Packing like a mad woman

or re-packing. Opening lots of boxes and getting rid of half the contents which means I have to fill it back up by opening another box and look! I haven't seen that book in ages and then I start reading my old journals and

Holy

Shit

Can I just say I have the most amazing mind ever? I mean, I'm reading events in these journals and saying to myself, Wow! That was a Big! Upsetting! Event! and I can't remember jack shit about any of it. Sometimes I might remember the feeling I had, but by and large I can't remember bubkiss in the way of details.

Which just goes to show you should update your blogs more often;) Except Z, who is amazing.

Signing off without really updating her own blog in a meaningful way,

ephelba

Sandals of Death

I would wander around barefoot all day everywhere if I had my druthers, and flip-flops are the closest thing to my ideal. However, there's something about wearing foam shoes that makes me feel trashy. Then one day I was in to the Salvation Army and found a pair of leather flip-flops. Ah ha! I thought, Here's the ideal shoe in a material that isn't trashy, and the pair costs less than $3! (For me- they're j-crew, so they cost more than that for the original owner, which made the sandals that much happier.)

Round 1- I win.

And then I discovered why they were un-loved. First off, the original owner had stretched them out, and they fell off at every step. No prob, I just cut and sewed the leather straps and Voila! Good as new!

Round 2- The Sandals Strike Back

And as I ran out the house and down the back stairs I discovered the second reason they'd been abandoned- leather soles are slick. I went ass over applecart, bruised my butt, bent my leg all funny and ripped the strap right out of the sole of one sandal.

Round 3 - Minor kerfuffles with no clear winner

So I glued the strap back in and wore them around the house for a while, slipping on the steps now and then when I forgot I was wearing assassin shoes, until the day the glue gave and I was back to square, ummm, two. At which point I left them on the floor in a corner in the kitchen where they prompted me to feel shame that I couldn't fix them. And more shame that I couldn't just throw them away. And sadness that my shoe-love was unrequited.

Round 4 - And then another fixing method dawned on me and I took them to the basement and poked some more holes and sewed some more and have the straps back on and the sole patched. Ready for round 5.

Which is a silly thing to write a whole post about, except that I felt inordinately proud that I had beaten the damn things, and had no one to tell at the moment.

Thanks for listening,

ephelba

Getting rid of stuff

There's a hump you have to get over when de-cluttering, but I find that once I'm over it there's almost nothing I want to keep. Especially now that we're moving into a space all our own, I feel like I should get rid of all our furniture and focus my efforts on getting "new" furniture that works there.

I say "new" because I've never bought furniture before. There's enough awesome stuff people put to the curb that I've never needed to. Like our very solid wood couch, or our oak dressers, or our precious little pie safe, or our radio cabinet. Actually, I think I'm going to keep all that stuff, but I'm hoping to change shelving. We've got a lot of books. We used to have crappy particle board shelves, but we left those in MI. We haven't unpacked all our books since we've lived in NY, but we did put up shelves. Crappy steel shelving that my former boss was throwing out. Well, the shelving is nice, the "finish" on the shelving is what's crappy. Anywho, I'm going to relegate it to the basement where it belongs, and make/find something awesome to put our books on. Can't wait.

In the process of packing up to move I'm realizing how wonderful computers are. Music and books and art and recipes, all manner of things can go into the computer and thereby take up much less room than they do in the real world.

I found my old planner that I used to use all the time. Now my addresses, calendars, even book lists and pictures are all on my iPod. The only thing that was in my planner that isn't in my ipod are poems I used to carry around. Apparently I had the annoying habit of writing down poems without bothering to write down the author. Thank goodness for google, because now I know the following was written by Feyyaz Fergar. I don't know who the hell he is or why I was reading Turkish poetry.

DIVISION OF LABOR

I have problems
I know them well
They know me well
We get on nicely together
I let them worry me rent-free
Sometimes when I am reading a book
I lift my head to give them
The look of sustained recognition.
Sometimes when I’m eating my heart out
They lift their heads
To look at me and relax.

One day, during a class on Linear Algebra, I was sitting next to a man who decided to flip through my planner. He did ask first. I think he was keen on me. Anywho... After reading my to-do lists, and my lists of movies to watch, and my lists of groceries, and my lists of life goals, he wrote the following list himself:

My name is Karl!

I am "this many" years old.

I am tall enough.

