Archive for November, 2006

NaBloPoMo’s End

I did it. I found something to say every day for the month of November. Bring on the prizes. Bring on the champagne. NaBloPoMo is done.

I have to admit, it was a bit of a struggle sometimes. I probably posted things I wouldn’t have bothered to mention had it not been NaBloPoMo. But I loved the comradery of other participants. I loved finding new blog gems to read. I loved the incentive of regularly looking at the odd and quirky moments of my own life in a way I find self-amusing rather than self-pitying. Blogging is good practice for that.

And did I mention that I loved the chance to win prizes??? (I don’t recall a champagne prize, but there probably should be a midnight toast of some kind).

And, despite the fact that I never once resorted to describing my lunch (soup & crackers today), I fear I may have bored you on more than one occasion. But I guess that’s how life is sometimes.

So, given the fact that I’m relieved to find NaBloPoMo finished, why is it that I’m actually considering doing Holidailies at Home mentioned by Alto2 today? Thirty-one days to post and not a prize to be found…. Am I crazy? …Do I dare?


Mom Jeans

I have an embarrassing confession. I am not only frumpy, but I am fashion illiterate. And here is why…

I have no idea what “mom jeans” are. I know they’re not a good thing. I know it’s the type of thing that gets reported to “What Not to Wear.” I just don’t have a clue how to definitely identify the fashion blunder.

I have always suspected I wear them, mind you. I’m a mom. I wear jeans. I am frump queen. Ergo, in all likelihood, I am guilty of them.

I went to a jeans store today. They have boot cut, and low rise, and straight leg, and pretty much any combination of rise and leg you might look for… but they have no section marked “Mom Jeans.” I was no wiser.

I imagined walking up to a clerk and asking for assistance. “Where might I find the Mom Jeans?” I would inquire. Then I imagined how such a request would probably knock the perkiness right out of their staff (not an easy feat). I’d probably be banished from the store for the crime of poor taste. Why risk doing someone that kind of psychological harm? I decided to check the internet.

This is what I found:

First, I realize it is a spoof. But let me just say that while I fully recognize that after a certain age it becomes more attractive to cover a midsection than to not… can I also just request that if anybody ever sees me wearing a Stepford smile and dancing around in a little number with the shirt tucked into an elastic waist jean, throw a tarp over me and save the world a little bit of ugly, OK??

Glasses. Again.

As I’m sitting here attempting to write my infamous essay (yes I’ve been sitting here ALL FREAKING DAY), I get a call from the school. It seems Rainbow needs to see an eye doctor. The public health nurse is of the opinion that Rainbow needs glasses. That, of course, made my day given all the luck I’ve had with my current set.

I, of course, made the mistake of mentioning glasses to Rainbow.

“It will just be a waste of your money because I will not wear them,” she stated as if it could not be more of a fact.

I did not back down, of course. I’m mean like that.

“How about you help me think of ways to hide them from madam (teacher)?” she even suggested.

Ya’ gotta’ give her props for optimism.

Is it just me or does anyone else get the sense that I’m going to be earning back that “Meanest Mommy in the World” title in the very near future?

On Essay

Textbooks… check
Paper… check
Pencils… check
Computer… check
Words on the page… ummm….
Inspiration…. ummm….

Our essay,
Who art not written,
Pressure be thy name.
Thy words please come,
Good grades be done,
In course, with no inspiration.

Let’s hope the final essay is more articulate than this blog post. Heck, at this rate let’s hope there is a final essay.

One Word Meme

My ribs hurt and I have an essay to write… except I can’t write when I need to lie down with a heating pad wrapped around me. Anyway, I grabbed a quick Meme to get something up here today… The idea is to respond in one word with no explanations.

The One Word Meme

Yourself: Tired
Your partner: Inpatient
Your hair: Bohemian
Your Mother: Caregiver
Your Father: Worker
Your Favorite Item: Angel
Your dream last night: Forgotten
Your Favorite Drink: Red
Your Dream Car: Paid
Your Dream Home: Any
The Room You Are In: Office
Your Ex: None
Your fear: Loss
Where you Want to be in Ten Years: Settled
Who you hung out with last night: Firemen
What You’re Not: Glamourous
Muffins: Banana
One of Your Wish List Items: Fussy
Time: Evening
The Last Thing You Did: Read
What You Are Wearing: Jammies
Your favorite weather: Sun
Your Favorite Book: Writing
Last thing you ate: Popcorn
Your Life: Unfinished
Your mood: Odd
Your Best Friends: Lifeline
What are you thinking about right now: Essay
Your car: Minivan
What are you doing at the moment: Blogging
Your summer: Beach
Relationship status: Married
What is on your TV: Dust
What is the weather like: Crisp
When is the last time you laughed: Moments

Bifocals Again

You may recall that I’ve had a bit of a hard time getting my bifocals right. I think they have been returned four (maybe five) times so far. The last time, the eye doctor even went with me to make sure they were measured right.

I’m not sure what happened, but they still are not correct. I have to wear them perched near the end of my nose to see with any clarity. It is with slight alarm that I realized today that I now bear a striking resemblance to her…

When I called the eye doctor she suggested I change to the version of bifocals with the line across the division. Ummm… no. If I look like the above now, just how freaking old will I look with the equator running across my eyes. And, while it may be vanity in part, it completely defies logic to me that in this day and age I can’t get bifocals to work for me without the line.

So I took them back. Again. And do you know what the troll sales clerk said to me? She said, “you must have gotten these lenses somewhere else. We don’t sell these.” WTF? Who pays for glasses, returns them a bazillion times to get them right, then pays someone else to replace the lenses, THEN takes them back to the first store for repair? Who?!!? Nobody, that’s who.

“Those are the glasses YOU gave me.” I reiterated.

“Well…” she replied with a sneer, “I guess I’ll just have to look up the invoice for those lenses.”

Guess what. They did sell me the lenses. Surprise!

They tweeked them a bit to see how they worked for the weekend, but I confess they are still at the end of my nose. I feel like I should knit, or boil me a possum or something. Just for effect.

Is it so wrong that I would rather look like her

I think I may request they just remove the dang bifocal business. Enough already.

Jammie Time

So Thanksgiving is going well…
turkey is consumed…
on to the pie…
the pie that was my undoing…

Oddly, there is often only two people in the house who like any one food. In the case of lemon meringue pie, it is Husband and Dolittle. I carefully slice a piece for each of them, and place them on a tray. “Finally,” I think, “Dinner is done and I can get in my comfy jammies and just relax for the rest of the night.”

And as I am carrying said tray to deliver the tasties, my foot catches in the pull loop of a bag of recycling (which had not been taken to the porch where it should have been). Down I go in a heap on the floor, slamming my left ribs into the wooden rack that holds the tv tables. For a moment I cannot move.

Dolittle runs to me fearfully, “Are you ok Mom?!”

Rainbow is marvelling at my “bravery” because I am not crying.

As aware as I am of the pain in my left side, for some odd reason I am focused on the fact that the dessert tray which went flying landed right side up. Cool. Desserts are intact and there is no food to clean up.

Eventually I do manage to get up from the floor. But even today it still hurts to move, or breathe deeply, or laugh. I feel like I’m 100 years old. Or like I’ve been hit by a train. Or like I’m a 100 year old that’s been hit by a train. In either case, I think I may have gotten myself a little more jammie time than I bargained for.

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