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G walked by our wedding picture last night (apparently this was the first time he noticed it?) He pointed to it and said: ‘look mom, you’re wearing your princess dress….and dad’s wearing his work clothes.’
Now since dad’s ‘uniform’ pretty much consists of jeans, a black zip-up sweater and a baseball hat, it’s pretty far fetched to think a morning suit with stroller jacket could ever be considered his ‘work clothes.’
On a semi-related note. I flipped through the latest issue of Vogue this afternoon and found this wedding dress which I believe does qualify as some kind of princess dress.
It may have cost about $200,000 and it may have required over a thousand hours to make….the article is necessarily coy about such vulgar details. Obviously a commoner such as myself cannot possibly comprehend that level of opulence…..but it is the stuff of fairy tales.
So my darling husband sends me an email the other day with a link for a recipe for chocolate espresso shortbread. Of course he couldn’t have known that he wasn’t just sending me a recipe. No, by unwittingly directing me to this blog, he has now pulled me further into this blog-vortex-blackhole-world.
He was already exasperated with my love of all things celebrity, but now I’m glued to my computer, whenever possible, living vicariously through this woman who makes delicious things and photographs them beautifully.
And then….. I made the mistake of clicking on a few of her ‘links’.
It’s almost worse than when Molly got me hooked on the soulemama blog. At least I don’t REALLY want to make christmas trees out of felt, or sew my boys pajamas. But oh, to have the time and the inclination to make fabulous food and then to style and photograph it…..
We drove past a friend’s house the other day. I noticed their ‘Christmas’ trees have been sitting in the pick-up truck for the last several months. I pointed this out to J and was about to say something to the tune of ‘can you believe they’ve had those trees sitting in that truck for almost 2 months?’
Then I thought of some things we’ve left ‘undone’ since that blessed babe’s arrival:
1. The window screens are still on – the storm windows never got put up this winter.
2. The Christmas wreath is still up, despite making a daily mental note to remove it, despite the preschooler saying last week ‘why is that Christmas thing still up there?’ Gulp.
3. The outdoor furniture (with cushions! eek) is still languishing on the deck.
4. The (uncovered) sandbox is still on the deck along with its slowly-rusting toy occupants.
5. None of the perennials got ‘chopped’ after fall. Dead branches and foliage are sticking up everywhere. I call it a winter garden.
6. The loaner bassinet has been sitting, unused, in our living room for at least 2 months now, just waiting for the day I will return it to its owner.
7. Our dining room ceiling looks the same as it did 5 months ago….meaning it hasn’t progressed much since the roof and ceiling were removed (and the roof was replaced). And the pencil sketches on the wall haven’t been painted over, either.
8. I haven’t even opened the New York Times I bought LAST Sunday.
9. The garage floor is covered with empty boxes that we apparently can’t simply pick up and stack elsewhere in order to park our car indoors.
10. I’ve an enormous pile of unanswered emails and thank you notes to-be-sent from Christmas
I realize in another 6 months it is possible my life will seem less fragmented/chaotic/messy…but in the meantime, take off your glasses when you enter my house.
And, if in six months I’m still using phrases like ’since the baby’s arrival’ kindly remind me that it has been a year and the statute of limitations has most definitely run out on using that excuse.
‘Every day that it rains and I have keys in my pocket, I have a joy of life you can’t believe.’
I was listening to Public Radio this morning on the way to a conference. I tuned in at the end of a story involving an interview with a formerly homeless man. He’d been off the streets for ten years but remembers particularly well how miserable it was on the streets when it was raining. The interview concluded with the aforementioned quote (I think it is pretty much verbatim, but it was early).
Even though there probably won’t be (print) newspapers when he’s old enough to buy them.
I was speed-flipping through the latest issue of Domino today and found the back page, where some featured person lists their ‘can’t live without items’ that are all fabulous and all cost money.
So, since I’m in ‘no buying anything unessential mode’, I tried to think about things that bring me happiness that don’t cost any money. A good exercise especially during this time of year when February, the shortest month, seems to drag on and warm beautiful spring seems miles away.
The boys at or after bath time. (Little H’s fat cheeks semi covered by the hood of his cow towel makes me smile. And G who, almost too big to carry, yells ‘look at the little baby’ as we carry him from bathroom to bedroom.)
Listening to G sing ‘I can be your friend’ or ‘You are my sunshine’ or any song, really.
Having a clean house (for five minutes)
Making enough food over the weekend so I don’t have to cook on Monday.
Playing tag or hide and seek with G (while holding H). ’You count and I’ll hide’ he says. Then, when I say ready or not here I come, he tells me where he’s hiding. ’I'm in the closet!’ ’I'm in the living room!’
Listening to G say ‘excavator with grab’ or ‘excavator with claws’ or ‘compactor’ (from his Bulldozer book.)
Long coffee chats with friends.
Seeing beautiful things….photographs, interiors, nature
Reminiscing with J
Getting busted by G as I’m trying to sneak some candy. ‘Whatcha eating,’ he accuses. ‘Uh, nothing…’ ‘Yes you are. I want some of that.’ And so he chases me around the house until I relinquish what’s in my hand.
So it was Valentine’s Day last Thursday. And, even though Valentine’s Day really loses much of its allure when one graduates from high school, I still feel somewhat obligated to celebrate it.
