Man-Cub, with his toothy grin, is making a sling shot and inspecting caterpillars (wonder if he's scouting them out as possible targets?) and I intend to get outside and take a walking tour of the gardens and grounds. Maybe I'll try my hand at a few more photos while I'm seeing how the flowers are doing.

If you haven't already, get out there and soak in some sunshine!

Spring Has Sprung

I think I use that as a title at least once year. I know it isn't very creative, but I can't help it. It sticks in my head and must be let out every now and then.

It has come to my attention (thank you, Dharma) that society is in dire need of an update from me. I may not have paparazzi camping out up and down my street or erecting scaffolding outside my bedroom window to capture my every scintillating move, but there is still a deep hunger for all things Pippa. I can sense it. And I am nothing if not accommodating.

Okay, enough. I suspect you may have noticed my feeble attempts at Springing up my blog. It doesn't quite have the effect I was going for: sort of a Springy, country, sunshiny palate. I wanted all blues and yellows, but it looked pretty boring. And I'm not a fan of pink, per se, but it was the least of all the evil colors offered. I may have to play with it some more. We'll see.

So much has happened, dear readers! Man-Cub has started his brilliant baseball career and I have a new nephew! That's right, we have joined the billions of American parents who spend their Saturday mornings cheering on a team of 7-year-old boys who may or may not run the right way around a baseball diamond. And Lobelia has been safely delivered of the miniature man who spent the several weeks trying to claw his way through the walls of her uterus. He's enormous and beautiful and perfect and I am in deep, deep love again. One of the best parts about being an aunt so far? My sisters have been referring to me by my old childhood nickname and, as much as I hated it when I was 13, I love it! I hope it sticks! Every family needs to have at least one aunt or uncle who is known by a nickname and I readily volunteer for it to be me! I'm a little weird that way.

There really is nothing else to report unless I choose to wax rhapsodical about Spring again. The grass is green, the trees have leaves, the birds go twitteringly crazy every morning, the air is fragrant enough to get me high, and flowers are bursting forth everywhere. The violets are all over the place, through no effort of ours whatsoever (yes, I realize some people consider them a weed, but anything that spreads on its own, doesn't need weeding or pruning and produces pretty blooms is welcome by me!), and the lilacs are in! The kids brought in two fistfuls each of intoxicating purple yesterday and now the whole house smells blissful. It's not Spring until there's a pitcher full of lilacs drooping on the dining room table.

I wish I was handier with the camera so I could share all the seasonal delights with you all, but you'll just have to use your imagination. The dogwoods are blooming, the lilies and black-eyed-susans are getting taller, the azaleas have buds, and the locust trees are preparing for their blaze of glory a month from now. The tree frogs still sing us to sleep each night, we slumber deep breathing in delicious gusts of fresh air from the open windows, and I have constantly wind-blown hair from driving all over the place with the sunroof and all windows open. I do love Spring. Now if we could just do something about skipping Summer...

Anyway, I've been gearing up for Spring Cleaning. I know, I know, I'm a little late, but as long as I get it done before June 20 (or whichever day is the official first day of Summer), it counts. We haven't yet had a free weekend to get the big things done, but I did manage to get the house tidied and every stitch of clothing (except for the ones we're wearing right now) washed in preparation. I've also been able to, get this, keep the house tidied and even moderately cleaned all week long. It's a regular miracle. And I'm on a diet, a sensible one this time.

I won't bore you with diet details, except to say that I'm watching calories and keeping a daily journal of everything I eat through use of a great website I stumbled across, my-calorie-counter.com. It's going very well, even with the added challenge of managing my hypoglycemia at the same time. I promise you, when I start losing weight, I WILL post photos!

Well, it's that time again. Time to fold another load of laundry and hand the keyboard over to one of the children.

Until next time...

Out Like a Lamb???

Is this some kind of April Fools' joke? The weather has been C-R-A-Z-Y around here! It was supposed to be all mild and balmy, you know like a lamb, by March 31 and instead it was frickin' freezing, Mr. Bigglesworth! Then, of course, we had moist, almost humid temperatures in the upper 60's yesterday and thunderstorms and driving rain last night. I had left the upstairs windows open to take advantage of the fresh air and Man-Cub's bedroom floor got nice and wet before I came to my senses and realized things needed to be secured up there. Let's hope the floor boards don't warp.