I like to sleep, but being

awake is nice, too.

I like to eat.

I like to talk, but

listening is better.

If a person is nice to you

but mean to the waiter,

he is not a nice person.

I am cold right now.

Good thing I have clothes.

I park far away because

I can walk.

I take the stairs because

I can walk.

(a + 2, b + 3)

That's not a linear transformation

But I don't care!

Ha, yes I do.

I've kept that in my planner for years. Time for the planner to go, but I just had to put that down somewhere. As poetry goes, it ain't much, but I think it was sweet for him to open himself up and put that down for me. I think it was his payment for looking at all my personal lists.

Having posted that for posterity, I suppose it's time to get back to packing.

TTFN

ephelba

Unprecedented Mayhem

Right now, right this minute, my husband is in Pennsylvania working at his new job. I am still back here in New York. My son is dutifully trying to better his grades at the local High School, and the girls are feeding their toys to our new pet rabbit.

Also?

We're trying to buy a house. We always always rented. This is big and scary and wonderful, and I thought it suitable to note on the blog.

The house is currently occupied by three men who are either developmentally disabled, or mentally ill. Not my business really. All I know is that they all have caseworkers. Also, they all have a lot of stuff. Also, they aren't that great at keeping house. The upshot of the whole thing is that we will be purchasing a lot of house for a little price in the best neighborhood we've ever lived in.

I'm all excited about guest bedrooms and paint colors and who knows what all. Simon is looking forward to a garden. The Boy is looking forward to picking a bedroom.

Of course, Simon and I worry about his future job security. If you rent, it doesn't take that much to pull up stakes and move to where the new jobs are. This house is supposed to be worth more than we're paying for it, and (unlike here) it's in an area that has many diverse job markets, so if something happens to his company we should theoretically be able to sell and leave rather quickly. Just makes us nervous.

Now all I have to do is pack.

When we moved out here it took the largest truck that Uhaul had. Since then we've had another kid. I'm trying to be ruthless whilst packing- my goal is to get rid of half our stuff- but I don't know if I can fit back into that truck.

I should go get back to it now.

Heigh ho, heigh ho,

ephelba

Reading books for children.

I am a fast reader. I think most people, most Americans anyway, feed their families, wash the dishes, then settle down for a couple of hours of TV. In the same amount of time that the average bear takes to catch up on 30 Rock and American Idol, I can finish a book. If it's terribly thick, maybe it'll take me a night and a half. I know the librarian thinks I'm nuts for checking out 10 books at a time, but if I only checked them out one at a time I'd have to come back everyday.

Have you heard of Goodreads? It's a site that lets you keep track of what you've read, and then you friends your friends and you can see what they're reading too. Slightly Orwellian, but honestly very handy. I can't count the times I've known I read a book on a subject but couldn't remember what the hell the book was called. Our library system refuses to keep a list of what you've checked out in the past, so Goodreads is what I've been using.

Yesterday Laurie King friends-ded* me. I know this is a marketing move, that her publisher or agent said, "Hey, you should join Goodreads and friends your fans", but a little part of me squeed with delight all the same.

Then, right after the woot, I realized if I friends-ded her she'd be able to see what I read. I read a lot of books meant for children: young adult, juvenile and picture books. True, the picture books I usually check out for the girls, but not always. Young adult fiction is my favorite. It's heavy on the story, easy on the introspection. You rarely have to wonder what the hell the author's point is.

Modern adult literature, on the other hand, wears me out. I get seriously annoyed when the author obscures their point in flowery or random language. Is not the point of writing to communicate? Dear James Joyce, if it takes a group of people 13 years to read your book, doesn't that indicate you've failed? There's a difference between tickling someone's brain with the possibilities inherent in a subtle grouping of words and bludgeoning their lobes with a purposefully obtuse tangle of them.

Adult novels also wear me out with their grimosity. How does fiction serve as an escape when it's some fun-house view of your own troubles and angst? When I read The Story of Edgar Sawtell the ending broke my heart. I had come to the book prepared, because everyone compared it to Hamlet, and we all know how that ended, but since it was an American author** I expected him to pull out the happy in the end. Nope. I still get angry when I think of that book. I'll readily admit the value of such things, and credit the artistry involved, but when it's all over it doesn't matter how masterfully the piece rendered me to despair, I'm still despairing. Yuch.

