But Not the Hippopotamus

I used to really wig out about entertaining.

My husband is an entertainer. Me? Well, I like to feed people, but prior to my relationship with my main man I mostly did that by taking goods into work, to a play, to choir, ect. My parents never had parties, be it big holiday bashes or small dinners with friends. In fact, I don't think they even HAD many friends. Anyhow, the only entertaining I saw done as a child were the extended family holiday get togethers. So, I guess, when I started helping out hubby's parties (even before we were married) it was my grandmother that stood out as my main roll model. She regularly fed twelve adults and up to six or seven grandkids back in the day. There are more grandkids now, but she prefers us to spread our visits out these days instead of all coming at once. I can't imagine why.

At any given Christmas gathering there was always a large spread of handmade candies: buckeyes, chocolate creams, these praline-graham cracker things, chocolate covered peanut raisin clusters, caramals and more. These sat out on a coffe table usually. Then there would be the yeast doughnuts from scratch, quite a production and a recipe I now have and hope to try this year. And of course there was a big meal, too. Turkey, gravy, dressing, multiple casseroles, mashed potatos, from scratch rolls and more. And pies. Because those candies weren't for dessert, they were just sort of there. Hubby now jokes that I am genetically predispositioned to cook for an enormous family. Maybe. Or maybe I just need to scale back the hand-me down recipes a little.

Okay, I got off topic there. My point is that I had never hosted a party before I moved to this town twelve years ago. The first few that I was responsible for left me in a state that might be called an anxiety attack by some. Around here it was just referred to as wigging out. As in "don't wig out, honey, it's just our friends" a concept that always had trouble penetrating my brain at that point. After ten years I've calmed down quite a bit. Which is why I'm not worried about sitting on my tookus blogging thirty minutes before four other couples and their kids descend on my house for dinner. At least three of them are couples I don't even know that well, which would have left my introverted self in a cold sweat not so long ago.

I've come a long way, baby.

By the way, if you're hungry this weekend stop on by. I think sort of accidently made enough chili to feed about thirty people. You can choose between regular beef or white chicken. There's brownies, too. And pumpkin roll. And chips and salsa. My grandmother would be proud.

But I digress again: they'll be here soon, and I still need to dust.

I was diagonosed with strep on Wednesday and put on antibiotics.  There are several warning labels on the bottle, lets investigate:

1.) In really BIG CAPITAL LETTERS and bold print, along with a picture of a loaf of bread it says "Take Medication with Food."   This translates roughly to "this medicine is going to upset your stomach, but if you take it on a stomach full of starch or protein then it will at least be a one way trip and not make a u-turn."

2.) The second warning is closely related to the first.  The picture this time is of a water faucet with droplets hanging forever suspended over the top part of a glass.  "This medication be taken with plenty of water."  The words plenty and water are bolded, so I'm guessing soda and coffee don't cut it.  Plenty is sort of arbitrary, though, don't you think?  My grandfather thought it was "plenty of water" for the day if he rinsed after brushing his teeth!   Anyhow, this one translates into "remember how we warned you this drug was really going to do a number on your digestive track?  Well, if you drink your weight in water you won't wind up in the emergency room from dehydration."

3.) The third one is unrelated to the first two, and while I appreciate the "warning" I figured this one out all on my own the first time I took it.  "This medication may havea bitter taste if chewed or crushed.  Swallow medication whole."  The picture shows a little capsule in between what I now know are teeth, but might have had a hard time guessing out of context.  Anyhow, yeah.  After one dose you learn pretty quickly to not let this stuff touch your tongue, lips or the roof of your mouth.  You also don't want the fingers you used to put it in to touch anything you might later taste.  Take medicine, wash hands.

The worst part?  This is twice a day stuff for ten days.  Three days down.  Seven to go.  Wish me luck.

I have new sympathy for parents who were caught up in the Tickle Me Elmo phase of manic shopping, or even further back when the Cabbage Patch Kids came out.  It's that time of year now.  The time when I become a frequent stopper by of the local Toys R Us (there's only the one in town,) various Wal-Marts, Targets and twice weekly visits to the Hasbro online toy shop.  What my son really really wants are toys that are kind of hard to come by.  At least one is a Toys R Us exclusive version of the Star Wars Galactic Heroes line.  We saw it about a month ago while picking out a birthday present for a school mate.  I thought it odd that Will didn't pick THAT toy for his friend, turned out he was employing the classic kid move of not buying the toy HE wanted because, well, he wanted it.  I haven't seen it since then, either.  And since I don't want to pay two to four times the original price online I've got to keep looking.  I've got to remember to run back out and get things like that the very day I see them and not wait.

