I was caught at our local roller rink today by a reader and fellow blogger, Leigh. When someone addresses me by my blog name, it’s a bit unsettling…like how for years after I was off a certain online community in Montgomery, people would still call me by my handle instead of my name when they saw me out. Hmmm.
Well, I ‘fessed up and it turned out since it wasn’t some freak blogger but Leigh, I was comfortable admitting to being Ms. Bossypants.
I didn’t exactly burn it up on the skating floor, but I did have fun helping my middle child learn to rollerskate. And Leigh was informed of the existence of the Tragic City Rollers, which thrilled her.
Now I feel like I have skates on, my husband is fixing the garage doors, and I am lazy in comparison. But isnt’ tomorrow the day for new beginnings? I’m going to continue my lazy-ass ways a few more hours before I throw myself into a vat of promises and resolutions I really have no intention of keeping.
Happy New Year!
What a nice gesture! I love mOrrissey. Besides being a loveable curmudgeon and style icon, and all the wonderful musical things he is that I cannot describe because my brain is fried, he’s also an unexpected philanthropist.
My neighbor-friend and I went to see Sweeney Todd tonight. Amazing. The blood was a bit to handle since I really don’t do blood and violence much any more. But my God. We were the only ones laughing at the scenes of Mrs. Lovett’s fantasy life with Mr. Todd but I don’t know why because they were hysterical….that Tim Burton, gotta love him.
If you don’t know about the Stephen Sondheim musical but want to see the film, best to read up. The official Sondheim website is a good place to start. Also helps to know about the time period so you understand why little Toby thinks eating those stinky moldy roachy meat pies is so heavenly. Always important to understand the social and political climate of the times, so check out Matthew Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor at Victorian Web.
Then brace yourself for some uncomfortable giggles, excellent performances, superb art direction, and lots and lots of blood.
Also, young Anthony Hope is played by this Jamie Campbell Bower. I almost cried as he wandered the streets of London calling for Joanna. Quite moving.
So our Taiwan family apparently has this photoblog dedicated to food. It makes me hungry. Yum. My husband and his family talk about the good, fresh food in Taiwan and it indeed looks delish. I can’t explain the odd name (No Shower Family) but still. Take a look. I also have it linked at the side.
I hope my three faithful readers had a fabulous Christmas. We had family up from Montgomery on two different days, and it was nice not having to load up the kids and all their crap and then their gifts in the van and drive an hour and a half.
We also did something really nice and got my neice gifts that did not have pieces. Only one required batteries, even! I know, we’re awesome. I remember my brother buying my oldest those cool toys with lots of pieces. Right now, my neice is too young to get toys with little pieces (she’s a year and a half) but just wait. I’m plotting my gift revenge.
My hubby got me a new digital camera for Christmas. It is a big step up from the HP piece of crap we got free a couple of years ago (HP points were nice, though, since this is the first time we’ve had to actually buy a camera). It’s a Canon PowerShot S5IS. I wish I’d had this a few days prior but it’s a nice little camera.
Now I get to troll around the recycling bins to see when they’re empty since I have a truckload of broken down boxes, including two Rose Petal Cottage (the cutest toy ever!) boxes. And then I have to locate people willing to play SuperScrabble Deluxe with me.
Saturday night, old classmates from my magnet high school reunited at 1048 in Montgomery. Honestly, I didn’t recognize a lot of the people. It was sort of the BTW Magnet High School class of 1997 reunion (me, not class of 1997) and then all the other years of Carver Creative and Performing Arts Center kids (that’s me).
But I must say that Miss Gina Rickicki did a smashing job of organizing the whole thing. We had a great bartender and I took a girlfriend with me. I drank five Stellas and accepted an award: The Donna Reed Award, for a graduate who has made family a focus. Later Gina said she hoped I wasn’t insulted, and I laid it out:
I am doing exactly what I want and need to be doing. I was in the creative writing component, editing literary magazines and writing melodramatic poetry and falling in love with drama teachers. Writing was something I did because I was good at it. Not so much any more. I love love love being home with my children. Am I good at it? That’s debatable. I’m notoriously bad at housekeeping, I’m a clutterbug, I really don’t like cleaning floors. I yell at my children–if you were their mom, you would too–and I ignore my husband in favor of other less interesting things.
