I’m sorry I was missing in action this week, but I was actually experiencing life away from the computer.
I know, it’s shocking.
I got up and out and made it to the airport in time (twice) for a 6-frikkin’-:17 AM flight, I wrote, I read, I listened, I saw bats, I laughed, I swam, I heard incredible music. Experienced real Mexican food.
Slurped down Sampled the local tequila.
Met and spent time with amazing people, some of whom are enormously talented and creative and funny and beautiful; others who really ought to consider getting reacquainted with their “crazy pills.” Really. Please.
I didn’t sleep much. But why would I do that?
I believe I will treat myself to a trip to Starbucks today, to celebrate the fact that this is my 100th post. Yay me!
I might even make it a venti.
Me: Sam, how many pancakes do you want?
Sam: All of them!
Hannah is a kid whose doll-playing style calls for her to strip off all manufacturer-provided clothing and accessories, and immediately replace them with one-of-a-kind originals. On any given day, my house is cluttered with somewhat unsettling piles of naked Barbies, yarn-fringed paper purses, and stuffed animals dressed in old socks that have been deconstructed and fashioned into mini-dresses and sassy halter tops.
Several days ago, Hannah declared an official “Hat Day.”
The designer’s descriptions follow each picture.
“This is his Charge Hat. He uses it to do stunts, or attack. He wears it like a helmet.”
“That’s his Clown Hat, and also a Party Hat. Sometimes he just likes to wear it to school.”
“This is a rain hat, a working hat, and a detective hat.”
I find Monkey Hat #1 to be mildly disturbing, as it just screams “Terrorist Haute Couture,” but I’m keeping that to myself. I appreciate Hannah’s focus on versatility, and her impeccable sense of practical style. Scotch tape and printer paper never looked so good.
She will be standing by all summer to take your custom headgear orders. Unless the ice cream truck is within earshot, in which case, nevermind.
Abby and I sniffed our way through Bath & Body Works yesterday, and I found new shower suds (since I can’t be in a Lemon-Lavender mood every day. A girl’s gotta have choices.)
Coconut Lime Verbena Shower Gel is my new summer favorite. The very subtle scent falls somewhere between “margarita” and “lazy day at the beach,” both of which are fine by me.
And again, while I am in no way compensated for endorsement of these products, if any person associated with BB&N feels inclined to provide me with samples
for my own selfish use to distribute to interested parties, I will not object.
“Summer,” in the “my kids are out of school and bored already and therefore throwing their dirty clothes on the living room floor, building complex K-nex railroad villages on the breakfast table and declaring them permanent installations, accusing each other of stealing valuable Bella Sara cards and hiding them in dresser drawers, arguing about who ate the last packet of instant oatmeal and pushing all my buttons” sense, is exactly four days old.
And I’m wondering, would it be considered “bad parenting” if I were to set up a tent in the backyard, toss some cereal and maybe an apple or two out there occasionally, and lock all the doors and windows?
Because after four days, we’ve all had plenty of quality time, really.
When a patient informs you that, despite the local anesthesia, she can feel the sharp needle jabbing as you stitch up her knee, do not say, “No, you can’t!”
Because she can. And while the needle was not enjoyable, the disbelief as to the sensation of sharp pain was downright infuriating.
P.S. I’m fine. Just slightly irritated and totally embarrassed. Aren’t my kids the ones who are supposed to occasionally require visits to the ER because of their risky, outdoor, childlike activities? I was simply attempting to transport myself by foot from my house to my car. Which involves a walk of approximately 20 feet. This sort of undertaking should not result in bloodshed, four stitches, and a tetanus shot.
P.P.S. I am proud of the fact that in spite of falling in an extremely sudden and ungraceful manner, I managed to land with my coffee cup upright. Didn’t spill a drop. Priorities!
I’m thinking of walking down the driveway to check the mailbox this morning. Please wish me luck.
But here’s Wilbur getting a buttermilk bath…
The kids were amazing.
Hannah woke up in an emotional heap this morning, and sobbed, “I’m sad we can’t do the play anymore!” She was better after school; I suspect it helped spending the day with all of her similarly depressed barnyard friends.
OK — twist my arm — one more clip.
In this one, Wilbur finds out why s/he’s being fattened up, so Hannah gets to show off her acting chops (har) in her big “I don’t want to die!” scene. The sound is terrible, but we all know the story anyway, right?
The eagerly anticipated Charlotte’s Web will open and close this evening. We’re all very excited.
I’ll report back here as soon as I can, on several topics, including the show itself, sibling jealousy, and the inevitable post-show depression.
Wilbur helps Templeton the Rat with his costume
This conversation took place just as I was about to take Abby sandal shopping at Target.
One on one shopping trips are rare around here. Abby was excited, because she is a pre-adolescent who believes that there is no better way to spend her time than to loiter in a retail establishment. Hannah was nearby, enviously basking in the pre-shoe-shopping glow, while I got ready to leave.
Hannah (suddenly noticing a cut on my leg): MOM! What did you DO?
Me: Oh, I’m fine, sweetie. I just cut my leg while I was shaving it.
Hannah (in a tone that said “Uh oh, Target ain’t gonna happen if Mom has to go to the ER): Does Abby know?
Abby: Do I know what?
Both girls gape at my tiny cut, which looks far more impressive than it actually is. Because blood is cool. Especially when it’s on your mom.
Me (rolling eyes and remaining calm): Really girls, it’s not a big deal, I promise. I just cut my leg with my razor.
Abby (suddenly wearing amazed, confused wonky face): Um. What?
Me: Whaddya mean, “What?’”
Abby: Mom… you shave your legs… with a cell phone?
Me (following a long pause): Har! I love you.