This is one of those areas in which I'm trying to grow. I try to check out at least one grup book when I get my weekly stack o books, but the truth is it's always the last book to be read. I also frequently cheat by reading adult fiction that possesses my fave qualities: a good yarn and a happy ending. Baby steps, I suppose. Appropriate for one who delights in reading baby books.

Send me an email if you're on Goodreads too,

ephelba

*This post is full of made-up words. That's how I roll, especially with the problems I'm having word-finding. Be glad you don't live with me, as the requests for "things" and "thingies" are driving my family mad.

**ephelba's law of movie endings goes like this: If the movie was made in America, the ending will be happy. If the movie was made in France, the movie will end in tragedy for all. If the movie was made in China everyone will die except for one character, who is left to contemplate the balance of tragedy and justice. If the movie was made in England the ending is a crap shoot. I fully credit Loon and Simon for contributing to the discovery of these laws. Haven't watched enough Italian, German or Spanish movies to be able to offer an opinion there, and although I have enough data to come up with a Japanese law, I haven't yet synthesized it. And yes, I realize I was talking about books, but in the example given I was hoping the law could be expanded to include movies.

Why I don't post

I remember this blog. It is important to me. I've spoken about its purpose in several other posts, so I won't carry on about it again. My point is that I don't want this blog to turn into a place where all I post about is how tired I am and how messy my house is. It's been said, and since my life is so small and mean right now I have little else to say.

I have high hopes though. I keep hoping I can beat this Thing and get on with my life. Treatment options are on their way. In the meantime I'm still learning to get a handle on how much I can get done without it being too much. Focusing on living life in small bites.

So, I guess I'll be back when I've got more to say.

Hope it's soon,

ephelba

Worse than I thought.

And I thought it would be bad.

Raising a teenager, that is. I thought it would be hard, that there would be yelling and carrying on and much rolling of the eyes. I hadn't counted on the sheer terror.

The Boy scares me. Often. Badly. He comes home late, or disappears out of his bed in the middle of the night, or doesn't show up to school. True, it's a been a month now since the last of these shenanigans, so maybe I have brought home the magnitude of the Scary that happens when we don't know where he is.

He always thinks he's got it covered. There's always a misunderstanding or innocent mistake in there somewhere. The thing is, when it's all going down you, as parent, don't know this, and you imagine horrible accidents, trouble in great boiling clouds, worse trouble that grows from subtle and seductive beginnings. You imagine the million little things that could send a kid down a path that fucks their life up for years. For always. You imagine big unstoppable things bearing down on someone small and clueless. You imagine blood and bones. You imagine not being able to stop screaming when someone gives you the god awful news. And even though he's always come home before, you can't stop imagining it all over again because he's not home now.

He's got it bad too, of course. I'm sure he could write you a paragraph that would make you wonder why he ever stayed home, and why, if he made it out, he would come back home at all. That's what it is to be a teenager.

He is right to think he is misunderstood and unknown. I am right to think that he's fragile and naive. I am right to think he's selfish and just plain wrong, he's right to think I'm overreacting and unhinged. We can't help it.

Don't you remember this?

Wishing remembering helped,

ephelba

ps

I know it's all temporary, and we'll both grow out of it, and we do a remarkable job of talking things through, actually. I just needed to vent a little.

For posterity's sake

Item the first: Let it be know that Oct 2008-Oct 2009 was the year of the suck, in terms of my health. I have Something. The Doctors have tested me eight ways to Sunday and have discovered nothing. In the meantime, I get worse. Simon and I think Chronic Fatigue syndrome. Nuff said, I suppose, because I don't want this blog to turn into a record of how good I am at whinging.

Item the second: We are going to move. Don't know where, don't know when, but they don't really have the hours for Simon to work, and things don't look like they're getting better, so we're going to try to get out while the getting's good.

Item the third: Boy has started High School, and is celebrating by flunking three classes, suddenly becoming unable to get himself out of bed in the mornings, and generally making dumb decisions with the best of intentions.

Sigh.

I hope he lives long enough to outgrow this phase.

Someday when I have more energy this blog will become more than a kind of time line, but right now daily living is too much, so it will have to get in line.

Hope you and yours are weathering the recession well,

ephelba

Well hello to you too!