But no one loves them like I can. I am at the preschool or the elementary school nearly every day helping. My Girl Scouts depend on me. I monitor my kids’ television, movie, and video game choices. I am merciless when it comes to protecting my family. I’ve nursed my husband through two major injuries and some major surgeries.
I ain’t perfect. I’m impatient and bitchy and bossy and lazy. I’d rather count ceiling tiles than do housework. My kids have eaten ice cream for supper before, and more than once (but not more than three times). Maybe I linger a bit too much at Big Mountain sometimes when I should be organizing everyone’s toys and school papers and color-coding their underwear drawers.
But it’s important to know when you’re doing what you were meant to do. This is it for me. In ten years it will probably be different. I haven’t traveled the world. I’m not making money writing, because God who would pay me for THIS?
so when I got my little Donna Reed paper doll with the apron and the sassy tattoos on it, I was honored. It’s nice to know that people out there recognize the importance of what mommies and daddies do every day.
The whole fiasco reminds me why I want to be a Jew. Of course, our little tin chanukiah nearly burnt the kitchen down last Chanukah, but that beats the fights that break out around Christmas trees in my house.
I got a rash from the tree. It’s this huge artificial thing, pre-lit and all. It’s a nice tree. We got it half price at Sears right after Christmas 1999. Let me mention here that I actually put the tree up a few days ago. My way of doing Christmas tree crap is that the tree stays empty a few days and then we put stuff up a bit at a time.
Tonight I thought we would have a nice time decorating the tree. Doesn’t everybody think they’ll have a “nice time” doing something with the kids? The evening ended in a near-fistfight between my four- and five-year-old daughters when one knocked into the Christmas tree and sent the other’s beautiful glittery glass Merck Family’s Old World Christmas swallowtail butterfly ornament to the ground.
It was a glittery and dangerous crash, like a disco ball had shattered at a New Year’s Eve party. And then there was typical little-girl-sister screaming.
After that I fed them pizza and made them watch television while I locked myself in my bedroom for a few minutes. Really, sometimes there’s not enough vodka in the world.
The new pastor at my little church started Sunday. It was his official First Sunday. We also treated him that night to a children’s “Christmas Musical.” Which was basically kids dressed like cowboys and camp cooks under paper palm trees, singing really loudly and looking cute, occasionally picking a nose or hitting a neighbor in the nose.
I have reservations about this minister. Not personally about him, but about the circumstances. He has not signed on for more than 40 weeks and isn’t living here full time. He commutes for a few days each week from Cincinnati, Ohio. Yes, really.
We haven’t joined this church officially, but have been attending since June and it does feel like home to me. I just wonder if people were too hell-bent (ha ha) on getting this guy to look at the long-term goals of the congregation.
He did, however, reference George Carlin during the sermon. Not every preacher can get away with that. It was very clever. He talked of Carlin’s comparison between football and baseball, and how most of us have as our final goal the same as the baseball player’s final goal: to get home. He also quoted some Robert Frost, which gets points.
I have no doubt he’s a good minister, preacher, scholar, pastor. I just wonder why our little group was so willing to take on someone so temporarily?
Anyway, my kids rocked tonight. I love them, really.
Strep throat. If you want to catch it, get here before 10 am, because she had her antibiotic shot at 10 yesterday. Get it while it’s hot, people.
Some of you may know that while I’ve lived most of my life in the Sunny South, I hail from the Midwest. Bellevue, Nebraska, to be exact. My parents are Midwesterners as well–mom was born and raised in Iowa and dad was raised mostly in Indiana.
My hometown is all over the news now. The Westroads Mall shooting happened in Omaha yesterday. And the shooter, a nineteen year old with troubles left and right, was from the little town of Bellevue, where I was born and lived as a baby and toddler.
I was back in The Big O this summer and despite the fact that I would never really consider moving anywhere north of Nashville, I do have a great fondness and affection for Nebraska and Iowa both. The manners, dialect, and food are different from here, but the people are warm-hearted. No one deserves such tragedy.