What You Don’t See

Thirteen years ago, I woke up to the gray pattering of rain.  Yellow leaves spun and twirled to the ground.  I sipped my coffee and prayed for the rain to stop.  I had a big day ahead. 

Just a few hours later, I married The Man.  And now, I sit here, trying to think of some way to put thirteen years into a few paragraphs.  That is rather impossible, I suppose. 

I could say that a snapshot of my life looks rather what I imagined it would look like…  The house.  The kids.  Me and The Man.  But that snapshot is just a picture.  And behind that picture is a story of all that two people go through to come to the point, thirteen years later, when that picture is taken.     

It is Barbados.  Cobbler’s Cove.  Rum punch.  And nothing to do all day.

It is Coco, who really taught us how to parent. 

It is Hokie games. 

It is dreaming of our children.  And the birth of those four children. 

It is watching your toddler son recover from a stroke.  Learn to roll over again.  Learn to sit again.  Learn to walk again.  Learn to run. 

It is the special need of another son.  Helping him to hear.  To speak.  To listen.  It is watching him soar. 

It is miscarriages. 

It is losing Coco. 

It is our first home.  And leaving our first home. 

It is finding our forever home.  And trying to rid that forever home of it’s ant infestation.  

It is families.  And it is saying goodbye to some of those that we hold the most dear.

It is friends.  BBQs.  Fireworks.  Happy hours. 

Vacations at the beach.  Camping.  The cabin. 

Collecting acorns. 

Spiders in our ears. 

Carving pumpkins. 

Jumping in piles of leaves.  And being stung by bees for hours afterward.

Turkeys.  Cutting down our Christmas trees.  And decorating them.

And Christmas Eve masses. 

And paper valentines. 

And Easter egg hunts. 

And Easter Sunday bonnets and gingham bow ties.  

It is spring walks to the river.  

It is first steps.  First words.  Lost teeth.

And oh the tantrums.  And the kisses.  The hugs.  Tears.  Laughter.

The soccer games.  Baseball games.  Football games.  Basketball games.

The flu. 

It is coming to compromises.  You get your hoop in the driveway…I get my dog.

It is sipping wine on the stoop and together, watching the neighborhood nod off. 

It is all the dreams I have of a future with him. 

We are different now, thirteen years later.  Our life is different.  It is not exciting…it is not flashy and new.  It is worn, and comfortable and it fits.  It is soft.  Mostly, this life brings the greatest joys I have ever known. 

That is thirteen years.

Happy Birthday, Mr. The Man

Oh dearest husband, I will take this opportunity to profess to the world that I am a complete and utter failure and that I did not write anything for your birthday.  Which is today. 

So here it is, your big day, and I’ve got nothing. 

I wanted to write something big and special and lovely, but I don’t have it in me.  My head hurts.  My teeth hurt.  My hair hurts.  And I can’t think straight.

But, I cleaned the cooktop today, just for you Mr. The Man.  (Don’t all you fellas out there wish you were married to me?)  And I made dessert for you.  And I bought some food for your birthday dinner tomorrow (which will involve more dessert).  And I cleaned the kitchen.  (When you walk into the kitchen tonight, try to remember that I wrote this at 2:15 pm–a full hour before the little punks get home from school.  And also that “clean” is a relative term). 

Oh, and by the way, I noticed that you did not eat the last enchilada.  You should have taken that for your birthday lunch.  Because it was good.  Thanks for leaving it for me. 

(Why is this all about food?)

Moving right along, today while I was rocking Ella before her nap, she said “Happy?”

And I said “Yes, I’m happy.”

All of my happiness is because of you.  You provide a good life for us.  A beautiful, happy life. 

I hope you know how much we all love you.   

Happy Birthday.

For Your Reading Pleasure

1.  Last week,  I found shoes under my pillow.  If you’ll remember, The Man and I have a little game going on.  I did not find the shoes to be hilarious.  It’s way funnier when I do it. 

 

2.  I must preface #2 by asking you to recall William’s rules.  Pay particularly close attention to rule #1.  The one that says ”Don’t look at me when I’m getting dressed.”  Right.  So yesterday I got a note from The Man while I was out which stated the following: 

No more Wii for William today.  When I sent the boys upstairs to change, William did a naked dance in front of Henry.

Which totally made me laugh.  I know, I shouldn’t laugh.  Anyway, just to clarify the rules, you are not allowed to look at William while he gets dressed.  Even if he does a naked dance.  

