Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Be the Change

I'm having a little brunch party thing in two weeks where people will come with their children and we will all write letters to soldiers serving overseas and also to military families here in the U.S.  I also asked people to bring some items for care packages for soldiers, and Leila and I will divvy them all up and take them to the post office.  I got the idea after Leila and I watched this Oprah thing about military spouses, and she was very upset.  We had to have the whole "But why is there war??" conversation, which was a bummer for both of us.  Because, really, WHY IS THERE WAR?  Its so frustrating!

I told her that there is a lot of ugliness and unfairness in the world, but that there is even more beauty and grace, and if you focus on the ugliness and not the beauty, well, its not a good way to live.  Then I asked her if she knew who Gandhi was and, lo and behold, she did, and we both said together, "Be the change you want to see in the world."  I was astounded and delighted that she knew that quote.  I told her that maybe when you're a ten year-old girl you don't feel like you can make a difference, but I think you can, and we decided that this party was something we could do that would make a difference, however small, and be the change we want to see in the world.  She also just found out that the U.S. has been at war he whole life, and she was all, "WHAT?  Are you SERIOUS?"

A few days later we sat down to invite lots of people with an Evite.  This part was excruciating.  She likes all the designs that I don't like, and I WANT IT JUST THE WAY I WANT IT.  So we compromised, and neither one of us got our first choice, but we agreed on something, and I also just wanted to get that part over with.  We sent the Evite to 25 people, and I've gotten, like, five responses.  So, now, this is what I'm doing:  I'm going to my computer every five minutes, hitting refresh on my email, even though that's not necessary with these new fangled computers, and waiting, impatiently, for more responses. 

Evite makes me very needy and obsessive.  I need to know how many muffins to make, people!  I realize that this is stupid and a waste of energy.  People need to think about it, check their calendars, weigh whether they want to come at all, and if they do come and don't bring anything for the care, packages, will they be judged?  You want to know what else?  I am terrible at responding to Evites.  Terrible.  So I guess its just karma, this need to constantly check to see if anyone else has RSVPd.

If you're reading this, and you know me and want to come to the brunch, leave me a comment, you're welcome! I will not judge you if you didn't have time to get anything for the care package!  There will be mimosas!  And if you don't know me, and you live far away, and you want to be the change you want to see in the world, too, go to Michelle Obama's official website which will lead you to a place where you can send letters to military families, or go to www.anysoldier.com for information on sending care packages and letters.

I realize this post is not very funny, so fart fart fart, Autumn, doing dishes. 

Be the change, people, BE THE CHANGE!

Monday, November 26, 2012

How Thanksgiving made me look Good

So here it is:  I ruled Thanksgiving.  It was beautiful, the food was tasty, people had a good time, and the dog only stole four crackers off the coffee table. 

But let's dig a little deeper.  You may know how my family calls my husband "Poor Rob" because he has the misfortune to be married to me which makes it necessary for him to "do everything."  In the last few months, during my little break from, you know, life, he did do everything, but usually I do way more stuff than my family thinks I do.  Rob is very comfortable and calm in the kitchen, and I am less so.  Especially when there are things on more than on burner; that can send me over the edge.  But I wanted to make sure that my family saw that I was just as involved in the kitchen as he was, so I told him to make sure I looked good.

At one point during cocktail hour, he went into the kitchen to get his burners on, and I was all, "Do you need me in there?"  and he was all, "No." and then I gave him the death stare, imperceptible to anyone but him.  Two minutes later he came out of the kitchen and said, "Actually, I do need you in the kitchen." so I went in and was all, "What do you need me to do?" and he was all, "Nothing, just look busy." 

Turns out, I only cooked two things: soup the day before, and stuffing the day of.  And it was Stovetop Stuffing, so its not like it was hard, even if I did saute apples and celery to put in it.  I did clean the house, though, and set the table, so there's that.

Then, after Thanksgiving, Rob cleaned up the whole entire mess.  I didn't ask him to do it, but over two days he ran the dishwasher four times, put everything away, washed the table cloth and napkins, and I didn't life a finger.  I was exhausted, and still am, but so was he.  Don't know what got into him, but I'm not complaining!

So, I did it.  I hosted Thanksgiving.  It blew the doors off.  Now, its a month until Christmas.  Time to gird my loins.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Have a Thankful One

Guess what I'm doing tomorrow?  I am hosting Thanksgiving!  For the first time, EVER!  I will spend today prepping my house.  I've already made soup.  And yesterday?  You know what?  I cleaned the bathroom!  Yes, I made that bathroom my bitch.

