Month: July 2006

A Sign of the Times

My boys sat on the curb this afternoon, watching the parade go by. And I noticed that my 13-year old twins didn’t jump up to grab scattered candy. Meanwhile, their 8-year old brother jumped up, snatched candy from the street and sometimes, caught it mid-air. His little paper sack bulged with candies.

I nudged my husband and said, “Look! Your boys are growing up!” No more mad candy scrambling!

Next thing we know, they’ll be too cool to sit on the curb near their family, watching army trucks, clowns and decorated bicycles roll by. A emotional little part of my heart thinks I ought to be sadly nostalgic, but the bigger part of my logical brain assures me that they are right on track. Knowing that they are growing up–so far, so good–feels pretty great.

(One of them even helped me clean out the van today . . . without my asking!)

* * *

The other day, we were driving in the van on the way to the pool. The boys made a comment about how unreasonable their sister is and it’s true–because she’s three years old, the Unreasonable Age if ever there was one. Anyway, I said, “Have you heard that saying–never try to teach a pig to sing . . . because it wastes your time and annoys the pig?” I explained to them that try to reason with their sister is like teaching a pig to sing.

And one of them intoned, “Yeah, mom, it’s like trying to teach a chicken to whistle.”

At which point, I abandoned my lesson and made a mental note to remember the crazy things kids say.

Then I heard one of them say, “That’s stupid. A chicken doesn’t have lips. It can’t whistle!”

“Does, too!”

“You’re stupid!”

“Mo-om!”

So I turned up the radio extra loud and pretended I was alone.

Where I’ve Been. What I’ve Done.

Did you see the date on that last post?  July 1?  How did that happen?  Today is July 3 already . . . I’m stuck in one of those fast-forwarding time-warp thingies.  Help!

Last night, I headed down to the church to work on decorations for Fiesta!  I was meeting a friend there, but I arrived earlier than she did, so I made transparencies of the patterns we planned to use, then stood in the entryway blowing up inflatable fiesta-themed shapes. 

But it was stuffy in the church and cooler outdoors, so I patted my pocket to make sure I had the keys, then stepped onto the sidewalk.  And in that fleeting moment as the door slammed closed, I realized that the keys in my pocket were only my car keys, not the church keys.

I just locked myself outside.  My phone?  Inside.  Purse?  Inside.  And here is proof that God loves me–at that very moment, a member of our church pulled up in a car.  He was no ordinary member, either.  He was a member with elite status and therefore, he had a key.

So, back inside I went and this time, I put all the keys in my pockets.

My friend arrived and we got to work tracing the pattern of three buildings onto three four-feet-by-eight-feet pieces of foam insulation.  Then, we cut them out with a saw, then vacuumed up the white snow-like bits.

We started painting at 10:00 p.m. and to our great shock, finished up (two of them) at 1:00 a.m. 

I got to sleep at about 1:30 a.m., but kept waking up throughout the night, in a panic about oversleeping.  (Am I the only one who does that?)  I let in the little girl I babysit at 6:25 a.m., and went back to bed–my son came downstairs then and they watched television quietly. 

My daughter was up at 7:40 a.m. and still, I tried to sleep.  At 8:30 a.m., I was up and showering for the day because I’d planned to take the kids to the zoo.

Which we did.  My husband went, too, so it was a full-fledged family outing.  We came home in time for my daughter and husband to nap–while they slept, I wrote a letter for my volunteers, took it to church to make copies, and mailed the final product at the post-office.

Then I took the kids–mine and three others–to the pool until 6 p.m.  I made them a quick dinner and my husband took the 8-year old to Judo.  I cleaned up, did a little laundry, wrote in my other blog, wondered where the time has gone and here I sit. 

My daughter will go to bed in less than an hour and I’ll be back at church, painting the foam-insulation backdrops, stringing together tissue paper flowers and eyeing walls where decorations will ultimate go.

