Grousing a Little

Parents do a lot of thankless things for their kids. It starts with poop-filled diapers and carries right on through until the time they leave home. (Possibly beyond, but I can't think that far ahead. Note to self: ask Dame Judi). Among those thankless tasks performing taxi service ranks high...especially when in the midst of preparing for a particular event like, say, oh...the spring musical.

I am soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo over this and the show hasn't even gone up yet (opening night is Thursday). Tonight, for example, rehearsal goes until 8. That's right, 8 in the p.m. Which means for the second week straight The Spouse and I are eating without her, I have to leave the house during prime TV viewing time to fetch her and then feed her warmed up whatever-we're-having (tonight it's lamb chops with gremolata and white beans because that sounds very spring-y to me). Tuesday and Wednesday she rehearses until 6pm (only slightly better) and then there's the the whole picking her up AFTER the show. (Although, to be fair, I only have to do that 2 nights because other people are helping out).

I swear, if that child ever wins a Tony or an Oscar she had damn well better than thank her mother, "without whom I wouldn't be here...at all".

OMG!

A friend of mine who is possessed of 2 small children recently asked those of us who are farther down the parenting road if we agreed with the adage that "the days are long but the years are short". I gave him a resounding "you betcha*".

When you're not getting a full night of sleep, when you never eat a hot meal, when you are convinced that your loin fruit will in fact be the only kid at college still wearing diapers, when you are putting your butt in the hard seat of one more school concert you never think that your life will be your own again. You are quite convinced that your future holds nothing but sandy eyelids, cold mac and cheese and the chapped hands that come from washing after yet another diaper change.

But that's not the way it is.

The little beggers grow up and they keep growing up. And then, all a sudden, you wake up one morning and the damn baby can't be found. It finally happened. You finally DID leave it on the bus. And then some adult-sized person walks out of the nursery wearing a "Twilight" tshirt, grumbles something unintelligible in your general direction and pours itself a cup of coffee. No need to call the Port Authority. You didn't lose the baby. It just frakking grew up.

Today The Child is 17. (Yes, she's still The Child. It is my last bastion and you'll not wrest it from me). More to the point, she is now only 1 year away from being a legal adult. Even more to the point, I have but one more year (and a few months...she'll only be halfway done with her senior year when she turns 18) to make sure I've taught her the rudiments of what it will take for her to make her own way.

She's a good kid. A very good kid. Oh, she can't unload the dishwasher in less than 30 minutes to save her life, her room is thisclose to being condemned by the health department and she still prefers the floor to all other surfaces for the storage of her stuff. But she's a good kid. She may drive us ocassionally insane with her know-it-all attitude but she doesn't drink or smoke or do drugs. She asked for a purity ring for her birthday. She doesn't skip school or sneak out or break curfew. And when she is dealing with anyone other than The Spouse or me she routinely impresses them with her open heart, happy spirit, level head and good humor. This is me, counting my blessings.

But it is certainly very much on my heart today that this is a milestone quite unlike many others. This time next year my role will officially begin to shift from supervisory to advisory. Yes, she'll still be in our house for a while and the old "as long as your under my roof" thing will absolutely apply. But once the government recognizes her as an adult, so must I. This is a gift that Dame Judi gave to me (Sean, not so much...he didn't really "release" his daughters until they were married. Sean is way old school). From the time I left home, Dame Judi stopped telling me what to do. She was always there for me - and still is - any time I needed advice or perspective or prayer or just a sympathetic ear. But once I was on my own, she respected that I had to make my own way. She didn't always like how I did it and she no doubt bit her tongue more than once but she trusted that she'd given me a solid foundation from which to launch my own flight. And so, having no other model for it, that's what I now prepare to do for The Child. I'm now closer than ever to turning her out into the world, whether I think she's ready for it or not. (And let's face it, part of the "readiness" only comes with the doing. Gots to push them baby birds out the nest!)

But she's not going anywhere for now, except out for sushi with her parents, so no need to get all maudlin and crap. Not to mention that if I did get maudlin in front of her I'd get a big eye roll and a "Mu-ommmmm". She's still not too grownup.

