Saturday, February 26, 2011

Not so dreamy

I am sure you are familiar with those dreams that you wake up from and have to give a good shudder to shake them off. I have spent the good part of some days trying to blow away the cloud that seems to be hanging over me, only to realize it was bad vibes from something that crept into my brain the previous night. The dream typically has to be just close enough to something that could actually happen, as I can pretty much leave any alien abduction issues right on my pillow and go on with my day.

I have been awake almost four hours today, and keep slipping down a slightly cranky slope. I know there is some residue from a couple of less than perfect days this past week, but I think I just keep feeling the general angst from my right before I woke up (as far as I know) dream. The images were fairly ridiculous, and do not adhere to the rules of my usual wakeful carryover issues. I dreamt that I gave birth to another son, unexpectedly, only to find out that my husband had known I was pregnant all along. It wasn't so much a lack of excitement that I had in the dream, as just a total state of unpreparedness. Then I couldn't remember the name we chose for him, which was causing some trouble on the occasions when I remembered to tell people he'd been born (which was not going all).

Compounding the issue in slumberland was the fact that we had sold our current house and purchased the house we lived in before this one. There was some angst as my husband tried to convince me that the reasons we wanted to move out of that house to begin with, all those years ago, were just small stuff to not be aggravated about. I had one bright moment when I remembered the nice front window we had gotten installed before putting that house on the market. That joy was fleeting however, as I was trying to relay the bundle of joy news on a phone with a very short cord.

I have no interest in paying $4.95 per minute to have this dream analyzed. I was sort of hoping if I just "put it on paper"/computer screen, I could let it go. I also thought maybe some of you might have some (amusing) ideas for where this came from...aside from my possible quest to blame my husband for absolutely ridiculous things, including keeping too many thoughts to himself.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Just another day after all

I am sure no cards were sent because people were unsure which salutation to go with, as I realized earlier today that it is either my blogiversary, or is my blog's birthday. That put some pressure on me, as I thought I should have something truly fascinating to share with my tens of followers. Then I realized that events of epic proportions would go against the grain of the rest of my posts.

It is interesting to look back at the topics that sent me running for the computer. There were crimes against candy (and lemon meringue pies), hard fought bird battles, dangerous eyebrow maintenance, anti-Food Network performances, bad hair, poor wardrobe selections, some general moodiness, and occasional lack of enthusiasm. I have realized, more than ever before, that these three "children" I live with can be an endless source of entertainment when I am willing to look a little beneath the surface for the is usually there somewhere.

I have already seen the candy dish reduced to the icky colors, and I am not really looking forward to the revenge of the barn swallows (I must admit to being curious as to what ill attempts "we" will make to fight back this year). I do not anticipate being any better prepared, or glamorous, in my canning endeavors this summer. One improvement I am committed to this year, is getting new prescription sunglasses, so that I do not have to startle the children again by walking in the door like this...
I don't think it occurred to any of us that I could achieve a look worse than wearing my grandmother's post-cataract surgery shades over my own glasses. What seemed like a gloomy day was still tough on dilated pupils.

Thanks for joining me! I hope you've had a smile or two so far.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

It sure feels like February

Even without checking my calendar, I can tell that it must be mid-February. It's not just the chill in the air that gives it away, but rather that distinct whiff of apathy that clogs my sinuses every year right around now. I actually do feel some sinus pressure brewing...bonus! While I managed to hustle the rest of the family out the door almost three hours ago, I have yet to even shower.

Of course there is a good reason why I am still in my pajamas. I might exercise. If so, I might as well wait to take a shower. I considered showering and putting on exercise worthy clothing, just in case my elliptical made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Then I might run the risk of showering twice, which I do realize is better than not at all. If I decide to accept the fact that I am not interested in exercising, which fabulous selections from my closet scream supermarket and post office? It doesn't matter, because once I bundle up like Nanook of the North, nobody will notice (and who was going to care to begin with, as it was realized two weeks ago that the frozen food guy talks to all of us ladies like we're special). All of this conflict, so many options, so little appeal or interest.

How about that book that I'm almost finished reading? Surely finishing that would provide some sense of satisfaction. However, I am afraid that I will fall asleep reading and wake up in an even less glorious and ambitious mood. I probably need chocolate, or a cookie...or both. I'll switch around the laundry, as that seems like progress. Maybe the trip up the stairs to get the dirty clothes counts as exercise in the Underachiever Handbook. Of course the route to the laundry cave passes thru the kitchen, where a large variety of treats are laying about. Then I will also be dangerously close to the place where a diversity of on demand exercise gurus want to help me make my day fabulous. Laundry...cookie...water...exercise...

Plan hatched...still uninterested...but uninterested with a plan!

