Blizzards and other Very Bad News

Have I mentioned that my sisters, their husbands, and a nice assortment of my nieces and nephews are supposed to arrive at my doorstep on Wednesday to spend Christmas with us? That’s the plan anyway, but guess what the weatherman is promising this week for our little neck of the plains? No, not just a pesky run-of-the-mill winter storm, but an honest to goodness BLIZZARD. What’s up with that? So this is of course VERY BAD NEWS. I mean I know my relatives can be intrepid...because I’ve seen them trudge fearlessly through a red cell just to get to the next gorilla cage at a zoo. But I’m guessing they won’t be like Pa on Little House and craft their own snowshoes and trudge through the blowing snow to get here. Fortunately, I haven’t bothered to bake or cook one thing in anticipation of their coming, so you don’t have to worry that my efforts will be wasted, should said blizzard actually keep said family away.

And I have other bad news. When we decided to dig a basement under our house, I didn’t think about the fact that all my kids could have all their friends over at the same time. So yes, I had a bit of a dilemma last night. I had a pack of middle-schoolers playing in the new basement AND a pack of high-schoolers watching a movie in the living room. As if that weren’t worrisome enough, my husband chose that time to do "home repairs" in the upstairs bathroom. For the life of me, I couldn’t decide where my hovering was needed most. So I mostly sat in the kitchen looking through an atlas and planning our next vacation. And then I went to bed.

And I had more broccoli soup for lunch and a clementine.

Snippets.

Last night I was told by someone normally very sweet that my blog was BORING. After the initial shock (not over her THINKING my blog was boring, but over her TELLING me it was boring) I picked up my bootstraps and determined to try to liven up my posts. Spice things up a bit, you know. Then I remembered my subject, which is my admittedly prosaic life, and decided maybe it wasn’t possible. But I am considering making a concerted effort to shorten my tirades. If that will help.

So what do I have for you today? I have this dear friend who showed me these cute pictures she took of her kids in front of her Christmas tree, so I tried that last night with my children. They were all dressed up in their Christmas concert finery, so it seemed like a good time to capture the moment. But David was uncooperative (as usual) and it turns out I have a kind of proportion problem. I mean either my children are way too big or my tree is way too small, because all you can see behind the giant children in front is the star on top. And so that was a bust.

But the concert was nice, all Christmassy and everything, except for maybe the moment when the band director publicly chastised some kids in the audience for talking, and I noticed my son was sitting in the general vicinity. He later denied being part of the problem, but I didn't buy what he was selling because he does love to socialize.

Then after the concert, I got rooked into buying some seriously overpriced leftover cinnamon rolls from the Band Boosters, which wouldn't have bothered me so much if they had been good, but they weren't. So that was a downer. And okay, maybe this stuff isn't exactly riveting...but it's all I have. At least for today.

And for lunch, I had both chicken soup AND broccoli soup.

Decisions, Decisions.

I’ve just realized that I haven’t updated you on the status of the basement project in awhile. I hope you will forgive this oversight. First, yes Virginia, we have a staircase! And it’s quite lovely, even in its rough, unfinished state. The only real drawback to said staircase is that now when Dave calls to me at all hours of the day to "come have a look" at this or that feature of our new basement, I have no excuse to say no. So I’ve been dutifully climbing up and down the staircase and admiring all the underpinnings of our house with Dave, because that’s what a good wife should do, right? But I don’t like it one bit.

Do not be deceived. The project is far from finished. Fidel has yet to "seal the foundation" which apparently is important because during our last cold snap we had frozen pipes in our kitchen AND laundry room, thanks to said pipes being exposed. And that was a tad inconvenient, because while I love an enforced break from washing dishes and clothes (just like the next person), we all kept eating and wearing clothes so the dirty items piled up. Needless to say, I’m ready for the project to proceed. But the same cold weather that’s doing a number on our pipes, is supposedly keeping Fidel from being able to finish. So it’s a conundrum. (Just wanted to use that word.)

On a more positive note, Fidel told us we could start putting stuff in the basement if we wanted. IF WE WANTED??? So of course I immediately started sending box after box of useless, broken and in-the-way stuff down those stairs with any kid who looked un-busy. And they love that of course. Any normal person would have sorted through the stuff first, but not me. I just wanted my piles of junk out-of-sight and out-of-mind. I wish I could say that all this transfer of stuff to the basement has made a difference in the state of my house, but the more stuff I send down, the more stuff I find. I’m thinking I might have a problem. But for the time being, at least until after Christmas, I’m going to stay in denial.

So how about a brief update on the family?

Emily is sorely trying my patience these days. Yesterday I caught her running up the stairs EMPTY-HANDED even though a boatload of stuff was sitting on said stairs to be taken upstairs. Then late last night, she asks me if we have Velveeta and Rotel because she’s volunteered to make dip for her class, and of course I have the Rotel but no cheese, meaning I’m the one that gets to make and take the dip to her class this morning. Finally, and most annoying, she’s taken to being kind of sweet to me lately. Like I got an email from her yesterday thanking me for something or other. I mean, she knows I’m an emotional basket case, so why would she do that to me?

As for dear little Rachel, we celebrated her 17th birthday earlier this week. It seems like just yesterday that I was holding her in that hospital room for the first time, with those nurses showing and telling me about the big bruise on her head, which turned out to be a birthmark and not a bruise at all, proving once and for all that you can’t really believe anything medical people tell you. But I digress. The birthday party was typical for her...just the family (well, plus the Snow Prince/boyfriend) and a store-bought cake and too many presents...all because her birthday happens to be in December when I am too busy doing too many other things to really concentrate. But she is always (or usually) a good sport about it, and this year was no exception.

David came home earlier this week and told me he’d had a very bad day. I asked all the right questions: Was he in trouble? Did his girlfriend break up with him? Did he get demoted to the b-team? But the answers were no, no and no. In fact, he couldn’t come up with any specifics. Then last night, when we sat down to a supper of roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, salad and bread, he asked if he could fix himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead. He said, "Why don’t we ever just have regular food around here?" Who knew that 14-year-old boys could be this much trouble?

Dave continues to toil away trying to please me with this whole house project, bless his heart. Like that can be done. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not him, it’s me. I just do not have it in me to make decisions about stuff and I don’t trust my opinion on anything. Like yesterday, he gets a guy to come to the house to talk about kitchen renovations. And I agree to be present, in the house anyway, but not necessarily in the same room with them, which I’m sure this contractor found odd. But I didn’t care. And beside, I was busy putting bows on Christmas presents. At one point, they called to me and asked where I wanted my refrigerator and stove, and I about came unglued. But the crisis passed, and I’m sure whatever they decided will be fine.

So this is three days in a row for my blog. A personal best.

And I haven’t decided what I’m having for lunch yet, but I’m thinking of a roast beef sandwich, with the leftovers from last night. Yum.

The Rest of the Story...

Maybe I should quit telling people I blog, and just admit that what I really do is rant. Because looking over that last post, well, I might have been venting a bit. But I had to cut it off (because the client was waiting and all) so I think it sounded worse than it was meant to sound. Because I never got around to the POINT of all the ranting and that was to tell you about how my HEALTH has suffered from all the stress I’m feeling.