At the park there's a bar that sits waist high (a grownup's waist, that is) that the little ones like to hang from. I was sitting next to this watching the girls. A little boy came up and starting swinging from it. The Bug came up, stretched, and just got ahold of it enough to start swinging too. I said "Look at you guys! You're professional swingers!" Then I looked at his mom, started laughing, and said "I totally didn't mean that the way it sounded!". That's me, the queen of playground innuendo.

Boy and I were in an "Anything but a Boat Race". This is the sort of thing where you build a floating thing and race it. We raced on a box spring. Came in fourth or fifth ish. Boat held up remarkably well- no leaks whatsoever. I loved being on a device of my own making, surprising people with its success, rowing in front of an audience. I learned that I am a ham, which is something I didn't know about myself.

As for Boy, my partner in crime, he was less than thrilled with the whole thing. Didn't want to do it, didn't think it would work (even though we'd had a successful test run), thought we'd come in last (who cares?), didn't want to be in front of a hundred or so people. He did it anyways though, for which I am proud of him.

Had my birthday. I got a box of homemade truffles (YUMMY!) and my very own ukulele, which Simon decorated in lovely fashion. I had never so much as held one before, and had no idea they were so tiny. They are the most tiny of precious cute little guitar-like things you have ever seen. I can't play it yet, but it's only a matter of time. I have grand plans. I want to learn to play the blues on it, or learn to finger pick it, or both.

I also got ahold of a trike and Simon and I put a seat on the back for the girls. Now I can toodle around town to just about any place I could need to go even when Simon has the van. The girls love it, the Bean especially. If the ride isn't long enough she cries when we get home.

Maybe I'll post some pics.

Hope your summer is warmer and drier than mine, although I kinda like it,

ephelba

Probly won't.

Post much for a while. I'm just not in that kind of a space, but I wanted to share some articles I found to be very thought provoking:

This on changing the performance of schools by 1.3/1.4 standard deviations. For those who could care less about the maths, that's a lot. Most charter schools brag when they hit .3.

This on eating marshmallows. I have thought about this article very very often lately, and in regards to many aspects of parenting. Good read.

Count on me returning sooner or later. I always do:) In the meantime, I'm still posting pics on flickr...

Miss you guys,

ephelba

From my inbox:

From: Malcolm Holder*

Subject: I saw you about a month ago,

God had told you exactly when

blahblahblah@blahblah.com **

and so it shall be,,five fingers in pussy!, ***

SPAM! Tasty and endorsed by God!

!!!111!!!1!

Wondering what special missives you've gotten lately,

ephelba

* Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. 

** Obviously, I changed this bit. Don't want to accidentally promote the wanger.

*** sic.  I love the extra punctuation. Like, if you use more, everything's covered. 

Ephelba is

listening to the Weepies and playing Spider Solitaire.  I have little more in me than a status update.  Maudlin, because I've been visiting with friends for weeks, and now they've all gone, and somehow I feel all alone, even though I have three kids and a wonderful husband wishing I'd quit being bitchy.

And, on a completely different note, this evening we discovered and caught two chickens in our yard.

Huh.

Living the life of crazy random happenstance,

ephelba

Great Response!

I must have good karma, because last night I picked up the toys, even though I'd already done it once, and this morning I insisted the Bean wear some panties, and when I got up I got dressed right away instead of waiting until I needed to leave the house, and all these trivial things combined meant I didn't have to be embarrassed about the state of my house or family when the police came at 7:30 this morning to ask if everything was alright.

Impressed with a two minute response time to her daughter's 911 call, embarrassed it was made, and hopeful it didn't take resources away from those who needed them,
ephelba

Hiya!

Now then. This week just flew, didn't it! We went down to visit MyFarmer and have a lovely time. Wellll, by we, I mean me and the girls. Simon had to work, and the Boy had to grow up.

A few weeks ago the Boy began going to rehearsals. For something. He didn't really specify what. Or tell me when the something would happen. So ON SUNDAY he lets fly that he'll be recording some music with a band on TUESDAY. TUESDAY would be the day that MyFarmer and I had our hearts set on spending with each other. Would I have set us up for doing this TUESDAY if the Boy had informed me weeks and weeks ago that he had something planned? Ummm, no. So Simon and I discussed it and decided that the Boy should pay the piper and stay home.