So, it's been almost a month since I've updated. What on earth is wrong with me? I think I've just been concentrating on getting my priorities straight. Doesn't that just sound insufferably self-righteous? Well, don't hate me just yet. I seriously needed to adjust things. I was spending waaaay too much time idling on the computer and too little doing the things I'm supposed to do like keeping things clean and full and...well, I guess clean again. I wasn't getting enough sleep, wasn't maintaining my health very well, just kind of escaping in front of the computer monitor day after day. Not good.

But I'm back with a new attitude. I might even give my page a make-over, if I can sweet-talk someone into helping me with it so it doesn't take me another month to do it (like last time). I've already given my desktop its Spring wardrobe. Do you do that? I like to have a different desktop theme for each season. I find I'm very much in tune with the seasons and I like everything around me to look...um...seasonal (I need a thesaurus). So right now everything is blue and yellow, which seem to be the colors I'm gravitating toward this Spring, and Daria helped me plaster a big photo of a garden she visited in Lacock, England last Spring across my desktop. It cheers me up every time I look at it.

Our lives have been quite busy with wonderful things in the past few weeks. Easter has come and gone since we last "spoke" and I did get a few photos. I tried to be all bloggy/artsy and get shots of the entire egg-dying process, but it took most of my energy to keep vicious fights from breaking out, what with all the raw eggs, cups of dye and vinegar lying around. All I got was this:

Eggs boiling and cups at the ready for dye. But the situation rapidly deteriorated at this point so I had to put the camera away. I didn't even get any photos of the finished eggs. Harrumph.

But everyone looked lovely in their Easter finery and we got these shots just after church:
The brilliant sunshine made it hard to avoid those pesky shadows. This was the best one we got of them looking relatively normal. You'll see what I mean.

He made a cut-and-run for the rope swing at the first opportunity.

I'm not sure what she's plotting behind that deceptive little grin, but don't be fooled by it.

We managed to herd them back together onto the porch for one last moment of serenity.

If you look closely, you can see the beginnings of trouble on their faces.

But I guess I kind of started it, didn't I? I couldn't help myself.

It just went downhill from there.

Redheaded Snippet got all dramatic with my pashmina.

Then she decided to attack her father with it. Nice.

A few days after Easter, my brother-in-law, Vance, officially completed his PhD and the family gathered for his defense at Penn State to celebrate. We crammed ourselves into a hotel and deprived ourselves of sleep and went to a fancy dinner and just enjoyed stealing a few days of togetherness. And would you just look at this niece of mine?

Her Papa's the one who is now The Doctor.

He calls her, "Crocodelia" for her perfect row of little teeth, on the bottom only.

And there she is with Dharma, her equally lovely Mama.

Three days wasn't nearly enough time to spend with them, but we were glad for it anyway. And we'll be seeing Dharma and Crocodelia again soon as they're planning on coming for a visit when Lobelia's Sweet Boy is born.

Speaking of which, Lobelia is due any day now! Her official due date is the 7th, but she is showing all signs of readiness and is praying fervently that this day will be the day. She feels full to bursting and just wants it out! We are all beside ourselves with excitement as we haven't seen a woman in our family go to term since Redheaded Snippet was born almost 13 years ago. The suspense is killing us! Every time the phone rings we all make a desperate dash for it, hoping it's the "I'M IN LABOR!" call.

Just this past weekend, Daria and I got to go on a Ladies Retreat and spend 2-and-a-half days with some of our absolute most favoritest people. I don't have blog names for them yet (except for Suzie Q--O.C.'08, BAY-BEEE!) but suffice it to say, we made memories I will remember for the rest of my life. We played a game of charades during which, "sex change operation", "colostomy bag" and "tufted titmouse" were among the phrases that had to be acted out. Use your imagination. And you still won't be able to appreciate the hilarity of it all. Daria swears she is emotionally scarred from the experience. We're planning on going again next year and I'm just not sure I can wait that long.