And even though I vowed early on (to myself) to NEVER blog about my weight or my menopause issues, I feel that you will never fully understand my actions and behavior without some mention of these pesky issues now and again. And now is one of those times. Because I’m pretty sure that my reaction to the whole basketball-Nutcracker-Christmas party thing wouldn’t have been so drastic had it not been for the menopause thing. I hope not anyway.

Because here’s what happened. Right around the time things were heating up with all of those stress-inducing activities, I started waking up with hives. At first just a few, but with each morning, they became progressively worse. Until last Wednesday when I woke up with a swollen eye and lip and neck and pretty much looked like someone you’d never want around your young children. So I go to the doctor, actually Dave takes me because I’m feeling pretty sick. And they give me a steroid shot, and I decide to do that passing out thing I do so well but haven’t done in so many years that it kind of scared me. And at one point I think the doctor and his crew of nurses had me in a wheelchair tilted back so that my head was below my body and they were doing blood pressure read outs that sounded so low that I’m pretty sure I might have been clinically dead. But that part is a bit fuzzy now, and not really important anyway.

What’s important is that Dave is over there telling them that I do this ALL THE TIME. Which totally is not true. I mean, yes, I used to be a fainter. But I haven’t fainted for YEARS now. Literally. So when I finally recovered, I challenged Dave to remember the last time I passed out and he couldn’t remember, so I really don’t think he should have led all those medical people to believe I’m just some flake who can’t bear the pain of a little steroid shot. Not to mention that he also told them all about my fake heart attack from last summer. Which obviously isn’t a subject I like to talk about either. So naturally, I’ve told him I will never let him accompany me to the doctor’s office again.

And anyway, the happy ending is that I’ve been hive-free for the last week or so, thanks to good drugs, but I am keeping an Epipen close at hand just in case. The night I got home from the hospital...yes, they put me in for monitoring and to give me fluids, which must be what they do when someone passes out after a shot...anyway, I sat all of my children down and made them listen while I instructed them on administering the Epipen in case I went into anaphylactic shock. And they all listened obediently and appeared to be eager to jab that thing into my thigh if need be. Which I’m not TOO worried about. But a couple of days later, David asked me where I kept the Epipen, and this was right after I’d grounded him from ALL SCREENS for a week, because he pushed his sister to the ground trying to get to the computer one night. So without even trying to disguise my suspicion, I asked him why he wanted to know the whereabouts of the Epipen, but he just said in case we were alone someday and I started having trouble breathing...and I guess I’ll take that at face value.

I have other tales to tell...including a report on Rachel’s 17th birthday and other scintillating (brilliant and exciting) happenings in our lives...but I have to work now.

For lunch today, I had some of Dave’s fat-free chicken tortilla (like) soup, which might have been quite tasty had it not been for the lack of certain ingredients which would have disqualified it as a fat-free soup. If you know what I mean.

Tis the Season...to be jolly?

Hello.

I know, I know. I’ve been a very bad girl. And I appreciate those of you who’ve missed me. I have a LOT of excuses, but do you want to hear them? I think not. So let’s just jump right into the real news.

First, I feel duty-bound to report on our family’s Thanksgiving festivities. We had a truly lovely four-day-affair, with the traditional CORNUCOPIA (yes) of over-the-top great food and fun. We ate, shopped, and gamed, into the wee hours of each night, and then we got up and did it all over again. I, for one, developed a serious post-holiday hangover, which lasted for about a week after I got home. I’ve never had a true hangover (because I don’t drink) but I feel that my post-Thanksgiving experience was surely close to the real thing. The exhaustion, the headaches, the regret. It was all there in full force. But now that a bit of time has passed, I only remember the highs. Isn’t that why we’re always driven back to our addictions? And so I’m sure I’ll be right back over-eating and over-playing by Christmas.

And while I must confess that our holiday fare was mostly prepared by my hardworking and dedicated sisters and husband, please understand that I was not slack in my contribution to our Thanksgiving festivities. In fact, I had perhaps the most grueling of roles, because I was assigned to write, direct AND produce a holiday family film for my nieces in Zambia. The working title was "It’s a Wonderful Life, Uncle Paul," but you will find the uncut and unrated DVD version styled a bit differently. And I don’t like to brag (seriously) but I must admit it was a first-rate script, and if the acting and camera-work had received the same attention to detail that my script did, the film could probably win some kind of award. Instead it had a few...shall we say...technical difficulties? But we won’t go into that. I’m sure the Zambian screening will go well, and the crass American market has never been known to embrace these international films anyway.

Following Thanksgiving, we hit the ground running with the DREADED basketball games, Nutcracker business, and Christmas parties. Oh sure, these particular activities SOUND harmless enough. But lurking beneath their innocent facades lie all sorts of evils for a person like me. I mean here is my laundry list of personal problems associated with these seemingly nice, normal events:

First, we have basketball. I’ve enjoyed watching Emily play her, okay, not so stellar game for many years now. And at other schools and on other teams, she may have only warmed the bench (prettily, but still) and that would have been only natural given her abilities. But here in our small town, thanks to certain "circumstances", she’s been given the opportunity to play and play and play. And consequently, improve! And sure the team was "0 and what? 0 and 21" last year. But still, she played and I loved watching her.

So now we come to her senior year, and what does she do? She decides to try-out for cheerleader instead of playing ball. And she makes it...and takes her sister’s spot on the cheer squad in the process. And as if that weren’t bad enough, the team decides to get better and actually WIN a game. But we aren’t part of it, the team you know, and so I have to feel angry and bitter. I know I’m sounding hover-crafty here, with the word WE, but I cannot help myself. And of course, Emily says the team is SO much better that she would have been sitting the bench anyway, but I see the pain in her eyes when she says it. Or at least I IMAGINE I see that pain. And that makes me sad, so then I have to cry and carry on. So I think you can see now why the basketball thing is dreaded by me.

Then there’s the Nutcracker. I’m a person who gets conflicted just picking out a can of beans, so imagine how stressed I get when I’m asked to weigh-in on decisions about dresses, hair, makeup, tiaras, and such like? And then I was expected to fix costumes, sew up toe-shoes, and worry about my child being dropped on her head. It’s a wonder I survived and am here to tell you about it. But we did survive (there’s that WE again) and don’t tell anyone but I did enjoy it a tiny bit. Especially the part where Rachel twirled...and looked like an actual ballerina. I mean what mother wouldn’t enjoy that?

And by the way, I also enjoyed the parts of the show where I didn’t have to worry that those safety pins I secured wouldn’t hold those straps up. Like the part where the Mama girl comes out on stilts and little dancers come popping out of her giant skirt. And may I just say that we went down to Amarillo this past weekend and saw the Lone Star Ballet do their version of the Nutcracker, and our mama was far superior to theirs, which may be just my opinion and based solely on the fact that the "mama" in Amarillo had a giant Adam’s apple and therefore we suspected HE wasn’t really a "mama" after all. But that’s neither here nor there.

