Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

We have returned safely. It was lovely being with my sister (two of them, actually) and getting to know my niece (that baby is truly a marvel), but it is still lovelier to be back home.

I think it's good to leave home every once in a while so I can come back glad to see everyone and everything I've been taking for granted. It would seem absence does make the heart grow fonder.

Highlights included:

Listening to Baby Bee's incredibly vast but unintelligible vocabulary. She uses one word, in particular, "Wit-too" most frequently and with great purpose. She seems very clear about what it means, but she's the only one. The rest of us just smile and nod.

Visiting with one of my college roommates and all around favorite friends of my youth and meeting her children. We became fast friends our senior year and lived together in a spooky old Scottish Manor house in New York for a semester. She hasn't changed a bit, despite the 14 years of marriage, 4 children and two moves across the country and back. It was wonderful to catch up.

Taking Man-Cub to the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry. We had a great time. Man-Cub loves all that kind of sciencey stuff and he just loved it! We saw planes, trains, automobiles, spaceships, submarines, and even watched a baby chick as it hatched! He got to use a periscope, get good and damp in the Fun Zone and I bought him a sailor's cap in the gift shop. It was overpriced, but the minute I saw it on him, I had to buy it. He wore it everywhere (bare chested, when possible, because that, as he says, is how they wear them) and everyone who saw him had no choice but to grin at him. He looks smashing in it and I could just scream that I don't have a camera!

Talking and laughing with Dharma about anything and everything. She's on bed rest at the moment, ending a solid week of post-surgery house arrest this very day, and is understandably discouraged and frustrated. It's not easy being a bedridden housewife. Thank heaven Daria is there to keep Baby Bee clean, fed and safe. As far as the house goes, hang in there, Dharma, help is on the way!

The Irish pub. I know I mentioned it already, but it was just too enjoyable to be mentioned only once. Mmmmm, Guinness, cider and a beef pasty. I could have that every day for the rest of my life.

Man-Cub creating a new word: scratchticles. I think its meaning is obvious. Oh, that boy.

In other news, there really is no other news. We are playing Lego Star Wars every free moment of every day, our computer is back up and running (yay!) and Redheaded Snippet is getting ready to go to camp for a week on Sunday. Oh, and I have an appointment with an endocrinologist tomorrow which I'm pretending not to be scared about. That's why I've just casually thrown it down here at the end of this post so I can try to fool myself into believing it's not that big of a deal. But, you see, there's a mass. We were calling it a nodule before, but now that I've read the ultrasound reports, I see that it's a mass. That's a tumor, right? Yeah, I know, 95% of all thyroid nodules/masses/tumors are benign, and the vast majority of all thyroid malignancies (I refuse to use the "c" word as of yet) are highly treatable, even curable, but somehow, that doesn't ease my mind a whole lot. So, I see the specialist tomorrow. And we shall take it from there.

With that, I shall move forward, breezy and unconcerned, and busy myself getting ready to take Redheaded Snippet to her youth group event for the evening. I may have no choice but to spend a few hours at Borders tonight. Won't that be horrendous?

Well, we've arrived safely. And I'm SOOOOO GLAD we're not driving home! Two days and a total of 15 hours in the car is just too much for a body to take without losing just a wee bit of sanity.

I am really quite tired and rather irritated with myself for not being asleep yet so I will be brief. No one died. We did not break down. We only got lost once (stupid bike race). No one committed any moving violations (well, let's change that to no one got CAUGHT committing any moving violations).

Man-Cub handled himself and his foot-and-a-half of space crammed into the back seat between our luggage, food, drinks and Daria's mammoth computer (I swear that thing is practically an ENIAC) with uncharacteristic grace and fortitude. He melted down as we pulled out of the driveway, begging me to take him back to his dad, but he got through it (with the help of a hand-held pinball game and a roll of bubble tape).

