Consolation Pie Comes in Lemon Flavor Too

We ate more consolation pie last night.

For those of you keeping track, we've eaten more than our share of it the last year or so.  It's starting to feel like a habit.

Don't worry.  We're still not eating humble pie.  (Never that.)

Turns out lemon pie is still good mixed with tears.  Maybe even better.

I went with Caleb to the state science fair last night and watched him walk away empty-handed and swallowing back tears, experiencing equal parts sorrow and bafflement.  He practically ran ahead of me towards the car, trying to avoid eye contact because then the real tears would start.  As I trailed along drowning in his wake and my own possessive, protective feelings, I felt like one of those little league parents who yells at volunteer umpires when their boy gets strike three.  Turns out I'm this close to being a "stage mom."  The pageant circuit is just one false step away.  I had no idea.

David is much more logical.  Trying to talk me down from my (irrational) frustration.  Or up from my (self-destructive) discouragement.

Maybe he's right.  Just once, I wish he wasn't.

That somehow I could be the one who was reasonable and logical and calm.

I stood poised with my camera all night.  At the ready to capture Caleb's inevitable moment of elation.  Is it pride?  Is it ignorance?  Is it blind, motherly adoration?  Is it the fact that these little human beings were once housed inside of me?  Can I really be expected to act like a normal, rational, unbiased human being after that?

I think it's clear that whatever it is, I could use another piece of consolation pie. 

With plenty of whipped cream.  Motherhood is a blood sport.  And I need provisions. 

I just hope I can hold it together tonight at Olivia's softball game.  It's the season opener.  And David will die of shame if I have to be escorted from the field.

If You Think That's Bad

Some of you have been waiting for a new post

(imagine my chagrin)

but I have been too busy sitting impatiently at urgent care and peeing in cups and feeling absolutely miserable 

(imagine my consternation)

to want to write anything

(imagine David's surprise).

But if you think you've been put out, imagine the people around here waiting for clean underwear or something besides cold cereal for breakfast.

Yesterday I had the thought that I am too busy.  This occurred to me when I was supposed to be in four places at once and only wanted to be in bed.  Not even a super-apron can fix that.

And then I had it again this morning when I was madly and simultaneously trying to give out lunch money and sign permission forms and comb Olivia's hair, and nearly took out Ethan's left eye.  I said, "Let's do something fun this afternoon."  (Everyone is out early today.)  But Caleb said, "What about MYPO?" and Savannah said, "I have achievement days" and I sighed and wondered how far away our summer vacation is.  Too far, apparently. 

I wish there was an antibiotic for zerrissenheit.

(imagine if I just said "no.")

Padding My Resume

I'm not sure of the reason for my blogger's block.  Lots going on, and no way to link it all together in one clever post.  I put a lot of stock in cleverness.

That being said, there isn't going to be any in this post.  So you can go ahead and lower your expectations.  Soothe yourself by just being happy there is a new post.

After a brief lull after the holidays, real life has returned hot and heavy, as evidenced by the fact that my sewing room has once again been turned into ground zero for Caleb's new science project (by the way, throw out your hand sanitizers people, that's just a pandemic waiting to happen) and the stacks of current projects I have piled everywhere else.  

Here is my life by the numbers:

This weekend we celebrated the 95th birthday of this lovely lady (my grandmother)

and travelled 427 miles from home to watch her blow out her candles.

On the drive, David helped me work on the address list for our

1st annual "Garden of Hope Spring Tea Luncheon,"

to raise money for the 1,800 cancer patients at David's hospital who will be diagnosed this year,

and which will be held on May 9, 2009. 

Mark your calendars, though you may be lucky enough to get one

of the 500 save-the-date cards we are mailing out.

(I told David this week that he was a very lucky man to have such a wife.  I mean look at my community outreach and charity work.  I need to update my resume.  He replied by using "affinity" and "opine" in a sentence and I got all giddy and forgot about the fact that he really owes me one.)

I have spent most of the last week working on the aforementioned invitations, as they should have been at the printer's 2 days ago,

and when I wasn't, I was working on a 94 inch square quilt that will be auctioned at our event,

and helping Caleb swab 10 petri dishes with E.coli (you read that right)

and washing my hands with soap and water 100 times afterwards.

Quilt retreat is only 56 days away,

so I have also been madly working on my round robin projects (I'm only behind one rotation now)

and making a couple of trips to the quilt store and the post office.