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

So I'm at a rest stop on the Pennsylvania border when the Boy calls, all in a dither, asking me HOW HE'S GOING TO GET TO THE RECORDING STUDIO.
.
.
.
I responded "Fuck if I know!" and hung up on him whilst I calmed down. Because, honestly! I had assumed this was going to be a small thing, a get together at the Y where he practices, recorded on portable equipment. And I assumed this because he had never, NOT ONCE, mentioned needing a ride. After I calmed down a bit I called him back and we discussed the fact that this was just another problem to be solved, BY HIM, and went through a few options. He ended up getting a ride, and it was all good, but heaven help us if he doesn't learn some things from this adventure.

I'm a bit of a flake, but I like to think I've overcome most of the problems that generates by using crutches. Calendars and Yahoo and all that. The Boy appears to have inherited my flaky tendencies, but he needs to learn to use crutches too, because this shit just won't fly. So we discuss whether what he's doing works. And what would work better. And I give him chances to mess up, because it's better he messes up now when we're here to back him up, but I wonder if I'm even going to have hair left to gray by the time he figures this out. He'll probably get it down about the time his sisters start giving me grief.

But I digress. I visited MyFarmer, who is not farming just now. She is looking for a place to live, because her landlords decided her house is so marvelous they want to live there. Nice, huh? We drove past some options and looked at some more online. It's hard to find a place for a family of five. And two dogs. Wellllll, one dog and one miniature barking horse. Max is a sweety, but he's HUGE. In the morning he would flop down on his side and try to get the girls to play with him by gently waving his paws at them. Our dog Mabel used to do the exact same thing to play with her much smaller sister Lucy. It's very sweet to watch.
What else?
We told stories and drank coffee and stayed up too late and signed MyFarmer up on Facebook and it was all over too fast. We'll be going back down Memorial Day weekend to do it up right with the whole family. YAY!

The drive back was a doozy. I was pooped, too little sleep for too long, and the girls were pooped too. When I was trying to leave I almost got stuck in the driveway- the van handled so strangely!- until MyFarmer asked if the parking break was on. Oh yeah! Hot Stuff, coming through! I kept trying to think positive thoughts about how the day was going to go, but it was hard when Google Maps steered me wrong, and the construction slowed me up, and the girls cried and asked for milk OVER AND OVER, and I had to pee desperately but the construction just didn't let up and I couldn't get off the road. As soon as I ended up driving North like I was supposed to, and the state of PA saw fit to let me off the road, we took a nice long break. This helped, so we did it once more before home, but the five hour trip still ended up taking us nine hours. Nine llloooonnngggg hours.

Which meant that when the Loon called and said she wouldn't be visiting this weekend because she was chickening out at the prospect of making the nine hour trip with her baby alone, I completely understood. Oh yes I did. Wait till your wifey can go too and then have a go at it, by all means.

In other news, I've ordered glasses online. Zenni Optical had the cutest glasses, so even though The Oracle warned me that they have had problems recently getting their stuff through customs and to the customers, I sent them the money and hoped for the best. Yesterday I called to get a tracking number, but no one answered the phone and the mailbox was full, which isn't a good sign. They'll get here eventually. My contacts don't fit well, and these glasses suck wooky, but all that means is that when my new lovely specs get here I'll be that much more grateful to have them, right?

The Bean has decided that using the potty is fun. She objects to the wearing of pantys- floweredy, sparkly monkey or just plain pink, but as long as she's not using up diapers I don't think I care. One thing at a time, man, one thing at a time.

Hoping you're wearing happy undergarments,
ephelba

Good idea?

"With college costs continuing to soar and more college graduates struggling to make their student loan payments, the Reduce The Rate Petition is urging lawmakers to extend the benefits of the federal bailout to students.

The plan, designed to help college students and their families in this fragile economy, calls on Congress to do the following:

• Reduce the interest rate on all student loans to 1%.
  If banks can borrow at 1% or less, then so should our students.
• Extend the grace period before loan repayment begins from 6 months to 18 months for students who graduate.
  In these tough economic times, it takes a college graduate an average of 6 months to 1 year to find a job. The rules should reflect this reality.
• End the penalties assessed to schools for student loan defaults.
  Schools should not be held accountable for students who don’t pay back their loans.
• Increase Pell Grants to cover the average yearly cost of a public
  4 year institution instead of the amounts in the current stimulus package--$5,350 starting July 1 and $5,550 in 2010-2011"

Blatently cut and pasted from the site. Seems like a really good idea to me.