We try not to overdo on Christmas presents around here, but in a way that makes each one matter more.  I remember what it's like being a kid.  When you want that special something, you DON'T want it in an off brand, or in a different color, or the regular version when it was the deluxe set that made your toes tingle with anticipation.

Did you have something that you asked for year after year?  Something that you finally got, or something that never came?  I asked for a pony, and eventually a horse.  No dice.  Even once I understood about Santa I'd still ask for it, kind of jokingly and kind of not.  The closest I got were a set of annual Hallmark rocking horse ornaments.  When that series was discontinued I started getting one called "A Pony for Christmas," which at age 36 still makes me smile.  I'll be getting them all out again in a few weeks; I look forward to it.

In the meantime, though, you'll find me on the toy aisle. 

When I was little my family had a code word for running out of toilet paper.  It was "Mayday!"  I don't know why we had to have it, did my parents sort of fall down on the job when it came to paper products?  Or did they just store it far away from the potties, so that someone had to bring it to you if the roll went empty?  I may never know what the deal was, but I do know that it let it's mark on me.  I have an absolute phobia about running out of toilet paper.

A few years ago we were visiting the house of some friends for a party.  The couple who were our friends live there, along with two or three other guys that rented from them.  The guys were out when we arrived; they were making a grocery run.  When they got back they had with them bags and bags of stuff; drink, chips, scary frozen junk food like pizza egg roll bites, and more.  It appeared to be a huge grocery run.  Shortly after they returned I needed to go to the neccesary.  There was no tp.  Turns out there was no tp in the house.  Nor tissues.  Not even napkins.  All of that party stuff and not one paper product in the house.  Unbelieveable.  The female part of the couple eventually took up her own lodging, even though she's still in the relationship.  I think I would have, too.  In any case, every time we've returned to that particular domicile I have taken my own special mini Roll of Charmin with me (a gift from my husband), and a packet of tissues.

When I was in the hospital for two weeks with my first pregnancy?  One of the best presents my sweet husband brought me was a roll of tp from home.  That institutional stuff is scary!  I knew to pack my own the second time.

Yesterday I went to Costco.  Today I actually hauled my purchases up the stairs and to their various final destinations.  I was chagrined and amused to discover that we already had an unopened pack of Charmin in the laundry room.  I've been laughing at myself all afternoon.  In my own bathroom there are now seven new rolls, downstairs there are six.  There are four in my son's bathroom and a whopping 60 rolls in the laundry room!

Feel free to laugh... I am!  At least no one will need to yell "Mayday" around here.

A while back, in the spring I think, my mom got my son an outfit.  It was a pair of pants, sort of lightweight and in a very fine sort of navy and grey plaid print that looked like little checker boxes sort of.  They have patchwork knees and a faux drawstring at the waist.  The pants were paired with a baseball jersey-esque shirt in red with a hideous monkey on it.  It was not Grammy's finest shopping hour.  Also, the clothes were too big and as such were relegated to the back of the closet, which sort of solved the problem at the time of actually wearing the outfit while she was visiting.

Today, well, I realized that it was going to be in the mid-seventies again.  Too cold for shorts in the morning, but hot in the afternoon.  The only clean pants hanging in my boy's closet were courderoys and that pair that Grammy had given him.  Now the shirt had long since been consigned, unworn.  I know my boy and he'd go out in a white Hanes undershirt before he put that particular item on.  Pants, though, well, those plaid pants were the right weight at least, and maybe not totally gauche paired with a solid shirt?  So I dragged them out and presented them to Will.

A battle ensued.  He took an instant dislike to them.  The drawstring at the waist offended him, or maybe it was the reinforced knees.  Whaterver the reason he flat out decided he WAS NOT wearing those pants.  ME?  I had flat out decided that by golly he was going to try them on to see if they fit because I asked him to try them on and I'm tired of being sassed. 

