on shopping

First, Andi: For some reason that makes me happier than it ought to.  I've always wanted to be a bassist.  Or a drummer.  It's nice to know that I'm musical and skinny in some lifetime.

Now.  I spent the morning shopping.  This is not something I normally do, b/c it is something I normally hate.  Most of it was grocery shopping, though, which I do usually enjoy.  But when I have a kid or two or three with me, I'm on a mission.  Get the items on the list, get out.  No, you can't have a smoothie.  No, I'm not buying that "cereal."  No, you cannot have that toy.  I don't buy groceries at the toy store and I don't buy toys at the grocery.  Anyway, I went to the co-op by myself.  I was going to get bread and cream, but having a chance to actually look at all the food inspired me.  Tonight, we'll have roasted veggies on quinoa (yes, Steve, you still have to come home).  But tomorrow night, my home-at-7-after-a-zillion-lessons day, we shall have a cheese tasting dinner. I bought a bunch of cheeses and some things to put them on, and some fruit.  I'll give the kids each a card to record their favorites.  It will be an event.  With cheese!

Food gathered, it was a bit after 10.  Seemed like a waste to go all the way home, just to leave in an hour to get Lily.  So I went to Starbucks to acquire our costly coffee.  Then I went into Anne Taylor Loft.  I don't usually go into free-standing boutiquey stores b/c I usually have kids with me who would rather just lay on the floor and scream.  Which, truthfully?  I totally get.  But my ass is expanding (thanks, Baking Illustrated!  And wine!) and I need a pair of pants.  And dammit, I'm not going up a size, so I'll just get more expensive clothes so that they're sized big.   Yes, I am precisely that vain.  And not a bit more. 

Unfortunately, the good buyers at ATL did not get the memo about pant legs becoming less flared.  So pants seem to come in bell-bottom or "skinny."  You know what, fashion people?  Stop putting the word "skinny" on pants larger than size 12.  It isn't funny, you aren't fooling anyone.  Even if there aren't any quotes around the word, they're thoroughly implied and I'm resentful.  And another thing?  What is with all the girly girl styling on the tops?  Ruffles and puffy sleeves and wittle bows?  First, if your bra is larger--in cup or in band--than 34B, don't wear ruffles down the front of your shirt.  And if you're older than 24?  Don't wear them at all.  And those twee little puffy sleeves?  No.  Just, no.   Anything can be pulled off by a 6 foot tall, 120 lb 22 year old.  The same is not true of...well, me.  And I assure you, there are more of me.  Next:  Was there some sort of moratorium on natural fibers?  Modal is just rayon, people.  I am not all a twitter about it.  I was trying to go through the sale rack, but the fabrics were so nasty I didn't want to touch them.  In spite of being short, fat, and sweaty, I did find a pair of pants and a cotton sweater.  On sale.  Yay.

On to Target.  Steve is taking Ben and Lily to NJ this weekend to check on Great Grandma, since Grandma and Grandpa are in Israel.  Julianna is going to stay with me and we'll have a girls' weekend.  To sweeten the pot for the smalls, I was planning to get each of them a cool toy to play with while roasting in GGma's apartment.  Target didn't have the coveted N-1 Naboo startfighter, so I just browsed the store.  I usually can't pay attention to people in the store b/c I've brought my own people with me.  See above.  But checking out, with some crisp new sheets, I heard the woman behind me saying, <perk> "Can you put that on the band?  Can you?  Can you just put it up there?  YAY!  High five!  Hey, High Five!  C'mon, High Five! YAY!  You are such a helper!  thanks so much for helping me!" </perk> As her pack of disposable razors and liquid soap (thank god you had help with that!) rolled toward me, I thought "when I turn around to look at her, I hope to god she's got a chimp in that cart with her.  A developmentally disabled chimp. Otherwise, my eyes will roll allllll the way back and I'll have to bang my head on the wall to dislodge them."  It was just a kid.  About four, and clearly past the "Good Job!" stage.  By now she knows her mom is a helpless twit and she lords it over her.  "Should I put these razors on the band?  mmmm...yummy....maybe I'll EAT them!  Ahhhhhhh...GOTCHA!"