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Like stealing candy from a baby

Well, here it is the day after Valentine's Day. Time to put another year of conversation heart sorting behind us. The culprit was new this year, and she is not only too cute to stay annoyed at, but also truly does not like the taste of the flavors she leaves behind. (Yes, obviously her cuteness also makes her silly excuses seem completely plausible to her mother.) I was especially troubled this year as the color scheme on my counter was really disrupted by the odd blue and green confectionery remnants. I completely regret my decision to go with the Necco hearts again this year, and not giving Brach's a try. Not only were the flavors slightly toxic, but I see now that Brach's refrained from adding electric blue to their packages. I felt obligated to have tiny messages in at least one candy bowl though, so I acted impulsively.

The nougats were just a bonus, as I found many heart shaped dishes when I unpacked our holiday decor (the dogs treats even got a heart-y facelift). The new candy bowl was a gift from the hubby, and the chocolate in it came from my mother. It amazes me how much chocolate ends up in our house in relation to how much I actually purchase. It's the good stuff too! I am also naive enough to still be surprised by how fast the Candy Man can sniff out the yummiest single piece of Ghirardelli dark chocolate with mint filling that was somewhat hastily put in the bottom of the bowl. I could've hidden the treasure in my latest secret hiding spot, but he was RIGHT THERE. I also could've quickly unwrapped it, and shoved it in my face, when it fell out of the bag, but that is a moment to savor.

I was driven by December events to find a better place to care for candy that I actually intended to keep for myself. WE were given a decent sized festive tin of Ghirardelli squares of goodness that I put on the dining room table. I was under the impression that there was not another person in this house who actually ever stepped foot in the dining room, unless that table was open for business to actually eat at. I broke the seal and had one piece, of the probably twenty, during a break from the pre-holiday insanity...fabulous. I passed by the tin several other times, but didn't feel it was quite the right moment to treat myself. Hershey Kisses I can cram in my mouth while lugging laundry upstairs, but I feel like my fancier chocolate requires some element of civility and relaxation. (I also feel like I might be a bigger lunatic than I realized, but hope you will still feel my pain as this tale unfolds.) With only a couple of days until Christmas, and feeling satisfied with that day's accomplishments, I opened the find it empty! Not just my favorites were was ALL gone! And he left the empty tin just sitting there as some cruel decoy. Before I got too far in to my rant, as the Candy Man had the pleasure of being home when this happened, he said "oh yeah, I meant to throw that out". When? How many times had I glanced at the tin, and moved on? With it empty?

I didn't have my wits about me, or enough time left in that day, to blog about the situation. However, I had plenty of time to verbally let some key people know what happened. I am sure it was no coincidence that my mother put each of our names on one of the two separate boxes of Ghirardelli chocolate that were with our Christmas presents. Nor was it a complete surprise that my aunt also gave us some scrumptious mint filled squares. The only mystery was where I was going to put my fair share (oh, and MY fair share included all of the minty ones!). My original intent was to fill the empty tin with some sort of substandard cocoa butter gems for the Candy Man's stocking; something one step up from coal. That would've been a waste, but I neglected to dispose of the tin.

I left some goodies that I didn't feel as strongly about as plants in my previously doomed spots. I didn't want the Candy Man to find empty shelves and keep looking. My stash is nestled, in what I hope registers as an empty tin, in a completely different cabinet (that I am fairly certain nobody else ever opens, for fear something will fall on their heads). In case there is any question left, I included a note this time...

Friday, February 11, 2011

Taking the plunge!

Man oh man, were my Spidey senses tingling this morning. By that, I mean that my feet were itching like crazy, as they are known to do when I am feeling stressed. I was a little disappointed to have this start with my first waking breath. I then started going through a list of possible things that might've crept into my subconscious, but decided that might stress me out further.

It is not that I am not a morning person, but rather that I do not particularly care for my current schedule of events each morning. I start at 6:00 by dragging myself, in various states of awakeness, out of bed. I then proceed to the son's room where I gently tap his leg, and hand off his clothing to him once he is upright. We both end up downstairs around the same time, where the dog barely glances at us from his crate, as he curls into a tighter ball of canine slumber. Earlier in the school year, the son and I had a discussion about how unpleasant the early morning rising can be. I suggested that the best we could do was to not be nasty teach other, and so there is not much conversation.

Once he heads out for the bus stop, I move on to the next suspecting victim and try to somewhat convince the daughter to rise and shine (or at least rise). I typically start to feel the frustration set in after about five minutes of her shenanigans. It is not so much that I am aggravated with her snuggly warm and comfy form, but moreso that there is yet another being I have disturbed who is now not terribly thrilled to see me. I reflect, with some sense of longing, back to earlier days, when I was summoned from my own slumber to rescue one of these babes from the confines of a crib. I miss that huge smile of joy, mixed with relief, that I was typically met with.