Am tired. Up at least once for every child last night. Simon didn't sleep good either. No coffee upon waking. Cookies for breakfast.

BUT! Yesterday I raised my high score on Scramble to 155, and found the word "ganglion".

Really hoping today is a better day,
ephelba

Also?

I just have to share. I had always made the argument that the bible never said women couldn't have sex with each other, but I thought I was the only one who noticed. Nice to know I'm not.

And I had no idea there would ever, ever be a need for a web page entitled "Fisting and God's Will".

Doesn't that just put the yeller in yer daffydils*?
ephelba



I made that up right this second and have no idea what it means.

In Which I Probably Write Enough For a Novel

You've been warned. I have a lot to post.

First. My Mom came for a visit. You need to know that my relationship with my mother has been strained since I was a senior in HS. When I was younger we were thick as thieves, and it seems to me that when I started to grow up and away she wigged out. I think she would say I wigged out. Whatever. This is the nature of things, but it meant that our togetherness was weakening. Add to this the fact that she left for Russia to "Do the Lord's Work", while I spent the next year un-xianing myself. Religion was a huge part of our relationship when I was growing up, and I removed it. I removed it, spat on it, kicked it in the nuts and did a little jig. Every visit we've had since then has been strained by a tacit conversation about this issue in my head. In the beginning it wasn't so tacit, actually. Mom would remind me of what the lord wanted, and I would blow her off. I made it more and more clear that I didn't want to hear about his plan for me, so Mom got quieter and quieter. I knew (or thought I did) what Mom thought about the way I lived, so I got quieter and quieter too. Once Boy was old enough to understand what was what, I told her in no uncertain terms that proselytizing conversations with him would mean no further visits. I told her we needed to have a relationship with each other without god being there, and she told me she didn't know how. I said we'd have to learn. She cut her visit short and left.

This visit with my Mom would be the first time I felt like we made progress with our relationship as a twosome. We talked about when and why I quit believing in God, and she acknowledged that she wouldn't be changing my mind. I told her that I knew religion worked for her, and I wouldn't try to change her mind either. I know it pains her to see the choices I make, but I'm finally growing up enough to let that be her bag. I'm telling her things even when I know they won't make her happy. Our relationship can grow into something new because I'm done letting it be about pleasing her. Yay us!

So while we were doing all this growing and relating, I came down with a cold. And just as I was getting better, Mom caught a stomach bug. And right after she left the Bean came down with it, so I spent a day or two in her bedroom comforting her and cleaning her up and feeling pretty poorly myself (although I wasn't puking). Because dealing with a sicko wasn't, um, swell enough on its own merits, I decided to step on my glasses and break them in two. This being the last pair I had that I was willing to leave the house in. I'm down to my welfare glasses.

Ahhhh, my welfare glasses. I tend to not pay much attention to how I look. I can go for days without looking in the mirror. I'll run to the grocery store in yoga pants and unbrushed hair. I never wear makeup. Ask me to wear these glasses in public, though, and I feel a need to apologise to strangers for my grotesque appearance. The rational part of my brain posted an alert that this was odd and needed examination. I've spent a lot of time looking in the mirror, trying to decide if they're really that bad. It's hard for me to admit this, but I don't think they are. They aren't good, but they don't make small children cry. Maybe I'm hung up on them because they really are welfare glasses. They are the standard issue glasses that medicaid buys. Medicaid buys a set of frames that don't really fit my head. Also? Medicaid buys you low index lenses. These factors combine to create a heavy clunky seeing device that falls off my head every time I bend over. I mean, they completely fall off. Of my head. When I bend over, they fall off of my head. They frequently wander about my nose if I look down or turn too quickly, which is also annoying. When I first started wearing them I thought I needed to get over myself, because I can see through them and that makes them good enough, but after spending a week with them I think I'm justified in buying a new pair. They actually hurt me because I keep trying to use my head muscles to keep them on/up.

Let's sum up: I have these glasses that I hate, but I think I need to get over myself and wear them because I can see through them and I don't want to be the kind of person who lets their external trappings dictate their self image, but they fall off and make my head hurt so maybe I should get new ones, but I worry this argument is speciously justifying an unnecessary purchase, and jumping Jehoshaphat I know how to over think a thing, don't I.

I'll be buying new glasses, necessary or not.