I think that brings us up to speed, unless I decide I want to bore you with news of our new stalker. Shall I? Okay, I shall. The Viking has, I can only assume inadvertently, unless things between he and I are far less blissful than I have been led to believe, inflicted this new plague upon us all by giving our phone number to a clearly obsessive person. It's the Quicken Loans man. Do yourself a favor. Don't ever call them. Like ever. They are worse than the political campaign/poll/subtly veiled threats people. This man disrupts my days and torments our nights. He leaves messages, causing that red light on our phone to blink incessantly. He ties up the line and what if Lobelia is trying to call??? Honestly, I feel like calling him back to tell him, "Please stop calling here, I have a heavily pregnant sister who may be attempting, at this very moment, to call me and beg me to be with her in her hour of deliverance to hold her hand and mop her brow!" But I fear that would only encourage him and induce him to torture Lobelia's phone number out of me. What can I do to be rid of this man? Doesn't he realize that at this point, even if I was interested in refinancing my mortgage (what was my Viking thinking?) he's killed any interest I may have had in refinancing with his company? He's ruining his prospects with clients! Doesn't that violate rule number one or something? Anyway, I'm hoping if I ignore him he'll just go away, but so far, it's not looking good.

Well, I've now updated with a vengeance. This should keep me for a few days at least. And hopefully I won't go another month before updating again. But, if I fall behind in housework, or my nephew does indeed arrive within the next 48 hours, the blog is going to have to be the first thing to go.

So, until we meet again...

In Like a Lion...

Heeeeeeeere's March! It came blustering in all roaring and wild, full of wind, rain, and even snow. Winter has been whipping up howling winds for the past few days, knocking down trees and power lines in his attempt to make a dramatic exit. And now he's settled down into a cold sulk again. He knows his days are numbered. He knows his Winter winds have already blown away, deserting him. For the wind has changed. Spring's winds have already moved in, making preparations for her arrival. Beneath all the bluster, the coming warmth can be felt. I noticed it a few weeks ago in the huge gulps of air I tasted at my opened bedroom window. That moist, almost musky, smell is unmistakable. It smells of damp earth, golden sunshine and new life. I can't keep myself from opening all the windows prematurely (the house has been freezing because of me) and pausing to breathe it all in. I could get high on it.

Birds have returned, swooping madly around the house and yard, frantically seeking nest-building materials or perching high in the trees chattering with each other about how they spent their winter down South. There is a pair of Starlings who return to a corner of our porch each year about this time to try and build a new nest. They appeared 7 or 8 years ago and after two years of putting up with the noise and the disgusting mess they caused, The Viking decided they must be evicted and patched up the hole in the eave they had invaded. They came back the following Spring and forced their way in anyway. Another year of bird poop all over the porch railings and mailbox. That Fall, The Viking removed the siding from under the eave. They came again and merely moved to the rain spout next to the eave. Our poor mailman. Finally, The Viking found a way to seal any crevices suitable for nesting and that did the trick. They moved their nest elsewhere, but not before spending several weeks fluttering around the old nesting site, trying desperately to find a way in. They've done that the last 4 years, fluttering around the rain spout for at least two weeks before moving on to another place. They're at it again; I catch glimpses of black wings streaking across the dining room windows out of the corner of my eye while I'm sitting at the computer. Determined little bird-brains. I wonder if they'll ever stop trying to gain access to their old home?

The House Wrens are a different story. I hope they find their way back to the teapot basket high on the shelf on the porch. They weren't messy at all and provided us with hours of entertainment last summer. Yes, we discriminate here at our Wit's End: Starlings--no, but House Wrens--sure!

Trees and shrubs are budding and flowers are cropping up. There's a house we pass every day on the way to and from school that always has droves of daffodils flanking its picket fence in early Spring. They've just started sprouting up. I love daffodils. They look like sleepy little girls in sunbonnets to me. We used to have them in the yard before we had to dig up the flower bed to solve our leaky-basement problem. It was sad, but even daffodils are small consolation when everything in the basement is moldy.