We had one crisis, checking out of our first hotel mere minutes after checking in upon discovery of the filthy carpet, insect-littered ceiling, gum stuck on one wall and blood smeared on another. Oh no, I am not joking. Who would joke about blood on a hotel room wall?

True crisis was averted when the lovely people at Holiday Inn, despite the late hour and even later notice, opened their welcoming arms to we three road-weary travelers, offering us a clean, comfortable, sweet-smelling room with soft, clean beds, soft clean floor coverings, clean walls, clean furniture, clean bathroom fixtures, all completely devoid of insects or bodily fluids of any kind. Did I mention it was clean? Holiday Inn ROX MY SOX. I will do endorsements for free.

We had dinner in an Irish pub. I had a beef pasty and a drink the name of which escapes me but was half Guinness and half Magner's cider. Heavenly.

Later this week we are going to swim at an indoor waterpark, visit Vance's Real Life Mad Scientist Lab, go to the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry and hang out and talk and laugh. It shall be lovely.

And now, to bed.

ROAD TRIP

In mere moments I'm embarking on what will either be the adventure of a lifetime or the most dismal experience ever to drive a person to therapy for years to come.

That's right...ROAD TRIP.

Daria and I are driving from New Jersey to Chicago. And we're taking Man-Cub with us. It's a 12-hour trip, folks. We're stopping in Ohio (little more than half-way) for the night in the hopes that swimming in a hotel pool, jumping from bed to bed, and stockpiling miniature bottles of toiletries will make the journey more tolerable. We'll just see...

Well, the car is packed, phones are charged and everyone has made a last-minute visit to the loo, so I guess it's time to depart.

I'll be back Friday night. Hopefully I'll have a whole new, exciting chapter for my memoirs.

We're off...like a terd of hurtles!

Wednesday's a Witch (and not in a good way)

Ah, Wednesday, you harshest of mistresses, even during Summer Vacation you find all manner of ways in which to grind my face into the dirt.

We no longer have to make the frantic dash to church every Wednesday night (that is, not until September) and yet, and YET, I find myself wandering dazedly about my house, frazzled, tired and considerably poorer each Wednesday night. I'm shell-shocked, I tell you. If I didn't love my Redheaded Snippet so dangedly much...well, I don't know what.

In the absence of regular meetings, the youth group holds weekly pool parties at different houses spread conveniently throughout the area. And when I say spread conveniently throughout the area I mean clustered tightly within a 1.6 mile radius from the church. And at least 15 miles (and $10 worth of gas) away from our home. And, I don't mean to complain, but when you're driving 30 minutes to drop your kid off somewhere, you need to have things planned out so you don't wind up driving 30 minutes there, 30 minutes home, 30 minutes back to pick them up and another 30 minutes home again. That's 2 hours folks! And $20 worth of gas!

Usually, I take advantage of those times to either visit stores in that area that I don't have near me or just while away the hours at the Borders that I know is there. Sometimes it's rather lovely to be forced to spend almost 2 hours idling in a bookstore's cafe, flipping through magazines and sipping something hot and sweet. But tonight? Tonight I had no such luck.

You see, The Viking has a friend who has recently started a new job. He thinks The Viking (who is looking for a new job) would be perfect for his company. The Viking has been considering it, but wanted more information so he invited the friend over to go through the particulars of the job (i.e. deliver his spiel). He set the time for 7:00 this evening. And he wanted me to there. Which meant I had to get the house company-ready, pick up groceries for dinner, make dinner and feed the kids all before 5:30 when I had to leave to take Redheaded Snippet to her pool party, arriving home at 6:30 with 30 minutes for last-minute preparations (filling the coffee maker, setting out cookies, etc). Then, because the party was over at 8:00 and it takes 30 minutes to get there, I would have to leave again at 7:30, arriving back home an hour later, long before the friend would have had to leave for home and really, meaning I'd only be able to hear 30 minutes of the spiel. I was fine with that but The Viking wasn't about to let me get off that easy.