Let's see, what else. OH! Mouse shenanigans! So we got our first mouse in our new digs. I was using the cast iron skillet to brown some onions, when I realized there was an extra special ingredient*. Simon and I tied up several traps worth of pepperoni, then laughed at Lucy as she set them off, then set them up in dark corners around the kitchen. The next morning Boy came downstairs to discover the mouse sitting on the counter, staring at him. Staring at him with huge, impossibly cute eyes. He caught it with a colander, and left me this note**:

"DO NOT PICK UP THIS COLANDER. THE MOUSE IS TRAPPED UNDER IT. I SWEAR ON MY LIFE THAT THERE IS A LIVE MOUSE UNDER HERE THAT WILL TOTALLY TAKE OFF IF YOU PICK UP THE COLANDER.

Love,
Boy

P.S.
Can we use live traps from now on?"

Simon and I plunked the girl into a tupperware and he dropped it off on the side of the road on his way to work. Lucy set off a trap again, because she's stupid and doesn't learn, and the baby picked it up and sucked on the pepperoni. There haven't been any more mice leavings, so we may be done. Wouldn't that be nice?

Last night I went grocery shopping. Not news, really. I mention it because I've been trying to spend less on groceries. I was hypothesizing to MyFarmer that the results would follow a curve that would go down at first, but then go back up and reach a plateau close to the starting point. I've been trying to only buy what we need for our menu, not buy whatever we're out of. I figured that at first we'd save some money, but once we used up what was on hand the bill would go back up because we'd need every ingredient in a recipe. I think we may have reached that point. We'll see. I only bought what we needed for the menu, but the total was still $180. For one week. Not counting the milk, butter and eggs I buy elsewhere. True, there will be several of next week's meals coming out of this week's purchases, but will there be enough to even out? I'd like to keep it to $150, including toilet paper and coffee and beer. Even that seems like a lot, but unless I start buying the kind of food that comes with coupons, or I start growing the kind of food we eat, I don't see it happening.

Ok, enough. I think that's all I meant to blog about. Whilst I sat here typing the girls tried to strangle each other, sampled Cocktail Sauce and decided they liked it both as a food and as a paint, festooned the dining room with flash cards, and took off all their clothes.

I should go now.
ephelba

*Mouse turds! Honestly people, keep up with me here:)
** He also wrote this note, but didn't leave it because it was April First and he thought I'd think it was a joke:
"DO NOT PICK UP THIS COLANDER!
Dear Mom,
This morning I saw the mouse just kinda sitting there (he was very much alive though) so I picked up the colander and put it over him. He's wicked cute. Just remember, if you pick up the colander, he's gone! I leave it up to you to think up what to do.

Love,
Boy"

I find both of these notes to be unbearably endearing. Maybe it's the way the first note is in his atrocious cursive, and the second is in all caps.

We Have a New Record!

A half gallon of milk in three hours. That's $3.49. BAM! Normally it would be $2.75, but we ran out of the cheap stuff and had to go to the grocery store for the inferiorly* farmed, yet vastly overpriced version. Not that you even care, but damn people, I was impressed and had to share.

We had a wonderful visit with Simon's folks. It was truly a lot of fun. Grandma and I took the girls to Rough and Tumble, an indoor gym that the Bean's speech pathologist had just opened. It was a blast, not the least because we were the first people there. A TV crew stopped by unannounced, so the only children they had to film were mine. TA DA! I give you The Bug.

's head.

Ok, it's not a great shot of her, but it's not about her, so I can't blame them. And yes, that is my cr0tch.

Mostly the visit was us doing the things we always do, watching the girls do what they do, and laughing. Although, we did get all gussied up to watch Boy play trumpet in the All-County Band. His band gave an excellent performance. I mean it. It was a joy to listen to. As was the chorus. The orchestra had tuning troubles, but it's harder to keep the strings in tune- it's not like violins come with frets.

What else.

OH! Boy's Bday! We did good on the presents. At least, he says we did. He wouldn't tell us if we didn't though, so I'm left hoping that he truly is pleased. I know he knows we love him, which is the point, I guess. Here is the t-shirt I made him.