 

3.  I got this super nice award from Daniele at Life As A Mom…thank you Daniele!  The award states:  This award is bestowed on blogs that are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to how ever many bloggers you choose and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.

 

I actually had to look up ”self-aggrandizement” to make sure I knew what it meant.  I had a vague sense.  I also had a vague sense of how exceedingly charming I am.    Anyway, what a nice award to receive.   

 

4.  Yesterday the kids found this…

 

 

And The Man wanted to keep it.  I don’t know why.  Because he’s a man I guess.  It’s dead.  It’s in a baggie.  In my house.      

So I took a picture of it.  Because that’s what I do.  Anyway, look how it is preserved for all eternity…in striking position.  You can even see it’s creepy little viper tongue.  In case you were wondering, it is a milk snake (which is not a viper.  But “viper tongue” sounds very snakey).  It’s harmless.  Still gross.  And the deadness doesn’t do anything to lessen the “gross.”  I’m going to put it in Mr. Pink’s mailbox.  Just for fun. 

 

5.  Speaking of whom, Mr. Pink made a nasty comment about my daffodils looking unkempt.  So I spent several hours the other day tying them up into nice neat little bundles.  Now they look very kempt.  You would not believe how long that takes, really.  And I only did about half of them.  When Mr. Pink saw my handi-work, he said it was definitely a pink job.  Mm-hm.  That topic shall never die. 

 

6.  Superfudge.  Remember that book…Judy Blume?  Mm-hmm.  I bought it for Kate.  I was so impressed with myself for choosing this book for Kate, which she devoured in about 2 days.  And then I read this passage:

When I got home that afternoon, I cornered my mother.  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to let him go on believing in Santa.” 

bla bla bla…

“I do agree that sooner or later he’ll have to learn that Santa is just an idea.”  She sighed.  “But for now, he’s so enthusiastic and the idea of Santa is so lovely that Daddy and I have decided it can’t possibly hurt.  So please go along with us for a while Peter.”

bla bla bla…

“Well I think it’s a mistake!”  I said.  I turned and walked away.  I couldn’t remember ever having believed in Santa.  When I was three I caught my parents stacking presents under the tree.  And by the time I was five, I knew exactly where to look for the presents my parents thought they had carefully hidden from me.”

 

Well if that isn’t just fantastic.  Now Christmas — nay, her entire childhood — is ruined.  The magic is all over.  I know — it was only a matter of time – I know.  Actually, this was probably a pretty easy way to “find out.”  Unless she actually already knew.  Which is certainly possible.  But still.  Crap. 

The problem with finding books for Kate is that she needs something  a little advanced…like for a 11-12 year old level reader.  But she is only 8.  So I need books that are appropriate topic and material for an eight year old.  Any suggestions?  I tried The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo, and pre-read that to make sure it was appropriate.  I found the selling of a little girl by her father (who never looked back, not even once) to a man that clouts her on the ear so much that her ears begin to look like cauliflower, and the mouse blood and bones and smell of death to be a little much thankyouverymuch.  So she’ll be waiting a little while to read that one.  Sheesh.  So please, your suggestions are very, very welcome.

And that’s pretty much it for this house for this week.  Night-night! 

A Few Miscellaneous Things

1.  Ella is almost two.  She’ll be two in 4 days.  Four days.  Two has always been one of my favorite ages with my kiddos.  They are able to communicate relatively well (which for Ella means a lot of pointing and shrieking and such).  They are so full of wonder at two.  Everything is new to them.  And Ella wants nothing more than to play with me, all day long.  To read books together, to have tea together, to cradle our babies and comb our hair and blow bubbles.  Together. 

Two. 

That’s what it’s all about.

 

2.  Note to self…read bottle labels before you wash your face.  Otherwise you might douse your face with nail polish remover.  And also, if you notice that the astringent smells ”so much stronger than you remember it smelling,” perhaps that is because it is actually not astringent, but nail polish remover. 

 

3.  There is apparently some bullying on the bus to and from school.  And my little boy is bearing the brunt of it.  Crap.  I don’t know who the little creep is, but when I find out, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.  That ought to freak him out enough to stop telling William he’s going to beat him up.  I kid.  A little.  In all seriousness, William is not terribly upset about it.  He said “I’m handling it.  I’m taking care of it.”  Isn’t that the cutest thing for a seven year old boy to say?  I’m just glad school is about over so this issue can evaporate over the summer. 