Husband was watching all of this aghast.

Being roughly four and a half times my son's weight I won.  I made him try them on.  Point made, I promptly let him take them off and fished a pair of only worn once blue jeans out of his clothes hamper for him to wear to school. 

Hubby let out the breath he'd been holding and took me aside.  He said something to the effect of  "If you tried to make him wear those I was going to stop you.  They look dorky.  He KNOWS they look bad.  He has a built in dork senser.  Please don't ever make him wear those pants..."

I wish Star Wars: In Concert were coming to my town.  There's no way we can make the Atlanta show, and Nashville is unlikely as well.  It looks like a very spectacular event.

The head of the lifeguards teaching the refresher swim course tonight tried to evaluate our boy.  He didn't feel like participating at that point.  She told me later that he seemed to have a bit of a stubborn streak.  Its actually nice to have that confirmed, as silly as that might sound.  When they're YOUR kid you don't really know if all kids are like that or if yours is especially stubborn.  I think ours might be the later.   Strangely this makes me more patient with dealing with it.

My two year old daughter got to play dress up at an older friend's house on Friday.  She loved it.  I must now start to keep an eye out for things to go in a dress up collection for her.  I'm told Halloween costumes on sale (especially from the Disney store) are prime for this purpose.

Speaking of Halloween:  I'm stumped in the creation of my Leia buns for my daughter.  I have a headband and yarn, but probably need some bobby pins or something in addition to glue and patience.  I'm also not sure if my son has gotten it through his head that daddy is NOT dressing up as Darth Vader and mommy is NOT going to be a Storm Trooper.  I mean, if he asked me to be Padme that would be one thing...

Shoes are expensive.  Boots are even more so.  I also apparently like classic looks on my feet in addition to what I wear a bit higher.  The funky boots make me roll my eyes, especially when I see their prices.  Also, I thought the slouchy boots were ugly when I was all of nine in the mid eighties.  I'm certainly not going to drop $200 on a pair as an adult.  I'll stick with the riding boot look, or some of those cute vintage looking lace up ankle booties.  Or a nice pair of cowboy boots.  Or, you know, black pumps...

Now that I've lost weight I actually like wearing heels.  I WANT to wear heels.  I'm not sure if this is because they are easier to walk in without the extra poundage or if it is because I am finally comfortable drawing attention to myself.  In most circumstances a pair of heels make me the tallest woman in the room.  There was one Christmas party at our house once where I was barefoot and some of my friends were wearing heels and it felt strange to have girls who were normally shorter than I to be my height or a smidge taller.  It was so disconcerting that I went and put on some shoes.

Picture day is Tuesday at the kiddo's preschool.  My son told me he wants to always wear things that are "matchy-matchy."   The irony being that he was wearing a black Star Wars t-shirt with NAVY pants that had a grey stripe on the side at the time.  I'm glad he's willing to learn fashion, though.  This is a skill that will take him far in the realm of society.  No one taught it to me and it's been a struggle.

I need to go make Candy Corn cookies now, or at least get the dough started so it can refriegerate overnight.  Hope you enjoyed my scattered thoughts this Sunday evening.

Some of you may have already seen this on Facebook, but I'm proud enough to double post as it were: Jedi Will's Halloween Costume!  I'm a neophyte seamstress at best, in fact it took a good forty five minutes to an hour (and a visit online to the machine's FAQ) to remember how to get the sewing machine started.  Still, I thought it turned out great and am very proud...but not even half as proud as he is, which makes it all the sweeter.

My son is loving Star Wars big time.  Like his parents before him, the little guy has it bad.  2009 will go down in our family annuls as the year of the lightsaber!   In addition to the lightsabers our little padawan has a whole collection of THESE cute little preschool action figures.  They come in the car with us, go to grandma's house, and wage wars across my bathroom floor, in the shower and the bathtub.  Will also contentedly plays with them on his bed during our nap/quiet time.  They're very sturdy little toys, and while I've cautioned him not to throw them into the tub it's more about wear and tear on their paint jobs than worry about actually breaking one.  Still, lately, I've found one little black gloved hand clutching a green lightsaber in various spots around the house.   There's nothing sadder than a disembodied toy body part.  So I'd hunt down Luke and pop it back into place. 