So back to me (oh how I do love the all-about-me blog)...and the third leg of the triumvirate of stress-inducing events in my life. The CHRISTMAS PARTY. I mean, I love a good party just like all the rest of you, but I can’t seem to get my act together when preparing for them, and I’m afraid it’s showing. For one party, I took the wrong gift, so instead of my friend getting the cute little HoHoHo wall decoration, she opened Rachel’s little black shirt which I’d wrapped for her birthday. Just a tad embarrassing. Then I stress over trying to look festive for these occasions. Because I’ve noticed this year that all of my Christmas garb is either too small or just seems to be screaming "please retire me to the rag pile" because they are either faded or jaded. So what’s a girl to do? I just keep dragging out the old black sweater, which is supposed to make me look "classy" if not Christmassy, but I think the black is looking faded too, so now I just have to hope no one looks too closely at me. Which is probably the case. But I keep getting to these parties and I look around and wonder why everyone looks better than me? And then I remember my role in life...to make others feel better about themselves, by being superior to me, and then I feel pretty good. Seriously.

Okay, I better go. I have a client waiting. Seriously.

And I had one nacho, one chicken tender, and some leftover cranberry salad for lunch. Quite tasty.
　

A word about pumpkin rolls...

This past weekend, a passel of junior-senior moms got together to make 180 of these tasty treats as a fundraiser for our after-prom event. And while SOME people might have accused me of socializing a tad too much throughout the two-day baking spree, those that are honest know I did my fair share of measuring, dumping, mixing, flipping, rolling, unrolling, powdered-sugaring, wrapping, labeling AND dishwashing. The only duties I truly shirked were the filling-spreading, the pecan-sprinkling, and the cake baking…but I did not feel my skills were up to those tasks.

And may I just say that these pumpkin-roll-making ladies are perhaps some of the greatest women of all time…well, except for maybe Joan of Arc, Mother Teresa and Florence Nightingale. But still, for modern times, our junior-senior moms are an exceptional group of ladies, with sunny dispositions, warm hearts and (most importantly) willing hands, when it comes to projects such as these.

So I almost feel petty in pointing out the one major flaw of this group. But I’m going to do it anyway. Apparently they are MATHEMATICALLY-CHALLENGED…at least when it comes to bulk recipes and the buying of ingredients. I was able to detect this small problem when we came to the end of the line on Saturday and realized we were 34 pumpkins rolls short of a full load, so to speak. We quickly surmised that if we didn’t fill all of our orders, our reputation in the pumpkin-roll-fundraising-business would suffer greatly. So we decided to meet again on Sunday and whip out the extra rolls. But then our math skills failed us again, because we somehow managed to over-buy on our cans of pumpkin. Unfortunately, we didn’t discover this fact until after we had efficiently OPENED those 40 extra cans of pumpkin. And so that was fun.

And now a word about our basement. Still no staircase…but we did see the whites of the eyes of the carpenter last week, who came by and installed the windows. So now we can’t get into the basement from the outside, but Dave put an extension ladder down the old stairwell, so we were able to climb down and check to see if anyone was living down there. Which I wasn’t worried about until Dave mentioned to me something about the possibility of men sleeping on cots down there. Why would he say that to me? I will never understand that man. But thankfully, we saw no cots and no men. Just a lot of cement and some debris.

And now a brief update on the children.

Emily made the crust for a no-bake jello cheesecake three days ago and has yet to make the filling. Proving once again that the apple does not fall far from the tree. Last night she met with a group of her fellow physics students to “study” but she reported that mostly they just played ping-pong. I guess if physics is the study of objects in motion, this was probably a good study method. Incidentally, my sister plays ping-pong at the YMCA every morning for “exercise”. I took ping-pong in college and even won some tournaments, but never thought of it as more than just a silly game. Oh, how times have changed.

Rachel is still spending most of her spare time at the dance studio, preparing for her role as the Snow Queen. Meanwhile, her adventures with Shark Boy continue. They are “official” now, and while she’s happy with this development, she’s also feeling guilty because he’s in the middle of two-a-days for basketball, and has to attend Nutcracker practices as well. Because did I tell you that Shark Boy is the Snow King? And she’s afraid that he’ll associate her with all this work and the cheesy white and silver costume he has to wear. But he has been a very good sport about the whole thing and so I keep telling her to relax. But relaxing is not her strong suit, poor thing.

David is busy with basketball and organizing his music on his Ipod. He can’t seem to find any of his jackets so he wears this old hoodie of mine everywhere, and even wore it to church Sunday morning. I think he might need some attention from me.

Dave got a haircut and only Emily noticed.

I am wearing blue socks with black pants and hoping no one will notice.

And I had a turkey sandwich and leftover fruit salad for lunch.

A Deafening Silence

The title of today’s post refers to what I am hearing from our basement these days. Yes, Fidel and his crew have not graced us with their presence for over a week now. Which isn’t so bad since when they’re working it’s messy, smelly and/or noisy around the house. But the problem is they still haven’t installed the staircase, so the only way we can get to our new basement is to go outside, cross a ramp, climb down a ladder, and then crawl in a window. This may be a bit inconvenient for our guests if we never hear from Fidel again. But most of our visitors don’t expect normal comforts (like heat, beds and bathroom privacy) at our house. In fact, they expect just the opposite. I think of these people as WEEKEND WARRIORS...and I just appreciate the fact that they are willing to suffer many hardships and extreme discomfort in order to spend time with us.

Our weekend was bittersweet. The girls cheered together for the last time (sweet) but our football team finally met their match against a school twice our size (bitter). And since we were undefeated up to that point, I couldn’t remember how I was supposed to act after the loss. Should I tell the boys “good game”? Should I tell their parents “I’m sorry”? Most importantly, should I take a bunch of pictures and post them on Facebook? In the end I didn’t do anything. I cowered over by the fence until the girls were ready to go and then ducked out of there...fast. I’m such a chicken...always scared of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

So then on the way home the next day, the girls were looking at my camera and they said, “Mom, you didn’t get any pictures of our last game to cheer together.” And I said rather huffily, “Don’t you think the 3,751 pictures I have of you cheerleading are enough?” And that shut them up. But then I started sobbing uncontrollably…because normally I am all about EXCESS when it comes to pictures. I take pictures of TOTALLY insignificant stuff, at TOTALLY insignificant events. Seriously. I mean, I took about 100 pictures of David at his last middle school dance...and that was about 99 pictures too many. I am over-the-top obnoxious when it comes to taking pictures and anyone who knows me, knows that.

So what was I thinking? I should have run the gauntlet. I should have gone through that intimidating crowd in order to take some pictures of my girls on their last night to be together in their skimpy cheerleading uniforms under the “Friday night lights” (even though this was a Saturday). And I probably could have cried for a long time over that spilt milk, but then I heard David in the back seat mumbling something that sounded like “mood swing” and fortunately that snapped me out of it.

Speaking of David, he had a role in our weekend entertainment as well. He sang in a district honor choir on Saturday afternoon, along with 200 other “honorees”. Unfortunately, one of those other honorees stood directly in front of David during the entire concert, so we could only see one of David’s shoulders while he sang. But yes, I did get a picture of that shoulder during the concert and will soon be posting it on Facebook.

In other David news, I feel I’ve been remiss in not telling you about the recent happenings in his health class. Because apparently they’re in the middle of a sex education unit right now, and I’m hearing some pretty interesting reports. One day he told me he had to “play” the part of a boy who had sex with a girl named Betty. And then Betty went and slept with one of this buddies. And as if that weren’t bad enough, he contracted an STD. Or something like that. I tuned him out after I realized none of this had actually happened. But anyway, he now seems to know a lot about STDs because I was talking to Dave the other day about someone with that virus thing and David pops up and asks me if the person was “asymptomatic”. And I’m thinking, should my 14-year-old son be this knowledgeable about this stuff? I just don’t know.