The Viking called the friend and was able to reschedule for 8:00 which meant I could be there for most of the info, though I'd be 30 minutes late. This solved my attendance problem (goody for me), but created quite a different scenario for my evening.

The kids and I managed to get the house ready (except for the vacuuming which we left for The Viking) and out the door by 5:30. But buying and eating dinner turned out to be an impossible fantasy. Racing out the door, I resigned myself to the fact that Man-Cub and I would just have to eat on the fly (again) and gave thanks that at least Redheaded Snippet was going to a BBQ and would at least get something to eat.

It was about 7 minutes out of our driveway when the first monkey wrench was throw into my plans. I suddenly remembered The Viking's good suit at the dry cleaners. I had dropped it off so it would be ready for another job interview tomorrow. The shop would surely be closed by the time I got back. I had no choice but to make a detour.

This set Redheaded Snippet off into peals of dismay. "But, now I'm going to be late! I'll only be there two hours as it is! It's the only time I get to see him!" If you guessed that there is a particular person of interest who is also a member of her youth group, you'd be right. They're in like. And I guess you'd call him her boyfriend. But, you know, like in the 7th-grade sense.

Shortly after I picked up the crisply clean suit (which, to my credit, only took 3 minutes--the kids timed me), Man-Cub started on me. "I'm hungry! Why can't we go to McDonald's? I feel sick! I need to eat something! I know that song, but I'm not in the mood to sing it!" Apparently, the Snippet's song choice was making him feel pressure to sing along and aggravating his hunger pangs.

We arrived at the pool party 15 minutes late (not bad for me) at 6:15. I now had an hour-and-a-half to kill before the party was over and I was 15 miles from home. I did the only thing you can do in that situation. I went shopping. We were out of everything today: milk, bread, waffles, cereal, eggs, sausage, sugar, garbage bags. It was a critical situation and probably why Man-Cub was so desperately hungry. I swear the boy subsists merely on Frosted Mini-Wheats and wheat bread. So, I hastened my famished boy to the closest fast-food establishment and let him feed his face. Then I proceeded to the Promised Land, Wegman's to stock up on the necessary supplies as well as pick up some kind of fancy refreshment for the evening's meeting.

While we were there, strolling purposefully through the aisles, Man-Cub behaved himself beautifully. He charmed the girl behind the cookie counter (well, really, who wouldn't? She is, after all, keeper of the cookies), helped me with the scale and label printer in the produce section and generally kept me entertained the entire time. He was so good I bought him a cookie, some jelly beans and a set of lacrosse sticks (that were on clearance and he agreed to pay for half with his own money).

At one point, I was looking intently at a food product on a shelf, comparing prices and looking for the best deal when I heard Man-Cub sigh wearily and say, clearly but firmly, "I am tired of life." My attention snapped from dollars per pound to my poor, troubled little boy as I said, shocked to the soles of my feet, "Whaaaaaat????" I can't tell you the jolts that blasted through my synapses! "He's seven! Only seven! He can't be depressed already!"

He responded to my look of terror with one that clearly said, "Keep your hair on!" He indicated the box on the shelf he'd been looking at and repeated himself, "I'm tired of Life." That's right, we were in the cereal aisle. I burst out laughing, as much from relief as amusement and he asked, still bewildered, "What did you think I said?" When I told him I thought he was tired of living, he made a derisive noise in the back of his throat and rolled his eyes at me. "Yeah, right," was how he replied.

Clearly, it is time for a little variety in our cereal choices.

At any rate, I finished the shopping, retrieved my Snippet from her Chase-And-Splash Fest and managed to tumble into the kitchen with two children (one still very wet), dry cleaning and grocery bags in tow by 8:40. Not bad for the kind of evening I'd had, but I'd still missed 45 minutes of the presentation by the time I put the perishables away, herded the children into the other room and arranged the fancy cookies I'd bought elegantly on a china rose plate (in an obvious effort to divert attention from my lateness).

