Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
My husband will be home this weekend and to surprise me, he sent me roses yesterday thanking me for all I do for him and the kids. This officially makes me a colossal b*tch. You see, I might have mentioned, when thanking him for the lovely flowers, that while I appreciate roses, I far prefer tulips. Good thing he loves me or he might have taken offense! Oh, and I thought I showed great restraint in not mentioning that the accompanying note was grammatically incorrect as well. On second thought, maybe I should have mentioned that instead of dissing the flower choice because grammar police is and has always been part of my genetic make-up.
I have been stuck at home with sick kids (two out of three) for three days now. I am ready for the men in nice white suits and carrying a rubber coat with extra long sleeves to come and collect me. I am completely trapped and if they can't go back to school today, I can't be responsible for my actions.
Because of sick kids, I haven't bought a single present for the child whose birthday is tomorrow. This alone will convince him to return to school so I can go shopping. Don't know about the other one though. And have no idea how to accomplish all the birthday shopping I need to do (including cake although I am leaving school treats until Monday at this point). Will a 6 year old appreciate a whole pack of gift cards?!
Friday, March 7, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
My garage is back to normal since I finally got everyone to pick up their cookies and I'm only left with the towering stack that belongs to my family. Funny how many cookies are left. It's been this way for a few days now and I was being pretty good about the temptation. I don't even think about the cookies before everyone has picked them up because I'm too afraid to take a box and mess up my count (one family thinks my count was off this year but that's another story--funny how everyone else got exactly the correct number of cookies). But now that it's just our cookies, well it's gotten harder. And two nights ago I gave in. I absolutely inhaled an entire box of Peanut Butter Patties (Tag-Alongs to those of you using the other GS bakery). I ate those suckers so fast I think the square footage of the house decreased from the suction. I ate like I thought someone was likely to come along and take them away from me. I ate them at 10 o'clock at night so my kids wouldn't see me being a complete glutton. Ask me how proud of myself I am.
Now ask me how guilty I felt. (Can Catholic guilt rub off? I think I've gained a good measure of it just by sending the kids to Catholic school.) I actually hauled my sorry butt out into practically knee deep slush and freezing water to run 6 miles in an effort to reverse the GS dimples already forming on my butt and thighs. Somehow I don't think it worked, which means I got soaked and nasty for nothing. Was that box of cookies worth an hour's unpleasant run? Well, they were pretty tasty but I'm not sure anything is worth the dead white, shriveled, wet feet I sported after finishing. And until my shoes dry out (they are seriously still wet more than 24 hours later), I guess I'd better stay away from the Thin Mints!
Sunday, March 2, 2008
I know this book is considered a modern classic. Even Oprah has endorsed it. I completely and totally loathed it. It was beyond bleak and depressing. It was stultifying. The characters were completely uninteresting and bland. The setting was gray and unsatisfyingly drawn. There was no plot. There was no spark in this book at all. Even Mick Kelly, who is supposedly loosely based on McCullers herself, only has all too brief moments of being interesting. I never warmed to John Singer nor did I believe that any of these other desperate and simple people would be so fascinated by this deaf-mute man, who had walked among them for years without any such recognition. Nothing about this story made for appealing reading and while it was technically proficient, that doesn't absolve it of the responsibility of drawing the reader in and making the read a worthwhile experience. Personally, this reader was bored out of her gourd, put it down repeatedly and walked away from it, and ultimately finished it with a relieved sigh knowing I could go onto better things, things I cared to read.
And now, maybe having written this review, the log-jam will be broken and the rest of the reviews will come pouring out, making this an actual book related blog!
Saturday, March 1, 2008
I did better on the compliment front a few weekends ago when I took the kids and headed up north to freeze our rears off at the annual Snows Fest by our cottage. I went out to a bar with my friend J. despite my not being a bar kind of person. For the record, I'm also not a stay up late kind of person nor an enjoys herself in large groups of strangers kind of person so this whole adventure was out of character. But I was along for the ride (and to drive all the more entertaining people home safely) and I decided to enjoy it. As I drank my water (my Lenten resolve against soda is still holding on but was sorely tested by the fishy tasting water at the bar), my friend abandonned me to go out to a fish shanty. You know: those things they drag out onto frozen lakes to ice fish in as if that could possibly be fun? Yes, apparently an old friend of hers and his buddies were fishing and wanted to head to the bar so they hooked up the shanty to the single snowmobile and dragged it full of people, propane heater still cookin' along, off the lake, up to the bar, and parked it on the road. Even better, the shanty was decorated with grass skirts all around it since the theme of the festival this year was Caribbean. Where but Michigan's UP would you see such a sight? So I'm sitting uncomfortably with people I don't know when I am summoned to the shanty. Apparently J. and C. have cooked up a plan to take the shanty another 4 or so miles to a farmhouse to party and they need me to come too. I poke my head into the shanty and C., whom I've never met before, takes one look at me and says, "You're f***ing adorable. I don't know you." Nevermind that he was blind drunk. Nevermind that he was younger than I am. It was the best part of the evening (I was also deemed "neat" later in the night). I guess freckles are just fine in his world. Perhaps I should let my kindergartner learn compliments from C.? Nah. Oh, and as for my husband's response? He was a little miffed that his compliments don't make me grin stupidly for days the way this one did. But like me fishing for the compliment from the kindergartner, he *has* to tell me I'm beautiful because he's stuck with me. ;-) Unsolicited compliments always trump the obligatory ones.
Oh, and we did take the fish shanty for a ride. It was terrifying and hysterical and fun all at the same time. But I don't think I want to do it again (unless I get a crazy compliment first!).
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