Rachel reports that the Nutcracker practices are going as well as can be expected. She thinks her dance teacher might have been more ready than anyone else for football season to end, because the girls’ partners are on the team and during the season they didn’t appear to be making dance practices a priority. But now they should be really focused. HAHAHAHAHA. I crack myself up sometimes. Rachel also reports being somewhat disappointed because the really good lifts are being done this year by one of the other dancers (because she’s a senior), leaving the less impressive lifts for Rachel and her dance partner. Still, she is making the best of things and is consoled somewhat by the fact that as the Snow Queen, she gets to wear a tiara during the performance.

In her spare time, Rachel sometimes hangs out at this guy’s house (we’ll call him Shark Boy) where there is usually a pack of other kids hanging out, and they watch movies and sometimes play cards. I hold Shark Boy’s parents in high esteem for their hospitality to teenagers. They are either the very best parents in the world, or just plain crazy people. Either way, Shark Boy’s family has been very considerate of Rachel’s “standards” and they always refrain from putting on R rated movies when she’s there. But more importantly, they let her hold the remote control...because they know we don’t have TV and apparently they feel sorry for the poor deprived little thing. And I have to say that’s just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.

Last night, she and Emily both went over to Shark Boy’s house to watch a movie with a bunch of kids, but Rachel reported that it was more like Couples’ Central, with the boy-girl ratio being an even 1:1. And all the boys were football boys to boot. I’m not sure if there’s much of a difference between a pack of youth rally boys and a pack of football boys, except that football boys seem to like to shave their heads and other people’s too. What I do know is that my girls have been highly successful at scaring off both species. But they had a good time and got home early enough, so I guess I’ll try not to worry about it overly much.

And just a snippet for you on Emily. Yesterday afternoon, she put on the old musical Showboat and while we were watching Kathryn Grayson, Ava Gardner, and Howard Keel sing and dance their little hearts out, Emily says to us, “This would be a really great movie if it was about World War II”. Folks, I could not make this stuff up.

Dave just finished assisting David with crafting an electric generator for his science fair project. After much trial and error, and much wringing of the hands, they managed to get a 0.5 volt light bulb to burn for a few seconds. But in order to get the magnets to spin fast enough to light up the bulb, they had to use an electric drill. I found this interesting…and disappointing because obviously we won’t be able to use the contraption next time we have a power outage. Because we won’t have electricity to run it.

In other Dave news, he came in from a road trip the other day and told us he thinks he had an encounter with an angel at Walmart. She came to him in the form of a lady in one of those motorized scooters and she was in the reduced item aisle. She about ran into him as she entered the aisle and he was exiting the aisle. But before he got to the next aisle he heard her calling, “Sir, sir!” He turned around and there were other people in the aisle but she was looking at him. And then she said to him, “Do you like chips?” And he said, “Yes.” So she shows him a bag of Chex Mix that she’s holding and she says, “These are $1.15 and they’re really good!” And Dave looks confused, because he’s wondering how in the world this lady knows how much he loves reduced stuff. And then she says pointing to some writing on the bag, “And look! They’re 70% less fat. This is a great deal!” So Dave is then rather stunned because the only thing he loves better than getting a great deal, is getting a great deal on low fat stuff. So he thanks the lady for the tip, and takes two bags (because the angel took most of the rest), and he gets back on the road. And it’s late at night and he munches on the Chex Mix to stay awake, and the Chex Mix turns out to be quite delicious (heavenly, in fact), and he’s pretty sure it saved his life because he didn’t fall asleep on the road. So that’s the story…exactly as he told it to me.

And with that, I must go.

I had a bowl of Lucky Charms for lunch today…but it was really just a late breakfast.

HEAT, GLORIOUS HEAT!

Yes folks...on Thursday last, our heating stars finally re-aligned and/or Fidel and his crew finally re-attached our heating vents. Either way, we now have a warm house and I am still in celebration mode. There may come a day when I will once again take a warm house for granted, but that is not this day. And so I’ve written a short poem for you:

ODE TO A WARM HOUSE

There once was a family all cozy,
with cheeks so pink and rosy;
They frolicked about
and never had gout;
In their warm little house, they were toasty.

But one day an evil came lurking,
disguised as a crew of men working.
Vents were ripped out,
of this there’s no doubt;
And in came the cold air, a’smirking.

Oh my! Mother cried,
Oh dear! Father sighed;
Whatever shall we do?
But the children were tough,
they wore blankets and stuff;
And never got in a stew.

Many a cold and frosty day passed,
With the family growing frailer, alas;
But before hypothermia set in,
The vents were installed again;
And the family cried, "Heat! At last!"

So if you are trying to weather a storm,
or find yourself sad and forlorn;
Stop your stressing,
and count just one blessing,
the fact that your house is warm!

You probably didn't know I was a poet, eh? And I can tell you're still not sure. But that's okay, because I'm pretty sure even Longfellow and Frost had their share of doubters.

I have a lot of family news for you...very interesting stuff...but it'll have to wait. Writing poetry really takes it out of me.

I had two beef and bean burritos from the convenience store for lunch. These burritos are only available on Wednesdays and are "homemade" and very tasty. They come with a little container of homemade salsa, but you have to ask for it.

Name them one by one...

Hello.

We celebrated David’s 14th birthday yesterday. And birthdays are just one more thing that I don’t do very well so it was a rather sad little affair, with one of my traditionally pathetic-looking cakes. Fortunately, 14-year-old boys seem to mainly care about the presents...and he got his Ipod Touch...so he was a happy camper.

But the highlight of the day for me was when we forced him to go out to eat with us, and while we were eating we decided to "bless" him. Which sounds weird, I know, but the "blessing" used to be one of our family traditions and while it is now defunct, basically it involved my mom forcing us to gather around and say nice things about each of her grandchildren, as they turned 13. We gave them "the blessing" so to speak. Of course, most of us thought it was a BLESSING when we stopped having the blessings, because it was supposed to be serious and my family doesn’t do serious too well. And none of us look or sound cute when we cry, so it was just one giant mess of a time. But when all was said and done, I think most of the kids liked it and I know my mom loved it, so I don’t know why we all griped so much about it, except that griping is one thing we do well.

So at Pizza Hut last night, the five of us decided to revisit the tradition. We all said our piece (actually Rachel and Dave said a bit more than their piece) and it wasn’t so bad, and I think David liked it. Everyone had something nice to say...and no one seemed to be making anything up (like in the old days). And it didn’t get too maudlin since it was buffet night, and sometimes in the middle of a speech, a Pizza Hut employee would bring out a new pizza and we would all have to jump up and run to beat the other diners to get our share.

And incidentally, it was a bit easier to come up with some good stuff for the blessing since we had just come from parent teacher conferences, where the kid got good reviews. The choir teacher actually told us, "I don’t know what I’d do without him," which we found strange until she added that he’s one of the only middle-school boys who can sing baritone. But everyone else said nice things as well. This was not surprising because our fall conferences for David are always very cordial. It's not until the spring conferences that things get ugly...where the teachers unanimously recommend a muzzle for him because he talks too much.