In case you're wondering, the rest of the evening went fine and it does seem this job opportunity might be a good one for The Viking. There may even some possibilities for me. But we still have some thinking to do and we're interested to see how the interview tomorrow goes.

At any rate, it is now once again 2:30 am and I still have to iron The Viking's shirt before I flop into bed.

Wearily yours,

Last Day of Laziness

So, after a solid week's worth of playing or watching someone else play Lego Star Wars virtually non-stop, this has taken up what I can only fear is to be permanent residence in my brain.



Sigh. Han Solo is still quite fanciable. And one has to wonder how on earth a woman could run around blasting Imperial soldiers, slopping through garbage, swinging across chasms and fighting for her life and the freedom of her people with hardly a hair of such an elaborate coiffure out of place?

Redheaded Snippet and Man-Cub completed all levels of the story version last night. But that doesn't mean they've exhausted the game's resources, oh no. Those clever Lego and LucasArts people are no dummies. They've packed this game chock-full of satisfactifying fun. Right now my happy, rabid children are stomping, slashing and blasting their way through Lego Land trying to collect ONE MILLION studs (that's Lego money for you unititiated readers) because something is supposed to happen when you do that. They don't know what it is, exactly, but it is sure to be spectacular.

Otherwise, things are splendidly low-key as per usual. Today, my major accomplishments were taking a shower, washing and drying a load of laundry and baking a batch of scones. But, as today is my last day of idling about with little to no responsibility, I've got to put in a few hours tonight getting ready for the week ahead. After dinner, I must go through the week's coupons, make up the week's menu and grocery list and get caught up with laundry. Redheaded Snippet has hockey camp this week, which means I have to have her up at the high school at 9:00 each morning. That will force us to return to a more normal schedule, which I'm fine with after the week I've spent indulging my idleness. Tomorrow is going to be a bear, though.

Right, then, it's back to reality for me. Back to the daily grind.

The Days Are Just Packed

Nine days have passed. And lots has happened. And yet, nothing has happened. How existential.

We are well into the indulgent, semi-uncivilized schedule we tend to slip into during the first two weeks of Summer Vacation. We sleep late, swim in the pool, sit around playing video games and go to bed late. We do manage to run errands and get chores done, but with three of us in the house all day instead of just me, the chores take a lot less time so there is more time for swimming and video games.



And when I say video games, I mean Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga. Man-Cub got it on Sunday as a belated birthday gift and I estimate it has gotten at least 10 hours of action every day since. If they're not asleep or in the loo, the children are sitting on the living room floor, flailing wildly in front of the TV. I must admit it's a pretty cool game. Everything is made out of Legos: the characters, scenery, weapons, vehicles. You collect studs, the Lego form of coins, you build things out of Legos to help you along in the game, and when you blow something up it blasts apart into little Lego smithereens, even the people/aliens/droids. And did you catch Lego Leia in her legendary gold bikini up there? Hilarious. And, if you look closely, doesn't it look like Severus Snape swiped a lightsaber and snuck in there? The game follows the movies almost exactly, with short film clips between each level of play. Fans of the movies, as well as fans of Legos, will find great enjoyment in this game. I give it a thumbs up, even if it has induced my children to spend most of their waking moments trash talking each other instead of working together. Oh well.



Redheaded Snippet has turned into a teenager. Although it seems she's been slowly metamorphosing for several years now, it's finally official. To mark the occasion, I provided her with a full supply of quality cosmetics of her very own. We've allowed her to wear make-up in stages, a little blush and lip gloss, then darker lipstick and concealer as needed, and now that she's 13, the floodgates have opened and the last hurdle has been cleared: eye makeup. The only make-up restrictions left are that she can't look like a tart and if she looks absolutely ridiculous, I'm going to find a way to tell her so. My kids are free to make choices in their appearance that make them look silly if they so desire, but I reserve the right to gently point it out to them just in case they are unaware.