Since I no longer have daffodils to call my own (I know, I know, what's stopping me from going out and buying a bushel of bulbs?) I pick them up at the store to put in jugs on the table. One of our first Valentine's Days together The Viking presented me with an enormous armful of daffodils and Japanese irises that looked like they'd come fresh from the field. Of all the flowers he's ever given me, those were my favorite and he usually brings home a bouquet of them some time in the Spring. But last week, I was literally stopped in my tracks at the grocery store by the scent of a tub of daffodils in the florist section. I decided I couldn't wait for The Viking's bouquet and bought a bunch and mingled them with some filler flowers the names of which I've forgotten.



I loved catching a whiff of their scent when I walked past the table. I only wish they lasted longer, I love them so much!

But of all the delights of Spring, the one I love best is the song of the tree frogs in the woods around the house. They peep in the trees day in and day out, stopping only when something disturbs them like a stiff breeze, a closely passing car, a cautious deer. We throw our windows open before crawling into bed and sigh deeply as we're lulled to sleep by the tree frogs' lullaby. That sound is one of my favorite things in the world. It makes me feel peaceful, meditative, serene.

Of course, the sight of them does not have the same effect! But as they are content to stay across the road in the trees along the stream, I am content to lie in my bed at night at a safe distance and pretend I don't know what they look like.

Ah, Spring. I'm ready for you now. Even if I do have to pack away all our flannel bedclothes.

So, how've ya been?

Get comfy cause we're gonna be a while while we catch up. Gracious, so much has happened! So much that I've forgotten half of it already before I've had the chance to blog! Gee, that sounds silly. But it's true.

First things first, I suppose. We spent last weekend visiting The Viking's brother and his family in the Poconos. They are the only kindred spirits we have in The Viking's family, which sounds kind of sad, but it was such a relief to find a healthy branch of an otherwise diseased family tree. They are delightful, sincere, and very, very dear to us. They're considering a move which will make it much harder for us to visit with them in the future, which will stink, but it does seem to be a good change for them so I'm happy for them.

My BIL (who somehow bears an eerie resemblance to The Viking without being very Vikingesque himself) has access to a camp in the woods near his home so he and The Viking took Man-Cub over there to spend the day tubing and climbing rock walls and basically acting like the wonderfully testosterone-fueled males they are. Six inches of snow accommodatingly fell while we were there so the tubing was super. According to eye-witness reports, The Viking and Man-Cub hurtled fast enough down that hill to cause fearful dread of them being dashed to bits against trees and such. According to the hurtlers themselves, it was nothing short of "awesome" (Man-Cub's favorite word lately).
Prepped and ready.

Photographic proof of him climbing the walls.

The day after we returned from the Poconos was Man-Cub's 7th birthday. It's hard to believe my baby (shhh, don't tell him I called him that--he hates it) is seven. I remember lying in my hospital bed, trying very hard to convince myself that the time would soon come when I'd have a seven-year-old boy running around getting into everything and the misery of a high-risk pregnancy and bed rest would be a distant memory. It didn't comfort me then, and it certainly doesn't now, though I'd much rather face the bittersweet reality of having a rapidly growing boy than that the uncertain one of wondering if the infant in my womb was going to survive. But enough profundity for now.

We took the children to Dave and Buster's in Philly for a birthday celebration. I had never been there. I was expecting it to be more than just a glorified Chuck E. Cheese. I was disappointed. I hate places like that and had to keep reminding myself, while trying frantically to keep both children within my line of vision (I have a deep and abiding fear of someone easily snatching them in places like that), that we were there for Man-Cub's enjoyment, not mine. He was so overwrought from being worn-out and over-stimulated by the time we left that he was in tears. It was hard to tell if that meant the evening was a success or not. Daria came along, too (visiting from Chicago) and we had fun making fun of people's clothes, particularly the young woman who looked like a Hooker From Mars. Great fun, that.

The next night, we the Grandparents and EGOD come over and had the proper cake, candles, and ice cream thing. The decorations were a bit of a mish-mash as Man-Cub decided he wanted Transformer paper products and a race track cake. Then Daria insisted on Pirates of the Caribbean balloons and my mom wrapped all his presents in Harry Potter wrapping paper. It was like a marketing executives dream!

Look at that sinister-looking shadow surrounding his head. Kind of like an evil halo.