Okay, enough about the birthday boy. Let’s move on to the girls.

Due to some scheduling issues at the high school, Emily had to be moved out of her conditioning class and into a fashion marketing class. So no more sweatin’ to the oldies for her. Now she has to learn about fashion design. And rumor has it that this class will go to Dallas in the spring for a field trip...where they will be forced to attend fashion shows, get pedicures and eat at Wolfgang Puck’s Five-Sixty restaurant. Once again, I marvel at the changing face of education. We never went much further than the planetarium 20 miles down the road for our field trips. Except that one year when the art club went to Branson and we slept in sleeping bags in tents which were pitched on very rocky ground, and this was during the coldest weekend in October. That was one miserable weekend, but I guess I was getting what I deserved since I never took an art class and only joined the art club so I could go on the trip.

But back to Emily. She is busy practicing her dances for Senior night (she’s doing two for some reason) and I am dreading the whole night since it’s going to be cold, and sad, and my only consolation is that my brother and his family are supposed to be coming to visit. But I am feeling sort of guilty about that too because I think he thinks he has to "pay me back" so to speak because I went to see his son play ball when he was a senior. And I hope he knows I don’t think watching my daughter dance and prance about in a cheerleading uniform is the same as watching his son actually play football. Not that I don’t whole-heartedly believe that cheerleading is a sport. It’s just not a sport like football.

And one last note on Emily. Last night she watched Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? with Dave and me and she giggled through the whole thing even though we’ve seen it a hundred times. And then she came to kiss me goodnight and sat down on the bed and started talking about this and that...and I finally had to tell her to go to bed sometime after midnight. And then I felt bad because I know she’s not going to be able to hang out and talk to me late into the night for very much longer. So this mother of a senior thing is getting to be a real hassle.

I better write about Rachel and Dave and the basement next time, because this post is getting out of hand lengthwise. Dave won't mind because he doesn't like to read anyway. And I don’t suppose Rachel will mind either, since she can't be BOTHERED to read my blog. Which really hurts since I know she reads a lot of other drivel, as evidenced by the titles on her bookshelf.

And for lunch today, I had some Kraft mac and cheese, and a fortune cookie I found at the bottom of my purse from last time we ate at Pei-Wei.

Much love,

Shelley

It was the best of weekends, it was the worst of weekends.

So...have I mentioned that we are having an unseasonably cold October? And of course I have no heat on the first floor of my house...because of the dreaded basement project. The bedrooms upstairs are on a separate unit so we are toasty up there, but the temp in my kitchen and living areas is around 50 degrees most of the time. When Dave gets the fireplace going, it can reach as high as 55, but that’s still a bit on the cold side for me. Which is why I put on my leggings, wool-lined boots, and several layers of shirts, sweaters and jackets, before descending to the first floor in the mornings. And this routine is getting a bit old.

And then some of my family came in for the weekend...ostensibly to see the girls cheer at our football game Friday night...but in the end, it’s always about THE GARAGE SALE. My sisters and I are, and have been for as long as I can remember, garage-sale-a-holics. And apparently it’s a genetic disorder, because our kids seem to be affected as well. But don’t tell anyone. It’s our dirty little family secret and we aren’t exactly proud of it. But the truth is, we LIKE to set up and hold garage sales. We have the usual garage sale merchandise, including a well-stocked holiday table, a lovely array of used makeup and jewelry, and an outstanding selection of bags, purses and shoes. But then we also like to put out embarrassing things, like our sons’ boxer shorts, to see if they will sell...and they always do. And we find this entertaining for some reason.

So anyway, we held our garage sale this weekend in a rented building because the weather forecast indicated below freezing temps and sleet for Saturday. And this turned out to be a good thing because we needed a warm place to go. But eventually we had to pack up and go back to my cold house. I suggested that we spend the evening in my bedroom playing cards around my king-sized bed, but several people seemed uncomfortable with that plan. Instead they liked the idea of gathering in the living room by the fireplace so that’s what we did. We made s’mores and huddled together under blankets, and even listened to and critiqued Luke’s reading of Memorial Road’s October 10th scripture selection (via the internet of course).

Then we wanted to play cards but couldn’t bring ourselves to leave the fireplace room. So Dave went outside to the garage and found David’s old hovercraft that he made for the 7th grade science fair, which is really just a big round piece of plywood and I thought we could set it on the coffee table and it would be a perfect game-table for Nertz. Sure enough, with a tablecloth, it proved to be a great surface and size for 10 of us to play what we then termed Hovercraft Nertz. So it turned out to be a nice evening with surprisingly few complaints, although a few people said the hovercraft dug into their knees and, obviously, we all could have used those gloves with the fingers cut out.

And for those of you concerned about our health and safety, you should know that Luke also read for us the signs of hypothermia (from the internet of course) and none of us ever passed from the shivering stage into the panting and shortness of breath stage. And while he was at it, he also diagnosed Susan with a few more disorders that she’d been wondering about.

Oh and I almost forgot another entertaining moment of the evening. At about 10 o’clock, David comes stumbling in (from a birthday party) and falls to the floor beside our game, moaning and complaining that he felt terrible. Unfortunately, due to the nature of our Hovercraft set-up, we were basically trapped in the circle and no one could get to him without moving furniture or climbing over things, so we all just pretty much stared at him. Finally, he roused himself and went upstairs to lie down, and soon Emily (who worries about everything and everyone, bless her heart) climbed over some stuff and went up to check on him. But she came back and reported basically nothing, as she is wont to do, and I started thinking he might have meningitis, as I am wont to do, so I moved the love seat to escape the circle, and checked on him myself. And he was feverish, but not delirious, so I dosed him up with Advil and returned to the game.

And I don’t mean to get all sentimental here, but I’ve been thinking about my family lately, and especially about the troopers that were here this weekend. And I can’t help but feel blessed. Yes, even though I don’t have a warm house or kitchen cabinets or a working washing machine, and even though my exposed pipes are freezing up and Fidel doesn’t answer Dave’s calls, and even though I have a pain in my neck, pack-rat tendencies, and unpaid fines at the library. My mom always said "everything in life is a trade-off" and although I usually rolled my eyes at her when she said it, I knew it was true. So maybe if some aspects of my life are not so perfect, it’s just the price I have to pay for having a truly great family.

And Dave made this tortilla-like soup stuff last week and I had some of it for lunch, with chips and cheese. It wasn’t bad, even though the beans weren’t fully cooked

Bierocks and other weekend wonders.

Hello.

Well, so far it’s been one great Monday...and how often do you get to say that? And I have our awesome (hello) basement project to thank for it. Because this morning, the crew actually cranked up some really great Mexican music and were SINGING down there!! Priceless. I wanted to head down and take some pictures, just in case they were having some sort of Mexican hoe down or something, but I was afraid to even let them know I was still in the house for fear they’d stop. So I tiptoed around and just enjoyed the free entertainment. Well, free if you don’t count the $35,000 price tag for the basement.

And I’m pleased to report that I had a wonderfully relaxing weekend...mostly because my sister Sally got sick at my house. Which I feel bad about (naturally) but still...it turned into one of those "dream sequence" weekends (except for her being sick of course). I should probably start at the beginning...