 

4.  My frog is gone.  Y’all remember my frog, and my wierd little obsession with him, right?  My poor little frog.  I don’t know what happened to him.  And this year he had a friend with him.  They’re both gone.  The Man casually postulated that a bird got them.  Thankyouverymuch for that, Mr. Man. 

 

5.  I made more cake pops oh.yes.I.did.  They are so fancy!  I think I could sell them, seriously.  Except that they don’t really taste that great, imho.  Henry likes them.  And last night I caught Ella lying on her belly on the island biting into one of them.  She seemed to rather enjoy it, too.  

There is a secret to making these things work.  I figured it out.  Actually, there are several secrets.  And okay, I actually figured them out by reading them on Bakerella’s site.  This is why they call me savvy, people. 

 

6.  We are on furlough #2 here this week.  Oh, it’s fun.  It’s a funlough.  I have nothing more to say. 

 

7.  We have  a winner in the Uprinting poster print giveaway! 

These results were audited by the firm of Me & TheMan, LLP. 

Brooke is the winner!  Brooke, enjoy your poster print. 

Uprinting does all sorts of printing online, from poster prints to canvas prints…the possibilities are endless folks. 

That is all.

Just a Bunch More of Nothing

I should really start a Miscellaneous carnival.  Because I seem to have a lot of miscellaneous things to share.  Things that, on their own, cannot make a story, but taken together can be rather entertaining.

I’ll do that later.  In the meantime, you might not want to hold your breath.

Moving right along…

1.  Onna at toddlercraft has inspired me to make these with the kids.  They all LOVE painting, and I love this kind of craft.  We’ll put them in the butterfly garden.  (The one that I still haven’t planted yet.  I’m going to do that later, too.)  Thank you Onna!

2.  Molly at The Bumbles Blog honored me with the Splash Award.   Because I allure, bemuse, bewitch, impress and inspire them.  And what do you know, it had to do with a booger.  And a black booger at that.  Thank you, Bumbles!

 

3.  V-8.  Spiced up with a little tabasco and a heavy coating of pepper.  I always feel healthy when I partake of the V-8.  So I bought a bottle the other week. 

Guess how many glasses of that bottle I drank?  Zero.  The Man drank the entire thing.  So the next time I went for groceries I bought two bottles. 

Guess how many glasses I got this time?  One.  O.N.E.  One.  When I need the V-8, I need the V-8.  And not only is he hogging all the V-8, but do you know what he pairs it with?  Cinnamon oatmeal squares.  Or today, pumpkin-chocolate bread.  Isn’t that just wrong?  

4.  Max and Ruby.  Where is the mom?  Is Ruby the mom?  Ruby appears to be the sister, but then where is the mom?  I thought maybe Ruby was a teenager, and therefore old enough to care for a toddler, but she’s in the bunny scouts.  And “bunny scouts” doesn’t sound too teenagerish. 

5.  This right here, I just don’t even know what to say.  Other than perhaps we have exposed the children to too much American Idol. 

You can’t read the caption at the bottom, so let me just fill you in.  It reads: “I fell in to a burning ring of fire.” 

Right-e-o. 

Please note the thought cloud of the poor soul on his way down into the burning ring of fire.  And also the words his associates speak – ”See you later!” and “bye bye!”  And I’m not sure, but it appears that as he is spiralling to his fiery death, the other two are flying around on trapeses, without a care in the world.  

I’m not sure whether to laugh hysterically or be concerned…

6.  I’m feeling the kids slip away a little. 

I watched Henry sleep the other night, and I realized that in one month preschool will be over.  Forever. 

And I don’t really remember it.  I don’t know where all that time went.  

I’m afraid I’ve missed some of the best times with him. 

And that really, really hurts my heart.

Mind-numbing Nothingness

I really don’t have a lot to say today. 

I am barely able to complete a thought these days.  And I go from one task to another, in spurts, not completing anything. 

The laundry is half-folded. 

The filing is half-filed. 

The grocery list–half-purchased. 

I have managed to complete one thing, though.  I have managed to completely ignore all the cleaning I had planned for the week.  Something had to go, and really, that’s just the least attractive task on my list.

***

Today is going to be warm and sunny.  Thinking about a happy hour with friends this evening.  Thinking that would be fun.  As long as we don’t discuss school boundaries.  And as long as Henry feels better.

***

Henry wasn’t feeling better last night.  And it’s 10:00 and he’s still asleep.  Not a good sign.  I slept on the floor with him (as is our custom when one of the kids has the barfs), with a nice big barf bowl between us, just in case.  We had no barf, but just the mere possibility is enough to keep me from sleeping well. 