Balloons! Delivered to the door by the florist! The Viking's parents do that every year and he just loves it.

I mentioned the race track cake already. Did I mention I made it? With help from Daria because I can hardly draw a straight line with a pencil let alone with a tube of sticky icing? I'm not the best cake-maker, but I can manage enough to satisfy a smallish child. I found the recipe and instructions online somewhere and threw the thing together in an afternoon. Wanna see?

It really bugged me that this looks like a giant "8" and it was his 7th birthday, but, thankfully, no one was confused. I set it in front of him sideways, like an infinity sign, so it looked more like a race track than an "8". Daria made the banner and checkered flags and The Viking practically wrestled the pastry bag away from me so he could "paint" the white lines on the Oreo cookie pavement (apparently the icing doesn't lay well on the crushed cookies and that's why the lines are so crooked), but otherwise I did it myself. I had some problems with getting the icing green enough (which is why some mint-green is peeking through the dark) until Daria, the artist, took over the mixing of the colors for me, and it was a bit un-level, but it was yummy! There's still some sitting in the fridge, maybe I'll go sneak a piece...

What I really need to do is get some of those pesky chores done. Beds are unmade, clothes are unwashed and my menu for next week is still blank. I'd best go accomplish things besides improving my Spider Solitaire score before the kids come home!

Seven-Minute Lull

When I was in college, and wild and crazy, a girl in my circle of other wild and crazy friends told us all that someone with too much time and too little imagination had once discovered and documented that in any conversation, there is an unpleasant lull on average every seven minutes. And whenever we as a group of wild and crazy friends, experienced said lull, that friend would pipe up, "Seven-Minute Lull!" After a while, we all started doing it. And now I do it around my family and no one has any idea what I'm talking about and I do not feel like explaining. Except that I just did to anyone who stumbles across me on the Internet so that's a bit strange.

Anyway, I feel I'm in a bit of a Seven-Minute Lull, if you will. The Holidays are long-gone, basketball season is over, winter is winding down, and we've recovered from the illnesses that descended upon the household. Ahead lies Man-Cub's birthday, Easter, several weekend retreats for various members of the family, the advent of Spring, and the birth of Lobelia's baby boy, for whom I need to start working on a blog name. The months ahead will be increasingly busy, but, for now, there is nothing to do but sit a spell and sigh as I wait for the chaos to roll in.

For those wondering, we did indeed get our snow. It was just the kind we needed, too. The weather gods were indeed benevolent and gracious to us. We got 2-3 inches, got our SNOW DAY, on a Friday no less, everything looked lovely, and it's still hanging on. But it wasn't enough to cause county-wide panic or runs on displays of milk, bread and toilet paper everywhere, or to keep us house-bound. There were accidents, of course, but no more than there usually are when more than a centimeter of snow falls on this area.

I am much appeased. Now that I've had my Snow Day and my afternoon of being startled every time Man-Cub throws a snowball at the window in front of me, I can relax and look ahead to Spring. I'm not quite ready to bid adieu to Old Man Winter just yet, and wouldn't complain to a late snow storm, but I do know that in about 3 weeks' time, the wind will shift and the tree frogs will come out. And the first peep of the tree frogs in March is right up there with the first spicy of whiff of woodsmoke in September on my list of favorite things.

Crossing my fingers...

Listen, I tried to find a more clever image, but just couldn't do it!

The weather man is teasing us with the possibility of a "winter storm" ("storm" my eye, they're warning of an inch!) so I've been hopping about the front yard in my mittens and snowshoes, chanting pleas to the fickle weather gods.

"Oh Mighty, Victorious, Wise and Benevolent Ones, oh that you would see fit to bestow upon us mere mortals the most blessed gift of a sparkling, lovely, thorough coating of at least an inch of snow!"

Think it'll work?

Ah, how very prompt, here come the first flakes now...

Don't wanna jinx myself...

...but I think I'm back.

That's right, almost completely better. I still have a little lingering nasal echo (you know what I mean, right?) when I talk, and if I'm even slightly late in taking a dose of my meds, my head starts to constrict in protest, but I'm back to life, back to reality. Which is actually good.

