21st Century Housewife

Guess who came home last night?!

2012-01-23T06:00:00.000-05:00

Clue #1: his family has been missing him for a long time.

Clue #2: His Giants pulled it off
just as he arrived at the airport --
a welcome home gift!

Clue #3: He makes us all proud to be Americans!

Clue #3: He and the missus love them some Proseco!

Clue #4: We turned our Christmas lights
back on in his his honor!

Look who it is!
We're so glad to have him back!

Small pleasures: Look what I found!

2012-01-12T07:00:00.003-05:00

Oh my gosh! I found these shoes in the clearance rack at DSW! People I literally skipped to the cash register. It's true.

So let's see . . . how many identical pairs of these rockin' red loafers have I now purchased? One pair for Coleen. One pair for Carolyn. And ~~one~~ ~~two~~ three pairs for me.

They don't call me frugal for nothing!

Snapshot: here's how hellhounds ring in the New Year

2012-01-05T07:00:00.000-05:00

So while the husband and I, along with the tall boy and the sunny girl, got all dolled up and went out into the night on New Year's Eve, the girl in charge was feeling a little bit under the weather. She decided to stay home and snuggle up under a blanket and watch all the David Tennant "Doctor Who" episodes. The girl in charge knows how to handle illness.

But when she wandered downstairs for a snack, here's a photo of what she found: Watson, casually relaxing on top of his crate, with not a thought at all about eating that double tiered arrangement of cookies right by his head. No sirree -- not our sweet old Watson; he's just sitting there reading his Bible.

One question still remains: how did he get there?

Snapshot: Santa brought tickets!

2012-01-03T07:00:00.002-05:00

Santa made this theater-loving family happy by bringing all of us tickets to see the fabulous Billy Elliot at the Kennedy Center.

Grandma Donna loved the tap-dancing the most, while the girl urchins rocked out to the "Angry Dance" and the tall boy and his dad (ardent Thatcherites) snickered in spite of their best efforts at "Merry Christmas, Maggie Thatcher;" the lyrics are hilarious but a little mean -- so you'll just have to Google them yourself. I loved all of it, and I know one thing for sure:

I'll never look at a tutu the same way again.

An Advent Calendar For Book Lovers: Christmas Eve

2011-12-24T23:00:00.001-05:00

As always, the book we must turn to on Christmas Eve is The Gospel according to St. Luke:

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem (because he was of the house and lineage of David), to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

Happy Christmas, my dear friends!

An Advent Calendar for Book-Loving Procrastinators

2011-12-23T23:47:00.006-05:00

So I've been a little sick lately . . . . I won't bore you with the details, except to say:

1. It is problematic to lose your voice at the end of the semester, when you teach four classes of students who have paid good money for some actual learning to be stuffed into their heads.

2. Pneumonia! It's not just for the elderly! Unless this means I'm now elderly . . . . Hmm. Let me think about that. Anyway -- let's hear it for antibiotics and Robitussin with codeine!

OK, so -- let's get caught up on some excellent Advent reading! I do apologize for not keeping up. These past couple of weeks, breathing has sucked up most of my energy (I think that's a funny play on words, but I'm not sure . . . Bring more Robitussin!). Onward!

Way back on DAY 15 of Advent, when we opened the calendar door, we found a book that I was first introduced to as a song. The Marvelous Toy was originally sung by folk singer Tom Paxton; I vividly remember singing along with my dad as we listened to this fabulous song on the radio on our bi-annual trips to Oklahoma, for Christmas with our cousins. There are several print editions of the poem, all beautifully illustrated. I saw this one in the gift shop at the Kenndey Center, and just loved the bright colors and swirling motion captured by illustrator Steve Cox.

The calendar showed an old favorite on DAY 16: The ladies in my book group reminded me that Truman Capote's A Christmas Memory is a great story to share with your family as you prepare for Christmas. I had forgotten that Capote could write so sweetly and lovingly -- this story is a great reminder.

On DAY 17, the Advent Calendar reminded me that my Latin American friends are in the midst of their traditional Las Posadas celebrations right now. The urchins read Carlos, Light the Farolito a long time ago in school as they learned about Christmas customs around the world. The girl in charge suggested that you might like it as well. We learned a lot about the Mexican traditions around this special time of preparation for la Navidad.

On DAY 18, the Advent Calendar showed us The Gift of the Magi, that fabulous story by O. Henry. I have always, always loved this story. How awesome is this lovely illustrated version of the text?! Just for those who were wondering, P.J. Lynch is the illustrator of the phenomenal The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey -- voted by the urchins as the best Christmas story ever -- and featured in last year's Advent Calendar. Love me some P.J. Lynch! And I dare you not to cry when you read this story:

But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

DAY 19 brings us another book by Berkeley Breathed, of Bloom County fame. This time he gives us a story about his own father's childhood -- Red Ranger Came Calling. This is another one I wish my urchins had known about when they were littler.

On DAY 20, the calendar told me that Hanukkah had begun. Thank you so much to Common Household Mom, who recommended Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins. Hershel must confront hobgoblins who will not let the villagers light the menorah for Hanukkah -- just as the ancient Syrians would not let the Hebrew people celebrate their religion. A great spooky winter tale!

DAY 21 brought another Hanukkah story, but this one tells of the friendship and caring that can bring people of different faiths together in the face of adversity. In The Trees of the Dancing Goats, we read about a little girl and her grandfather, who while celebrating Hanukkah, bring Christmas cheer to brighten the holiday for their sick and bed-ridden Christian neighbors. So beautifully illustrated!

On DAY 22, the Advent calendar made me remember the gorgeous book I received from my friend Susan last year -- Why the Chimes Rang. Last year as Susan read about the 2010 Advent Calendar for Book Lovers, she kept wondering why this story wasn't on my list. When I told her I had never heard of it, she burst into tears. Well, not really. What she really did was smack me on the arm and call me a loser. Same thing. Two days later, my own copy of this lovely, lovely story arrived in the mail. There are many, many beautifully illustrated versions of this tale, but you can listen to it right now and read along, at this cool link.

Tonight, Coleen had the whole family over for dinner, and of course we had a swell time -- even though I'm still feeling a little winded, and the tall boy has continued his winter tradition of bronchial nonsense. Coleen nearly cut her hand off shucking oysters, so that's a tradition she's managed to keep alive as well. It was worth it though -- look how pretty they were!

So in honor of Coleen, on DAY 23 of our Advent Calendar, I offer you the Christmas section of Farmer Boy, by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Coleen says this is her favorite "Little House" Christmas story, because of the fabulous and mouth-watering descriptions of food! I was always amazed at the thought of that long table, heaped to groaning with pork chops and chicken and ham, and mashed potatoes and all those vegetables they had grown -- and that Little House delicacy -- "apples 'n' onions!" Yum!

Well -- I'm sorry this post is so long -- but it does feel good to be caught up -- just in time!

Happy reading, everyone!

We do clean up kind of nice

2011-12-14T09:00:00.000-05:00

So this past weekend the husband and I got all dolled up and went to his company's Christmas bash, which is always just way, way fun.

Much merriment ensued, what with an open bar and a hotel reservation -- and no babysitter with a curfew, either!

We have come to look forward to this annual casino night, which I think is so much more fun than watching a bunch of whippersnappers dancing to music that I don't know or like.

Instead, we feel like high rollers, gambling away our play money. It's so freeing to bet a thousand dollars -- and then to say, "Oh heck -- make it two thousand!"

A fabulous time, with terrifically fun friends -- it was a great way to celebrate!

+++

Our Advent calendar book today is Big Susan. Mr. and Mrs. Doll and their children and servants belong to Big Susan, and live in a house with no front. On Christmas Eve every year, they can move about without needing Susan to help them.