And when I was on one of these trips to the quilt store

I found the perfect fabric for the boys' room and decided to make a few pillows for their beds,

which made me think of making a 50 inch matching cornice box for their window.

(I know that sounds ridiculous, but I couldn't help myself, and I told David that very thing, besides which you'd be amazed at what I can do with 18 inches of styrofoam and some liquid nails.)

And just because I know you are wondering, Olivia and I started Anne of Green Gables

and we are on chapter nine.

Christmas Stories from My Digital Elph

In an attempt to dump my brain, I am dumping my camera instead. Bear with me. It's about all I can manage in the middle of the holiday season. 

Here are our gifts to deliver around the neighborhood. Gorgeous, no? All ready to deliver. Then just as we were eating that chicken pot pie in the bottom of the frame, two separate families came around and delivered the exact same gift. Really. So we had to start over. For the record I wanted to make Lelly's "House Sparkle" in the first place.  David scrunched up his nose at the idea. When our friends delivered the second bottle I told David that this never would have happened with "House Sparkle." He said there was a reason for that. I ignored that. We ended up making a Christmas CD which was a far superior idea anyway and only took us another three or four days (heaven help me) to make the mix, copy the CD's, figure out how to print CD covers and then finally deliver them.    

Olivia had her Christmas viola recital last weekend. She was beaming at her chance to wow the world with "the Can Can" and "Ode to Joy."  We were all sufficiently wowed.

David and I finished up most of our Christmas shopping last weekend.  I snapped this picture of David in a store that we have never shopped in and are unlikely to ever visit again.  I've said it before, there are a million little universes out there.  How we ended up in this one is a mystery of the season. 

Amy and Kelly and I went to dinner on Wednesday night.  And then Kel and I did some (mostly window) shopping.  Here she is expressing her outrage at the sight of this anatomically correct cologne bottle.  Whatever happened to public decency standards?

My nephew, Luke, had his first birthday party on Saturday, and we played at the park with him and all his other fans.  My kids were good enough to open all his presents for him, and, bless his heart, he didn't seem to mind a bit.  (I think Ethan has secret designs on his Christmas presents as well.)  We had a great time and I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard.

This one is by far my favorite.  I snapped it as the girls and I were leaving the Nutcracker on Friday night.  After a night of gorgeous dance and costumes and music, they are whispering about the magnificence of the Sugar Plum Fairy and picking the parts they want to play next year.  They oohed and ahhed through the whole thing, gasping at just the right moments.  They even raved about our "great seats" up in the balcony.  And here they are reviewing all the best moments:  "Olivia, weren't those gingersnaps soooo cute?"  "Oh, Savannah I think next year you could definitely do the Russian dance."  We hummed and pirouetted all the way to the car.

The stories that my Canon Elph could not tell this week (either because they were too sacred or too sad) include a multitude of car problems (for both cars), the worst of which is that David's car needs a whole new engine, and will have to be replaced.  So I am shuttling him to and from work and making due until we can do that.  And meanwhile, I am secretly enjoying this extra time with David every day.  

After grudgingly (yes, even petulantly) making my way through the first couple weeks of the holiday season, I have finally caught the spirit of it.  On Saturday night we watched "It's a Wonderful Life" and I started bawling at the drugstore scene with Mr. Gower and never really stopped.  And then last night we had dinner with some friends and went to a Christmas concert at our church.  (Caleb and Olivia both sang in it too, Olivia with significant feeling all over her face.)  The music was gorgeous, and suddenly I caught the Christmas spirit, and I belted out "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" at the end as loud as I could.  Today is cold (a first this year) and overcast (rare), and it finally feels like Christmas.  David said we could light a fire tonight after Caleb's violin concert.  I think if we open the doors we really can.  There will be hot chocolate.  And marshmellows.  And more Hark-the-Herald-Angels-belting with "significant feeling."  And Dicken's "Stave One" in which we shall meet Marley's ghost.  It's finally Christmas at our house. 

"Cross Your Fingers for Rain"

That's what Olivia hollered as she went out the door this morning.

It's cloudy this morning, which I don't think has happened since like last February or so. 

And in honor of that and in case of rain, Olivia wore an extra scarf today in addition to the one she usually wears.  You can't be too careful.