That, and the fact that I’m old and the floor hurts my old self.

***

School pictures came back.

Oh. My. 

All I can say kindly is Kate has a hard time with the pictures. 

And William…well…let’s just say there was an excess of product in his hair that day.  We chose picture day to try out a new product.  I think this aptly communicates our very high intelligence and also our high degree of common sense.  I can only imagine what his teacher thought.  

***

Ella has a new word.  “Boob.”  And she uses it correctly, too.  Because when I teach the children something, I teach it all the way.  My daughter cannot say ball, or cup, or please, but she can say boob.  Thank you, thank you very much.  This morning I found her standing in her crib, completely in the buff (which brings up a whole new set of concerns.)  She points and says “boob.”  That’s my girl.

***

The Man has this way of being all organized.  His socks are grouped by color in his drawer.  His shirts hang in the closet in day-of-the-week order.  He has a rotation system, y’all (we feed each other’s neurotic tendencies).  When things are stressful around here like they are right now, my thoughts turn to ways to bother The Man. 

I’m really mature that way. 

I think of things like switching around the shirt order to freak him out.  Or mismatching his socks and see if he notices before he gets to work.   

One time I ate all the ice cream and put the container back in the freezer filled with rocks.  Imagine his surprise when he went for his midnight snack.  Oh, c’mon, you know you’re laughing at that one.  That was just funny.

Today, he may get a voice mail from the Wiggles.  Maybe “I Am a Dancer” or “Fruit Salad.” 

***

Well, that’s about it.  Thank God it’s Friday…

Ugly Eggs and Such

We dyed Easter eggs today.  Only a few spills.  Only a few stains.  We nearly have the mess-containment down to a science.  It’s only been 8 years, after all.  Although Ella kind of threw us off.  But just a little. 

The Man made his brown/gray/ugly egg.  He makes the ugliest eggs.  Seriously.  He does it on purpose.  To frustrate me.  Because I like the pretty eggs, and that one ugly egg just throws the entire color scheme off.  And that is just frustrating.  I go to great lengths to make sure everything blends.  The brown/gray/ugly egg blends with nothing people.  It’s like the color of playdoh when you mix all the colors up. 

And that is another thing that drives me nuts.  In my quest to have the playdoh colors remain in their original state,  I allow my children to use only one color of playdoh at a time.  That way, you see, the colors don’t get mixed up.  You may call me the playdoh nazi.  I know, I am a bit of a control freak.  Is that so wrong?   

But back to the Easter.  The other day I tried on my new Easter dress.  I haven’t had a new Easter dress in a L.O.N.G. time.  So this year I got one.  And I tried it on.  It was then that I realized…with only two more shopping days until Easter…that I don’t have the right bra to wear. 

The Man suggested I go without.  Fat lotta help he is.

So I had to go to Target — with four kids in tow because it’s spring break — to shop for a bra.  It was going okay until the boys spotted the ruffley see-through mesh crazy panties.  Mm-hmm.  I’ll spare you the details.  I’m sure you can imagine.

So now three pairs of pants, three shirts and three dresses are pressed.  The tiny little gloves and bonnets and patent leather shoes are ready.  The baskets will be filled and we will attend Mass tomorrow through a sugar haze.  Then we will head over to my parents’ home, where we will enjoy an Easter feast and the company of my entire family. 

And I will be thankful for everything.  (Except for possibly the ugly egg.) 

And I will remember I am blessed well beyond what I deserve. 

Happy Easter…

Very Little

Yeah.  I pretty much have very little to say. 

I said I was creating ideas for a book.  I kind of may have stretched the truth a little with that statement.  Or semi-lied.  I actually am thinking of creating some ideas for a book.  Because the sheet of paper with the ideas has been sitting on my island for like two months now.  And the numbers stuff is basically over.  Which means I pretty much have no excuse for NOT getting to work on the ideas.

Except that I fear the assignment. 

It’s so much like writing a paper for school.  I can remember waiting until the weekend before a paper was due, and stressing about it for weeks, literally, and then sitting down for an entire day and banging it out.  Write.  Rewrite.  Done.  And I would wonder, every time, what I was so afraid of. 

***

Oh, here’s something that’ll make y’all really jealous…

That was sarcasm in case you didn’t realize it.

This is how my island looks every.single.afternoon around 3:30.

That would be exactly ten minutes after the kids get home from school. 