Having been caught up in all the birthday revelry and good cheer, The Viking and I completely lost our minds and agreed to let our Snippet have a slumber party. Seven of her closest friends came to our house with bathing suits and sleeping bags in tow and spent the night swimming, playing games, laughing and eating. It really wasn't bad. My mom came to remove Man-Cub from the situation by having him sleep over at her house and wound up staying and she and I actually joined in the games. There was slip-and-slide-duck-duck-goose, pizza, leg-wrestling, build-your-own-sundaes, boneless hot wings and endless rounds of an old favorite game, Murder. Everyone had fun, nothing got broken or set on fire and nobody threw up. Success.

Since then we've been laying low. We're relaxing on purpose. The next few weeks get busy and then, don't tell the kids, but there will only be a month of Summer Vacation left once the dust settles. So, I'm not making many demands of them until I have to. This is what the Summer is for!

Just so you don't think I'm exaggerating, this is what our Summer schedule looks like:

We wake, leisurely and calmly, anywhere between 9:00 and 11:00 am. Unless we have to be somewhere before noon (and I am purposely scheduling everything in the afternoon to avoid this horror of horrors), I don't set the alarm or wake anyone up. This is the biggest luxury in life, in my opinion.

Upon waking we amble downstairs, still in pjs, to grab a bowl of cereal and eat it in front of the Wii. Usually it's the sound of the Wii that wakes me up as the kids have graciously adopted the Don't-Wake-Anyone-Before-They're-Ready policy as well. I take my usual position on one end of the couch, Man-Cub plants himself front and center on the floor in front of the TV and Redheaded Snippet kind of rotates around the room from the recliner to the other end of the couch to the floor next to Man-Cub and back again. She just can't sit still, even for Lego Star Wars.

There are, of course, interruptions to this blissful idleness. Teacups must be refilled, ringing phones must be answered (I believe it's a Scientific fact that no one moves faster toward the sound of a ringing phone than a teen-aged girl), barking dogs must be ushered into the house, mail must be collected, and bladders must be emptied. But all is done as quickly and efficiently as possible so not a minute of idleness is wasted.

At some point, a midday meal is needed. After a bowl of rice, pbj sandwich or plate of leftovers from the night before, I throw in a load of laundry, begin folding the load from the dryer and direct the kids in a few cursory chores such as making their beds, bringing the dirty laundry from upstairs or tidying up the dishes that have accumulated in the living room all morning (I admit, I'm not good at keeping the dishes out of the living room). Then we usually take care of a weekly chore such as changing the bed linens, cleaning the bathrooms, dusting or sweeping.

As soon as that's over, the kids either go back to the Wii or head out to the pool, depending on how hot it is and how frustrated they are with trying to work together to complete levels of Star Wars episodes. I may read one of the many books I've borrowed from Daria as part of my Summertime Horizon Broadening project, give myself a manicure, or keep at the laundry. Once in a while the kids and I flip through the soap operas to make fun of them, being sure to turn the channel the minute things get dicey. I love that the kids think they're ridiculous. It shows they have good taste and good sense.

Sometimes we have an errand to run such as grocery shopping, orthodontist appointments, dropping off dry cleaning (which, CRAP! I forgot to do today and The Viking needs his suit cleaned by next Wednesday--must make that Priority #1 tomorrow) so we do that in the afternoon leaving enough time to make it back in time for me to make dinner.

The kids help me while I'm making dinner, setting the table, doing another run through the downstairs making sure it's tidy, assisting me with the cooking, and then they get more free time until it's time to eat. This is when The Viking comes home. He walks in, the kids run in to get a hug and a smile, the dog jumps around excitedly, and he goes up to change and go outside to survey his land until dinner. Unless he has something to do, which he has two nights this week. Or unless I have something to do which I did tonight. So far this week, we have yet to sit down to a meal as a family. The Viking had his night at the fire station on Monday and a band rehearsal last night. Tonight I got to drive a total of 75 miles in order to get Redheaded Snippet and her friend to a youth group pool party and back. I was gone for 4 hours. And used up nearly $20 worth of gas. But I just keep telling myself it's an investment into my daughter's well-being and character.