This is such a sweet story -- thanks, Cassi Renee!

A Book Lovers' Advent Calendar: Day Thirteen

2011-12-13T20:00:00.000-05:00

Here's a fabulous book behind today's door of our Advent calendar! In Auntie Claus, young Sophie grows suspicious when her Auntie Claus mysteriously disappears every winter -- and returns around Valentine's Day. One year she stows away in her aunt's luggage, and is whisked away to the North Pole. There she plunges into adventure and discovers her glamorous aunt's true identity!

Many friends recommended this charming book, which is filled with vivid illustrations and fun details. Enjoy!

Because there's festive and then there's just mean

2011-12-12T08:45:00.000-05:00

Well, we are slowly but surely sparkle-izing our home, getting ready for Christmas. I've said it before -- I do like to stroll into the merry season. But it does seem like every year the culture makes that harder and harder to do.

Now, just to be clear -- I'm not talking about people like my neighbor, whose yard was filled on Thanksgiving weekend with a menagerie of whimsical critters who twinkle the night away. This is festive, people! I can get behind this, even if my family's lights are a tad more subdued (and we got them put up a little bit later).

No, I'm talking about the cut-throat, competitive people who are in a race to see who can be "done" the soonest. And the culture (but really by culture I mean "advertisers") fosters this Grinchy attitude. Have you seen the dreadful Best Buy and Target commercials? In the Target commercial we see a mash-up of gleeful shoppers -- and not one of them says the word Christmas or holiday or celebrate. What's the one word they holler so joyfully? "Done!"

Warms your heart, doesn't it?

And here's a terrific Washington Post article about the Best Buy commercials, which are just plain mean -- to Santa, of all people!

Well -- I plan to stick to my slowpoke ways, and bring out a little more sparkle every day. We have our wreaths and our Advent calendar, and as of this weekend we have a (bare) tree. And eventually the little baby Jesus will celebrate another birthday -- right on time.

+++

Our Advent calendar today shows us Sister Wendy's Story of Christmas. Our family loves Sister Wendy, who has guided viewers through the great art museums of the world on several PBS series. She has written several books for children, in which she introduces them to beautiful art. This book uses masterpieces by the world's great artists to tell the story of the Nativity.

Thanks, Jack and Matthew!

A Book Lovers' Advent Calendar: Day Eleven

2011-12-11T21:00:00.000-05:00

Today's Advent calendar book is perfect for families who are experiencing the first big snow of the season -- or for families who are still hoping for that first fat flake. It beautifully illustrates the Robert Frost poem, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." Gorgeous.

Thanks, Robert!

A Book Lovers' Advent Calendar: Day Ten

2011-12-10T20:00:00.000-05:00

Oh, my goodness! So many people recommended this book to me I can't even count them all. And I love it -- I can't believe my family never came upon this fantastic story when we were younger. Rumer Godden, people! In This House of Brede is only one of my favorite books of all time.

The Story of Holly and Ivy tells us about an orphan named Ivy, a doll named Holly, and a couple who yearn for a child. So sweet!

Thanks, Suburban Correspondent!

A Book Lovers' Advent Calendar: Day Nine

2011-12-09T17:15:00.001-05:00

Today behind the Advent calendar door we find The Birds' Christmas Carol, which was given to the urchins by Grandma Carol (born on Christmas Day, just like the Carol in this story). This little book (not quite a novel, but longer than a storybook) was one of the first gifts the urchins received from their new grandmother, soon after she and Grandpa got married. So it's "recommended" by Grandma Carol, but it is very dear to us as well.

Carol Bird is a cherished Christmas gift to her family; born on Christmas Day, her name describes her perfectly, since she sings all the time. Frail and often ill, she nevertheless brings joy and hope to everyone as she plans a special Christmas celebration for the nine young Ruggles children who live nearby.

I owned this version of the little story when I was in elementary school; I spent sixty cents of my own money to buy it from the Scholastic Book flier that came home from school. Isn't it strange? I totally remember it being called The Birds' Christmas Carol -- I distinctly remember thinking that her name was such a clever pun. But look: this edition has a different (more straightforward, more boring) title. Memory is such a strange thing . . . .

Thanks, Grandma Carol, for bringing this sweet story back into my life!

A Book Lovers' Advent Calendar: Day Eight

2011-12-08T21:15:00.000-05:00

Look what a lovely, lovely picture book is behind the door of our Advent calendar today! A Day on Skates is a perfect book for today -- the first truly cold wintery day in December for us around here. I just love the beautifully detailed illustrations!

Thanks, Beth and Rachel!

Advent Calendar: Day Seven

2011-12-07T07:30:00.000-05:00

Berkeley Breathed's lovable penguin Opus is featured in this cute Christmas story, A Wish For Wings That Work. All Opus wants is to be able to fly like other birds -- but his wings will not allow it. Will Santa Claus grant Opus's Christmas wish?

Thanks, Peter!

The Feast of St. Nicholas

2011-12-06T19:00:00.004-05:00

So did you put your shoes outside your door last night? Today is the Feast of St. Nicholas, so if you have been very good this year, you might have received some toys and treats in your shoes!

Most people know that St. Nicholas (who for the most part has evolved into Santa Claus here in the United States) is the patron saint of children in the Catholic and Orthodox churches. But did you know that this understanding stems from the story of how Nicholas, then Bishop of Smyrna, saved three boys who had been murdered and pickled in brine?! Some people with dark senses of humor honor this aspect of St. Nicholas by eating corned beef today. I'm talking about you, "The Mother."

The whole "stockings hung by the chimney with care" thing stems from another story about the Bishop of Smyrna, who found out that three young daughters of a household in his care were about to be sold into slavery -- which in those times meant prostitution. To prevent this tragedy, Nicholas secretly threw three bags of gold through the family's window -- enough for a dowry for each of the girls. Legend tells us that the bags landed in the girls' stockings, which were hung by the chimney to dry. Thus, when we hang our stockings or put out our shoes in hopes of receiving a Christmas treat, we are honoring St. Nicholas in his role as the patron saint of prostitutes.

+++

Well, for our Advent calendar on the Feast of St. Nicholas, what could be more appropriate than the Clement C. Moore classic? Sometimes this book is titled, 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, but it was originally published as A Visit From St. Nicholas. I don't know about you, but somewhere along the way I had to memorize this bad boy in school. This edition has particularly lovely illustrations.

Thanks to all of you who suggested this book!

Help! I'm being buried alive!

2011-12-05T09:00:00.003-05:00

Look at this, people! All of these catalogs have arrived in my home in the past week. Yes -- I said "week."

I counted 'em up: the grand total = 93 catalogs.

So let's think about the math involved here. In seven days I received ninety-three catalogs. OK, let me lick my pencil . . . carry the 11 . . . solving for pi . . . . It turns out that I received an average of thirteen catalogs -- every single day. Am I crazy or doesn't that seem a wee bit excessive to you?

Now don't get me wrong. I love to read a catalog in the bathroom as much as the next girl. But have mercy, catalog publishers! If I read all of the catalogs, how will I ever find the time to keep up with my People magazine and National Enquirer? And by the way -- I thought we were all working together to save the planet here. I find it kind of hilarious that I have to pay my bank an extra $4.00 per month for the privilege of receiving paper copies of my statements, but Pottery Barn and Coldwater Creek and Levenger are willing to send me the most glamorous and slick magazines (often twice in one week) absolutely free!

Let's see what else we've got here:

I love getting the Restoration Hardware catalog, even though there is not a chance on God's beautiful spinning Earth that I could afford anything in it, except maybe the vintage Bingo game. That actually looks pretty cool.