You see Sally was coming out for the weekend and we thought...why not have a "prequel" garage sale on Saturday? Prequel because more of the family is coming out next weekend for the REAL family garage sale. But Saturday morning when I came downstairs, Sally informs me that she can’t stand up without feeling dizzy, which then brings on nausea. (With the help of my medical book, I later diagnosed her with either Mineire’s disease, where she possibly could go completely deaf, or the less serious Labyrinthitis, where she just gets to go to bed for a few days, but all this is neither here nor there to the story of my weekend.)

Anyway, so we sat around for a little while, hoping she’d get better, but she didn’t. So instead of garage selling, I spent the day talking to her and puttering around my kitchen (which I actually LOVE to do even though I don’t really know how to cook). And I have to give Sally credit for acting like my near-monologues were interesting, because of course I did most of the talking, trying to keep her mind off her dizziness and all. I mean, sometimes I’d look over there in the middle of a story and she’d be sitting up but her eyes would be closed (which I’m pretty sure meant that she was sick and not bored), and I would carefully bookmark in my mind where I was in that particular story so when she was more alert, I could finish what I was saying.
But anyway, I baked some stuff at first and then thought I would "whip up" some bierocks. Which sounds weird I know, but I’ve had sort of a mini-obsession with bierocks since last summer when I ate some that my friend Angela made for a fundraiser concession stand. And then when Emily brought home that head of cabbage instead of the lettuce I asked for, I started thinking it was probably some kind of sign that I should make my own bierocks.

Of course, just saying I was going to "whip up" some bierocks must tell you that I’d never made bierocks before. Because honestly, now I know there’s no such thing as "whipping up" bierocks. And I want to take this time to publicly apologize to my friend Angela for thinking her churlish when she refused to make some bierocks just for me, even after I practically begged her. Because she did offer to make me some for my birthday. And seriously, after going through the ridiculous amount of chopping and kneading and dough pinching and mess-making involved in this process, I now see that she is perhaps the best friend I ever had for even offering to make me some for my birthday.

So anyway, I did in fact make 36 bierocks on Saturday. And they came out all different shapes and sizes, but since I had formed them with my bare hands, I found them to be quite beautiful and even took the pan in to show sick Sally, and I think she was appropriately impressed. And at that point I was feeling a bit like Scarlett O’hara, when she said she’d NEVER go hungry again, because I was thinking that I’d NEVER make bierocks again, not in this house or any other for that matter. But then I tasted them, and I decided, I MIGHT make them again. Because they were as delicious as they were beautiful. And I figured out why people go to all that trouble, but not for their friends.

Other parts of the weekend deserve some mention. Of course Emily lost her homecoming queen bid Friday night, but to a worthy opponent and friend. And the consolations were some nice sympathy pats on the head, and a text from her cousin Ben welcoming her to "The Club" of family homecoming losers, which includes some of her very favorite people. She told me she sang "we are the losers, we are the losers, no time for winning, cause we are the losers, of the world" to her escorts as they walked off the football field. So all in all, I think she took it pretty well. Not to mention dodging "the kiss" bullet...which had her a tad bit nervous.

There was a sweet part during the evening, when Emily was introduced and they were reading her information. They said the person she admired most was Rachel, because she was always herself, and didn’t worry about what other people thought of her, and because she was always there for Emily, blah blah blah. I was touched of course, but then they bickered for the rest of the weekend, and I decided it was like those funerals where everyone says all this great stuff about the deceased but it’s really just a bunch of hogwash.

And in other weekend news, Rachel had her first symphony concert Sunday afternoon and as I watched and listened to her, I thought this was the coolest AND weirdest thing that any of my kids have done. I mean the music was beautiful and she seemed to enjoy playing, but I couldn’t help singing under my breath, "one of these things is not like the others..." because she doesn’t exactly fit in with the other musicians, who mostly could be either her parents or grandparents. Emily came along willingly to the concert, probably because we were eating out beforehand, but we basically had to drag David with us and promise him some sort of reward for inflicting the pain of classical music upon him. But he did perk up a bit when they played the "Variations on a Sea Chantey" which apparently is a Sponge Bob favorite, and when they played some Halloween-ish song where one violinist would let loose a blood-curdling scream every so often. So all in all, it was a nice afternoon.

I believe Dave had a nice weekend too. Although I’m not sure he enjoyed having to load and unload and load and unload the tables for the garage sale, with no resulting decrease in the junk in our house. Also, he had to attend David’s cross country meet Saturday morning by himself because I was busy holding Sally’s hand and making bierocks. But David did well, placing 10th and getting another gaudy medal, so that was some consolation.

So that’s about it. I didn’t mean to drone on and on, but it’s what I do.

And I had a lovely lunch with Rachel at Ranchito where I enjoyed the single combination.

Who would do such a thing?

Breaking news. Dave is pretty sure one of his pumpkins has disappeared from the display. He thinks he had 12 out there and now we are down to 11. I showed him the picture in the paper of our pumpkins (yes there’s a picture in the paper) and counted 11 pumpkins in the picture. But he’s still skeptical. Maybe the picture was taken AFTER the pumpkin “disappeared.” Personally I feel that anyone who would steal a pumpkin, probably NEEDS a pumpkin. Kind of like stealing a Bible, don’t you think?

And breaking news on the basement. They poured the floor yesterday…so when Dave forced me to go down there tonight to look around, I had to admit that this might actually be happening. And besides seeing some progress, I’ve also noted that the diesel fumes and ominous noises have stopped. Of course, while I’m in my bathroom, I usually overhear the men conversing down there (and that’s not creepy at all). But since they’re talking in Spanish, I don’t understand too much of what they say. Sometimes I like to make up stuff they might be saying. Like, “Hey Fidel, let’s stand under this vent and talk Spanish to scare that lady in the house.” And Fidel replies, “Yeah, and then let’s drink some Orange Crush.” Because I’ve seen the empty bottles. But that’s probably not what they’re saying.

Sorry I have nothing on the children today. They have been very normal and well-behaved of late. Little Stepford children really. Maybe knowing that their every quirky move will show up in this blog is having a chilling effect on them.

I probably need to go to bed anyway. But I wanted you to know I had a grilled chicken sandwich and Pringles for lunch today.

Hello.

So the girls and I went to OKC this weekend for fall visit at OC. We left after the game Friday night so Emily could take the history scholarship test scheduled for Saturday morning. The girls insisted they would stay awake WORKING IN SHIFTS IF NEED BE to keep me awake for the five hour drive. We left at 9:45 p.m. They were both sound asleep by 11 p.m. So a seriously cheesy book-on-tape was forced to keep me awake, and us alive.

On the plus side, I had my GPS up and running and noticed that randomly the map would show a designation of "United States of America". So at least while I was driving through the back roads of Oklahoma and Kansas trying to stay awake, I could be confident that I hadn’t veered off into Canada or Mexico.

As for the scholarship test, we had high hopes early on when my niece Mary called to say Emily was the only one who went in to take the history test. But our excitement was short-lived. A short while later Mary called to report that another four kids showed up for the test. Rats. And then still later, Emily calls and informs me that she only knew the answers to 3 of the 50 questions AND one of her fellow test-takers looked really, really smart. Sure enough, the smart looking guy got the scholarship and Emily got nothing. Plus she lost a sweater (we think the waitress at Buffalo Wild Wings might have taken it) so we really came out behind.