After dinner, if we are all together for it, we clean up and then gravitate back toward the living room. By now, The Viking's laptop, being the only functioning computer in the house, has been unearthed and battles for its possession have been waged. The victor settles happily with it while the losers console themselves with either the Wii or the TV.

Eventually, much later than the time they would be required to during the school year, the children are bade to pack up their toys and gadgets and get themselves ready for bed. They trudge upstairs as slowly as possible and The Viking and I indulge in a little child-free quiet time. Usually we just decompress in front of the TV for a while before The Viking finally heads off to bed himself.

That's when I get MY time. I fiddle around on the laptop, watch stupid TV and make my lists for the next day. Sometimes I update this here blog, but that takes an awfully long time so I don't get to do it as often as I like. Once my time is over, I pack up the laptop, turn off the TV, make sure nothing is left out for Nutmeg to drag all over the living room floor in the night and check the locks and lights before going up to bed.

There you have it. A Summer's Day of intentional relaxation, Wits' End style. It's not glamorous, it's not even interesting, but it's darn relaxing. It wouldn't be healthy to live like this ALL the time, but for a few short weeks, it's very nearly pure Heaven. In just a few days, Redheaded Snippet's hockey camp will start, then Dharma & Co arrive from Chicago for Lobelia's baby shower and Baby Bee's FIRST BIRTHDAY celebration. That's right, our Miracle Baby is already a year old. Then Man-Cub and I are going back to Chicago with them and somewhere in there Redheaded Snippet has sleep-away camp. See what I mean about things getting busy? Clearly, the time to be idle is NOW!

Well, I must be off to bed. I have another day of hard rest and relaxation ahead tomorrow. A day with NO ERRANDS, except for that dry cleaning, of course. That should be fun. The dry cleaner has a blanket of ours that's been in their keeping since about February. They hate when you do that and have no qualms about telling you so.

Ok, that's all for tonight. Must go get my beauty sleep...

Day Two of Summer Vacation...

...and we've already come to blows.
I'm just adding this entry to drive Redheaded Snippet crazy. She's sitting next to me, asking me every 9 seconds if I'm finished yet. I wasn't going to update just now, preferring to wait until later, like after I've drugged the children and bungeed them to their beds and can snuggle up on the couch with the laptop, a pot of tea and the latest episode of Mystery! on PBS, but she's getting just a touch...oppressive. So, I'm making her suffer a little by blogging right in front of her. I really wish you could hear her sighing. She is quite gifted at it. And I am rather gifted at being passive-aggressive, no?



Well. Things have taken an ugly turn. First she violated my personal space most grievously by leaning on my arm in such a way as to prevent me from typing correctly without great effort and then violently wrenched my wrist in an effort to render one of my typing hands immobile. This will never do. Where's that cattle prod?

The Last Weekend

Ah, the weekend: a time of rest, relaxation, recouperation; a time to catch one's breath, clear one's head, soak one's aching feet. Or, alternately, a time to run around trying to accomplish all the things you were too busy to do during the week thereby making yourself thoroughly crazed and exhausted, not to mention completely unprepared or equipped to greet the new week ahead.


Which kind have you had?

This weekend is a significant one. This is the last weekend before school is out for the summer. The last weekend of having to scurry around on Sunday night getting school clothes and school books and lunch supplies ready, having to get whiny children to finish their homework, get showered or bathed and into bed early. The last weekend of dreading the long, busy week ahead.


This weekend we went to dinner with new friends. Their daughter is Redheaded Snippet's best friend and we've seen them a lot in town, at school functions, hockey games, that sort of thing. We've been wanting to invite them over or go to dinner with them for a while and it all just came together this weekend. We had so much fun! I really hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!