You know this family is going to get an opportuntiy to make some purchase from the fine, fine people at Softball Sales. Good thing we heard from them, too -- because the girl in charge needs a new bag.

It makes me a little sad that I no longer have urchins who would love to get something from the Chinaberry catalog; once upon a time we would have placed a giant Christmas order with them -- fabulous books for the little urchins, people! But these days, the tall boy's wish list has Isaac Asimov, Stephen King, and Jim Butcher on it, while the girl in charge is immersed in the Game of Thrones series, and the sunny girl is yearning for anything steampunk. We're just not gonna find these items in the Chinaberry catalog. They are aimed more at the Pat the Bunny crowd.

I do still love the folks at Bas Bleu -- they never fail to point out a book or an author to make me happy. My heart was completely warmed yesterday when the girl in charge handed me the most recent edition of the catalog, with several pages turned down. Love that girl!

Should I be concerned about the reputation I must be developing amongst the catalogers? I received not only Wine Enthusiast . . .

. . . but Wine Country Gift Baskets -- on the same day! Hmmm. . . . and no catalog from the Coca-Cola Company. I should lodge a protest!

And I'm sorry -- I just find this the silliest catalog ever -- a catalog of Catalog Favorites. So is this like the Readers' Digest condensed version of all those damned catalogs I've been getting since late September? And just how do they know these are my own personal favorites? Is there a softball bag in this catalog? I don't think so! Rubber Ducky p.j.s? Not a chance! Lego Death Star? Oh, please!

I'll just stick to ignoring my ninety-three catalogs, thank you!

+++

And on Day Five, behind the door of our Advent Calendar we find peter Spiers' Christmas. This is actually a book that our family also enjoyed, when the urchins were very little. This is another wordless book, with illustrations that are so intricate and involved that children will pore over it for hours and hours, noticing fabulous details in every corner of every illustration. Our copy of this wonderful book fell apart years ago -- and sadly it is no longer in print. I'll bet, though, that diligent sleuths will be able to find it at a used book store. I have had great luck at abebooks.com.

Thanks, Ava!

Book Lovers' Advent Calendar: Day Four

2011-12-04T20:45:00.004-05:00

Here is another story I wish my family had known about before they all turned into teenagers! Annika's Secret Wish is the story of a ten-year-old Swedish girl. She knows that the child who finds the almond in the special Christmas pudding will have a wish come true, and Annika so wishes for beautiful black pony! But when she finds that she has been given the special almond, she also discovers that it may just be more magical to give a gift than to receive it.

Thanks, June!

Advent Calendar: Day Three

2011-12-03T20:15:00.000-05:00

This fabulous book features photographs as illustrations (the most gorgeous phtography, people!) to tell the story of the animals of the woods who come to investigate the snowman who magically appears in a clearing.

I have looked at Stranger in the Woods so many times in bookstores, and have always been taken by its simple beauty. A great winter book!

Thanks, Mary!

Advent Calendar: Day Two

2011-12-02T20:30:00.001-05:00

The book behind door number two of our Advent calendar is Olive, the Other Reindeer, by Vivian Walsh and J. Otto Seibold. Olive the adorable dog is preparing for Christmas and listening to holiday tunes. When she hears the words to the famous song about Rudolf, she suddenly understands: she is the other reindeer! This is a great little story for little ones who are just beginning to understand how hilarious puns and word tricks can be.

Thanks, Barbara!

My mother's dishes: NOT a love story

2011-12-01T19:30:00.001-05:00

So this Thanksgiving, as we do every year, my sister and I each pulled out our vintage and oh-so-collectible "Jewel Tea" dishes. Her meal was served in Roanoke, while I filled the gravy boat up here in the southern part of northern Virginia -- but we both used these Depression era dishes, because, I mean really. Look at them. They're perfect for Thanksgiving. That and because our mother would haunt us if we didn't.

See, Carolyn and I have what you might call a love-hate relationship with these dishes (their official name is "Hall China Autumn Leaf," but they were always called "Jewel Tea" in our family, because in the 1930s they were given to housewives -- like my grandmother -- as premiums when the ladies bought tea and spices from the door-to-door reps from the Jewel Tea Company). We do love them, because they were our mother's. And while their beauty and aesthetic loveliness frankly kind of escape us, we both realize that Mom cherished them. How do we know this? We know this because by the time she died she had:

redecorated her kitchen to feature them, to include commissioning a friend to create a matching stencil pattern;
purchased a shockingly expensive, custom-made-to-match-her-dishes, Tiffany-style lamp to hang over the breakfast table;
hung the dessert plates interspersed with orange and yellow baskets around the kitchen on the wall space above the cabinets (cunningly connected by the stencil pattern);
joined the "Hall China 'Autumn Leaf' Collectors' Club" (that's where she found the guy who made the lamp);
owned a linen tablecloth and twelve napkins that had been stenciled by the same friend (see above), so that when she entertained her table was all Jewel Tea, all the time;
spent way more money than my dad ever knew, tracking down and purchasing the rarer pieces of the pattern: a "one-armed bean pot;" the coveted "2 lb. butter dish" (I mean, it's a butter dish that will hold eight sticks of butter, people); not only the formal and everyday salt and pepper shakers, but the "cook's salt and pepper shakers" as well;
amassed enough place settings of these fricking dishes that my sister and I each have a complete set. And by complete, I mean we each own twelve place settings. Twelve, y'all. Plus serving bowls, platters, pie plates, iced tea glasses, coffee mugs, tea pots . . . . Plus some other shit I can't even remember.

But see, we really don't think they're as lovely as she did. We both have white dishes for every day, and we both chose fancy china patterns when we got married because our mother made us. She made us choose a silver pattern, too -- and we both very cleverly chose her silver pattern. So one thing I love, love, love is that I have my silver and my mother's, mingling all together. The other pattern in this picture is my grandmother's, which I adore but which is no longer made. I always, always use the two patterns together.

Last year about this time, my sister and I were reminiscing about our mom and we got to laughing our asses off, yet again, about all that "damned Jewel Tea" (that's how we have always talked about it). I regret to inform you that we were not kind about these dishes. Well, fifteen minutes later, my sister texted me; here is our "conversation:

HER: Right after I hung up a damned Jewel Tea bowl fell and broke. I'm freaking out.
ME: Mom must be pissed.
HER: Now I'm crying.
ME: And I'm laughing. Don't cry! They're ugly. The world is a better place.
HER: OK, now I'm laughing.

We have considered selling the damned things on eBay, or Craigslist; I really do think that the entire collection could pay for at least a year of someone's college expenses. But we never get around to it. So most of it lives in multiple, multiple boxes in my attic. And a few pieces live in our kitchens, so we can use them at Thanksgiving.

Because they're perfect.

+++

And hey! Today begins our second annual Book Lovers' Advent Calendar! This year I am sampling books that have been recommended to me by friends who said last year, "How could you possibly leave out our family's favorite??" I am discovering a whole new collection of storybooks to love!

As we open the first door of the Advent calendar, we find The Snowman, which is a lovely little book with no words (I love those!). My family is actually familiar with this story as an animated film, but -- as is always the case -- the book is better. Thanks, Kathy!

Advent for Book Lovers: what's on YOUR list?

2011-11-18T15:00:00.001-05:00

OK, friends and cyber-pals -- it's time to help a book-lover out. As you may remember, last year I was quite fretful about the possibility that story-books are going the way of the dodo. You can read my lament here, if you are so inclined.

But while the urchins and I were weeping over the fate of good old-fashioned storybooks, I had so much fun sharing some of my family's favorite Christmas-y stories with you. This Book-Lover's Advent Calendar jogged our memories, and the urchins and I just loved re-reading our old winter favorites. I hope you enjoyed it as much as we did!