*time honored phrase which I am determined to reclaim from She-who-must-not-be-named.

SNOWPOCOLYPSE 2011!

It happens every time...

Some meteorologist sees snow a'comin' and the word hurtles through all channels. "SNOW IN THE FORECAST! How will it affect your commute?"

And we all know better. That snow is going to gently waft over the bunny slope on Mt. Rainier and then it'll rain in the lowlands after the run on generators and toilet paper at the local Walmart.

Except, of course, when it actually does snow. And in these parts, as little as 3 inches of snow can shut down the city. Last time it snowed (in November), I was caught about 5 miles from home and it took me 3 hours to return to the domicile...and that after abandoning my car half a mile from home because I couldn't get up the second to the last hill.

So when it was reported this morning that up to 3 inches was expected in the late afternoon and that it was advised that people leave work early if at all possible (so's to prevent the cluster that was the evening commute on aforementioned November evening), all I could think was how buggered I would be if it really did snow because The Child had rehearsal and needed picking up at 5 pm.

My choices were these:

If the snow came as predicted, risk life & limb to fetch her and spend 6 hours (or more) stuck in traffic with a sullen teenager

-or-

Tell her to come home after school, on the school bus, and miss rehearsal thereby assuring an evening at home with a sullen teenager.

I chose the latter.

It started snowing about an hour ago. And the anticipation of a potential snow day has erased, at least for now, all her anger at my over-caution preventing her from pursuing her chosen career.

And We're Off

The Child has been on break for two weeks, me for one. Today everything gets back to the other normal...early rising, the trip into school and then off to work. I'm thankful that I love my job; makes the leaving behind of leisure a little less sting-y.

The Child has been doing really well in school this year. Finally. The whole nearly-flunking-out thing shook her up and she's finally determined that both doing AND turning in her homework has merit. She even studies for tests. One of the conditions of her returning to her school was being tested...her counselor wanted to rule out any learning disabilities that could be contributing to her struggles.

This was a fruitful thing. We'd always known she was mildly dyslexic and the psychologist confirmed this. It was also discovered that while she has better than average intelligence the processor in her brain works more slowly. So, for example, she has an excellent grasp of the workings of mathematics but it takes her a long time to compute formulas. Therefore, the gap between her intelligence and her performance is significant enough that she qualifies for certain academic accommodations: more time for tests, audio books are highly recommended and she'll be able to have more time for the SAT. And that first bit, more time for tests, should help her grades even more because this year it's test scores that are bringing down her grades. (Granted, she's getting As and Bs this year but there's been a little sliding in Science and it owes to test scores).

Anynoodle, point is, she is working much harder and performing to her potential and so, after a quarter of academic probation, she was allowed to audition for the spring musical. And landed a small role. (Not a lead but not in the chorus, either. Last year she didn't even make it into the chorus). She's very excited. And I don't know if all this school stuff is part of it or if it's the fact that she is nearly 17 or a combination of the two but she has, all a sudden, become a much more mature young woman. There are fewer and fewer glimpses of the little girl and more and more evidence of the woman she's becoming. Which is delightful and freaky all at once.

Of course, at this present moment she is still lying in bed despite having been called 20 minutes ago and I suspect that the moment I hit "publish" and go to rouse her again there will ensue the classic grumpy teen/irritated mommy routine but still.

Rise and Shine

There are a lot of issues that get people pretty het up these days. But the one that bothers me the most doesn't seem to get any attention from the right, left or center. The silence on this subject is deafening. And to me, offensive. Am I really the only person who thinks that there should be a constitutional amendment preventing school from starting before Labor Day?


The good news? Aside from the fact that Labor Day weekend involved copious amounts of sitting around? This year The Child is taking Zero Hour, an opportunity afforded upperclassmen to take an extra credit of something. That means she can't take the school bus in because she starts at 7am. So I have to drive her in. (Because public transportation would mean that she has to leave the house at, like, 5am and while I am, without question, the worst mother in the world, I'm not going to make her do that). But if she has to get up at 6am then that means I have to get up at 5am. Because mama just ain't happy if she doesn't get some time alone in the house. And staying happy is more important than sleeping in. Yes, I just wrote that.