One of my very first orders of business was to strip and remake all the beds. It had been almost two weeks and if there's one thing I'm rather anal-compulsive about, it's the making of the beds. It actually felt good to get everything freshly laundered and smoothed back on those beds properly. And, of course, nothing in the world feels like slipping your tired body into a cool, soft, properly-made bed. Ahhhhhhh.

So, several things happened while I was gone. Valentine's Day came and went so I missed the opportunity to post my usual V-Day snark.





In case you can't tell, I'm not a fan of V-Day, or VD as I'm fond of calling it. I'm not overly hostile toward it, like the stereotypical, lonely, old-maid variety of VD haters, but I just think it's rather silly. It was fun when The Viking and I were dating, and then newly married, but I guess it's just sort of lost its charm. I just hate the thought of all those poor men having to scurry around to find their obligatory dozen roses for their lady-loves. I would hate for The Viking to have to do that. I'm much happier celebrating our birthdays and our anniversary and leaving Valentine's Day, Mother's Day and Father's Day out of it. I could go on a long diatribe about exactly what bothers me about those holidays, but I won't. It won't entertain or inform you anyway. I'll just leave it with my silly, homemade conversations hearts, which, if you're interested, you can make here.

In much more important news, on the day before Valentine's Day, my sister, Dharma, and brother-in-law, Vance, had their day in court to have Baby Bee's adoption legally finalized!

There they are, all dizzy with happiness. I don't think I can tell you how long we all have longed for this. They've been through so much for and to finally have their daughter is nothing short of a miracle. I haven't seen either of them this happy since their wedding day.

We couldn't be with them on court day, as it took place in Missouri, but Daria was there and Mom flew out for the occasion. They said Baby Bee hopped up and down in Dharma's lap, clapping her hands and charming the judge during the proceedings. And then the gavel went down and they all went out to celebrate.

Baby Bee had her first taste of cake. She was more interested in playing with it than eating it.

This is one of my most favorite photos ever. I just love how soft and radiant they both look. And I've longed for years to see my sister smile like this at a child of her own.

Aren't they all beautiful? Vance is about to complete his defence for his PhD in Chemistry any day now so we're all planning to gather and celebrate when that's over. I simply cannot wait. I miss them all so much.

So now it's official. Baby Bee is irrevocably and forever ours. Now that's fitting for Valentine's Day, don't you think?

Ugh.

My little dalliance with that pesky cold has erupted into a full-blown sinus infection.

I'm coughing, sneezing, feverish and so congested it's making me dizzy and disoriented. If I'm awake, my head is pounding and all I want to do is go back to sleep. But then I can't sleep because of all the crazy, psychedelic dreams I have when I'm like this.

Ugh, indeed.

That being said, I don't know when regularly scheduled activities will resume. I've been to the doctor--again--who has dosed me up with lots of fine drugs, so hopefully, this misery will end soon. I need to get back to my husband, my children, and my house. There's not a clean piece of dishware to be had, the kids' clothes are strewn all over the place and we've been surviving on foods such as mac & cheese, spaghetti and tacos (i.e., anything The Viking or Redheaded Snippet can prepare with the help of shouted instructions from me on the recliner).

Until my entire household returns to full health, I'll be lying down, watching lots of tv.

Again, ugh.

You can tell me, I won't tell.

It's a quiet night here at my wit's end. I am still under the weather, or rather, more like once again under the weather. I cannot tell if I've been reinfected or just been blessed with round two of what I thought I had recouperated from last weekend. Suffice it to say I'm still sounding like Bea Arthur, coughing like a consumptive and sleeping every chance I get. On the bright side, Man-Cub, bless him, is finally better and returned to school with a spring in his step this morning.

In my convalesence over the past few weeks, I've had lots of time to think and plan my re-entry into productive housekeeping. As you can imagine, my house has kind of gone feral while I've been lying low. I had managed to tame it enough for safety's sake, but after a few weeks' neglect it's reverted back to its wild ways. And, I fear it's going to take a lot of muster to bring it back from the brink. A lot.