So this year, I thought it would be cool to see what books you and your families have loved over the years. I have already heard from some friends about books that must, must, must be included on any list of holiday favorites, so now I'm asking you all to chime in: let's see if we can come up with twenty-four more books that are perfect for Christmas, Chanukah, Eid (that's your cue, Noor!), and just fabulously snowy and wintery days.

Bring it, people! Let's make an Advent Calendar!

A bummer -- but not a tragedy

2011-11-16T18:00:00.001-05:00

So just look at this sad little fender bender! The girl in charge was just a wee bit traumatized when she was rear-ended on her way to school, but frankly, I was relieved when I saw how little damage was done to her fun little get-around-town car.

I did have the classic racing-heart moment when my phone rang at 7:15 that morning -- exactly eighteen minutes after the girl in charge and the sunny girl left on a drizzly Thursday morning on their way to school. The voice on the other end of the line was a slightly breathless sunny girl, who said, "Hello -- Mama? OK, we'll all fine, no one's hurt, but . . . " You can figure out the rest of that conversation! It turns out that after picking up a carpool pal, the three girls were stopped in traffic when they were hit from behind by a distracted commuter who didn't even see the traffic stopped in front of her.

The sunny girl said, "she wants to talk to you," and handed the phone to the girl in charge, my calm, cool, collected girl, who promptly burst into tears. When I got to them ( about thirteen seconds before the pal's mom showed up and approximately seven minutes ahead of the husband, who courteously paused to put on pants before he flung himself into a car), I was just glad that everyone seemed to be OK, and our car had managed to escape major damage.

But . . .

The little red car is almost ten years old, so it didn't take much to total it. The insurance company was d-o-n-e, done with us, thrilled to write us a check that so completely did not cover the cost of buying a reliable-if-used kid car. And I tell you what: if it hadn't been so sad, I would have laughed my ass off at the husband, who kept saying after we got off the phone with the insurance company, "This can't be right . . . . This morning we had a car . . . "

So the quest began for a new get-around-town car, and we turn out to be total creatures of habit.

Not only did we replace the fun little red car with an almost identical fun little red car. . . .

. . . but the girl in charge raced to place her Golden Snitch back on the antenna -- right where it belongs.

Here's a November prayer of gratitude -- that my girls and their friend are healthy and safe, and all we lost was a car.

Remembrance Day

2011-11-11T11:00:00.002-05:00

Everybody is home from school today, since it is Veterans' Day in the United States. When I was growing up, my dad (a Vietnam veteran himself) liked to remind me that its original name was Armistice Day. He is a history buff, and never has forgotten that the day originates with the Armistice that ended World War I ("at the 11th hour, on the 11th day, of the 11th month").

But I really like the name for this day used by so many of our Commonwealth nation friends -- I feel like "Remembrance Day" sums up what we should be doing today -- remembering and honoring the fact that there are people who are willing to go to war for us.

Around here we are specifically lifting up one veteran in particular -- currently deployed to Afghanistan -- and are so grateful to him for his fierce love of our country. We miss him just about all of the time on our happy little cul-de-sac. He is the cruise director of all of our neighborhood bashes -- they just aren't the same without him. And on weekend mornings we miss him stopping by for a cup of coffee while he's out raking leaves. He even has his own mug stashed in our cupboard!

This year the husband and the fabulous neighbor will miss their annual date to the Redskins v. Giants game for the first time in I don't know how many years; this would be sad except for the fact that the Redskins suck so bad this year that the husband is frankly relieved to skip the humiliation. We will miss our friend at Thanksgiving, but it will be fabulous to have his family at our feast.

The good news is he will be home soon -- and as always, his mug of coffee will be here waiting for him.

And then I saw (red).

2011-11-09T06:00:00.003-05:00

So remember way back when -- when I was so overjoyed to have found these fabulous red shoes? I loved these pretty, pretty loafers, people! I wore them all the time. Also -- when I bought some for myself, I also bought some for Coleen, and I bought some for my sister. I'm generous like that.

tangent: true fact -- my sister bought herself -- and me -- a fantastic bright red raincoat, at the same time that I bought myself -- and her -- these stunning red loafers. We traveled together soon after, when we visited our family in Texas and Oklahoma -- dressed identically in red raincoats and red loafers. We were like weird adult Doublemint twins. Or Rockettes without talent.

Well, here's how pathetically in love with these shoes I was when I discovered them: I bought -- for myself -- two pairs of the rockin' red flats. My theory was that I would eventually wear them out (scuff them up too badly, run the heels down, wear a hole in them somehow), so I would keep a pair stashed away so that I would never be without them.

Sad, ain't it?

So here we are, two years later, and it turns out I was right; I did wear out the delicious red shoes. At some point, some beverage was spilled on them; I have a vague memory of cooking oil splashing and staining them. But the true point of no return was that a hole developed in the lining of the shoes, so I got a blister every time I wore them. You are noticing, I'm sure, that I said "every time." So you are correct if you assume that I wore those bitches many times knowing that a blister would be my reward. I'm ridiculous like that.

But finally I decided it was time to set the rockin' red loafers aside, and replace them with the identical rockin' red loafers I had stashed away for just such a day as this. I wore the new shoes to work one day last month, and then came home and took them off. I left them by our front door, which turns out to have been a big mistake.

This is what happens when delicious red leather shoes are left where the hellhounds can get them.

People, I got to wear them once. Once.

So the good news is that I know what I'm serving as a main course for Thanksgiving dinner: forget the turkey. We're having roast beast.

Snapshot: Cousin love!

2011-11-07T07:00:00.001-05:00

Tell me these urchins aren't the bomb-dot-com!?!

PHOTO CREDIT:
"Fab Five": J. Holmes

Snapshot: Three pretty girls and one tall boy

2011-11-03T17:00:00.004-04:00

So the husband and I took the urchins to see Les Miserables at the Kennedy Center recently and had as swell a time as you can have while your heart is being wrenched by the poignant sadness of a story that is all about how these people are willing to die for those people, who realize too late how much these people loved them -- and then they all sing about how miserable life is now but how it will all be better when we get to heaven. And how "to love another person is to see the face of God . . ." Hang on. I need a tissue.

But!

SHE came to see the play with us! And we were giddy with excitement, because although the tall boy clearly thinks SHE is all that, we couldn't wait to see for ourselves.

Turns out the tall boy is right.

Do something!

2011-10-19T17:30:00.000-04:00

So I have gotten myself into a little bit of a state these past couple of days because I read this article about our local food pantry. I must say I feel a little overwhelmed with sadness and frustration and a modicum of angsty rage that this food pantry -- which for many people in our neck of the woods has been the only resource standing between their family and a kitchen filled with nothing -- has been forced to temporarily close its doors.

In our family the ACTS Food Pantry holds a special place because we have been participating in food drives to support it for over twenty years. The sunny girl and the girl in charge have both helped sort food during the food pantry's annual Operation Turkey drive in November. And the tall boy organized a neighborhood food drive for this food pantry as his Eagle Project. To prepare for the food drive he spent quite a few hours at the pantry, shelving food, helping to organize donations, and talking to the pantry director about his goals and dreams for the food pantry.

Of course for all of us, the dream is clearly that we can live in a community where an emergency food pantry is no longer necessary. But until that day arrives, the Food Pantries, Community Kitchens, Bread For the City drives and SOME (So Others May Eat) programs are nothing more or less than a rope that we can throw to our drowning neighbors.

We all MUST support these programs.

Please. My friends. Go to your community's food pantry right now. Yes, now. Get up, go to your cupboard. Grab that can of beans, that Top Ramen, that peanut butter, those pasta noodles. Get in your car right now and go to your food pantry. They need it so very badly -- they won't even care that you are still wearing your pajamas and bunny slippers.