That's Bob Ross. It came out so well, I can't even tell you. For almost every gift giving occasion we make a t-shirt, and this is the best one yet. I also finished the booklet at the very last minute. Imagine the following, printed on square pages in various colors, fonts, and with nifty pictures, bound with little metal jump rings:

Create a list of the 25 most influential or important people of your life. Do not explain the project, but ask them if you can take a picture of them, and allow them to choose the spot. If they are far away, ask they to have someone take the picture for you. After you have 25 portraits, print doubles. Display one set somewhere in your home. With the other set, write a note to the person featured in the portrait on the back of each photo. Tell them why they are important or influential. Send the photo to them in the mail. Or you can hand deliver it but make sure you are not there while they read it.

Perform a random act of kindness.

List all the schools you can remember going to, then describe the classrooms in as much detail as you can - the toys/materials you liked the most, the way the room smelled, where you kept your coat, how the daily routine went, etc....

Grow something. It can be inside, outside, big, small, edible, pretty, plant or animal. Document its growth.

Have your portrait made by someone who loves you. Make a portrait of yourself.

Protest something.

Make something from scratch that you would normally buy.

List 100 of your favorite things.

Make an action figure of someone.

Make an illustrated timeline of your life.

Make a list of 10 things not to do before you die.

Perform a scene from a Shakespeare play with one other person, unrehearsed, while someone records it.

Make up a game,complete with rules, playing pieces and game board.

Think up your own project.

I gave it to him instead of a store bought card.

I've actually been piddling away on some projects myself. It makes me happy to make things. Truly theraputic. There were Boy's presents, of course, but I've also been working on that mix "Tape", and a sweat shirt, and learning to play the penny whistle. I can play the music as written, but you're supposed to slur and embellish, not tongue, which is hard to do, and probably hard for you to understand unless you play a wind instrument yourself. Sorry.

I've also been having a ton of fun taking pictures. A friend of mine from college must have noticed, because out of the blue he gave me a Pro membership to Flickr. I am deeply touched by the gift. I've wanted to upgrade for a while, but I kept putting it off because it felt selfish and unnecessary. Now I can look at all our pictures, load videos, etc. If you'd like to look, just let me know in the comments and I'll send you the link. If and when you go, be sure to click through to the very first page, I think it's page 23. Marvel at the Tiny Bean.

I probably have a lot more to say, but I can't remember it and there are a lot of dishes to wash, so
OH YEAH! Simon's step dad can't stand to have us wash dishes,apparently, because everytime he visits and we don't have a dishwasher he makes sure we get one, so this visit that means he bought us one, so as of next Weds we will be joining the modern age again. THANK YOU DEAR O!

Off to go take care of some crap,
ephelba

* I know this isn't a word, but I can't think why it isn't....

I need your input!

I'm trying to make a "mix tape". The songs have to be so catchy you feel compelled to sing, but the words so unintelligible you to have to sing in tongues. So far I've got Matalli Ja Mustii by Varttina*, Bathtime in Clerkenwell by the Real Tuesday Weld, A folk song by a Thai street singer, and just about anything by Tom Waits. Not enough to fill a CD, obviously.

Suggestions?

Because she's perverse,
ephelba

*If you have children, perhaps you know it as The Binky Song.

The Bean wants poo.

Our dog was naughty. The Bean, being a resourceful girl, got a rag, picked it up, then came and told me "Lucy pooped!". The Boy, when similarly informed, refused to deal with it. He said he didn't know what to do. I replied there was a reason that janitorial positions aren't degreed. * After he cleaned things up, the Bean cried and cried because She wanted to clean up the poop. So I suggested that we clean up pretend poop. Since then she's been exclaiming over a rock. It's a big one. And stinky.

It was a big day for her. I am here to inform you that today, for the very first time, the Bean peed on the potty. I am greatly relieved, as there was some doubt we were going to get the concept across any time soon. There was much clapping and hurraying and even- gasp- celebratory sparkly pink monkey panties.

That she promptly peed in. Then she peed on the floor. Twice. Then she put on a diaper and peed on the floor again somehow. I didn't think she had had that much to drink today. At least she has a notion of what's going on. I wasn't prepared for this sprinkler reaction to the concept, though, and am retreating a bit as I gear up for a messy learning process. And try to find even tinier panties.

Also- today we had friends over for playgroup. Whee! It was good to have a house full of friends, and I hope it happens more often.

Now I am going to comfort the smallest daughter, and relax. We'll have company for the next week, so it might be a while before I post a pic of the sparkly pink monkey panties....

She knows you want a pair,
ephelba

* I'm not saying you have to be stupid to do the job, I'm just saying you don't have to be smart. I've made my living that way several times.