Don’t you wish you were me?  Queen of Decorations and Lack of Sleep?  Because if you want, I’ll trade places and you can be me for awhile.  Anyone?  

See Mel Work and Play and Try to Drive a Car

The smallest project can turn into a sprawling time consumer.  At least it can if you are me. 

At 8 p.m. last night, after my daughter went to bed, I headed for Home Depot to pick up the foam insulation and assorted decorating items.  But first, I took a long look at the van’s interior and tried to imagine shoving  a few 4′ x 8′ boards into it.  I decided the seats needed to come out.

I had to look that up in the manual.  Then I unscrewed one, tilted it back and pulled and fussed at it until it finally came loose.  By the time I finished the second seat, my husband had come out to see why I was still in the driveway.

So, off I went.  At Home Depot, I got an orange cart, then headed over to the building supplies where I quickly realized I needed a heavy-duty metal cart with space for carrying things bigger than myself.  I trudged back outside to find the appropriate cart.

I lost several months of my life inside Home Depot as I wandered and priced items and searched for other items and carted four 2″x4’x8′ pieces of foam insulation.  The two-by-fours only fell off the cart three times.

A surly cashier rang up my items.  I paid.  Then the real fun began.

I reached my super-huge van, the one big enough inside for a dance party (I’m only missing a disco ball–believe me, this van is just that groovy).  I opened the back and pulled the first gigantic piece of foam off the cart and . . . not into the van.

It didn’t fit through the back doors.

No need to panic, right?  I opened the side doors and acted as if I knew what I was doing.  I heard laughter coming from an SUV parked nearby, but I ignored it and muscled the foam insulation diagonally through the door.  For a few moments, I didn’t think it would slide all the way in, but through the magic of geometry, physics and panic, I somehow fit it in.

I was sure I’d never fit the other three pieces in, but one after the other, they slid into place.  I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get them out, but removing them at the church proved a simple task.

But as I carried the wood and foam and paint cans down the long church hallway at 10:30 p.m., I wished that I were one of those tiny, petite women who flutter their eyelashes so that big, strong men do this type of job for them.  For whatever reason, I am loathe to ask for help, even when it involves Home Depot and power tools.

*  *  * 

My husband rocks.  Today, he stayed at home with the kids while I gallivanted.  I went shopping–my closet has become bare as I’ve cleaned out clothes that no longer fit.  I especially need something to wear to church on Sundays, but I was unable to find a dress department, let alone a dress!  Do women no longer wear dresses?  Marshall’s used to have a rack of dresses, but not anymore.  The local department store has two small racks of random dresses, none suitable.

So, after shopping (I settled on capri pants and some shirts), I headed to a movie.  “The Devil Wears Prada” received a good review in the local newspaper and so I expected to love it.  I did like it–I think Anne Hathaway is beautiful to watch and Meryl Streep was fantastic in her role. 

But I was annoyed by the plot.  We are supposed to believe that the heroine in the story is wrong to excell at her job and that putting her job first (she’s not married and has no children) shows that she’s lost her soul somehow.

I didn’t buy it for a minute.  In fact, I wanted to slap her whiny boyfriend hard across his stubbly cheek.

So, after the movie, I left the parking lot by the alternative route behind the building.  As I turned the corner, I noted (with mounting panic) that my car wasn’t accelerating when I pressed the pedal.  I lifted my foot and the car idled along . . . but when I pressed again, it slowed.  

Oh no, I thought.  This car isn’t fixed after all!   I pressed the pedal once more, the car nearly stalled and then I realized something important.

That pedal, the one I pressed?  It was the brake pedal.  Yes, I seemed to have confused the gas pedal with the brake pedal.  A-hem. 

*  *  * 

I returned home to put my daughter to bed and then back out into the world again I went, this time to buy $200.00 worth of groceries.

I am utterly exhausted, but at least we have food again.  (And shampoo and cat food.)  If I’m lucky, my daughter will sleep past 7:00 a.m.  I hope I’m lucky.