After the second or third time I was prompted to nag "You should be more gentle with your toys, honey.  I've noticed Luke's hand keeps coming off.  You don't want to lose it."

"Mommy," he replied, all wide eyed and innocent, "Darth Vader cuts it off when they fight!"

I made the gaping fish face and then nodded and ruffled his hair and gave him a kiss.  Because, as weird as it is for my five year old to be deliberately dismembering his toys, he's right: Darth Vader DOES cut it off.

I had a hard time falling asleep last night, and it took me awhile to figure out why.  There seemed to be too much light in my eyes, even though the room was dark.  Now, there's a baby monitor near my head, but I've long since gotten used to the faint red glow of it's power button.  Instead I was awash in a strange green light.

Last Thursday I had taken down baby's pack n play from it's spot next to my bed.  It had been there for over a year and a half.  Prior to that the space was occupied by the bassinett.  Prior to THAT, well, I slept on the other side of the bed for the first eight years of our marriage and only switched sides during this last pregnancy.  Anyhow, after dismantling this baby's playpen we'd promptly gone away for four nights so that last night was the first back in my own bed. 

That pesky green glow? The one so bright as to keep me awake against my will?  It turned out to be nothing more than the light of my alarm clock.  The thing hadn't been next to my head in over two years.  A little shove and it faced away from me; problem solved. 

Funny how even the most common things seem exotic when you aren't used to them anymore.

Did you know there is a nationwide pumpkin shortage?  No really.  Not kidding here.  There's no canned pumpkin on grocery shelves right now, although Nestle  reps (who own the Libby brand) say that it should start reappearing anytime now:

"The problem stemmed from the 2008 pumpkin harvest, said Roz O'Hearn, a spokeswoman for Nestlé. The company owns the Libby's pumpkin brand, which supplies nearly 90 percent of all canned pumpkin.  The Libby's crop is grown on 5,000 acres in Morton, Ill., near Peoria. Poor weather led to a smaller than normal 2008 harvest, which meant there were fewer cans left over after last year's holiday baking season, when most people use it in pies and bread.  O'Hearn said there was fear about the 2009 crop because there was wetter than normal weather around the time the pumpkins were planted. But the harvest is under way, and it looks to be better than last year's, she said."

Apparently the ole pumpkins were still green on the vine this year due to their late start at a point when they would normally start showing up in stores.  I noticed the utter lack of pumpkin a few weeks ago after seeing a pumpkin cupcake recipe that tickled my fancy.  I'd had trouble finding pumpkin other years early in the fall (even in regular years my grocery just plain doesn't stock much of it until pie season) so I didn't think much about it until someone mentioned an honest to goodness "sorry there's a shortage" sign.

I got lucky, though.  Turns out I had a can leftover from last year.  I'm glad, too, because those cupcakes were absolutely heavenly! 

It's just been one of those days.  You know, one of THOSE days?  Where things just sort of cascade into the ridiculous...

( Read more... )

Getting the flu derailed my plans for a lot of things this past weekend.  I missed both a choir dress rehersal and the concert that went with it.  I missed a movie date to see Fame with a girlfriend and my son playing soccer (which got rained out anyway after thirty minutes.)  I also did not get to keep up with my new work out regime or to make the live journal entry that started mulling around in my head Wednesday, which was my last day at the gym.

I hate working out.  I've never experienced a runner's high and I don't particularly like to get sweaty.  Maybe that's why I made such a good competetive swimmer once upon a time?  In any case, given my druthers I'd rather laze about my house than haul in to the gym and exert myself.  Yet that's what I'm doing now, three days a week.  The change isn't temporary either, it's going to be a lifetime one to help with weight and arthritis and general health.

My gym is a YMCA mostly populated by retirees and service men.  I don't think I've ever been there when there weren't at least a couple of firemen or policemen doing their thing.  I try not to do my weight circuit behind those guys, it's not good for my ego.  The ones that really get me, though, are the old fellows.  My best guess, based on my experiences with my own family mostly, is that the gentlemen are between 65 and 80, the ones that seem older than that do the senior aerobics class instead.  The men work out and their wives sit around a table near the stairs and visit.  I try not tear up.  See, they remind me of my Grandfather.