Late Friday night, Daria came over and we watched an Agatha Christie movie she had rented, The Mirror Crack'd. It was wonderfully cheesy, with an all-star cast and gave us a lot of material for mocking. It was terribly fun.


Saturday, The Viking and I sang in a wedding at our church, but we were home by 3:00 and the rest of the day was spent lolling around, doing nothing and resting our tired bodies and minds. We swam, watched movies, fought over time on the laptop, it was lovely.


And now, today, Fathers' Day. Redheaded Snippet surprised us this morning by bringing her dad breakfast in bed. She got up early and made him toast, coffee, and an omelet. That's right, an omelet. I taught her how to make one a few weeks ago and The Viking was very pleasantly surprised that she knew how to make one, and such a tasty one! She was so cute and pleased with herself, as well she should.


Speaking of teaching her to cook, I recently announced to my Snippet that this summer will mark the commencement of her Domestic Engineering Training. At some point she's going to need to know how to run her household, whether that consists of just her and a roommate or a husband, 17 children and several herds and flocks of animals. She's going to be 13 in a few weeks so she's plenty old enough to start learning. No one ever taught me how to manage my home and I struggled terribly to learn how as I was doing it. I don't want that for her. I want her to be able to take care of herself and whatever family she may have before she needs to.

We're going to cover everything:

Meal Planning


Cooking


Baking


Laundry


Ironing


Beds


Dishes


Floors


Windows


Household Marketing



Let me tell you, she looked at me like I was nuts when I broke the news to her, but I hope someday she will appreciate the torture I'm going to put her through. I also hopes she appreciates the torture I put myself through finding and posting all those silly photos!


So, this afternoon, The Viking made pho, a luscious Southeast Asian soup that's his favorite food right now. I made a basket of sticky rice to go with it and we all had quite the festive Fathers' Day luncheon. Then The Viking and the kids went to the park while I cleaned the kitchen and baked a cake.




It was just a store-brand mix, but it was butter cake and I whipped up a pint of cream to frost it with and it turned out to be quite yummy! It tasted like wedding cake. More than half of it is still sitting there in the kitchen, seductively calling my name with its smooth, silky, siren song. A hot cup of tea would be perfect with another piece!

Alright, it's bedtime and tonmorrow is the very last Monday of the 2007-2008 school year. I still have laundry to finish and a lunch to pack--one of only three left this year!

Pretty Fingers and Toes

So, let's see...what did I do today? Yes, it has come to this; boring little reports on what I did during any given day. Gah. But this is what happens when housewives get bored (despite what the tv wants you to believe happens when housewives get bored).



Where was I? Oh yes, boring you stupid...today I actually had some fun. But first, a small bit about yesterday. Yesterday, I had my mom give me an instant French manicure. I have a wedding to sing in this weekend and I would like to put forth the appearance of professionalism. So, in addition to learning my music real good, I've decided I must be well-groomed and ladylike. Hence, the manicure. Le French manicure. A little side note to the side note, I used to, a few years back, go every 2-3 weeks to a little hole-in-the-wall salon and get acrylics. I was meticulous about my nails, it was kind of my thing. Secretly, I figured if I was going to be fat, I was at least going to have fabulous nails to offset it. Unfortunately, several years of that wrecked my natural nails but good. And the budget tightened. So the oh-so-lovely but ravaging acrylics had to go. Sigh. Anyway, I now keep my natural nails nicely manicured, but only to the point of looking neat and trim, not very fabulous. But not anymore! Looky!



Now, I'll thank you to keep in mind those aren't my actual for-real nails. My camera is still missing and my computer still comatose. All I can do is search Google for images that most closely resemble what I want share. It's kind of weird, but I kind of like it. It's like an enhanced version of my life. And, yes, that's rather pathetic.

Those hands, oddly enough, look almost like mine. The rings are different, of course; I don't wear thumb rings and rarely take off my wedding and engagement rings, but the fingers are similar and the nails are a perfect match! Maybe this unknown woman is my hand twin! But enough.