I think I may have shared this before, but I'm not the best housekeeper. Don't get me wrong, I've learned a lot and am worlds better than I was before, but I'm still not that great. I have tried to keep my house clean all the time, really I have, but it is just impossible for me. I'm just not wired that way. I am one of those women who would benefit greatly from having a live-in housekeeper. I can hear you all spluttering, "Pffft! Who wouldn't!?" But I'm serious! I'm not talking about a nameless, faceless maid who comes and goes while I'm out shopping all day, like an office night-cleaning crew. I'm talking about an old-fashioned, kindly, older, possibly widowed woman who lives with us and becomes part of the family. The kind who polishes furniture and airs linens and works alonside me making beds and preparing meals. Sort of like Mrs. Doubtfire. Or the housekeeper in every Rosamunde Pilcher book I've ever read. Or Aunt Jamesina, Rebecca Dew or Susan Baker in the Anne of Green Gables books. I would be brilliant with one of those!

But they don't exist anymore, do they? So, since I don't have an unmarried, but spry Aunt who needs a place to live and a family to love, I'm on my own. And I have set myself to the task of always improving on my housekeeping abilities and habits. It hasn't been easy. I grew up with a mother who was practically a Bohemian. She hated housekeeping (still does) and only ever did it if someone was coming over. Someone she wanted to impress, that is. We never tidied up for just our friends.

I never learned any proper housekeeping habits, except how to make hospital corners and fold sheets. I was married before I knew most people dust and vacuum once a week and make their beds every day. Isn't that horrifying? You can see what I was up against. Fortunately, I have a most patient and supportive husband who never complains and does his best to help me in my quest.

As a result of my never-ending endeavors to improve, I have become intensely interested in other people's routines. I've spent hours looking through blogs, scouring websites, studying books. I've created chores lists, chores schedules, goal lists, you name it. I haven't yet gotten things running as smoothly as I'd like, but during this last bout of enforced idleness, I've been tweaking things and I'm ready to get started again.

So, I'm wondering: what is your routine? Daily, weekly, monthly or more? Are you one of those women who rise early, shower, dress, enjoy a cup of coffee and have a hot breakfast on the table by the time your family comes downstairs in the morning? Or do you (like some people who shall remain nameless) tear yourself out of bed at the very last possible moment, stumble down the stairs behind the children in pjs and bathrobe, blindly shake some dry cereal and a splatter of milk into two bowls and slide them across the island, praying for a phone call that pipes have burst in the school building and everyone can go back to bed? I want to know!

What do you do before you go to bed at night to prepare for the day to come? Do you set out clothes for everyone, set the table for breakfast and set backpacks, purse and car keys by the door? Or do you just make sure there are enough clean clothes in the dryer, enough fixin's for everyone's breakfast and lunch and take your chances that each shoe, bookbag and school paper will be in the last place you remembered it at 7:55 the next morning? I want to know!

Do you keep yourself strictly to a chores schedule, or do you just "feel" what needs to be done and then do it? What do you do first? Make your bed, have breakfast, take a shower? I want to know! How do you manage your weekly chores, such as dusting, mopping, cleaning the bathrooms and other such things? Do you assign them each to a day? Do you do them all in one day? What about Saturdays? What about the kids' jobs? I want to know!

I'm not trying to pry, I'm just trying to find out from normal, every day women what works for them. What are your secrets for a smoothly-running, comfortable, homey household?

Tell me your housekeeping secrets! I want to know!

P.S. Spell checker STILL not working. Of all the dirty, rotten, low-down...

Sick and Tired...

...of being sick and tired.

So, the gig, for anyone who is interested, went well.

My voice held out, the songs went well and everyone had an enjoyable evening. The fire department raised a nice sum of money to put toward the building of a new fire station. It was worth every moment of silence I had to endure the week before.

But I am so tired again today. Man-Cub seems to have picked up either what I had, or something else wonderful and different. He has had a fever since Friday morning that just won't break. It's been hovering around 101 degrees but spiked up to 103 on Sunday morning. I took him to the doctor, which, of course, prompted his temperature to take a temporary dip back to normal, but no reason could be found for his symptoms. The fever continues, unabated, and his cough is getting worse and worse. I'm not sure what to do. I don't like taking my kids to the doctor unless there is something they can for them that I can't and his ears, lungs, throat and sinuses have already been checked. It was declared to be the work of a virus, which we all know cannot be killed. So do we just keep dosing him with Motrin and Tylenol for the fever and Dimetapp for the cough and pray things don't worsen into something more serious? And when do I know if things have gotten serious?