My maternal Grandfather overcame four heart attacks and several related types of surgery, one of which was a double bypass.  He conquered three different types of cancer, maintaining his dignity and sense of humor though circumstances that would have humiliated many people.  Grandfather lived a good fifteen years longer than they expected him to mostly because he followed his doctors' advice to eat well and exercise.  The man was fiend for working out, logging miles and miles on his stationary bike at home and working out at the senior center as well.  My husband used to joke that "Old Joe" was healthier than he was.  If a man in his eighties could put forth the effort to do it, how can I, in the prime of my own life, not?

Grandfather is gone now, but I cherish the extra years I had with him.  Those years he bought for us all with his own sweat!  It's in his honor that I make my pilgrimige to the Y, his honor and that of my children...and their children too.  I may not live long enough to know my great-grands like Grandfather did, but it won't be for lack of trying on my own part.

Last Monday I was at the nutritionists, which is also my primary care doctor, and I sort of meant to ask for my flu shot but I forgot.  Thursday I woke up sick, so I'm not sure if a shot on Monday would have done any good.  As the flu goes mine was pretty mild, but it did knock me back for the better part of four days.  I haven't slept that much in a long time!   I always think it would be nice to be sick enough to stay in bed all day and do nothing but relax and read, but the truth is if you really are sick enough to have to stay in bed all day then it isn't relaxing and focusing on a book can be hard to do.  I'll go back to appreciating my health for awhile now...

I am a rule follower.  I do not know if it's the way I was raised, or if I learned it all on my own as a way of making sure I fit in to the "norm," something I was always socially on the edge of as a child.  Whatever the case, give me rules and I will follow them.  I probably would have excelled in a military career.  It was also to my advantage while employed at Disney.  For example, the handbook says wear underwear,* I'm gonna wear underwear by golly!  Grin.  Okay, that was an easy one to adhere to, I admit.  Still, I found comfort in knowing that my fingernails did not exceed the proper length, that my make up and earrings were all to code and so forth.  I found comfort in the rules.  I knew where I stood.

My kid's preschool has rules.  They have a handbook that clearly outlines them.  Some are for everyone's benefit: don't send your child to school with a green snotty nose!  Don't send them with a fever!  Others are to make the teacher's jobs easier: even if your little one is wearing a pull up to school please send diapers for a change.  It's just easier for the teachers.  They'll do their best to make sure your precious makes it to the potty, but if they get wet it's into a diaper.  Thats the rule.  And yet when I sub parent after parent comes up letting me know that Boo-boo over there is potty training and has extra pull-ups in their bag.  Legalistic me wants to shriek "Didn't you read the RULES?"

I suppose it's like the glass half empty thing.  Some personalities see rules as things to follow while some people see rules as things that apply to other people but not them.  Things to be broken, or bent.  I struggle not to be frustrated by this on a daily basis.


*Amusing fact: after EPCOT opened they actually had to add that to the employment handbook.  Many of the international employees who came to work there didn't always do that, a fact that was obvious with the white pants that was part of the costumes there.  They also added a "must wear deodorant" clause.

No, no, I don't have the flu or anything.   Remember in my last post how I mentioned writing again and that it felt good?  That book review was linked to.  By the author!  Publicly.  On her own blog!  My head is spinning.  I guess if I needed a sign as to whether or not I should continue sending my reviews out into the infinite abyss of the internet that this is it.  Now excuse me while I go swoon...

 

I feel as if I have been in a battle with summer.  If you are curious...summer won.  I've been scatterbrained and unmotivated both virtually as a very slacker lj-er and blogger, and in real life in various ways.  At the begining of the summer I'd vowed to start posting at least two book reviews a week on the new site, and maybe a recipe to boot.  It only took one trip out of town to knock me out of that rhythm, and I never got it back.  And since you're reading the LJ you already know how intermittent these posts have been.  As for real life, well, I don't even want to talk about the laundry piles around here.

I've missed writing.  It's scary how easy it is to get out of the habit!  I typed up my first book review in almost two months tonight and it felt really good.  The book in question was Rampant, a birthday gift from a friend, and I loved it.  I've a whole queue of books in my head that I want to review, but had to start with the most recent.  I do feel bad for never having posted about Jacqueline Carey's magnificent but quirky Santa Olivia.  It's a great book that might slip through the cracks without more word of mouth.  Since I'm rededicating myself to the discipline of reviewing and blogging I shall hopefully get to it soon.