"Good news?" you say. "How can getting up at 5am for anyone who isn't a farmer or commercial fisherman possibly be good news?"

Well, not only do I get my quiet time, without which I would quickly crumble to dust and blow away, but it means I get to the office at 7:30, a good 30 minutes before my tour starts. "At work a full 30 minutes before you have to be?" says you. "How can that POSSIBLY be good news? Why would you go to work when you don't have to? Who does that?"

Don't you see? Now I can blog from work just like all the cool kids! Who knows? Might even become a habit. Again.

Don't Quit Your Day Job

School has started, with the attendant joys of back-to-school shopping (love me some school supplies) and French onion soup (this year's requested menu by the student in question).

I can't believe The Child is a junior. No, really. She almost wasn't. The end of last year required no small amount of hard, hard work to keep her from flunking out. She pulled that off and went to summer school besides. Only, it turns out, not as much summer school as she needed. That was, on one level, my fault. With all the stuff surrounding Suzanne's death I confused some registration dates. But, as I mentioned to The Child when she attempted to ream me out for this lapse, if she hadn't flunked Algebra we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with. There were meetings and emails and no small amount of worry before she got the go ahead to register. She's making up Algebra in an extra class.

Here's the thing about The Child. She's smart. Plenty smart. She's just not an academician. She really could care less about things, unless she cares about them. (Civil War? Shakespeare? Bring it. Math? Not so much). And her strategy last year, the one that got her into trouble, was to work really hard on big projects and ignore all the little ones. What's 5 points here and there when you get 60 out of 50 on a 10 page paper, right? Wrong. Zeros, she's learned, add up.

She's also come to understand that while she may have every intention of being an actor, she's still going to have to graduate high school, go to college and have some options in life other than "Do you want fries with that?"

Last night, in a rather impressive display of intention, she sat down with me to review every single one of the syllabuses (syllabi?) for her classes. And then she talked about how excited she was about the subject matter ahead and her strategy for staying on top of her work and not letting things slide like she did last year. It was almost as if she finally got it.

Proof will be in the pudding, of course. Let's see what her attitude is like once the work actually begins. But at least she has the right attitude going into this, the sense that she can do this and that good grades are actually something of which she is capable.

Wish us luck. Meanwhile, I'm meeting Chouchou tonight for Bloody Mary dinner, our since-Rainey-went-back-to-work compromise on the traditional Bloody Mary Monday.

You Can't Come In

Research says that teenagers' brains are not yet fully formed. Something to do with synapses from the frontal lobe not yet connected to the rest of the brain or something. It's why they don't consider consequences of their actions and live strictly in the present and very me-centered moment. Anyone who has raised a teenager can affirm the veracity of this.

Teenagers also have a real problem hanging onto important stuff. Like cell phones. And keys. The Child is forever misplacing her house key. This morning I told her I'd give her a ride to the bus stop (that was my first mistake). She came out and asked if she could borrow my house key. "Did you lose it?" I naturally asked. "No!" she emphatically exclaimed. "It's just in some pants or something". Right. "Can I borrow yours?" Only one cup of coffee into the morning I agreed, with a stern "Don't lose it!"

You've had enough coffee by now so I presume you can figure out where this is going. I returned from dropping her off, only to have to race back down to the bus stop, fervently praying that the bus hadn't come yet. I retrieved the key, so I could get into the house, and now either have to find hers or get one made and put it in a secret location so she can get her sorry arse into the house later today. Sheesh.

Item to add to the Bill Invoice o' Child Raising: $412 for assorted house keys.

Eggs and Alleluias

Soon, very soon, I will grab the alb I purchased last year (so as to never, ever, ever again in my life have to enter into the malstrom that is the sacristy before a big liturgy) and prepare to assist at and participate in the Easter Vigil.

I love the Easter Vigil. Some people hate it because it is the longest liturgy of the year. It begins when the sun goes down...with the lighting of the sacred fire...and ends when it ends. Average? 3.5 hours. But it's gone longer...depends on how many people are being baptised.