Except for the floors and the tub and all the hair molecules that are stuck in the bead board.  I'm saving those for Rob because I can't physically do them, and they are his hair molecules stuck in the bead board, so he should clean them.  He's also in charge of making the front porch look presentable, and he will be making the turkey and the gravy since a) he knows what he's doing and does a really good job, and b) I don't like to touch raw meat.  The rest of the stuff we will cook together.  Because togetherness is so beautiful.

Leila will be in charge of dusting everything, including all the base boards, and I'm going to teach her how to polish the small amount of silver things that I have.  She is also making place cards out of leaves.

I am feeling great!  I don't know if its the anti-depressants, the birth control pills, or that my little nutty finally ran its course, but the sun is out, the trees are so stunning I could stare out the window all day, and I feel like my old self again!  I have a therapy appointment this morning, and I have no idea what to talk about.  Maybe the therapist and I should just high-five for 50 minutes, and then I'll write him a check.

Happy Thanksgiving, every body!  Save room for dessert!
View from my back door.  Love it.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

What Kind of Farter are You?

Have you heard of that blogger, Bored Housewife?  She's terrible.  She never writes.  What's the point?  Such a let down.

So I dropped off the planet again.  Not as bad as last time, but enough that I was uninspired and felt completely unfunny and blah and like no one would have any interest in what I was up to, especially since I wasn't up to anything: Get up, get kid off to school, go back to bed/watch TV/maybe take a shower.  The end.

But I'm feeling better now, almost like my normal self.  I say almost because I don't know when I'll regress.  I sure hope this shit is over.  I have stuff to do.

I graduated from physical therapy today.  Nothing more he can do for me.  Last week, I had an experience that we have all had at one time or another, and if you deny you've had this experience, you're a dirty liar.

You know how sometimes, when you're at, say, the gynecologist's, or getting a massage, or, in my case, at physical therapy, and, at the worst possible time, you need to fart?  This usually happens while in the stirrups, or, in my case, while my physical therapy torturer guy was doing the deep tissue massage on my foot.  So my foot is up by his shoulder, and I'm all, Oh shit.

You do everything you can to hold that fart in.  No one wants someone to fart in their face, and no one, except older brothers, want to fart in anyone else's face.  So you lay there, and you suck that fart in as hard as you can, and you hope that that doctor or whoever gets a phone call or something so that you can just let that little guy out and relax and focus on what you're there to do, rather than putting all your energy into holding the fart in.

At some point, though, you realize that if you suck that fart in too hard and too long, it will turn upside down in there and come out quietly.  And stinkily.  So, you have to ask yourself: What's worse? Farting out loud in front of your care giver, perhaps even in their face, and then you laugh and say Oh my gosh how embarrassing! I'm so sorry! and you both have a giggle, and by the time you leave everyone has forgotten about it.  Or, do you risk the SBD and stink up the joint?  If you do this, you and the other person in the room will both know its you, because you're the only two in there, and the other person is not gonna call you out on it, and you're not going to say, Sorry, I farted and it stinks because then you might be calling attention to something that maybe the other person doesn't smell after all.  But, really, who are we kidding?  They totally smell it, and the minute you leave, they're going to tell their co workers about how you ripped a hot one and you'll be known as Farty Pants in the office from then on.

The rub is, that even if you go the fart-out-loud route and get it over with, and even if it doesn't stink, you and the other person will be subtly sniffing to see if you do smell something, and, I don't know about you, but if someone farts out loud around me, I always smell something, even if there's nothing to smell.

Clearly, I've thought a lot about this.  Maybe too much.  But I've decided that, barring the fortitude to hold that sucker in until I'm out the door, I'm choosing the fart-out-loud option.  You can just hold your head high, laugh it off, and show what a great sense of humor you have. And then you can just say, I bet you guys are all gonna call me Farty Pants after I leave, huh? and then they wont actually do it because they'll feel bad, and you've appealed to their humanity.  You can't talk about the fart too much, though, because then you're the weird client who brought way too much attention to an innocent little fart.  Hey, wait...

My mom is in her 70s, and the farts just come rumbling out of her.  They don't typically smell, but when she does it in the super market, she just prances along as though she doesn't hear a thing while leaving a trail of farts in her wake.  And that, my friends, is the right attitude about public farts.