My mother would tell you you are earning stars for your crown in heaven.

Thank you so much.

Sister love

2011-10-13T16:30:00.001-04:00

Here are my beautiful girl urchins,beautifully lit by the television. I adore these two chicks so much, and I find it such a cool trick of genetics that I gave birth to two people who in many ways could not be more different. One is logical, literal, and organized -- while the other is creative and poetic, with a lovably goofy sense of humor.

The girl in charge is a terrific time manager, and guards her precious free moments zealously. Among the many things I admire about her is her embrace of the afternoon nap. I'm not kidding; this girl has always known when she's had enough.

True story: Last January, she starred in her high school's One-Act Play, which is a district-level competition, and she rocked it totally. After every school performed, all the performers were manic in their adrenaline-fueled excitement, so while they waited for the judges to return and give out awards, one hundred high school drama geeks stormed the stage and spontaneously started playing improv games. Well, the girl in charge was right in there with them, pretending to be an angst-filled cactus or whatever -- until she was done. Just . . . done. She politely excused herself and went to an empty classroom to take a nap. The best part is -- she planned for the nap! She brought a pillow and a blanket with her and staged them in the empty classroom. Do you see what I'm dealing with here, people?!

In contrast, the sunny girl wants to cram everything into every day. She is always trying to figure out how to add one more dance class or club or movie date into her schedule. And nap? Please -- she would skip sleep all together if it were biologically possible.

Actually, when the sunny girl is approaching the end of a hectic day, she gets a little frenzied -- hurrying, hurrying, hurrying to get everything in. I have seen her literally spinning around in circles as she tries to prioritize all the things she wants to accomplish, before her dad and I loom menacingly, glaring meaningfully at our watches and saying, "What time do you need to get up tomorrow, sunny girl?" We have plans to go see a swanky play at the Kennedy Center, and the sunny girl is so looking forward to it. But when I told her she would need to miss a dance class so that we can get to the theater on time, her face fell two stories: "Can't I at least go to half the class? Can I change clothes at the theater? Can we skip dinner?" It's classic sunny girl: "I don't want to miss a thing!"

But as these two totally fabulous and totally different girls have grown up, a totally cool thing has happened along the way: they totally dig each other. And in a weird way, they complement each other perfectly. While the sunny girl is quick to crack with the jokes, the girl in charge is her biggest fan -- laughing like a hyena at the sunny girl's antics. If you know the girl in charge you'll understand that this is a miracle; the girl in charge is more of a Mona Lisa smile kind of person -- it takes some work to crack her up. And as the sunny girl has started high school, she has really turned to her big sister for advice and guidance.

They bond over "Doctor Who" and "A Very Potter Musical;" the girl in charge defends her sister's right to the front seat, even when another senior is in the car; they roll their eyes at their mother's failings as a housekeeper. And I am not even kidding when I say that any mention of a tyrannosaurus rex makes them weep -- weep -- with laughter.

Sisters are so cool.

Snapshot: Happy birthday, sister!

2011-09-21T07:00:00.003-04:00

Today is my baby sister's birthday --

-- and I love her so much!

Snapshot(s): Back Bay friends and neighbors

2011-09-20T07:00:00.004-04:00

The weather is changing now, and you all may remember that I really dread the fall. So to perk myself up a little bit, I thought I would remind myself and you of my fabulous beach-filled summer in Sandbridge, Virginia. In addition to spending cherished time with some of my favorite people . . .

. . . I shared my Back Bay beach vacation with some more exotic neighbors:

I'm ready to go back!

" In keeping with tradition, the bride wore scarlet . . . "

2011-09-19T06:00:00.000-04:00

So the husband and I attended the most lovely wedding earlier this month. A former colleague who worked with my husband invited us to participate in her wonderful day, which involved not one but two wedding rituals -- one Christian and one Sikh.

Now I must admit at the outset that we both were . . . I think nonplussed is the word . . . to learn that the Eastern ritual would require that we enter the room without our shoes, cover our hair and (can you hear the creak of knees and hips?) sit on the floor for the two-hour ceremony.

It was easy enough for me to find a lovely scarf to complement my western dress, and Coleen was confident that as long as I had a fresh pedicure the no-shoes situation could hold no fear. But the husband was . . . I'm going to say hesitant. Yes, hesitant, and -- because he rarely wears headgear other than a ball cap on a Boy Scout camping trip -- concerned that he would offend either our hosts or his own sense of dignity. (Men . . . .) He ended up wearing a patriotic red-white-and-blue bandanna that, while perfectly appropriate, also gave his charcoal grey suit a dashing biker dude air. He wouldn't let me take a picture.

And I'm telling you people, the lovely if virginal white wedding dress that we Westerners are accustomed to pales in all ways to the opulently beautiful traditional wedding garb of an Indian woman.

This is to say nothing of the fact that in the Indian and Sikh tradition, the groom dresses like an exotic Eastern prince. I will never swoon over a man in a tuxedo in the same way again.

Now don't get me wrong -- the Christian ceremony that followed was lovely. The lakeside setting and the adoring gaze of the groom were enough to make any grandmother a little teary-eyed. You do see that he shaved in between the two ceremonies, right? For me this just proved what I have always suspected: beards really are that itchy, and he really must love her a lot.

As the bride appeared with her father for this second ceremony, I was vividly reminded that this woman is really such a gorgeous blending of two worlds -- all rolled up in one brilliant and sophisticated package: a savvy computer engineer who also founded an e-zine for young and modern Indian-American women, who want to embrace every aspect of both their cultures. No wonder her dad looks so proud.

I think I know what's going on here.

2011-09-04T18:30:00.003-04:00

So it's been a while since I checked in with all of you here, and I do apologize. I have to say, the school year for the college kids snuck up behind me, and then jumped out from behind a tree and scared the bejeezus out of me -- so I had to go lie down. The college academic calendar meant that not only did the tall boy go back to school last week, but so did a gaggle of besties and cousins. It seemed like every time we turned around we were saying good-bye to someone. In addition, I myself headed back to school, teaching again this semester at the community college -- which I am realizing more and more is what I was meant to do.

But here's the weird thing: all those college kids have been reporting bizarre natural phenomena, which have forced them to evacuate -- like the girl in charge's bestie (an 18-year-old freshman), who was in residence at the College of William and Mary for a whole week before Hurricane Irene came for a whirlwind visit and she was told, " Get out. Oh -- and if you get a chance, tell your folks where you are." I paraphrase, but only slightly.

In contrast, the tall boy was not evacuated -- he was told to hustle to his college campus as soon as ever he could. The tall boy, who had plans to move in to his new dorm room last Saturday, was sent a text from the college doo-dahs: "OK, so remember how we told you don't even think about showing up to college early? Well -- forget that; get your ass here as soon as possible."

I'm paraphrasing again, but it turns out that between the hurricane (due to hit us on Saturday -- right in the middle of hauling a refrigerator and a carpet remnant across the hilly Catholic University campus) and the earlier damage caused by the earthquake (the National Cathedral was supposed to host a big and important Martin Luther King, Jr. event that was moved to the CUA campus because the Cathedral was so damaged), there was no way in hell the tall boy and his dad were going to get a car on to the Catholic University campus. His actual text from the nice Campus Life people said, "If you plan to arrive on Saturday with a vehicle of any kind, you are so screwed." Paraphrasing again . . . .

What does this mean? It means that the tall boy and his dad were unloading the boy's shit at his dorm in Washington, DC at 11:30 on a Friday night. Now tell me that's not a great dad!