But part of what I love about it is that it is so essentially Easter and Christian. Easter Sunday is swell but church always feels a little off. It's crowded and crazy and full of C&E Christians. And I don't begrudge them because I used to be one. But I can be far more prayerful at the Easter Vigil and, as an added bonus, then I have all Easter Sunday to prepare dinner and nap and what-have-you.

This Easter Sunday will be very special because Suzanne asked if we'd take god-daughter Kiki for the day. Suzanne is still recovering from multiple surgeries and other nonsense related to her cancer (which, btw, sucks) and, as she put it, "I want her to have a fun day but I'm just not up to making it happen". Well, that's what god-moms are for, say I. So there will be an Easter egg hunt and egg dying and lots of other general spoiling. The Child is very excited (because we weren't going to have an egg hunt this year and even though she was 16 she was disappointed so, yay, she still gets one). She is very sensible of her role as "big sister" in the Kikster's life. And I just realized that now that Kiki is in our life, Easter egg hunts will, in fact, continue in our home for the foreseeable future. So there you go.

Anybunny, here is wishing all my Blogtopian friends a very blessed Easter (if you swing that way) and a very nice Sunday to those who don't.

Traffic Circles are a Good Thing

It is an absolutely glorious spring day outside. Alright, it isn't technically spring, but you wouldn't know it to be outside in the sunshine with the bulbs bursting all over, the scent of fragrant blooms everywhere and the very busy birds.

But I'm not out in it preparing garden beds or checking the progress of the lilac. I'm feeling kinda drained. So far this weekend has been a bit fraught.

First

Yesterday I had a little accident. I'd picked up The Child and her Best Friend from rehearsal and I was giving a ride to another kid. We were entering an uncontrolled intersection only blocks from his house when I saw another car barrelling down the street toward us. I slammed on my brakes and frankly, closed my eyes and braced for impact. Dude was totally going to T-bone us. But my car angels - who happen to be really, really good car angels - saw to it that the other driver just hit me on the driver's side fender. (They also shoved him up over the curb and blew out one of his tires).

After checking that everyone was OK, I got out to exchange information with the dude. Who was totally belligerent and accused me of running a stop sign. I pointed out that there was no stop sign, that he was doing 30 on a neighborhood street and that he, in fact, was supposed to yield to me. He got on the phone to the cops and I heard him saying that I'd run a stop sign. Dude hands me his phone with a gruff, "They want to talk to you" and the cop asked me what was going on. I told her my version, gave her out license plate numbers and such and handed the phone back.

While we waited for the cops to arrive I called The Spouse to tell him we'd be a little late. After a concerned, "Oh, no! Is everyone OK?" he asked "Whose fault was it?" Later that evening I pointed out to him that, really, one shouldn't go straight there in a situation like that. Sheesh.

Anyway, the cop shows up and dude is all, "she ran a stop sign" and the cop pointed out there was no stop sign. He got my story and dude's and then very matter-of-factly said, "She had the right of way. It's your fault". Then he asked if we'd like him to facilitate our exchange of information and while he was doing that dude suddenly became all, "I'm glad no one was hurt, I'm glad I didn't hit your door", like that. Yeah. I was frakking glad he hadn't hit my frakking door either. Idiot. And, btw, he never actually apologized for hitting my frakking car. Whatever. He got a ticket and a flat so there is justice in the world.

Now my car, which already had a dented driver's door from another little altercation several years ago, has been officially declared, by MAB, as a hooptie. Given that it is 10 years old and has a leaking manifold which causes it to frequently rumble like an active volcano, I think that's fair. Good thing a new car purchase has already been a topic of familial discussion.

Second
I got to visit with Suzanne, mother of my god-daughter Kiki. She is recovering from surgery, following her recent diagnosis of stage iv ovarian cancer. She'll start chemo next week. She's bearing up well, all things considered, and she gave me a little job to do for her which makes me feel like I'm being useful (besides praying, of course). And, of course, I got to spend time with the gorgeous Kiki, most-beautiful-god-baby-in-all-the-land. When I left I told her that I was going to give her a kiss and she lifted up her little blossom of a face and pursed her lips. Ad.or.a.ble.