Every morning, it is clear, but for two little (truly) stacks of my things.  And then the mail comes.  And I start working on something.  And I fold the laundry, and in an effort to keep Ella from unfolding it, it ends up on the island.  Then the children come home, and they empty out their folders, and I get three sets of very very similar (if not identical) information.  And I’m forbidden by The Man from throwing any of that away because he wants to be involved and see what they’re bringing home.  And the snacks are eaten, and the cups and napkins and snack trash and crumbs.  And the homework.  Oh, the homework. 

It is exhausting just thinking about it. 

***

Moving right along. 

***

I am learning the camera.  It needs some serious learning.  Like when it says to choose the AV1 mode setting, while keeping the aperture fully open (for example, f/2.8 or an even lower f/ number, depending on your lens).  Wha?  Yeah, so no pictures on here until I figure all that bologna out.

***

Oh, back when I mentioned that I put the laundry up on the island to keep Ella away from it?  Yeah, well that doesn’t work anymore because she has figured out how to scale it.  Nothing is safe anymore.  Even if I move all the stools away, she pushes them back when I’m not looking so she can get up on the island.  Sneaky is what she is.  And I don’t even know where she gets that.

***

Ordered some mulch.  The Man postulated we hire someone to do the spreading of said mulch.  I said no, because I actually enjoy the spreading part.  And then he told me it would cost an extra $500 to have someone spread it.  Maybe I should be looking into a new line of work is what I’m thinking…

And regarding the spreading of the aforementioned mulch, I have one thing to say…

Ow. 

Ow is what my entire body is screaming one day post-spreading.  Do you know what 10 cubic yards of mulch looks like?  It looks big.  A big, heaping, steamy pile of half decayed wood.  And we only got maybe 5 yards spread.  That means we have 5 left.  (I’m real good with the math). 

***

William.

Oh William.

He says “Daddy, I’m going to be on my best behavior at the store.”  And, running over to me ”Mom, I haven’t hugged you today.”  This is the real William.  The one that I’ve been missing lately.  This weekend we took away the Wii and the DS.  From all of the children.  For a long time.  Coincidence?

***

One last thing.  The Man has a very bad habit of leaving his dirty socks lying on our bedroom floor.  I don’t get it, I really don’t get it.  Most of the time, I just pick them up and put them in the hamper.  But every now and then, just for fun I stuff them in his pillowcase.  Ha ha ha!  Yes I do!  And then I sit there and crack up thinking about how funny I am, and how funny it will be when he tries to figure out why his pillow is lumpy and realizes it has his dirty socks stuffed inside it. 

But then you know what he does?  He finds something of mine that I’ve left out (which you know, is very rare) and stuffs it in my pillowcase.  And I am not amused.  At all.  But I’m sure he is.  I’m going to think of some really good way to get him.  Are you reading this Mr. Man?  Just you wait…

And I’ll leave it there.  If you don’t hear from me, I could very well be lying in bed, unable to get up (what with the mulch-induced stiffness and all)…

The First Date

Twenty one years ago on this day, I sat in the front passenger seat of my high school sweetheart’s car, after our first date. 

I don’t remember anything about that date, other than that we went to a high school basketball game. 

And that I paid my own way. 

And that is the last time that ever happened, thankyouverymuch because I set him straight let me tell you what. 

And at the end of that first date, he slapped me on the knee and said, “I had fun” or something profound like that.  And there was that awkward pause…um…okay…so I slapped him on the knee and I got out of the car. 

And that was it for me…I was madly in love (hey I was only 16).

Who would have thought that after 21 years, I’d still be sitting right here next to that boy. 

I love you David Paul.

Miscellaneousness

1.  We have these bluebirds.  They live in a house right outside my family room window.  It’s a quaint little house, whitewashed with a copper roof.  I thought the bluebirds had gone for a while (do they fly south?), but today they were back.  I spotted what appeared to be two males, which I thought was odd, because I’d never seen two males together before, just the male and female.  Upon closer inspection, there was also a female.  Hmmm.  Okay.  I sat and waited for a while, and another male showed up.  The ”lady” (and I use that term loosely, because what ensued didn’t seem too ladylike to me)  went inside, and then a male followed her, and then came right back out again.  At one point, 6 males were counted flying around that house.  Waiting outside the door.  Pecking at each other.  Jockeying for position.

I’m going to call her Roxanne.  I’m not sure what kind of establishment Roxanne is running over there, but we’ve got young children that are watching this.  Sheesh.