In other news, I'm still half-dressed.  (You're never fully dressed without at smile, you know.) And the word of the week has failed me, as I have not done anything sanguinely the past week or so.  (Just ask David: yesterday he brought me a jamba juice and I growled at him.  In my defense though, I asked for 2 inch 6/32" screws., and he brought jamba juice.  Jamba juice, though fruity and delicious, cannot hold a leaning space station upright.

But later, if I can get my kitchen floor mopped, and the laundry off the floor and out of the doorway and possibly even folded, and get organized for our space station work meeting this afternoon, then I will publish a sanguine post.  Even if it's only about all the darlings in my life who continue to be sanguine even in the face of my frustrated grumpiness.  Pray for peace, people everywhere.  I had big plans to be ready to do my Thanksgiving grocery run today as well, but I'm not sure I'm quite up to that, emotionally or otherwise.  Perhaps that will leave groceries and pie making all for tomorrow, an unprecedented occurrence, but that's about the state of things. 

And now for your enjoyment, a diagram of my life:

 

 1.  my neglected sewing machine...I see you over there and I miss you.

2.  the quilt that used to hang on that bare yellow wall...it was the victim of a sad watercolor incident and so had to be taken down for cleaning and drying.  It still has not been rehung.

3.  the leaning tower of space stations...it rotates, but it lists to the left.  I spent four hours yesterday trying to reinforce and shore it up, to no avail.  I'm just going with it now.

4.  the worst drill in the entire history of drills...what I wouldn't give for a seriously powerful drill that you could PLUG IN. 

5.  my missing drill bit...I spent a good thirty minutes looking for it yesterday.

6.  the jamba juice David bought me instead of 6/32" screws...I was so ticked off I just let it melt without drinking a bit of it.  I'm crazy like that.

7.  the dreaded floam...this stuff was supposed to be the regolith in the bottom of the space station but it was just a disaster.  Curse the makers of floam and while I'm at it, I also curse Martha's double sided tape.  Heaven help me.

8.  mod podge...can't have a project without it.  David went to the store on Saturday to procure this bottle.  He was like, "Mod Podge?  What's mod podge?"  I said, "Just ask someone."  It is a testament to his graciousness that he ran the errand at all.

9.  the detritus of the space station project...the inside of my brain looks about the same.

10.  a pile of dowels...they are the witnesses and victims of several failed attempts.  Someday perhaps they will have a chance to tell their story.

Word of the Week: Bailiwick

bailiwick  /n./  a person's area of skill, knowledge, authority, or work;  domain, sphere or territory.  area of influence. turf. 

bailiwick  /n./  1.  My bailiwick as a mother has once again been invaded by the school, as my children went back to school this week and are now in the the classroom for 6 hours a day.  I tried to have a good attitude this year, but by Friday I was worn out and wishing for our long summer days and a good game of Bohnanza. 

bailiwick  /n./  2.  Our "down time" has been filled with the Olympics.  Which. I. Love.  I was even going to write a post last week about my not-so-secret crush on Bob Costas.  (I just about died when he made his quip about the dip in the Yangtze.  But I digress.)  Anyway, I love the Olympics for so many reasons, but especially to see people competing and dreaming and working hard in their own particular bailiwick.  I love that somebody is as passionate about badminton as somebody else is about swimming the 400 IM.  I love that track cycling has its own language and equipment and technique, and so does trampolining and pole vaulting.  And I also love to see all those athletes lined up on the track or in their sculls or on their bikes, all those colors and races and flags, all of them different and all of them the same.  I get completely choked up.

And my kids have really caught the Olympic spirit as well...making a poster and "medals" to celebrate.  I won one for making breakfast last week.

bailiwick  /n./  3.  My bailiwick at church has changed in the last little bit.  I was released (though my heart thought it felt a bit more like "ripped" than "released") from working with the young women in my ward and given a new assignment to teach Gospel Doctrine.  I know.  David is pleased as punch.  My first lesson is this coming Sunday.  RIM and CIM are both convinced it will be a disaster.  I am inclined to agree.

bailiwick  /n./  4.   With the start of school, it is also time (at least for me) to think about what activities my kids are going to be involved in this year.  This becomes an overwhelming exercise in balance, as I try to balance my kids' interests, our time, the budget, the practicing commitment each activity will require, how much I really want to be in the car, and what I think each child "needs."  This has only gotten harder as my kids' interests have grown and expanded.  Olivia came home the other day and announced that she wants to learn to play the viola.  "What about the piano?" I asked.  She replied that you can't get out of class to go to orchestra with your friends if you play the piano.  Oh.  I keep telling David I would appreciate some input, but he clearly thinks this falls under my bailiwick.  Naturally.