OK...back to the matter at hand...The last of the three bears to be sleeping in his bed is, of course, my husband. If he is fortunate enough to have slept through the power hour of the early morning round up, I will grunt a "get up!" in his general direction. I have no interest in exchanging pleasantries while he is toasty and horizontal. I believe this whole situation has been magnified by this especially cold winter, as the fact that I have already walked the dog in sub-zero temperatures while he catches some more sleep AND warmth? Too much...

I have now established that I do not have a lot of warm fuzzy feelings in my weekday morning schedule. I am a creature of habit, so I plod along with the business as usual. This morning though, something interrupted my groove. After I finished making lunches, I ran into the bathroom where I was met with this scene. Now for a split second I thought maybe this was some sort of fun cryptic message like: "I've taken a plunge for you" or "Hope your day isn't full of crap" or "Wow! I just noticed your decorating flair and how this plunger really matches the paint" or "Thanks for putting up with my sh*t, Valentine" (early, but that adds to the surprise). Then I thought he had mopped the floor before heading to bed and hadn't put things back before it dried. I am not sure which of these scenarios that I conjured up is more ridiculous, but I knew none of them were correct.

So I embraced my role as Schneider, from One Day at a Time (minus the ginormous key ring...I have to look into that potential wardrobe accessory), and tended to the plumbing issue at hand. I considered making a valiant effort to say nothing regarding the whole event, as I knew there was nothing the clog and run suspect could say that would really make me feel better about the situation and his role in it. Then I decided to try to find the humor in all of it. I went with a little gem I had seen right before I fell asleep in front of 30 Rock last night, where Jack and Liz predict each other's reactions, by having them already written down on paper.

I jotted down my anticipated response and headed upstairs. After a few rounds of limiting my word choice to "Really?", I had to give a little bit more of a clue as to what I was seeking information about. There was some fumbling of words regarding flushing and general noise before the beauty I was looking for came out: "I didn't want to wake anybody up." That is when I handed over the piece of paper that said "I didn't want to wake anyone." We both smiled, and I should have quickly departed before anything else was said. Alas, I did not. The man asked if it had taken care of itself, and I informed him it had not (nor could I imagine that it would). He said it took ten minutes for the water to drain out the first time he flushed,and he wasn't going to wait around to try that again. Here is where I went on some rant about wondering what kind of volcanic explosive noise he anticipated there would be that would wake us up, and how was that worse than when he walks into our bedroom, when I am asleep, and turns on the television.

The next line of defense, following noise, went back to the length of time for the water to drain out. He claimed he could not put the plunger in with the water dangerously close to the rim, and then I not so gently informed him that such a time IS when you plunge, using water to one's advantage. I accused him of perhaps not knowing how to actually work the plunger. He shook his head and said he didn't want to make a mess. I then asked him to give me five reasons I should not pack his bags and throw them out in the snow...he hasn't gotten back to me.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Monday, February 7, 2011

Do as I say, not as I do

There is nothing wrong with having a junk drawer, as where else are we supposed to keep such, well...junk? (Yes, the obvious answer here might be a trash can.) Maybe this sliding tomb of wonder deserves a better name like: "Hiding spot for when I need to quickly clear off the bits from my counter, but don't have time to actually assess what they are" or "Filing system for a variety of small items that need to be handy, but not visible" or "Mingling place for where I put everything, but can't find anything". On second thought, "junk drawer" works just fine.

I finally got frustrated enough with the wait time to find a safety pin, and trying to catalog the red Sharpies that come thru the door from work with my husband every day. It was time to remove the drawer from the safety of its rolling tracks and get down to business. I was so relieved to find my ten-year-old daughter's sunglasses from when she was an infant. I also uncovered at least six month's worth of safety pins, in the nick of time as they were about to be added to my shopping list. I found several needles (literally) in the haystack, yet recall recently being very agitated when I actually needed one and came up empty. The emptying of that particular drawer (yes, that would indicate that there are others), began to take on the characteristics of a lo mein take-out food container...the more I took out, the more there seemed to be. I am still unclear as to how everything covering one end of the kitchen table fit in the drawer.

I was trying to be swift, practical and productive in my organizational wizardry, when I ran across this...

I started to ponder the best way to untangle the mess, wondered if the battery worked, and if those rubberbands would fit in the spot I had designated for the smaller variety. I daresay there was some spark of excitement over the significant increase there would be to my newly formed paperclip compartment. I quickly realized that I would not allow a friend to even see such a thing, if I were helping her to organize her drawer of treasures. It's first, and only, stop would be the garbage. That embroidery floss was tempting, but I somehow managed to part with the entire fabulous collection...well, except for the magnet that held it together.