But it is hard. I love this little family so much and the road ahead is going to be very difficult. I believe in miracles because they happen every day. But that doesn't negate the reality of just how hard the coming months are going to be. Thank heaven we only have to take one day at a time.

So now all that is said, I'm now going to motivate myself. I'm going to clear away piles of paper and sweep things and put clean sheets on the bed. I'm going to start pizza dough (mmmm...pizza) and I'm going to take my camera outside and make pictures of buds. Because buds are one of the most hopeful things I can think of. Then I think I'll make myself some sort of old fashioned sort of cocktail, like an Old Fashioned maybe, and read something uplifting. That sounds like a good idea, doesn't it?

Let Them Eat Cake

The main thing to accomplish for The Child's Sweet 16 party was her cake. Which she envisioned in her chosen colors (chocolate brown and pink). Polka dots were involved. Despite my noteworthy stint as Worst Mother in the World, she seems to believe I can do anything. Like make a cake worthy of Duff Goldman. 'Cept the truth be told, I can barely ice a cake without embarrassing myself. (Reason number 13 Why I Love Pie: You don't have to ice it). But The Child, you see, wanted fondant. I knew exactly what she had in her head. I could see it, too. Just not so much with the execution. Also, I worked with fondant maybe a dozen years ago, in an effort to make "ribbons" for a cake for my parents' 40th wedding anniversary or something like that. And I had help. And it was just a decorative touch, not the entire set piece. Are you getting the picture?

First thing I did was buy fondant. I've made it. It can be made. But really, why would you when someone else has done the work already? That's right. And the woman who was selling the fondant had some in very hot pink. Which could be muted with some of the pure white fondant, thus saving me not so much time (still had to knead the stuff) but mess (like when I had to dye AND knead the brown fondant).

Here's the fondant in its larval state:

And this is how the pink turned out. Much toned down, right?



My original plan was just to cover each layer in fondant, decorate with the requested polka dots and let it go at that. The first layer of brown fondant was easy enough. But when it came to covering the round layers I was suddenly confronted with engineering issues. Like, how do you make the fondant all straight and flush to the cake when what it wants naturally to do is drape?

Well, if you're anything like me and you really don't have time to research the problem, you use your imagination. Hey! That looks like a skirt, doesn't it? A few polka dots, a nice bow at the back...

From a distance, and with plenty of distracting gee gawgery, it didn't look half bad.

I Can't See My Shadow

I told myself this morning that I was going to download the pictures from The Child's Sweet Sixteen bash and get blogging about it. But then I discovered how many pictures were actually taken and now I have to go sort through them all and find the ones that best tell the story so that report will have to come tomorrow.

But suffice to say, it was a good party.

And also, I went to my first roller derby bout this weekend. One of the teams was skating to benefit The House so MAB and I went. That is a whole other blog foddery tale.

But suffice to say, I have decided that my roller derby name would be Julia Riled. I would wear pearls and an apron and whenever I blocked a jammer I'd trill "Bon appetit, suckah".

I wounded myself the other night while grating cheese. We've all done it...scrapped a knuckle on the grater. Hurts like H, bleeds like a stuck pig, takes forever to heal because the wound is on a bendy place.

Suffice to say, I won't post any pictures of that.

A Smattering

Update:
Yesterday was much better than Monday. The Child and I had a talk about the hissy she'd thrown and cleared the air. We went out for a delicious dinner and watched "16 Candles" when we got home. She got lots of wonderful presents from wonderful people and went to bed happy. And so did I.

Small World Story:
We had dinner in a new sushi restaurant near our house. The woman who waited on us also owns one of my favorite little shops in the 'hood. (You may have heard that being a small business owner is currently not the easiest gig. So Shop Lady also takes some shifts at the sushi restaurant to keep body and soul together. She's amazing). Even though I've been shopping in her store for quite a while now, we'd never formally met so we took care of introductions over dinner. Then she pulled out her phone and friended me on Facebook. A little later she came back and asked, "How do you know Pat Briscoe?" Some of you may remember Pat from the early bloggy days. I told her about our virtual acquaintance and then she said she'd gone to high school with him. Six degrees of separation, baby. It's for real, I tell you.