This summer I've also missed exercise.  Going to the pool with two little people who need mommy as swim instructor and lifeguard is not the same as getting regular exercise.  Tonight my son and I "raced" around a local lake and even the small physical effort it takes to keep pace with a five year old felt as wonderful to my body as sitting down to write felt to my brain.

Another passion is being reindulged, too: music.  Since my first orff class in elementary school (think Kindermusic before it was cool) I've had an ongoing love affair with making music.  There have been very few years of my life where I have not been in a choir, an orchestra, a band or otherwise performing somehow.  I may be a dyed in the wool introvert, but when it comes to making music its not a hobby it is a need.  Choir had been on hiatus since mid June, and although we still sang on Sundays what I missed were the weekly rehersals.   Yay for weekly rehersals!  Yay for renewed emphasis on technique, dynamics, articulation and more.  Yay for Christmas music, which we'll be starting soon. 

So here's a toast to being back in the saddle, back to school and back to a routine.  Hopefully things will be picking up around here, and over on www.amusebooks.com, where I hope there will be a new layout soon.

Today my baby girl starts preschool.  I'd be horrified that she's that big already and maybe choked up at the prospect if I weren't so delighted by getting six hours a week completely to myself.  Yeah, I'll probably spend most of them at the gym but, hey, treadmill + book = very happy (and healthier) mama.

Today my little man started Kindergarten.  Although MY stomach was in knots, he didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary.  It helps that he's in the same school where he's gone to preschool, and already knew his teacher AND some of the kids in his class.  I guess the big kiss and cry moments will come when he's a little older.

Tomorrow baby starts two day preschool, and I'm not sure how I feel about that either.  Time goes by so FAST.

A week ago my husband and I found ourselves in the toy store buying presents for our daughter's birthday as well as a gift for a friend's son who was having a party the next morning.  Although Will was three just two and a half short years ago we found ourselves stumped trying to remember just what he was "into" at that age.  Then we came across an awesome little toy guitar.  I had looked for toy guitars once upon a time, back when our boy was into the Wiggles the first time.  I'd had no luck.  Here before us now were at least three different toy guitars that made varying sorts of racket. 

One was Barney.  It had buttons and lit up and made noise, but noise is all it was.  Hideous.  The other two were parts of two different name brand sets of toys.  Both sets had guitars, drums, and pianos with various features.  The one brand was distinctly educational.  Music is it's own education, and personally I think it's okay to have some toys that are just TOYS.  Kids learn by playing.  At Aerin's age it's perfectly okay to have the learning be of the hands on variety - fine and gross motor skills, cause and effect, rhythm and so forth - without also bombarding the poor tyke with the names of the colors, or letters of the alphabet at the same time. 

Hubby and I had a fine time playing with the guitar.  It has real strings that you can strum and get a sound from, a whammy bar for funky vibrations, and a volume/on-off nob like a real electric guitar.  The tuning keys at the top light up and along the neck, where the frets would be, are a series slim colored buttons like fat strings.  Each one plays a different song, and oh the songs it plays!  We were rockin' in the aisles of Toys R Us to "Love Shack."  It took absolutely no time for us to decide on the guitar as a present for the birthday boy we were shopping for, and only a few seconds more for us to snag a second one for our daughter.  Par for the course with impulse presents, it has been by far her favorite new toy.  "Aerin's" she announces proudly as she plays it.  Her brother also loves it and we frequently hear shrieks of "My 'tar!" and the thumpty thump of little feet as he runs off with it and she chases him.  This is good in a way; it means I don't have to worry about it being "too young" of a present for our friend's three year old...

Oh, and in case you are curious: in addition to Love Shack by the B52s we Briscoes also frequently have stuck in our heads

Message in a Bottle by the Police
Wild Thing by the Troggs
Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen
All Star by Smashmouth

The inclusion of sort of recent All Star, which was forever kiddified after immortalization on the Shrek soundtrack, makes me feel a little bit better about the rest of them.  It means they aren't oldies, right?  Right?

For once I have pictures to link to in a timely manner!  Here's a sample of Aerin's 2nd Birthday party.  We had a great time last night, and a super day today.  Thanks for all of the well wishes.