2.  Dreams I had last week:  a)I was recruited for an all star volleyball team.  Forget that I’ve never played volleyball in my life.  The trainer told me I was way too thin and I needed to bulk up.  I explained that I had been thin my entire life, and that’s just how I am.  He said I was unhealthy.  b)I had a dream that I asked my husband if the kids knew.  He said “of course they know we love them.”  To which I replied “yeah, but do they know that we love each other?”.  Profound, don’t you think? and c)I dreamt I got the wrong turkey.  I bought a turkey for Thanksgiving, and I woke up in a panic because I thought I accidentally got a turkey breast instead of the entire turkey, and how-stupid-could-I-be-now-no-one-will-get-a-drumstick!  So the first thing I did in the morning was check on that turkey I bought.  The man said “it’s so hard to be you.”  Yes, it is.

3.  We have this funny ritual in my house.  Tickling.  Well, it’s not so much the tickling that is the ritual, but how the tickling is stopped.  You see, in my house, the tickling only stops when the tickle-ee says ‘Ed Hochuli.’  So we, as the ticklers, tickle mercilessly.  Do you know how funny it is to see a four year old boy laughing so hard he can barely breathe and trying to say Ed Hochuli at the same time?  It’s pretty darned funny, that’s how funny it is. 

4.  The man came to me and declared that it is terribly sad when a four year old boy is convinced that the 19th of November is his birthday, even though you have told him repeatedly that it is not…that his birthday is actually December 19th.  Yet on the night of November 18th he goes to bed thinking it is his birthday tomorrow even though you tell him over and over that no, it’s not your birthday tomorrow, and then he wakes up on November 19th and says “it’s my birthday today!  Where are all the presents?”  And you have to break it to him (again) that it’s a whole nother month until his big day.  But, it’s nothing a little pumpkin chocolate bread won’t fix. 

5.  The Boots (cosmetics, not footwear) isle at Target.  First of all, you’ve got to be sly when you look at this stuff, unless you want the boots lady painting you up in the middle of Target.  I bought some concealer once, and when I was running low it, I knew I was going to have to face this lady if I wanted more.  So I was slick.  I waited until she was missing from the isle and snuck up there to get my stuff and bolt.  Well, I forgot whether I wanted the I or the II, and in the 3 seconds it took me to make up my mind she appeared out of nowhere.  “Can I help you find something?”  I told her I already found it, but thanks anyway.  Then she asked me if I was sure that was what I wanted.  Because I’m dumb and clearly don’t know how to apply cosmetics, as evidenced by the poor job I had done earlier in the day.  When I told her that yes, I already have some of it, and this is what I want, she asked if I was wearing it.

me:  “Yes, I have it on, but it’s been hours since I applied it.”

Boots:  “Really?”

me:  “Yes, I’m wearing it, but I put it on early in the morning.”

Boots:  “Oh, well let me try some of this on you.”

me, because I’m such a dishrag:  “oh, okay.”  Passers-by snicker.  

Boots:  “Are you sure you applied the concealer today?  The circles under your eyes just seem a little dark.”

me:  “yes.  I have four kids.  I got up at 5:00am.”

Boots:  “Maybe you need to put it on a little more thickly.”

me:  “Are you trying to insult my make-up application skilz, or are you insulting my looks?  You can take your concealer and conceal it somewhere that the sun doesn’t shine.”

Actually, I didn’t say that last part there.  Because I’m weak like that.  I felt like it, though.

6.  This week I decided it was high time that we repaint our kitchen.  We have talked about it for months, but since I have absolutely nothing going on this week, I just figured it would be a splendid time to begin a new project.   Because you know, right before a major holiday is always a good time to start a project.  In your kitchen.  Where you’re supposed to be cooking for the biggest feast of the year. 

So I chose the color.  It’s called Warm Brownie.  And frankly, I think that name just screams kitchen paint.  Anyway, I sent The Man off for the paint.  (Which by the way, don’t expect to send any man off to the Home Depot to just get one little thing and hurry right back).  And I took a little nap.  But only because he was gone for so long. 

So he comes back, and I made up this grand schedule of how we’re going to get the painting done and all kinds of housework done and the grocery shopping done, and it looked pretty reasonable.  So I gave him the schedule for his information, and then do you know what I did?  I went out to lunch with my friend, and painted pottery for 3 hours while The Man worked on the to-do list and painted the kitchen.  I think he probably wonders how it worked out that way.  Sometimes, I think it must be hard to be him.

And that is the extent of the miscellaneous for this week.