Amazing Food:
Yesterday MAB brought me a little treat from a bakery near her new digs. It was a "pancakes and bacon" cupcake....delicious cake studded with little sugary bits of bacon, a creamy butter and maple frosting adorned with more bits o' bacon (as opposed to Baycun Bits, mind you). It was the best. thing. ever. I'm going to try and adapt it into a cake for our Carnevale feast. Fantastic.

Good Read
I've started reading "Just Kids" by Patti Smith. It is beautiful. She writes like she's from another century; dense, deliberate, poetic language where every word is clearly chosen with great care. Not at all what you'd expect from the Queen of Punk.

Good News:
The Child lost her cell phone in a train station yesterday. On the way to the car after dinner I got a call from a guy who'd found it. He's bringing it to my office today. He doesn't know this, but I'm giving him a reward. Dude just saved me $100 on the replacement phone. It's the least I can do.

Don't Forget:
The President's State of the Union address is tonight. I always watch the SOTU, even if I don't like the guy delivering it. This year will be a treat; not only do I very much like and support The President, I just adore listening to him speak. I just hope there aren't any arse Republicans planning to pull a Joe Wilson tonight. Idiots. I've really come to loathe the GOP.

Sweet 16. (OK, Not So Much on the Sweet Right Now But I Guess That Goes with the Territory).

16 years ago, right this minute, I was wearing a very unflattering but serviceable hospital gown and cracking jokes. No, really. In between contractions, it was a big ol' laughfest in the delivery room. Months later I ran into my labor nurse at the hospital and she told me that in her entire career she'd never laughed as much as she had at The Child's delivery. I like to think that the fact that there was more laughter than pain at her birth has some sore of significance.

I am feeling much more sentimental today than I expected. Probably because last night The Child, with much weeping and gnashing of teeth, delivered the "you don't believe in me, you never support me, blah blah blah" speech. I really hate that speech. Especially delivered on the eve of an occasion. Like her 16th birthday. A moment which, let's face it, I had something to do with. And yes, I am well aware that this goes with the territory and yes, certainly, I would much prefer The Attitude, born as it is of strong will and spunk, to the alternative. Like sex and drugs and alcohol and smoking and truancy and running with the wrong crowd or dating someone menacing with a name like Butch and a motorcycle. There is a lot about my 16 year old that I will put up against any other 16 year old and I'll do so with a whole lotta pride.

But when your baby turns on you, especially when you know that nothing you were saying to her remotely smacks of a lack of support, especially when you know what you've done to get her to this moment, yeah...it smarts a little.

And I was going to say, "but enough about me" and try to conjure up some sentimental crap about motherhood and the milestone of a daughter turning 16 and then I remembered, "This is my bloody blog and if I want to write about how I was, once again, told that I truly am 'the worst mother in the world', on the eve of my child's 16th birthday no less, and how it smarted and how it still does and how truly annoying that is, well then, that's what I'm going to do". So there. Pft.

So a happy birthday to my rotten, ungrateful child. I love her very much. I know she was put on this earth to do great things. And that's true whether she believes it or not.

Caroline Laughs and It's Raining All Day, She Loves to Be One of the Girls

I have begun planning The Child's Sweet 16 party. (Yes, I'll give you a minute to digest that. She was 11 when I started this blog).

She wanted "Pretty in Pink" as the theme. So the invitations were pink and the cake is going to be pink (with chocolate brown polka dots) and she wants pink balloons and pink streamers and pink food. (There'll be ham and maybe some pink punch but I'm not going to do anything crazy, like dye the deviled eggs. I have my limits). Some of the guests are, I know, wearing pink to the fete and so will the fetee. (She doesn't know that yet...I'm taking her shopping this weekend. Shhhh. It's a surprise).

At the moment I am not capable of making deep observations about this milestone. Frankly, I still haven't quite wrapped my head around it. Or my heart. Or maybe my failure to wrap my mind around it is a mechanism for protecting my heart. I can tell you that lately I have been noticing mommies with little tow headed toddler babies and something tugs inside. Because the truest words that were ever spoken is that it goes fast. It goes really, really fast.