Just a little word about our earthquake (summary: I was driving, so never even knew there was an earthquake -- while at home, the hellhounds freaked out). Californians mock us for our measly 5.8 quake but I would respectfully say to each of my west coast friends, "Back off, bitch!" We live in Virginia, y'all. We have some experience with hurricanes (I would submit Camille, Agnes and Isabel -- who all were very cranky ladies ). But we don't do earthquakes.

We don't do uncontrollable wildfires either -- and yet the Great Dismal Swamp has been burning since mid-July. That just looks like a beautiful sunset, but it really is smoke -- I took this picture at the beach in early August, on a day the wind was blowing from the west.

Add to all of this bizarreness the fact that just last week my friend Wendy's teen-aged son took out the trash without being asked, and I think it's pretty clear we are looking the Apocalypse dead in its gaping maw. Not that I'm worried.

Beach lovers: the last word

2011-08-15T19:45:00.006-04:00

It's not hard to understand why
I love the un-family so much . . . .

Small pleasures: found rainbow

2011-08-12T11:45:00.001-04:00

I am actually not a particularly rainbow-y person; in fact when I was in college, the kind of sweet, sweet girl who decorated her dorm room with rainbows was the kind of girl I wanted to punch in the throat. This was the girl who usually ended up talking way too much baby talk for a theoretically intelligent college student, and -- if I can paraphrase Dorothy Parker -- she made me want to "frow up."

But sometimes the rainbows just show up right in a parking lot, and it's hard not to smile . . . . Please don't punch me in the throat.

Happy birthday, adored one!

2011-08-08T11:30:00.004-04:00

So the girl in charge turned 17 last week while we were at the beach, which makes me very angsty because it's all going too damned fast but let's not dwell or I'll cry.

Well, here's the thing -- as some of you may know, the girl in charge shares a birthday with Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom and J.K. Rowling. This is huge, people -- especially for a girl who always has a Harry Potter book in rotation, can recite whole passages from each of the seven books verbatim, and kills, kills I'm telling you, at any kind of Potterish trivia game. I mean, just don't even try to beat her. We have used up three hard-backed copies of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, no lie -- literally read them to pieces. In this picture, my girl is saving our seats for the fabulous midnight premiere of the last Harry Potter movie; bet you can't guess what she's reading!

So in the middle of a summer like this one, when you can't trip over a log without finding a photo of Daniel Radcliffe underneath it, the girl in charge was in Harry Potter heaven. And for her birthday, I might have gone just a wee bit overboard on the Harry Potter loot. She got Harry Potter Legos (Hagrid's Hut and the Knight Bus -- way cool!).

She got a Harry Potter wand that lights up when you say "lumos!" (and give it a little shake and make sure a battery is in there somewhere) and a Harry Potter sticker book (which one might think was aimed at the younger Harry Potter fans but one would be wrong, wrong, wrong, mother! because for the girl in charge and her friends -- seniors in high school, remember -- the only thing as cool as Harry Potter stickers would be a Doctor Who coffee mug or a "Tangled" poster, both of which are currently on the girl in charge's Christmas wish list).

She also got a Harry Potter poster book, and I take great glee in reporting that the soldier, who reported back to West Point less than a week later, begged -- begged -- for the Hermione poster, and the girl in charge gave it to him and told me that it was the first time the soldier had ever hugged her.

I do hope this magically wonderful girl (who could have been The Chosen One) realizes how much she is cherished and adored; the world is full of busy-ness and hustle-bustle, and we all move way too fast and talk too much, and fill our heads with worries that don't really mean anything. I feel like every day that slips by is another lost opportunity to make sure my beautiful girl knows: I am the luckiest mom.

Snapshot: Who knew waves could beat the crap out of a girl?

2011-08-05T21:15:00.001-04:00

So we spent a great day on the beach today, because there's a hurricane coming. OK, so maybe she's not a hurricane any more but she still has quite the temper.

Sounds weird, doesn't it? But it's true -- the fresh breeze and the rough surf (perfect for boogie-boarding and body-surfing) made for a perfect day of sun, sand, and water -- all courtesy of Tropical Storm Emily. Please note the girl in charge, who realized too late that this was the kind of ocean that makes a girl hold on to her two-piece.

. . . and the best part is the deck didn't collapse.

2011-08-03T16:30:00.000-04:00

So we got a new deck this summer, which is a big relief because the old deck was a total death trap. To celebrate we had a deck warming party back in July, and I am so not kidding about the warm part because our air conditioning decided to crap out on us the morning of the shindig.

The husband and his brother (non-smilers, I remind you) seemed to enjoy themselves in spite of the heat.

These two are just as fun as they look.

And I love these three so much: besties from high school and college, the big girls were both in my wedding, and I love everything about them. The little girl is sweeter than a piece of peach pie.

Funny -- the more wine and beer we served, the less folks seemed bothered by the lack of A.C. Or it could be that our friends are just that awesome. Or maybe a little bit of both.

Canine glamour girl

2011-07-29T11:00:00.003-04:00

The elegant glamour dog Nina has been staying with us during this beach vacation. I interrupted her nap to ask her if I could take her picture, but she graciously sat up and posed for the camera.

Of course, she's blind, so she wasn't clear at first about where the camera actually was . . .

Get the adoption papers ready . . . .

2011-07-28T12:00:00.001-04:00

So here we are in beautiful Sandbridge, Virginia, spending another week with our beloved un-family. The tall boy is feeling pretty lucky because the Department of Justice released him from his cubicle for a little while. We're feeling pretty lucky to have him with us too -- we missed him while we were in Nag's Head in June!

I know it's Thursday already, and I kept meaning to tell you something pithy and meaningful every day about how much fun we're having, and how delicious the food has been, and how much I love spending time with these people. But seriously -- every time I considered whether to sit down and write, or lie back down on the sofa or beach chair or recliner or bed and read another hundred pages, guess which one I did? I could lie to you and say I was out there boogie-boarding or kayaking or going for an early morning bike ride -- but no.

And I'm telling you -- pretty soon I will have to stop calling them my un-family; I am considering all kinds of nefarious plots to get myself officially related to them. Most of these involve legal adoption or arranged marriage (sorry, tall boy -- you just thought you were in charge of your own destiny), so give me some time.

Check out our week:

The girl in charge and I picked the sunny girl up at camp on our way to the beach. While we were traveling it became necessary to try on Princess Kate hats.

Angel girl . . . .

Taboo seems to be the chosen game of the week . . . .

Not me on the sea kayak -- I took the picture from my beach chair before I sank back into my book.

Not me on the boogie-board either -- but look at this dude go!

My birthday dinner!

Dear ones . . . .

The husband and an un-brother -- getting that birthday cake ready!

This one is helping me get the adoption papers ready . . . .

And she is working with me on the arranged marriage angle. I'm telling you -- the two of us really, really want to be related to each other. It will happen.

And just a reminder -- I know I keep saying it, but it really is true: I am the luckiest mom.

Snapshot: Life in a cubicle

2011-07-19T16:00:00.004-04:00

The tall boy looks good in a tie, doesn't he?

IMAGE CREDIT:
Photo courtesy of some nice lawyer
at the U.S. Department of Justice

Stroke me, stroke me!

2011-07-18T17:15:00.001-04:00

So I am not one of those people who can name her All-Time Top Five Favorite Books, or who keeps a list like, "Books I Would Never Be Without On A Desert Island," or some such exercise in futility. I say this is futile because, while I love to read such compilations made by other people (and mock their choices), the very idea of such a list for myself paralyzes me with indecision.

How could I ever decide, for example, between that funny, tragic, romantically beautiful re-telling of the King Arthur story, The Once and Future King, and my favorite Jane Austen novel, the melancholy love story, Persuasion?