Lord knows I've never been a font of tolerance, but I find myself so annoyed by moms of small children lately.  I was in the librarywith Lily on Monday.  We were having a Lily Day and she'd chosen to go the library to read and then out to lunch.  So there we were, reading.  And there was this little gaggle of Mommies, each with a toddler, just chirping away about Big Boy Beds and Big Girl Panties and I just wanted to nap, listening to them.  It seems like a million years and another species ago.  I'm so grateful to have bigger kids now.  Toddlers are cute, but insane.

Anyway.  I've shopped all I want to for at least a week.  Turns out stores have people in them. ick.

It's the professionalism that I admire.

Have I mentioned that I don't like going to the dentist?  Oh, yes, I did.  Well, I still don't.  I had my 6 month check-up (didn't they used to be annual?  Wasn't that enough?) last week and they noticed that one of my crowns was cracked or something.  No idea what, but the upshot is that it had to be fixed.  "It could be a really simple thing and you'll be in and out.  But I could get in there and see you need a whole new crown.  I never know."  You don't?  Aren't you a dentist?  Isn't that your job?  And if it's work that YOU did that needs repairing, shouldn't YOU experience the pain instead of me?

 Generally, I like my dentist.  He's a gangly dork, which I always find endearing.  Totally goofy sense of humor and thinks I'm funny.  So I let him hurt my mouth.  The standard trade-off.  Anyway. Last week, I told him that I'm rather a nervous nellie these days, due to that whole exposed nerve/no novacaine incident.  He assures me that that never should have happened (really?) and they'll numb me up good.  And apparently he made a note of it b/c they were giving me the full mental patient slow-talking today.  "How are you feeling?  Does it hurt when I clip on this bib?"  I'll take it.  I get the shot in my jaw.  (side note:  Like Zaphod Beeblebrox, if I cannot see, I cannot experience stress.  So I wore my glasses instead of my contact lenses and took them off just before they started poking around.  AUGH  here they come!--glasses off--Ahhhh.  I'm safe now.)   Anyway.  Doc tells Assistant that I need to be numb to the middle of my lip before they proceed.

 I get a stack of magazines (put my glasses back on) and they leave me, checking now and again to see how it's going.  One Family Circle, a US News and World Reports, and a Vacations! later, I'm still only numb to the corner of my mouth.  He gives it a go anyway.  Oh yes, I feel it, sir.  He backs off.  I get another shot of the local anesthetic (another note:  he keeps saying he wants me to be "comfortably numb"  I tell him that this is making me hum Pink Floyd.  He says, "oh, well that's why I do it."  Because you totally want this image in your patient's head. The he says, "you know what album that's from?"  The Wall.  duh. "Oh, yeah...it's not Dark Side of the Moon is it?  Did you know there was a movie of that?"  Yeah.  yeah, I did. "So, are you one of those aging rocker chicks?"  Lucky he didn't lose a damned hand.  Rocker chick indeed.). I now have gallons of whatever-acaine in my system. I get the shakes from it, which is nice, but 3/4 of a Better Homes and Gardens later, my lip is numb and they get to work.  It turns out to be the easy scenario, and he's out pretty quickly.

 He says he'll make a note that I get a double hit of the anesthetic.  "With this new stuff, it's really rare that anyone needs a second dose.  But you seem to, at least for the bottom."  I'm unique!  I get some impressions made for a night guard b/c apparently it is my tooth grinding (I grind my teeth?) that is causing my crowns to break and my teeth to fracture.  I get up, head for home, and then my mouth starts to go numb.  It feels like I have someone else's tongue in my mouth.  Along with mine. And not in a sexy sexy way, either.  If I attempt to speak, I end up doing my Bill Cosby routine.  For lunch, I had to have a protein shake b/c I cannot feel my tongue or the inside of my mouth and I was afraid I would eat them.  Seriously people, it is 2 pm and I can only now feel the middle of my lower lip--the injection was at 8:45.  I am only now down to one--albeit one fat one--tongue in my mouth.  So it would seem that I just have a really slow metabolism (You?  But you're so sleek!  It's true, I know, I don't understand it either) and the drugs just don't hit my system very quickly.  But I shall not share this with the dentist.  For I want that double hit.  And the happy gas.  And the Joo Janta 200 Super-Chromatic PerilSensitive Sunglasses.