4 Things

I had a theme going and yesterday was supposed to be about three things but it was one of those days so now we're up to 4. It was one of those days because we had some teenage angsty drama with our Aussie. Long story. Suffice to say that our Aussie was very homesick (her mum told me that she probably wasn't ready to make such a trip) and has moved to another house where there is another student from her school. There were bits about it all that were very annoying but the good news is that The Child took it all very well (and not at all personally, which is good, since it wasn't) and frankly, it's nice to know that there's a three day weekend ahead wherein I will not be required to entertain someone else and can just veg.

The Cat is weird. Every morning, very early, she comes into our room, jumps up on my nightstand and drinks from my water glass. The "clink" of her collar on the glass wakes me up and then I instantly get very thirsty, which requires me to get up and get fresh water because, while cats are not known for being a drooly animal, who wants to drink water that has potential cat spit in it? Not me. I've tried leaving out a decoy glass but she always goes to the one nearest me. Every night. The Spouse has suggested a sippy cup.

My little Wii Fit friend informed me today that I am only 10 pounds from my weight goal. I love my little Wii Fit friend.

Project Runway is back! New season premiers tonight. Yippee! And also, skippy! Not to mention, it means I get to start work late on Friday because, as you know, MAB insists that I have my recap up before I come in to the office. I love my job.

Off Track Betting

I have 24 hours to remove Christmas, mop the floors, dust for prints, unstick the sticky, do laundry, take out 412 pounds of recycling and create a sleeping space for The Child during the period when she is displaced by the bright, shiny, new Australian we're getting tomorrow. During that same period I need to earn money, eat, sleep and work out because I've lost 2 pounds already and mommy really wants to keep that up.

Anyone want to give odds on how I'll do?

Obligatory First Blog Post of the Year

Lord knows I love the holidays but it's nice that a little window of normal is opening up before the not normal of the family being temporarily being increased by 1.

The Child will not get up happily this morning, of that I am quite sure. She went out on New Years Eve and had a sleep-over with BFF #2, came home around 5 on New Year's Day and then went to a birthday party on the 2nd which also included a sleep-over. She was veryvery tired last night and veryvery grumpy about my "forcing" her to finish the paper on Macbeth that she had all holiday to work on. (To be fair, it was mostly done but for the tidying up of editing but still). Point is, she will be suffering from the cummulative effects of her weekend.

The Spouse is just now leaving for his first day back at the office in 2 weeks. I think he's ok with it, so long as he can make coding seem like playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare or Fallout.

On Saturday I was feeling a little resentful about my minimal amount of holiday time and about having to spend the weekend running errands, per usual, while The Family played and thinking about how I always have to spend the weekend running errands, per usual, while The Family plays and then it hit me. "Hey! I'm earning leave". So I decided that I'm going to take one Friday off every month. And those days are going to be just for me and whatever I feel like doing. (MAB won't like it. She hates it when I'm out of the office. But that's okay because I hate it when she is out of the office). The very thought of such a plan immediately brightened my mood and I finished all my errands quite happily.

So that's my number 1 resolution for 2010. The other is to keep using my wonderful little Wii Fit to get myself ready for meeting Michelle Obama in May. (Meeting Michelle Obama is resolution #3). I love playing with my Wii. I love that I've already lost a pound and am feeling more limber. I love that it is easy to stay committed because it's fun. Technology is a good, good thing.

So we're "back to normal" for a bit. Until Friday, when we receive our Australian exchange student for 2 weeks. The Child and I connected with her on Facebook and her mum friended me. We've had some delightful chats. I knew it was meant to be, though, when she referred to herself as "the worst mother in the world". "Oh, no you're not," I replied. "I am the worst mother in the world and I have the theme song to prove it!"

I Seriously Don't Know Where to Begin

Must get tabs. Passed the emissions test and have been riding around with results for a week. Tabs expire Friday. Which is New Years. Must get tabs.

And caviar.