And what about series fiction? Do all of the Little House books count as one big delicious book? I say yes, but then do I bring my beloved Laura Ingalls Wilder books to the island at the expense of the six volumes of the Lymond Chronicles -- filled with Scottish history and gasp-causing intrigue and yearning romance, and written in the most gorgeous prose? NO! -- I couldn't bear it!

Even within one author's works, I could never choose: The Solace of Leaving Early stays on the list because I love the two little girls at the heart of the story so much (Eloise and Madeline, who must change their names to Immaculata and Epiphany), but -- leave the stoic and heroic Cassie Claiborne of Something Rising (Light and Swift) behind? I don't think so!

You see my dilemma.

My book group companions -- and well, really just about every one of my friends -- have seen me get worked up while describing any particularly fabulous book. But I will say that there is one book that has literally caused a "When Harry Met Sally" moment for the people who watched me recommend it.

This one -- let's call her Mary -- was there to witness it. She and I had traveled for the day to the Green Valley Book Fair, which is just as wonderful as it sounds. It has gotten a lot fancier, by which I mean air-conditioned, since she and I went, but the main concept is the same: four times a year, this book fair (really a series of inter-connected barns) opens its doors and lucky book-lovers can wander among thousands and thousands of book titles, and buy books at a bargain, bargain, bargain cost. It's heaven, I'm telling you.

The books are sometimes shelved like at a regular bookstore, but they are also sometimes displayed in piles on tables. Mary and I were standing at opposite sides of a table, on which were stacked about ten copies of Possession, the Booker Prize-winning novel by A.S. Byatt. She casually asked if I had read it.

Had I read it? Oh, my dears.

I immediately and rapturously began to tell her all the ways it is wonderful: it reveals the intertwined stories of two fictional Victorian poets and the modern day researchers who discover a startling relationship between the nineteenth century writers. It's a multi-layered love story, and a witty commentary on the wily ways of modern academic researchers, and it's filled with lush poetry and diary entries that shock the reader and passionate love letters -- all created by Byatt herself . . . . As I rhapsodized about the book, I picked up a copy from the pile on the table. Look how stunning the cover is! I love all the Pre-Raphaelite painters, so the cover makes me cherish the book even more. I gazed at the illustration adoringly as I continued on. Gosh -- it was so pretty! I began to stroke the book lovingly as I talked, and Mary began to smirk as, one by one, the other shoppers in the room (all women) began to take copies of the book for themselves. When I came up for air, I was holding the only remaining copy of the book.

Mary just looked at me, and then held out her hand and said, "I guess I'll buy it then."

Image credit:
"Book List" (2010) by Patricia Mumau

Snapshot: I'm allowed to call them nerds, right?

2011-07-14T10:00:00.002-04:00

OK, so the tall boy and his buddies spread themselves out this past school year, and ended up at colleges all over the country. So to stay connected they did the same stuff all the hipster college kids do: Facebook and texting. But these guys also gathered every so often for a little cyber-fun, playing online games from their respective dorm rooms all over the country. I would offer World of Warcraft as an example but I know that they are so over World of Warcraft, which is lame, and they have moved on to something way more excellent -- something so excellent that there's no way I would know what it is. Whatever.

Well now it's summer, and they live in the same town again, so they can actually spend "real" time together. So you can see what they're doing with this "real" time, right?

Oh, yes. I'm definitely allowed to call them nerds.

In the blink of an eye

2011-07-12T09:45:00.002-04:00

So when all the urchins were younger we used to bring our friend Katey along for our family beach week. Just twelve years old when she started coming to the beach with us, Katey was a gift from God because she (and later her sister Betsey, too) was just so great with our kids. She played with them non-stop, and didn't care what the game was: chasing each other on the beach games, or princess-y "let's paint our toenails" games, or rollicking games that involved swords or bows and arrows -- she was up for anything. Sometimes they combined the princesses and the swords to play a kind of "knights storm the castle to rescue the princesses who are painting their toenails while in captivity" game. That was a good one. Here's Katey with the girl in charge -- who adored Katey, and was quite willing to let Katey be in charge of everything.

See, Katey was young enough that she still had fun playing with seven (at the time) kids, but the real beauty was that she was also old enough (and even more important, mature enough) to keep them safe, and to distract them with another fun game when tempers flared, or read a pile of stories to them when nap time loomed. And she never, ever implied that she knew we were using her as slave labor while we lounged in our chairs and read books all day. A gift, I'm telling you, from God. Here the girl in charge and Katey join the (future) soldier at Funland -- the swingin' amusement park at Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. All our best beach memories have Katey and Betsey in them.

So you can imagine, I am sure, how fabulous but mind-blowing it was that Katey and her husband and daughters were able to spend some time with us at the beach this year. This picture of my sister with Katey and her baby was a joy to take, but I swear as I looked at the image on the screen of my camera I felt dizzy at the speed of the earth turning so many times on its axis -- in the blink of an eye.

A new tradition?

2011-07-11T07:00:00.002-04:00

So our extended family adds up to seventeen members, and we wanted to do something that all of us could plunge in to together. Movies are fabulous, but really, a movie means that we all sit and watch passively (which believe me I'm all for, especially if popcorn is involved). A game night was another excellent option, but it's tricky to find a game that we can all play together. The age range of this family starts at kindergarten and continues on for several decades. Luckily all of us are readers, so we decided that it would be fun to choose a hilarious play, and read it together.

My step-sister and I chose Dinner at Eight, and she arranged for all the families to have access to the script. One night of our family beach extravaganza, we dealt out the roles and gathered together to read the play out loud.

The sunny girl (who has the best fake British accent in the family) had no problem at all taking on the role of Carlotta (Marie Dressler in the movie), the fading stage beauty -- down on her luck but still imperious and hilariously cynical:

And then I had a restful, nice luncheon... with four lawyers. On the 88th floor of the Chrysler building. You know, the Sky Club. A cloud floated right into my soup plate.

Her cousin the soldier was Oliver Jordan, the goodhearted (but weakhearted) business man (Lionel Barrymore in the movie), who tries to shore up his failing business, knowing all the while that he is dying. And in this picture it just looks like my husband is avoiding the shenanigans; in reality he was whipping up milkshakes, and returned in time to play both a sinister chauffeur and the manager of a washed-up actor.

My sister and I read the parts of the two sisters in the play. I probably had more fun than she did, because I got to play the hilariously self-absorbed Millicent (that's Billie Burke -- "Glinda the Good" in The Wizard of Oz!), while my sister was the level-headed and ironic Hattie.

This one got some of the best lines in the play, since she played Kitty, the former hat-check girl who tries to push herself into high society (the movie stars sexy, sexy Jean Harlow in her best role). One of my favorite Kitty lines: "Politics! You couldn't get into politics -- you couldn't even get into the men's room at the Astor!"

Uncle Doctor was hilarious as the rich and greedy former miner who is full of shady business schemes, while his youngest urchin (who just finished kindergarten) did a fantastic job as the room service waiter. He got the biggest applause of the night, for lines like, "Your coffee, sir -- and this time I made sure it was good and hot."

Some of us were talented enough to double up on the roles: my dad took on both the hotel manager and the assistant manager. Since most of their conversations are with each other, this was a pretty impressive trick. Grandma Carol, who refuses to be photographed, played the part of the cook, who worries all day about her lobster aspic. And can I just say, you should have heard the squeals of fear and disgust when the urchins were told what lobster aspic is. No class, any of them. Check out Grandma Carol's manicure!

My fairy god-sister (my step-sister, who waved her magic wand, and bibbity-bobbity-boo! -- my job teaching college English appeared!) took on several roles as well. And check out Grandma Carol's manicure -- and the fairy god-sister's, too!

This middle school cousin in the foreground was the snarky bellhop, while the recent high school grad was suave and sophisticated as a philandering doctor . . .