And speaking of Buffalo Wild Wings, has this ever happened to you? We had lunch there Sunday and due to a mix-up with the orders, I didn’t get my food when everyone else did. So the waitress apologizes, and brings me a big dish of CELERY and actually says to me...I’m sorry for the mix-up but I’ve brought you extra CELERY to make up for it. I thought surely she must be joking. But no, she was serious. I’m pretty sure that place won’t be in business long.

So then we are heading home from OKC, and by now I’m sort of into this cheesy book-on-tape and would like to finish it, but no. The girls are doing homework and can’t concentrate with my book playing. So Emily offers to read aloud to me from her book but it’s Schindler’s List and I’d already had a depressing enough weekend, what with the lost scholarship and the celery caper. So then I had to listen to Rachel read a story to me in Spanish, which was mercifully short. And finally it got dark, and they drifted off to sleep again, because that’s what they do in cars, and I was once again alone with the cheesy tape. And we made it home safe and sound.

I don’t have much on Dave and David since they stayed home this weekend and apparently stayed out of trouble.

And I had some peach yogurt, and salsa and chips for lunch.

Is this better?

Hello.

So my goal is shorter posts, but more frequent ones. Of course, I can’t promise anything.

Here’s my news:

Emily got a "recruitment" call from one of the history professors at her college of choice the other night. I listened in on her side of the conversation (of course) and noticed her replies consisted of "yeah" or "I don’t know", with an occasional "cool" thrown in for good measure. She also did a fair amount of giggling. After she hung up, I told her she sounded like a total bimbo and I don’t think she appreciated my candor. But to give her credit, I think the call caught her off guard and she’ll do better next time. And hopefully, scholarships aren’t based on these phone calls.

Rachel is taking perky to a whole new level these days. I could blame it on a lot of interesting happenings in her life right now...new texting contacts, additional stunting opportunities, cute new scrubs from Walmart...to name a few. But I really think it’s because she’s had an inordinate amount of good hair days lately.

David won a medal in his cross country meet yesterday...for placing 13th! I think I could totally embrace this sport were it not for the weather thing. It was so cold and windy at this meet that I stayed in the car most of the afternoon, telling Dave to call me only when David was literally taking off his sweats at the starting line. And then of course I felt totally ashamed when I saw other parents out there supporting the team, even though their kids had already run. And I hoped they hadn’t seen me huddled in my car and munching on my Cheezits while their kids were running. But seriously, I’m pretty sure I have some kind of disorder that makes me colder than most people.

Dave keeps asking me where I want this and where I want that in the basement. And I hate it...and he knows it. But I do try to be cooperative. So I will say, okay I want the bathroom here. And he says well that’s a bad place because the vents are there. So I say, okay how about over here. And he says no because we don’t want the window well in the bathroom. So I say, okay what about over there, and he says the staircase will be in the way. So I say, and by this time I’m frustrated but who wouldn’t be, why don’t you just decide? And that frustrates him for some reason. So that’s some fun stuff.

And finally, I’m doing pretty good except for my eye waters all the time. And I’ve been wondering why the nails on my left hand grow so much faster than the nails on my right hand.

And I had a cheap chicken pot pie for lunch. But I picked the chicken out.

Do you remember where you were 22 years ago today?

I have so many trivial items to report this week that it's difficult to know where to begin. I mean seriously, I’m thinking this post will be more like a book. I do apologize in advance.
Chapter One:
I guess we can start with the progress of the excavation work "down under". This phase of the project was slated to last a week. We are now into our 3rd week with no sign of the end. I believe this is normal? One of the difficulties with this kind of project is that you have no reference points. Because how often do you dig a big hole under your two-story house? So we wonder...are our walls supposed to be developing those serious cracks? Should the floors shake this much? (I’m banning those informal cheer sessions in the house until further notice.) And what about those ominous noises and smells drifting up from below while the crew is at work? Should the sound of shattering glass worry me? I just don’t know.
Meanwhile, Dave reports that the crew members seem inordinately interested in his pumpkin patch. One even took a picture of one of the pumpkins and showed it to Dave. You can imagine his distress over this development. Are they planning a raid some dark night? Even if they aren't that unscrupulous, are they showing the picture to others who are? Or are they just hinting that Dave SHARE his bounty with them? If they only understood the emotional bond he has with his produce, they would surely stop torturing him.
Chapter Two:
So Emily and I spent Labor Day weekend with some friends out in Durango and Pagosa Springs. While there, our friends hinted at doing some sightseeing, like going out to Purgatory or exploring some ruins. But we managed to dodge their attempts to schedule anything more strenuous than shopping and eating. Definitely my kind of vacation.
Unfortunately, my relaxation was interrupted every time I called home and heard how Dave was faring with the management of the household and my other two children. Here is only a partial listing of the disturbing things that happened while I was gone: (1) David lost his phone and had a girl in his bedroom; (2) Rachel and David hosted a wild party with youth rally boys from out of town; (3) they watched Zoolander (which we all know is trash); and (4) they let the clothes in the washing machine mildew. I’m not sure I can ever leave them alone again.
Chapter Three:
Then last weekend we headed to the Kansas State Fair with a random mix of family members...my sister and brother and some assorted nieces and nephews. My brother always plans this outing...I think for the nostalgia factor because we always went as kids. The rest of us go for the food and free stuff. We scored the usual wooden nickels, yardsticks and toothpick dispensers. But new freebies this year included FULL SIZE PACKAGES OF CRACKERS, DODGE T-SHIRTS, and SALT BLOCKS. Needless to say, we had a good time.
Chapter Four:
David continues to burn the candle at both ends by running cross country AND playing football. In high school, he'll have to choose one or the other and we are leaning toward the cross country career. Because let's face it...you gotta love a sport where you come in 11th and everyone thinks you did great, And football is losing points with us because even when he does something good, like catch a pass, the announcer says it was Luis Sanchez. And he looks nothing like Luis Sanchez.
Socially I worry about the boy, even though he tries to reassure me that my fears are ungrounded. For instance, when he told me the other day that he was invited to a party for next weekend, naturally I asked if it was a drinking party. And he said, "Mom, they don't pass out polk-a-dotted invitations to drinking parties." And I felt relieved, but still.
In band-related news, David and Rachel co-wrote their first song in the car the other night, and I believe it's called "Firenze." And David asked us to buy him a capo. So even though they still haven't had a practice, I believe the band is alive and well.
Chapter Five:
Rachel has spent this weekend taking our blood pressure and checking our pulse and respirations. This is homework for her CNA class. While she was taking my blood pressure, she asked me to hold the gauge. I told her no nurse had ever asked me to hold something while taking my blood pressure and she said they were taught to do that with old people because old people like to have something to do. I was slightly offended. And my blood pressure was 110 over 70. Oddly enough, she then took Dave's and his was...that's right..110 over 70. Quite the coincidence, eh? And was it my imagination or did she leave the cuff on me a bit long just to see if I'd crack under the pressure? I mean I'm pretty sure I lost the feeling in my hand and she giggled (somewhat sadistically) when I asked her about it. But I guess they have to practice on someone, and I'm sure she'll make a fine CNA.
And we're all breathing a sigh of relief around here because she might have found a guy willing to do the Nutcracker dance with her. The search has been difficult because not only does she need someone willing, but he also has to be able to lift a 115 pound girl over his head without looking unduly strained. And strangely enough, most guys who can do that kind of lifting are a bit skittish about agreeing to be in a ballet. What's up with that?
Chapter Six:
Emily has had a busy day. She worked from 10-2 at the dress shop, came home and designed a lovely fall yard scene with some of Dave's pumpkins, three hay bales, and my potted geraniums, and worked on her Africa power point. Then she left for a birthday slumber party, but she's already returned, dressed in a strange sort of toga, asking for a brown egg for a scavenger hunt. I asked no questions, and fortunately I have lots of brown eggs because I buy them from a friend who has chickens.
Also, Emily has been enjoying her weights class, where they just finished a unit on Sweatin' to the Oldies with Richard Simmons. Education has certainly changed sinced my days in PE where we just did situps and pushups and jumping jacks.
As you may be able to guess, I don't have much on Emily today. Mainly because her love life, or really her texting love life, has slowed down lately. She is only sustained by Mary's weekly calls with questions from OC boys who are thinking of dating her next year. If you think this is strange, you are like me.
Chapter Seven:
Dave gave me a Currier & Ives gravy bowl for our anniversary...which is today by the way. And I love it. He also wrote me a poem, which he does every year, but this time he changed it up a bit and didn't try to rhyme anything. Which was a neat twist...and a welcome one. I have not quite finished my shopping for him, which is unfortunate because the stores in our small town are all closed. Sadly, this will not bother Dave. He is just happy to have me. Perhaps I should get him a gift certificate for some counseling?
Chapter Eight:
And finally, me. I have been eating a lot of fried zucchini lately. And sometimes I fry it up in bacon grease. I'm no nutritionist but I feel there's a chance my recent weight gain is tied to my diet. And I guess I might have high cholesterol...if you can put any faith in those blood tests. So every night now, Dave brings me two giant frozen fish oil pills and 3 other large white capsules (unidentified), and makes me swallow them. He says they will help with the cholesterol thing, and I hope he's right because I don't think I can kick the zucchini habit. At least not until he stops bringing in bags of it from our garden.
Chapter Nine:
I had a turkey and cheese sandwich on sourdough bread for lunch.