Champang-ya.

Cold cuts.

Black eyed peas. (Also download that "Tonight's Gonna Be a Good Night" song because it's very poppy and fun).

The Child will not be ringing in New Year with us as is going bowling with friends. Then will be gone most of Saturday at Sweet 16 party for friend. Which reminds me that I still haven't sent out invites for HER Sweet 16. Although I'm pretty sure I've done a verbal "Save the Date" thing with the people who matter most. Probably not, though.

Must leave work on time today. And tomorrow. No need to stay until 6 just because I can keep myself that busy. Need to focus on a few things at the casa. Like where the H the cat pee smell is coming from. CanNOT begin New Year with smell of cat pee in living room. (Have checked all the obvious places, which is why this is a very perplexing problem).

Get present for aforementioned Sweet 16-er.

Man, I hope someone cleans the kitchen properly today. And maybe folds that pile of laundry. It's nice that it's done but come on now. When I do the laundry I sort it by family member AND fold. This stuff is just sitting in a jumble like it's magically going to find its way into drawers and closets. And at the very least, the people who owns some of it might remove it from the pile and deal with it. Seriously. Washing and drying is only part of the process, you see.

I just know there is something else that should be on my grocery list. OH! Of course, sour cream and matzoh meal. Unless we have matzoh meal from last year. Although it would be stale if we did. So sour cream and matzoh meal.

Must shower.

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime

And at first I wasn't so sure that would be the case. It is, I suppose, silly to think that people will be nice to each other just for the sake of the day. I mean, I think they should make the effort but that's just me. Point is, yesterday was not a banner day in the household and I was beginning to think that calling off Christmas this year would be a good thing. That or running away to Italy. By myself.

From what I understand, it is perfectly normal for a father and teenage daughter to go at it hammer and tongs. Lord knows, I did with my father, Sean Connery. The problem is, aside from the noise level and the vibes of acrimony, most of the time it just seems so unnecessary.

But just when I was thisclose to despair, quite sure that no civil conversation would ever again be heard in our home, people calmed down, had that civil conversation and spent what was left of the evening in harmony and peace. Which is sort of the point of Christmas and since we are a family that claims to care about that, it was nice to see us actually acting like, uh, Christians.

And at least for this moment (because we must remember that expecting consistent maturity from a teenager is just plain silly) The Child is being quite lovely. Like instead of waking us at O-dark-thirty she got up, made coffee and unloaded the dishwasher. And when I got up she asked if she could help me finish the brioche. Love. That.

Anytinsel, I must away to the one grocery store that I know is open to fetch just a few things for tonight's dinner and then I'm going to take my traditional Christmas nap.

I hope you are all merry and bright and that your Christmas is white, in moderation. (A wish that is already too late for those of you under the Christmas Blizzard of '09. I hope all of you stay especially warm and safe today!)

Happy Christmas.

Oh Damn, Guess What I Forgot?

I just got back from my last little run of Christmas errands. Some things are purposely left until the last minute...like fetching delicious bread from the bakery for tonight's soup supper (pumpkin chili this year). I put The Waitresses "Christmas Wrapping" on my iPod, since I was pretty sure it wouldn't be coming on NPR while I was out and about. That song always makes it feel like Christmas Eve.

The house looks like it blew up, all the packages need to be wrapped and I have to start the olive oil brioche for tomorrow night's dinner. Oh, and I have to be at the Cathedral by 4 at the latest to save seats for Mass. So yeah, I'm feeling a bit of a crunch right now. The Child set out to make a Buche de Noel for tomorrow. Her meringue mushrooms are very cute and the espresso chocolate filling is a dream. But her first attempt at rolling the log resulted in something very unloglike and for some reason her Swiss Buttercream frosting won't fluff so now she's just going to make a chocolate layer cake with the espresso filling and decorate with the mushrooms. But it will taste fantastic and the only thing that has her upset at the moment is the fact that The Dog managed to snag and chew on one of the sides of her gingerbread house. Oh well.

Time's a wastin' so I must scurry. But I do hope you have a lovely Christmas Eve. Don't forget the cranberries.