The rest...of the story

Okay, no freaky Paul Harvey twist.  It was 50 degrees today, so the snow is on its way out, quickly.  I just wanted to post our other big weekend event.  Julianna was in a dance recital.  She'll be in the big one like Lily was in last June, but her Modern Dance I class was invited to perform in the Inner Circle dance concert at the Maryland Ensemble Theater.  Inner Circle is the YMCA's youth ballet group (although they do all sorts of dance)--about 12 girls from 10-16 or so.  I'm always torn at dance events, particularly modern ones.  On the one hand, I really wish that I had that creative outlet, the ability and lack of self-censor that would allow me to move my body to my emotions and the horrid, horrid music.  And on the other hand...oy.  Once, at the National Building Museum, we saw ---well, you know that quote, "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture"?---that's what we saw.  A bunch of women, late 20s to early 50s, dancing about architecture.  And that's what modern dance so often reminds me of.  That and Kira.  Kira was a year ahead of me in college.  She was insane.  She fancied herself a free spirit and stuff, but in reality she was just nuts.  Harmless, to all but herself, but nuts.  Her senior year, for her birthday, she put on a dance concert for all her "friends."  Which is to say, all the people who were nice to her, but wouldn't loan her money.  Because we were bad people, Janet and Janet and I took a bunch of dead flowers to throw at her feet.  We thought ourselves hilarious.  Luckily, Kira found it a lovely gesture because: nuts.  Anyway, she just danced and danced and flung herself about while we sat there, waiting for her to release us.  And that's what I tend to think of modern dance.

But it was a bunch of little girls,and they'd obviously worked hard (which then made me think, did they give up their lives for this?  Because seriously girls, this will NOT get you a rich husband) so it was sweet.  Mostly because it was also short.  Julianna's group was in the second act.  She was, of course, the biggest kid, a good head taller and many pounds heavier.  And, not exactly Isadora Duncan.  But she was enjoying it and was DOING it, which is more than her snarky lame mom could do.  So yay.  And I gave her flowers at the end, which made her very happy.

Yes, the costume is, in fact, hideous.  What can you do?  She was horrified to have to wear make-up, bless her heart.  Hold onto that, sweetie.  Oh, and that's one of the taller little girls behind her and over her right shoulder.

Before the recital, while Julianna was in tech rehearsal, Steve and I took Ben and Lily to La Paz for dinner.  We hadn't been there since it moved from its really weird alley-behind-the-parking-garage location to its new hip Carroll Creek spot.  Meh.  It's still noisy and smoky and the food isn't as good.  But Ben was sitting there with his nachos, with his hand lying in the food.  "Ben," I said,  "Don't rest your hand in your food."  He's totally indignant, as he is.  "MO-OM!  I'm NOT just resting it there.  I'm moving it around!"  Oh, well, all right then.  Loon.

Oh look. More snow.

So winter was late in coming, but it's determined that we don't get shortchanged.  Yesterday we got about 7 inches of snow (New York readers:  "oh you poor babies.").  It was perfect packing snow, so it ended up being fun.  Down to the Donald's as usual.  This time, the grownups played outside, too.  So we had 6 adults and 9 kids sledding and making snow forts and "snow goons" (the kids all read Calvin and Hobbes, it would seem).  It's blurry for whatever reason (certainly not my photography skills.  Stupid camera), but here's Julianna and Molly with their two-headed snow goon:

Here's Lily and I working on our goon:


I wanted to put bulgy eyes and a snout on our goon.  I put sticks in the eye bulges to make them look like evil slitty cat eyes.  "Mommy, what are you doing?"  I'm giving our goon evil eyes.  "NO!  It's a snow bunny and it's NICE."  So, I had to add eye sticks below what are, apparently, ear bulges.  So here's August, posing with the snow frog/bunny/goon thing:


There was sledding.  The sound effect you need for this photo is "AAAAAAAUGH!  DADDDDY!  I WANT TO STOOOOP!":


Even the grown-ups were sledding.  Here's Jerry and Bev, lookin' all cute:


"Oh," I thought, after I took this picture," look how cute.  What a nice memory.  Steve and I should sled too, and Bev will take the photo."  Well, Bev and Jerry are smaller than Steve and Deana.  We could barely squeeze our bodies onto the Big Sled.  And once on, we couldn't steer.  And while careening wildly from side to side, we were taking on snow until finally we stopped.  Dismount, shake the snow off the sled, try again.  Careen.  And the camera didn't snap the pic.  Sigh.  And no WAY were we trudging back up that hill.  Seriously, Bev.  Drag line.  We'll all pitch in.  So just imagine that we are looking all fresh faced and wintery and going down the hill, laughing joyfully.  The beauty of imagination is that we can leave off the part about "We're going into the brush!"  And "I can't steer this thing!"  And "My pants are full of snow!"

Snowball fight!


Here's all the kids, looking impossibly healthy and sweet.  Except Lily, who is crying b/c she wants water and it wholly unamused by our insistence that snow IS water and she should just eat some.


And then, the bonfire!  And marshmallows!


Followed by trudging home and realizing it's 7pm and we haven't had dinner and we can't get the cars out and GAH!

And school's open two hours late, rather than closed entirely.  Whatever.

Yummy yummy yummy

"Mommy!  My Love Box is full of candy!"  That's really an unnecessary incentive in later years, dear.

Yes, she finally got to have her Valentine's party.  Which means she finally went to school.  And I took a nap.  So when did Valentine's day become a Halloween-caliber orgy of candy?   Was it not enough to have those wee little pun-riddled cards to analyze for hidden meanings?  It started with the occasional corn-syrup and red-dye riddled lollipop.  Now it was a whole load of M&Ms, Fun-dip, Nerds, you name it.  All red, of course.  I think it's a Nestle-led plot to popularize a holiday that most would otherwise soon learn to scorn.  Get them jonesing for Wonka mix when they're young and they'll buy whatever premium line Nestle owns when they grow up (note: I tried to find what the high end stuff is that Nestle undoubtably owns.  And I came up with a BBC News story about how some Spanish restaurant is helping them come up with spicy flavors.  And THIS:is the pic they used on the story.  Um.  Ew?  Note the authentic British teeth.  This?  does not sell the newspapers on this side of the pond. You people are never getting your empire back if you keep this up.)

Anyway.  In college my buds and I founded Students Against Stupid Holidays and on StVDay, we'd wear all black and our little buttons with a heart in a slash circle and S.A.S.H. on it.  For whatever reason the sorority girls took this as a personal affront and got mad at us.  Which, of course, we LOVED.   I just don't get the Valentine love.  I guess the whole Byronic ideal of love being exemplified by chocolate and doilies is lost on me.  I find it exemplified by giving me the last cup of coffee and making the children leave me alone so I can nap.

But if you WANT to send me a valentine, I'd rather it wasn't this one:


Or, um, this one.  Eep.

*whimper*

It's...it's...it's opening 2 hours late again tomorrow.  She still isn't going to school.  And she's going through this thing where she calls me "Mama" instead of Mommy or Mom or hell, even Deana.  I'm not sure why "Mama" sounds skeevy to me, but it does.  It has this pleading, wheedling tone that immediately sets me on edge.  Yes, of course, in 20 years, I'd pay cash to hear that same voice.  But now?  I'd like it to go to school for a couple of hours.

So I got a lot of scrapbook pages put together, which is good b/c the only time I get anything done is when we escape 4 times a year.  When we went out to dinner, I had a super yummy beer.  The others had a drink, too.  Then we discussed labor and childbirth.  I'm reasonably certain that we did our part to keep the population of Hanover in check.  I cannot imagine that anyone within earshot plans to breed at any point in the near future.  And really, have you see these people?  It's for the best.