Man-Cub, like many of us, gets very clingy with Mom when he is sick. Most of the time, I play second-fiddle to The Viking, who is the apple of our son's eye. But when he is sick, move over, Dad, cause it's Mommy time! I have to admit, I have been thoroughly enjoying being needed and wanted so much by my sweet boy who usually rolls his eyes when I kiss his forehead. But it is a bit like having a toddler again. I haven't been able to get much done this week and have spent a lot of nights getting up to check his temperature, give him medicine, replace cold cloths on his forehead and smooth his sheets and blankets.

I also had a proofreading deadline this week, my Bible Study assigment was particularly time-consuming, and I'm helping organize a PTA fundraiser that is supposed to take place on Saturday. Throw in two basketball games and you've got a recipe for disaster! There is a game this afternoon and I cannot find out where the dang thing is going to be! We have a bit of a problem with getting the correct information about our daughter's after-school events. I don't know why this is, as we seem to be the only family in town with this problem, but it is most frustrating, especially when you have a sick child and have to have the entire family fed and on time to church by 6:30 on a game day.

I, for one, am hoping the school's website is right for once and the game is being played at home. But, of course, that means Redheaded Snippet is wearing the wrong uniform and is going to need me to bring her other one up to her at some point today. I am also hoping Man-Cub will sleep the day away so I can catch up on missed sleep as well. And, it may not be very appropriate for me to say this as a PTA officer, but I'm hoping the fundraiser scheduled for Friday is cancelled. There doesn't seem to be enough interest as we haven't sold any tickets, and I would like nothing more than to put it aside for another time when my family is healthy and I'm not so worn out.

On that note, I'm going back to bed. Maybe Man-Cub and I will take a trip to Grandma's later to see which movies she has that we haven't watched yet this week. I'm feeling a big pot of tea and a nice, hot, fresh batch of scones shared under a fuzzy blanket on the couch in front of the tv will be just what we need!

P.S. I don't know what's going on, but the spell-check feature has not worked for me the last 3 posts I've written. So, if things are a bit out of order, that's why! It's driving me crazy!

Nerves, nerves, nerves

I only have a few minutes, but I'm trying to keep myself busy and not freak out because we're supposed to be at the gig in only 18 minutes and The Viking isn't even home yet, let alone showered and changed.

Yes, the show goes on! I was a good girl all week and didn't talk and my voice seems to have responded well to all the pampering. It isn't back to its usual strength or range, but thanks to the wonders of modern technology, we can turn the volume on my mike way up and lower the key of every song by at least a third with only the touch of the "transpose" button! I have always been more of an acoustic girl at heart, but in situations like these, you can't beat the convenience of an electric keyboard.

I'm dressed, primped and preened and jittery, waiting at the desk near the door. I hope he hasn't lost track of the time. I hope he's not in trouble somewhere. He's not answering his cell phone. Again. Maybe he's at the fire station (the venue for tonight's event) setting up sound equipment even now. Maybe he took his suit with him and is changing there. I don't think so, but I can give him the benefit of the doubt.

This is the first time we're singing/playing for a fire department function and only the third time we've ever performed in town so I'm rather nervous. I don't really know what to expect tonight. We're supposed to be singing in the background while everone enjoys their dinner, but sometimes these things turn out way different, with everyone stopping in their tracks and sitting, staring at us while we play. That always unnerves me. And small, close groups make me more nervous than large, impersonal ones. I'd rather be in a concert hall with stage lights blinding me to the mass of people I'm facing than sit all cozy in a small cafe with the people so close I could kick them.

I'm so glad to be feeling better. I was really getting tired of all that miming. Plus, Man-Cub seems to have caught it and I don't think this household could handle two of us like that at once.

Okay, I'd better go. He's still not here, but I am still planning on being where I'm supposed to at the right time. It's time to leave.

I'll try to pop back in later and let you know how it went. Maybe I can even get some photos!

Bye!