Here at last, here at last...

Hello.

So one of the reasons I thought the time was ripe for me to blog is that we are having a basement dug under our house...and our contracter's name is Fidel. So I'm pretty sure everything is in place for an extemely messy adventure that will be worth writing about. For example, in typical contracter fashion, Fidel tells us he'll be here Monday...but he and his crew don't show up until Wednesday around noon. Then by 2:15 they've broken through a water line. But did we care about his tardiness or the little water leak? Don't be silly. We were still too giddy over the fact that he'd shown up at all! Oh, our dear Fidel! We already love him so!

As for the family news...Emily has not been herself lately. Last night she cooked supper for us...chicken fajitas, rotel, guacamole. Then she cleaned up the kitchen. Even David wondered aloud what might be wrong with her. Maybe she's just growing up...getting ready for being out on her own. Of course earlier this week, I sent her to the store for a head of lettuce and she came back with a head of cabbage. So I think I still have a few things to teach her before she heads off into the world.

Rachel asked me the other night what I thought my top three parenting skills were. She said she had to write a paper about someone she admires, and apparently she admires me...or at least my parenting skills. Which might have been flattering, except that she didn't know what those skills were that she admired. So then I had to think and think and think and think to come up with a list of things I might have done right. One thing I told her was that I was always brutally honest with her. Like when she showed me an "art" project in first grade...I would never just say, oh that's beautiful. I always said, hmm that's interesting. And just last night I demonstrated this parenting skill for her again...while she was practicing her violin. Apparently, I was wincing a lot. At least that's what she said, and I couldn't deny it...because, well...I had to be brutally honest with her, of course.

Planning (not to be confused with practicing) for the band continues to occupy David's thoughts and time. He seems to be leaning towards "The Happy Coconut Club" for the band name, which was what his little band of brothers in elementary school called themselves. And the other day he pondered aloud whether girls liked guitar players or piano players more. So I guess the project is moving right along.

As for Dave, he is spending more and more time in our backyard. It has long been his favorite place to while away the hours...tending to his beloved garden, his precious fruit trees, and his carefully stacked wood piles. But now the place has a new source of fascination. Because of Fidel of course...and his earth moving equipment and the giant hole being dug under our house. It's a veritable smorgasbord of fun for a man like Dave...and I'm fine with it as long as he leaves me out of it. But no. He wants me to go out there, climb down into the hole with him, and look at the fine footers on our house. Seriously. I mean it's like he doesn't know me at all.

I wish I had something interesting to report about me personally. But I have nothing. Unless you count the dream I had last night where I discovered that I'd packed far too many pens and pencils for an international flight. But I know some people don't like to hear about dreams.

And I haven't had lunch yet today...but I had two slices of leftover taco pizza for lunch yesterday.

Much love,

Shelley

Awaiting confirmation.

Hello.

My mother wanted her kids and grandkids to email her often, and when we protested that we didn't always have news for her, she would say, "If all you tell me is what you had for lunch, I will be happy." Hence the title of my little blog. And hence the reason I will be telling you what I had for lunch. Every time I write. Unless I forget.

So how are you? Hmmm. I guess the nice thing about a blog is I don't really have to pretend to care about that, eh? I can just get straight to MY news. Which is why I can't believe I haven't started blogging before....

We'll start with the kids. Emily, my self-proclaimed history buff, spent last evening working on a project for government class. I believe the assignment was to "found" a political party and design a political poster for it. Last I knew, she'd named her party the "History Buffs", selected the zebra as its symbol, and chosen "purple and zebra print" for its colors. Among her "what we stand for" points were such things as numbered parking spaces and field trips to foreign countries. I'm thinking I would join this party.

Rachel spent last night watching "Jane Eyre" and giggling at William Hurt's awkward portrayal of Rochester. In her spare time, she has been honing her non-verbal communication skills. By that I mean she shrugs, sighs, and rolls her eyes a lot. She also likes to pantomime answers to questions. Like when I ask her who she's texting, she'll hold up four fingers, and then I have to guess who they are. This was only fun for me one or two times. Now, it's only fun for her.

David has decided to start a band. He will play guitar (after he learns how), Rachel will play electric violin (after she learns how), and they're still hashing out Emily's role. She thinks she can sing, but David prefers her on Tambourine. Of course, David appears to be something of a tyrant as a bandleader. The girls have already been kicked out of the band and invited back in several times and they haven't even started practicing. But when they are getting along, they spend a lot of time picking songs for their "playlist", kicking around names for the band (one favorite suggestion was Tight Underwear), and evaluating potential drummers. I guess I should start looking around for one of those panelled vans...for the tour you know.

Dave's garden is officially out of control...and so is he. Yesterday he forces me to go out there to look at his pumpkins. While we're there, he points each pumpkin out to me and I have to admit they're pretty glorious. But I notice he's talking very quietly to me, almost whispering. I ask him why, and he says he doesn't want the neighbor kids to know about the pumpkins...for fear they may raid the garden. I just hope the neighbor kids don't read this blog...

As for me, my neck is bothering me again, I wish I had a pasta pot, and I can't find my Eddie Bauer jeans.

And I had a crispy flour taco yesterday for lunch.