We have a back-to-school tradition...the Saturday after we finish (whew!) the first week of school we go out to breakfast and do a review of the week:  highs and lows, what they're excited for, what they're most worried about, everyone gets a turn.  It was so good to be around a table together.

Where I've Been

David called me tonight and after he informed me he would be working late (big surprise), he asked why I hadn't blogged since my return from Girls' Camp. 

[He has started relying on my blog to know what I'm thinking...his little window into "my crazy"...and he likes to stay updated.]

I told him (not really very nicely) that if he needed me to blog, then I was going to need a little domestic help. 

Yes Tiff, the post-trip piles have gotten the best of me.

And the worst part is that people here were making piles for me to come home to as well.

But tonight I finally got the bathrooms finished and whittled the laundry down to one final load (not including the three more that need to be folded) and somehow this has made enough space in my brain for blogging.

Plus, I'm tired.  My sister asked me if I was depressed.  No, just tired.  My mom said it was probably "low iron."  I live my whole life on "low iron."  No, I'm just tired.  Four days of hard labor and emotional exhaustion catching up with me.  Recovery has been slow.

Revolt of the Working Class

My cleaning lady needs to be fired.

The laundry is stacked literally to the ceiling...can't tell what has been washed and what still needs to be, so she'll probably need to start completely over.

The dishes haven't been done in two days.

There is just no polite way to describe the state of the bathrooms or the floors.

A week's worth of "end-of-the-year" backpack dumps are piled on the counter.

To say nothing of the bedrooms, the rabbit cage, and the garage which are all currently emanating various noxious smells.

She is definitely slipping.

I am so going to fire her. 

Just as soon as I can find her.

I didn't want to offend my gentle readers' sensibilities...so I took a picture of the cleanest room in the house.

RIM:  This place is disgusting.

CIM:  It apparently doesn't bother anyone but you.

RIM:  The girls were definitely upset that they couldn't find any clean clothes this morning.

CIM:  They just need to look harder.  I know they had clean turtlenecks in the bottom of their drawers.

RIM:  Let's just clean it up.  You'll feel better if you do.

CIM:  No, you'll feel better if I do.

RIM:  Would that be so wrong?

CIM:  Am I crazy or didn't we just do this?

RIM:  It's been longer than you think.

CIM:  (getting worked up) Oh, so now I'm "crazy"?

RIM:  Do you really want me to answer that?

Fitting in Colorectal Screening Events

This morning David and I were rehearsing all that we have going on this Saturday...the pine-wood derby (enough all by itself), the YW General Broadcast and dinner for 45 at our house, plus maybe actually mowing the lawn since we're having visitors next week...when David mentioned that he has a big colorectal cancer screening event at the hospital that he has to speak at, etc. on Saturday morning.

[He wants me to mention that if anyone wants a free screening you are welcome to come down to the hospital between 9 and 11.   Oh boy.]

I want off this merry-go-round.

Or maybe just another 24 hours in my Saturday.  But happily, all this talk about our crazy schedule reminded me of one of my favorite bits by Brian Regan.   None of you really have time to watch this, but it certainly made me feel better.

Exhibit B

You might remember this post.

I know there are bigger issues than this in the world (and even in my own life for that matter), but it's the little things that just seriously drive me nuts.

I would like to enter the following picture into evidence:

This is the state of almost every remote in our house.  Why?  I have no idea.  For some inexplicable reason we cannot have battery covers on the back of our remotes...regardless of what kind of remote it is...we are no respecter of remotes at our house.

This is great because when you actually find the remote, you have the extra fun of digging in the couch cushions or looking under the sofa to try and find the batteries that went in the remote.  Now, that's just good clean fun.  Well, maybe not exactly "clean," but clearly, what could be more fun?

Anyway, we did still have one remote with a working battery cover.  Until this morning.  What the?  It's like it was just sitting there egging my children on with its perfect working order and simple functionality, taunting them with its blatant intactness.  I'm telling you, I spend most of my life working against the eternal and immutable laws of the universe.  One of them apparently regulating the strict segregation of children and remote battery covers.