The thaw has begun.  And, of course, the leaking.  Hooray for the leaking!  It shows us where the holes are!  Hooray!

The freeze was kind of fun, though.  On Sunday, a little more snow fell on top of the ice.  Lily wanted to go play in it.  She made the mistake of going into the backyard, where she promptly slid downhill and couldn't get back.  She was in a panic.  So I suited up and went after her.  And couldn't get back.  Now, because Steve was in the house and I could send Ben for help, this was funny, but really?  I couldn't get back up the hill.  I'd make progress and whooooosh back down.  Lily was in hysterics, probably due to that Little House on the Prairie episode with the blizzard and the frozen people.  Once Ben brought me the brooms, I was able to smash a little path for us to climb and then Steve grabbed us.   It was a little Arctic adventure.  But it can go away now, thanks.

Your witness.

I am suing the Frederick County Public School system for mental distress. Lily has not gone to school since last Monday.  Anyone who has a four year old will testify that they really ought to be going a day and a half rather than a half day ANYWAY, and to give them 4 snow days in a row, followed by a 2 hour delay (which means no pre-K)...unconscionable.  If she gives me that Clyde response one more time...Well, I'm giving her back to Clint Eastwood, that's all.

I did have a lovely weekend away from my brood.  Lara, Bev, and I went to Stacey's to scrapbook.  We had dinner out at a bar, like grownups.  We stayed up late and napped the next day.  It was fun.  And I got a lot of pages done.  Which is good, because I only seem to get any scrapbook stuff done when we go away.  So many crafts, so little time.  So few opportunities for the kids to go to school.   Anyway, Steve says we were gone about a week.  I think we were gone about five hours.  Which is to say, I don't really feel that refreshed.  It was great, I loved it, but I was not ready to return to the fetch-and-wipe grind.

So, Lily's love box remains empty.  They'll have their Valentines (or Valentimes, if you prefer) party somewhere around St. Patty's day.  Which is fine, b/c my "holiday" cards are still stacked up on my microwave.

Public schools, man.

So Lily informs me that Wednesday is Love Day and at school people will put things in her Special Box.  I think I need to pay better attention to what is going on in that school.

try again

I don't know what the deal was over at You Tube.  Probably The Man trying to keep me down or something.    But it seems to be fixed now.  Go watch my baby hop.

The graceful gene is passed on

Bev and I took the girls to a dance company's children's performance.  At the end, they asked all the kids to come up and dance too.  Julianna and Molly like dancing in public better than most anything, so even though they towered over all the other kids, they were quite into it.  And Lily hopped.  As she does.

You gotta be adaptable

In the car today, Lily asked, "Mom?  Can I go into space?"

"Well, you can if you become an astronaut."

"Then can I just go to a field and ride some ponies?"

I cracked up.   She said, "No.  Really."  I cracked up again and she screamed, "I just want to go to a stupid field and ride some stupid ponies!!!!"

Perfect Snow Day

I went to bed last night thinking, "I could use a snow day."  And it came to pass!  I'm magic!  We got a real snow this time.  We hung around the house until about 10 and then headed down to the Donald's.  We tromped home around 5.

I tried to sled once with Lily, but the snow was so powdery that it just sliced our faces.  Lily did not like this:


I made gingerbread and whipped cream.  When the kids came in hungry, we gave them some sandwiches and then some gingerbread.  They watched a movie to rest for a bit and then went back out.  Bev and I worked on scrapbook pages.  I needed this day.

The front hill was...slippery.  The kids were just going down on their bellies like snow otters:

For Aunt Carolyn

And then I went sledding.  Yes, I hosted a party for 14 armed children and then I went sledding.  All because I love my Aunt Carolyn.  She wanted some pics of the kids in the snow.  And heaven knows the snow is not plentiful this year, who knows if we'll get more?  So I told the kids I'd take them to the Donald's (Molly's family) to sled.  They have this great sled run, down their yard, across the road, through some brush and out into another yard.  LONG.