This afternoon, after what is quickly becoming a daily necessity due to my seemingly incurable insomnia, my morning nap, I got myself gussied up and ventured forth to get a pedicure so's my toes could match my fingers. Salons kind of intimidate me, especially the ones with Asian women who I just know are talking mockingly about me right in my face because they know I can't understand them. But I had a gift certificate from Christmas and with all the flip-flops I've been wearing lately, and the need to look polished and professional for the wedding, I decided to brave it. So now my feet look less like this:



and more like this:



Again, not my feet, but close enough. See? Pretty! And my feet and legs feel so silky soft and smooth! The massage chair was a little treacherous, and I blundered my way through the entire process, from not wearing the right pants (I was scolded and told I should have worn shorts) and not knowing when to dunk my feet, to not having a clue how much to tip the poor girl sentenced to de-gunk my gnarly feet. I think I may have tipped her a ridiculous amount. I asked her how much was typical and plunked down the amount she said. She probably recognized a good thing when she saw it and robbed me blind. But considering what she had to go through to get her tip and considering I had a gift certificate and didn't have to pay anything for the actual pedi, I really don't care.

After the pedi, I dragged Redheaded Snippet into the kitchen to help me get an early dinner prepared before I had to dash out to meet The Viking at wedding rehearsal. After using up sickening amounts of time and gas getting to the church, I was dismayed to find there really was no point in us being at the rehearsal at all. Nothing seemed to get accomplished, we had to interrupt the pastor and wedding coordinator to get all our cues, and we still had to stay after everyone else had left for the rehearsal dinner to work out all the kinks with the sound equipment. What a frustrating night.

And now I can't sleep. Everyone else lies in slumber deep and I languish on the couch watching bad tv and trying to rype coherently. See why I'm napping all my mornings away? I think I'm going to brew a nice, hot cuppa, make some crunchy cinnamon toast, and see if I can't get my fevered brain to grind to a slow enough halt for me to sleep.



Sweet dreams!

Happy Anniversary to me!

Only a little time for a quick post tonight. I'm trying to make a more concentrated effort to keep up with this blog a little better. Dharma has been updating hers almost every day and if she can do it, I should be able to. You see, I haven't mentioned this yet, but Dharma is going to have a baby and is feeling mighty poorly right about now. That's right! She's pregnant! And as she's only about 6 weeks along, she's feeling nauseated an awful lot. But she's still keeping up with her blog and has inspired me to try and do the same. I may not have a toddler and day-to-day nausea to deal with, but I do have a broken computer and limited access to the Internet as my own challenges.

Today was our 14th Wedding Anniversary. We celebrated first by dissolving helplessly into puddles at Man-Cub's penultimate baseball game. Why anyone would expect 7-year-old boys to tear around in 100 degrees of baking-hot sun and 70% humidity without dropping like flies is beyond me, but they did. We managed to find a shady spot to spectate from, but still, it was icky.

After the game, we dumped the kids off at my mother's, then headed into Philly for dinner. We went to Marrakesh, a Moroccan place down an alley off of South Street. We sat on low, softly-carpeted, cushioned benches, had our hands washed with warm, rose-scented water (secretly my favorite part), and ate dish after dish of exotic, delicious food with our fingers. They actually washed our hands twice with the rosewater and now I'm thinking of finding ways to use it around the house. On our way out of the restaurant, we were gratified to see the temperature had dropped about 15 degrees and thunderstorms were brewing. Hopefully, this horrid heatwave is over.

So, I'm off to bed. I have to try and get some sleep tonight. I haven't been sleeping well and it's really disrupting my daily schedule. I'm behind on laundry and chores and really need to get myself a manicure, pedicure and some new clothes. I have a wedding to sing in this weekend and I'd like to look somewhat professional so's I can fool 'em all. Besides, with my feet showing so much in this hot weather, it'd be nice if they didn't look like Frodo Baggins'.

'Night!

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!