Since the dawn of 2008, we’ve made a standing date with our babysitter for Thursday evenings. Which is great, except, more often than not we’re scrambling to actually find something to do. And so it happened that Valentine’s Day arrived, on a Thursday, and we actually had a babysitter…with no idea what we were going to do.
‘What do you want to do?’ ‘I don’t know, what do you want to do?’
This is how the conversation went right up until the minute I picked up my date. We decided to drive to Indy. Technically, the driving time would eat up most of our date time. But my mom had offered to relieve the babysitter for an hour, so, off we went.
‘What do you feel like eating,’ I asked. ’Meat’ was the response. So, without any dining guide or directions we drove in pursuit of ‘meat’. First stop, Eddie Merlot’s. A chain restaurant, no less. J hopped out….and hopped back in. They’d have a table for us in 2 hours and 45 minutes. J also felt judged’ (or shamed) by the overly tanned hostess at not having made any sort of reservation for this special occasion.
Next stop, Sullivan’s Steakhouse. J hopped out…..and hopped back in. No tables there….we could have a stand up seat at the bar, though. Uh, stand up and eat steak? That’s okay. Again, he felt the judging, pitying eyes of the hostess upon him – you bad date planner, you.
‘You’re going to put this on your blog, aren’t you?’ He asked in a panicky voice.
Determined to avoid the Cheesecake Factory, we stop at Maggiano’s. More of the same, but I see that Maggiano’s does offer carry out and grab a menu. Hungry, and out of time and options, we call in our dinner order only to be informed that it will take at least 45 minutes.
So, we while away 45 minutes at Border’s, sharing a latte while flipping through magazines and travel guides. Then we pick up our food and begin the drive home while (clumsily) eating our meal – spinach artichoke dip, gnocchi, cannelloni and tiramisu.
As J pointed out, we got to do all of this without kids, so that automatically makes it fun.
All of a sudden she began to whistle. By all of a sudden I mean that for more than thirty years she had not whistled. It was thrilling. At first I wondered, who was in the house, what stranger? I was upstairs reading and she was downstairs. As from the throat of a wild and cheerful bird, not caught but visiting, the sound warbled and slid and doubled back and larked and soared.
Finally I said, Is that you? Is that you whistling? Yes, she said. I used to whistle, a long time ago. Now I see I can still whistle. And cadence after cadence she strolled through the house, whistling.
I know her so well, I think. I thought. Elbow and ankle. Mood and desire. Anguish and frolic. Anger too. And the devotions. And for all that, do we even begin to know each other? Who is this I’ve been living with for thirty years?
from Winter Hours by Mary Oliver
I’ve had a love affair with the Oscars/Academy Awards most of my life. I can remember watching the ceremony as a little girl, awed by the celebrities (besides Cher!) wearing Cinderella-esque dresses; the pomp and circumstance of the whole thing.
I am still obsessed with watching the arrivals on the red carpet. The day after the show, my sister and I spend hours sending emails back and forth – arguing over who wore the best and worst dresses. And, while I no longer bother watching the ceremony, I still consider the nominations a type of ‘must-see’ movie guide and generally try to see most of the movies nominated for the Best Picture award. This past weekend, I saw two of this year’s nominees: Atonement and No Country for Old Men.
I’m a bit conflicted about my opinion of Atonement. My immediate thought was that I liked the movie. Upon further reflection, I decided the movie was lacking somehow – limited in its conveyance of the horror of the war, and the far-reaching effects of Briony’s actions. But I’m a little biased – I thought the book was pretty remarkable and I’m not a big fan of Keira Knightley. Beautiful cinematography, though, and a brilliant use of the typewriter (sound) in the soundtrack. And I loved the way the movie presented a few of the sequences from two points of view. One reviewer on Rotten Tomatoes, described it: ‘..never as powerful or cohesive as it ought to be.’ This is why I’m not a movie reviewer – a professional can say in ten words what I struggle to say in almost ninety!
I’m still not sure if I am a fan of the Coen brothers’ work, but I will say No Country was mesmerizing. On a slight celebrity-obsessed tangent, I’m surprised that Penelope Cruz could date Javier Bardem….but perhaps she has not seen the movie. As Anton Chigur, he was calculating, cold, and just plain evil…not sure if it’s the hair, the slow, slightly accented speech or the Modigliani-esque features, but I pretty much wanted to cover my eyes whenever he was on the screen. And I did cover my eyes a lot. I also wanted to look at my watch a few times, which means the movie lost momentum on occasion. But overall, I’d say it was quite good.
The movie ended on a rather memorable note. As the credits started rolling, a particularly eloquent young man remarked: ‘I want my f***in’ money back.’
I bet that’s what they said at Cannes and Sundance, too.
It seems I’ve, unwittingly, hopped on the treadmill of school obligations. Who knew enrollment in preschool would entail fundraising, fieldtrip permission slips, birthday treats and…valentines. We received a note on Monday (just ‘in case’) with a list of all the classmates and the various and sundry aides and teachers. Bottom line: 28 valentines.
My helper was less than enthusiastic. He painted a few then declared he was tired and, when that didn’t work, said his leg hurt. Nice try! I bribed him with gummy bears which was just the incentive he needed to paint all 28.
Before he’d paint one I’d announce ‘and this one is for Mary (or whatever the student’s name happened to be.) Finally we came to ‘Blake.’
‘And here’s one for Blake’, I chirped enthusiastically, crafty fun mom that I am. ‘I don’t want to do one for Blake,’ was the reply. ‘He took my tractor.’
Fair enough.
