Got plans for New Year’s DAY?

If you know where I live, y’all are invited to spend some time at our annual Open House / Levy on New Year’s DAY from 2pm – 4pm. (Roughly. )
There will be food and you get to tour our house. Kid friendly, no booze. Mark it on your calendar and I’ll see you there. Did I mention there’s food?

Holiday cards

Want a card? Email me your address, if you think I don’t have it. If I sent you one last year, I have it unless you moved. 😉

If you want a card other than Christmas, I’m up for that too.

Want to send me one? Just ding me.

Longest run-on sentence EVER.

So ever have one of those days when you wake up late, but you’re still really tired and then it takes like twice as long to do anything, and your to-do list might finally be getting shorter except for the couple of highly unpleasant tasks that get in the way of doing anything else and by the time you do your usual Internet round-up, complete with interruptions for food and bathroom breaks and not just for you, it’s practically lunch time or at least “let’s think about what to cook for lunch” time and you realize you’re still in your jammies, but with pants, and then by the time you’re fully dressed one of your kids says that physio is not tomorrow, it’s today, and isn’t dad home yet so we can get the van and then your plans for the day which included cleaning the whole entire kitchen, in preparation for deocrating, just went out the window and this discombobulates your brain so much you literally can’t think of anything in unison with anything else, so while you’re out and have to circle the town square twice and still no parking space because this really old small guy parked in the middle of three parallel spots thus making the other two impossible for your full size van to get into, so you give up and go buy some much-need pepsi because by then you are just about dead on your feet, especially after following your toddler through the dollar store, and then you have another of those circular arguments “discussions, MOM!” with your teenager about why you don’t particularly pay attention to things like politics because your brain is crowded with things like who wants what on their subway sandwich and where are those stack of cds your husband brought home last June and oh crap every time you sat down in front of the computer you said to yourself you needed to update your weblog and maybe think about answering emails, especially unpleasant ones, but got all distracted and someone was invariably behind you asking when will you be done and you were trying to read blogs and message boards and IM two people at once and to top it off you were out of books to read in bed and then couldn’t even fall asleep at a decent hour because your brain would not shut off even thought the caffeine had long left your body and doesn’t keep you up anyway.

Ever have one of those days? Yeah, me too.

Hello sunshine

I’m burrowed into warm flannelly goodness, and aside from the part of my brain that revels in sleep, the only other part that is awake is my ears.


Little feet bounce out of bed, scurry across the hall, and creep across my bedroom floor. Someone crawls up over the bottom of the bed, over my legs, and into the space between me & the wall.

“Can I snuggle you, Mommy?” she asks me. I open a corner of the blankets in reply and she wiggles her way in. This lasts for about 12 seconds, or roughly long enough for me to start falling back asleep.

She rolls over.
Rolls again.
Gets comfortable.
Sticks her elbow in my rib and her heel digs into my thigh.

“Are you awake yet?” she whispers. I ask her if she can go back to sleep for a little bit. She nods and smiles and shuts her eyes tightly, wrapping my arm around her. Five seconds later, repeat the above sequence.

“Can we get up now?”

“Can we go back to sleep?” I ask her in a gravelly stage-whisper.

“But the sun is up, see?” She pulls a corner of the curtain out from the window just far enough for a sliver of blazing light to strike me right in the eyes.

I sigh deeply in response and get out of bed carefully, so as not to disturb the still-sleeping mass on my other side. While I am trying to find my glasses and pull on some pants, I hear Emma whisper, “I love you Daddy.” She kisses his brow tenderly, carefully. She tucks the blankets up under his chin.

She grabs my pillow, lifts her daddy’s head, and stuff the pillow under it. “There,” she tells him, still whispering, “Now you can have a good sleep.” She gives him another sweet kiss and hops off the bed, careful not to crawl all over him.

As we leave the room she tells me, “Shhhh! Daddy’s sleeeeping!”

Lucky Daddy.

see how much I care?

The other night the phone rings and one of my handy minions… er, I mean beautiful helpful children hand me the phone.


“Hi, I’m calling from Some Big Company to inquire weather or not you recieved your flyers this weekend?”

“Why, yes I did!” I was chipper, I’d had this call before.

“Thank you for your time…”

“WAIT!” I screech, “My mom, who lives down the road from me so I guess she probably has someone else deliver, maybe you’ll call her, I dunno. Anyway, she gets her flyers really late. In fact, they didn’t even come till Sunday this past weekend.”

“Um,” says the voice on the other line. I can tell she just wants to move on to the next call. “Well, they do have from Friday to Sunday to deliver the flyers.”

“Oh.” Hmph. Thwarted. “But if you get some flyers on Sunday, the sale has already started!

She at least tried to sound sympathetic. “I know, we’re sorry, but they do have until Sunday to deliver. Now if you’ll excuse me..”

I sigh. Deeply. It expresses my displeasure. And here I thought she was so friendly. “Bye then.” and I hang up.

I click the phone again and dial my mother’s house.

“Hello?” Cool and professional, my mom answers the phone.

“Hi – darn it, I was hoping Carl would answer the phone!” I mutter.

“Why? Don’t you want to talk to me? Your own mother?” she wails.

“But I need to talk to Carl, I was just talking to the flyer people!”

“Oh! Okay then! I guess it’s more important than ME!”

I hear her hand over the phone, her voice distant in the background, going on about how her own daughter doesn’t want to talk to her, no, it’s for Carl.

“Guess WHAT?!?” I ask him. “I talked to the flyer people!” Oh he wanted to know exactly what they said, but I can’t quote him because of the Bad Words. He really really hates it when those flyers are late. I explained to him what the lady said, about how they have until Sunday to deliver and how she says she’s sorry they don’t get there sooner but there’s nothing she can do.

He says another Bad Word.

“I tried,” I told him.

“I know you did,” he says, sadly, “Thank you.” There’s a brief pause. “Want to talk to your mother now?”

I don’t get a chance to answer because he continues, “No, wait, she wants to talk to you anyway, arms are flailing, BYE!”

So then I have to tell her the whole story over again. “Well,” she says, “I guess I can forgive you this time for not talking to me first. You know how Carl loves his flyers.”

Little old lady hands

Yesterday was miserable, weather-wise. I got most of the way through the day before I realized – gee, there was probably a reason my hands hurt. See, everytime the barometer is wacky, some sort of joint of mine gets all achy and sore. Yesterday, it was my hands.

It hurt to type, it hurt to hold stuff, and yeah it hurt to grip the steering wheel as I circled the town square twice looking for a parking spot. I gave up. Besdies, i was almost out of gas.

Plus I had neglected to pay attention or clue in to the weather any moe than to note it was raining and wore my nice, heavy, possibly PVC, winter coat out with a sweatshirt underneath. Turns out it was 15 degrees celcius. Hot flash, anyone?

Man, I’m getting old.

One of the highlights of the day was the photo that got away, the one that would have been a perfect shot, had I brought my camera with me.

Mists on the river, obliverating the water, rising up to just under the bridge, so it appeard, it seemed, from nowhere. In the foreground, three bare apple trees reached upwards with black trunks.