Here's the top of the run, I was on the back of the sled, Lily in front of me:


I went down with Lily twice, and then Ben wanted a ride.  And then Brooke wanted a ride.  And then Lily.  And then Ben.  And then Lily.  And then Ben.   It's a long trudge back up, I'm telling you.  Only exerting yourself once a year is probably not the best exercise plan.  Oh, I was hurtin'.

Here's Julianna:


Lily in the setting sun:


Ben, blocking my shot of the sunset with a "Can we go DOWN now?"


The kids were playing in the brush at the bottom of the hill.  Ben and Molly in the trees:


Julianna, building a bed of pine needles:


It was exhausting.  My legs are stiff.  But it was fun.  I'm hassling Bev to install a drag line for next year.

Success through Denial

I don't know why denial gets such a bad rap.  It is an invaluable tool in my day-to-day life.  I ought to go on a speaking circuit about it. Everyone will be happier, I just know it. 

So.  I told Ben he could invite 6 kids to his birthday party.  Fine, he comes up with 5 boys and Rhiannon.  Well, if you're inviting her, you probably ought to invite one more girl, so he adds Jenn.  But since Rhiannon's coming, he wants Owen--her big brother, whom he loves--to come too.  And if Rhiannon and Owen are invited, we have invite their little brother Aiden, who is in Lily's class.  And then he invited Molly without asking me.  And if Molly comes, her two sisters will come up too.  Oh, and Ben has two sisters of his own who happen to live here.  Party day came and the kids just kept coming.  One after another.  My house was turning into a clown car.  In the end, there were 14 kids in my weeny little house.

Oh, and it's a Star Wars party, so they all have lightsabers.

How do I get to the panic point for every birthday?  God knows each child begins planning his/her next party shortly after the last guest is pushed out the door.  But I have my buddy Denial.  She protects me, keeps me from worry.  Enables me to ignore the constant and unreasonable planning.  Makes it so that I don't notice that 14 kids are going to be here.  We only were inviting 6, right?  I can do 6.  I plan a few simple games, make a pinata (okay, I also totally forgot to make a pinata until Friday.  So I had to blow dry it, trying to get it dry in time to load with candy).  (And yes, I make the pinata.  It's easy, I swear.  AND it actually breaks when whacked.  I've been to many birthday parties and I have never, ever seen a store bought pinata that opens when whacked.  Each is rent in two by the enraged birthday dad and its contents scattered on the ground.), make a cake.  Ben decorates it with Legos, so even that is low stress.

I've cut a bunch of fabric rectangles with holes in the middle to be worn as tunics, tied with a rope.  Instant Jedi!  As each child came in, I gave him or her a tunic and a lightsaber and directed the child to the dining room for droid making.  I just dumped a bunch of junk on the table.  Easy. Wicked cute.


But then, as they finished their droids, they started wandering away.  Armed.  We began tipping toward utter chaos.  I was able to direct them into a keep-the-balloon-off-the-ground-with-your-lightsaber game.


But again, they began to wander away....Steve gets them corralled for "Yoda says" ("Put your arm in the air, you will").  We let them stomp on balloons to find the stormtrooper picture hidden in one...and then they were gone.  Suddenly there were 14 screaming kids, ranging in age from 4-12, waving sticks in the air and running.  I hid in the kitchen and went to my Happy Place.  Caroline sat, amidst the cacaphony, perusing a 1939 World's Fair catalog:


But this, this is what you like to see at a children's party:



Steve, bless 'im, redirected the energy (and saved poor Owen), by emerging in a Vader mask (and well-padded coat):




Every now and then, I'd have one of those moments of clarity and I'd realize how much noise and activity there was, but my denial skills allowed me to sink back into oblivion.  We got through cake:

(note the Hannukah candles on the cake.  that's all I had.  I was about to stick 7 tealights on his cake when I remembered the Hannukah candles.)

We got the pinata whacked.  It's supposed to be this round droid thing that shoots green lasers.  I am aware that it looks like a Dr. Suess coconut.



Candy spilled, was consumed, fighting resumed.  Tears resulted.  Parents came....It went well.  They seemed to have a blast.  I didn't need wine until much later that night.  All because I have my mad denial skillz.  Learn at the feet of the master, my friends.