Eau de Bacon

Today was a better day.  Regardless of what is happening in the world, the people I live with demand that there is food to eat in the house, and that they have clean underwear, and that things are "picked up" around here.  They also insist that I must wash the sheets that the cat puked on a week ago.  Fine, whatever.

Today I made bacon jam.  Yes, it was bacon jam day.  Its like jam, only its bacon, see?  You use it like jam, only on things that taste good with bacon.  Like everything.  Tomorrow, Leila will be taking a bacon jam and peanut butter sandwich to school.  She's no moron.

It was hard to continue to feel entirely blue while the house smelled like bacon for hours.  Its was also hard to feel entirely blue when Corn Pops AND Double Stuff Oreos were ON SALE at the supermarket.  Its like the universe wants me to smile and get fat.  I bet those oreos would taste awesome with a little bacon jam on them.  I'm not going to find out.  I have limits.  (Why does the spellchecker think oreos is spelled wrong?  Don't you think "oreos" should be in the dictionary by now?)

Tomorrow I have to clean the house, and I'm going to Whole Foods to by two teaspoons of tumeric and ground coriander from the bulk spice bin.  I tried to buy them in the supermarket today, but the only ground coriander was in a large jar and that just chaps my hide.  I don't need 6 tablespoons of ground coriander that will sit in my spice drawer until I die, I just need half a teaspoon.   I would even have settled for one of those little jars, just to save myself the trip to Whole Foods tomorrow, but noOOOooo.  I'm making Chicken Korma.  Its Indian.  I think.  The recipe also calls for a cinnamon stick, but screw that.   Watch the bulk spices cost more than it I had bough the big jars and just thrown out the rest.

Christmas is in a week.  I should be panicking by now.  I'm not.  Something's wrong...

Friday, Saturday, Sunday

Its Sunday as I write this, and I am having a really hard time getting past the tragedy on Friday.  It leaves me wondering if my comeback is more fragile than I thought or whether crying in the shower is the only sane and rational response to what happened.  I've decided its because they were little, little kids.  Which, when you think about it, is kind of ridiculous: The people who died in Aurora were somebody's kids, and the mall in Portland, and Gabbie Giffords, and the victims of the other senseless acts of violence that occur every day around this country.  Were any of those people assholes who deserved it?  Maybe a couple, you never know, but probably not, right?  Maybe its just that these little kids didn't even have enough time on this earth to potentially become assholes.  They were sweet, untainted, innocent little babies. And teachers.  Brave, brave teachers.

L doesn't know anything about what happened, but I suspect that by the end of the school day tomorrow she will.  I will have to answer questions.  Like, Why?  I have been trying to teach her that there is more good in the world than bad, and I truly believe that there is, but its kind of hard to make a convincing argument right now.  For a kid like Leila, who likes rules and order and tradition, how can I teach her that she will have to leave room for chaos and randomness?  And that sometimes, even when it seems impossible, she's going to have to bend her brain around things like Friday?  Or should anyone bend their brains around it?  Maybe that's the problem; we've gotten used to things like this and our brains are already bent and we need to unbend them.

I'm rambling.  I'm so sad.  My stomach hurts and I'm having trouble getting to sleep at night, and I have to go to a basketball game in and hour.  I'm going to watch little kids wrestle on the floor over a basketball, get fouled, make and miss baskets, and I'm going to cheer for both sides, and try to get my mind closer to home for a while.

God, this sucks.

Buried

I'm so sorry. Where have I been?  I don't know. Doin' stuff, not doin' stuff, whatever.  I would like to be able to blame my unreliable posting on recent depression but I think its just my ever present laziness.  Need to get back in the habit.  I have been thinking about you, about what to write, like how I wish there was drive-thru everything; drive-thru pet supplies, drive-thru frozen yogurt, drive-thru post office.  And I wanted to write about this fun bus shopping trip that I went on (sort of drive-thru, but I did get off the bus.  It would have been weird if I hadn't.) but there wasn't anything funny about it, it was just fun, but not "ha ha" fun.

I could write about how Leila keeps using my 26 year old Schick Personal Touch razor to shave her one armpit that has 5 hairs on it.  The blades aren't 26 years old, don't worry.  I have never bought another razor before (that was my first one and I'll probably have it until I die or I'm too indifferent to shave) and I discovered that they still sell them on the internet so I'm getting L her own Personal Touch razor.  Those 5 hairs need their own personal touch.  I'm thinking of giving it to her for her birthday in front of people, along with some ProActive and Are You There God Its Me, Margret.  Too much?

In the last post I told you about the military giving brunch that we were planning.  It was a smash hit.  Not only were my baked goods delicious (although the donuts were the first to go) but people brought so much stuff for care packages!  I have filled 5 boxes, and I still have a ton to pack up!  This trip to the post office is going to be a doozy.  Check it out:

 

Half my dining table is now cleared, all the personal hygiene items are packed, and now I have snacks and books and magazines left.  People are awesome.

We also got a Christmas tree, so right now, there are three huge Christmas boxes, tons of tissue paper, boxes packed with stuff for soldiers, a table half full with stuff waiting to be packed, and the kitchen is still a mess from making tacos last night.  Yesterday, I was on fire; total housewifapalooza up in this bitch.  Laundry, grocery shopping, packing stuff, cleaning things, MAKING DINNER AT 5:45, but today I am far less motivated.  Its just such a mess, I can't face it.  Its 10:30 and I'm not dressed.  I'm supposed to make a meatloaf.  No wonder I'm writing today!  Its a great way to procrastinate!

I have to start, though, right?  I have to dig the house out of the mess, right?  CAN'T SOMEBODY ELSE DO IT????

 

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!

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.

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.

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.