. . . . and the grad's own sister played his nurse (his other sister was his mistress, which was, as they both declared, "awkward").

The not-so-tall boy and honorary cousin may have just finished his first year at West Point, but he obviously has a little thespian in him in addition to his airborne and soldiering skills. He was a most excellent snooty butler.

The girl in charge played young Paula Jordan, engaged to be married, but secretly having an affair. [Texting fingers alert -- looks like she takes after the tall boy.]

And the person who took the Scenery Chewing award for the night was my sister's husband. He's always been one of the funniest people I know, so while in real life he is the pastor of a lovely Bible-believing church, he plunged in hilariously to the role of Larry Renault, the alcoholic has-been movie star (John Barrymore in the movie, if you're keeping track). People, this is a man who never takes the Lord's name in vain, and rarely drinks anything stronger than a beer. So you can imagine that when we heard him declaim with gusto, "My God, Paula! Can't you see that I need a drink? I've got to have one, I tell you!" it brought down the house.

I will say that we were reading the script from the Broadway play, not from the 1933 film. So we did miss one of the funniest exchanges of dialogue ever, which was added to the movie:

KITTY: I was reading a book the other day.
CARLOTTA: Reading a book??!
KITTY: Yes. It's all about civilization or something. A nutty kind of a book. Do you know that the guy says that machinery is going to take the place of every profession?
CARLOTTA: Oh, my dear, that's something you need never worry about.

IMAGE CREDITS:
All movie stills are from Dinner at Eight (MGM, 1933, dir. George Cukor)

Snapshot: Broadway under the stars!

2011-07-09T22:45:00.002-04:00

Guess what else we got to see this summer?!

The sunny girl and I picnicked with pals, and then danced the night away; something about the lawn seats at Wolf Trap Farm Park encourages the shimmy and shake response to the Mamma Mia! tunes. Fabulous!

Snapshot: Big night out!

2011-07-08T18:15:00.002-04:00

Guess what we saw at the
Kennedy Center last Tuesday?!

While the husband and the tall boy were lurking around somewhere, these pretty girls were just too cute for my camera to pass them by!

Snapshot: What do they have in common?

2011-07-06T09:00:00.001-04:00

I can tell you what these three soldiers
have in common in just one word:

AIRBORNE!

Beach memories . . . .

2011-07-05T13:45:00.002-04:00

So while we were at the beach we absolutely did all our favorite things -- things we do every year. For my sister and me, this involved books. And maybe a magazine or two but mostly books. And we weren't the only ones -- we are clearly raising our urchins right, because this is a picture that could have been captured most beach days. Every urchin there was deep into something -- from Stardust, to Pillars of the Earth, to Game of Thrones, to a re-reading of the Harry Potter books in preparation for the big movie release, the books were piled up all over our beach house. I personally read The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, and loved it!

For the sunny girl and her cousins the beach tradition also involved boogie boards, except for the days when they reported that the water was . . . let's see, what was the phrase they used? "W-a-a-y too freakin' cold."

My tall boy wasn't able to make it to the beach this year (he was stuck in a cubicle), so the soldier brought along one of his soldier pals to fill the void. While he's no tall boy, he is cuter than [think of something really cute and he's cuter than that], and funny, and willing to roll with the punches -- even when one of the girl cousins (who might be the sunny girl, not that I'm blaming or anything) spilled lemonade all over him. And dig this: dude wore a different bow tie to dinner every night. Swear to God.

And we had lots to celebrate! A room full of fathers received their Father's Day loot . . .

-- don't judge me because I

used duct tape to wrap my gifts --

. . . and this up-and-coming Wahoo was the man of the hour, since he just graduated from high school.

A new thing we did this year was that we all sat down together one night and read the script of the play, "Dinner at Eight." More about that is coming because it was awesome!

Mostly we stuck to our main family tradition, which is to spend as much time together as possible with the people we love most in the world.

Snapshot: One More Tall Boy

2011-06-30T14:15:00.000-04:00

You know my own personal tall boy, and I have introduced you to my nephew the soldier as well. But my sister has another tall boy -- and he's the bomb-dot-com!

Headed to his first year at the University of Virginia this fall ("Wa-Hoo-Wah!"), he has spent the summer lifeguarding and solidifying his tan: the boy is brown as a bean! His dad is not sure why he's making that goofy face, but we're all pretty sure that this tall boy is all that and a slice of peach pie!

Why I suck OR it really does take a whole damned village

2011-06-28T23:00:00.001-04:00

OK, so here's the thing: I have so many things I want to tell you that I think my head might explode. We spent a week at the beach so that's a whole lot of fabulous to discuss; and I still owe you a report about the sparkles and glamour that the girl in charge and I experienced at the CAPPIES Gala.

But first I feel obligated to share with you a sort of tragic math equation. It turns out that:

the sum of dogs X (fine and delicate tulle of a ballerina tutu)

minus [absent and oblivious Liz] / the square root of "shoot me now"
= $$$ + Reason #57 why (I SUCK)

See, the sunny girl was supposed to wear this lovely confection of satin and tulle in the big year-end recital. Unfortunately the hellhounds did not receive the memo about how the recital costumes should be wearable for the actual recital. They came upon the fluffy and delicate tutu in the sunny girl's closet and proceeded to dig into its fragile beauty with all eight paws.

What should have looked like this . . . .

. . . ended up looking like this when the hellhounds were done "exploring" the tutu scene.

People, when I saw that tattered tutu, I had a true out-of-body experience; believe it. And the sunny girl cried, which should tell you something , since -- as her nickname implies -- she is typically pretty Pollyanna-ish about the way of the wily world.

I, of course, assured her that I could "totally take care of it" and she immediately regained all of her sunny good humor and faith in humanity.

Meanwhile, I attempted to safety-pin the shredded costume together, and quickly began to hyperventilate, as I realized that 1) I did not have the skill or wherewithal to fix this disastrous situation by myself, and 2) we were scheduled to leave for a week-long beach vacation within 48 hours and would return just in time for the sunny girl to perform in the recital. There was no time built into this schedule for a costume disaster; I needed to make this problem go away -- fast.

And here's the thing: there are so many wonderful people in the world. First, Memere (Lisa's mom -- I named my sunny girl in her honor) immediately and calmly said, "Don't worry, Liz. I've got this." She can fix anything. And then a lovely ballet mom who doesn't even know me said, "Don't worry, loser mom that I don't even know. I've got this." Apparently she can fix anything, too. So this means two people immediately volunteered to repair the tragically damaged costume.

And then the sainted Miss Linda (director of the ballet studio) said, "Don't worry, Liz. I've got this." And Miss Linda got on the phone and worked multiple miracles, and a brand new lovely costume was delivered to the studio within 72 hours, with no drama. And Coleen (who said, "don't worry, Liz. Your friends have got this.") picked up the new tutu and delivered it to my house while I was at the beach.

So the sunny girl and I returned from a relaxing vacation, and she danced in the recital ( she was terrific, of course) and neither one of us even broke a sweat. Because when it comes right down to it, Hillary Clinton was right: it takes an entire fricking village to raise my child -- or at least to get her through a damned ballet recital.

We interrupt this Friday morning . . .

2011-06-17T15:00:00.001-04:00

See the tall boy. See the tall, tall boy. See the tall boy wearing a patriotic tie. The tall boy is off to work. Go, cranky not-a-morning-person tall boy, go!

See the bus. Look at the big, big bus. The bus will take the tall boy to the Pentagon. The tall boy is happy because he will sleep on the bus. Go, bus, go!

Look at the Pentagon. The Pentagon is a big, big building. The Pentagon is battle-scarred but strong. No al Qaeda bad guys can keep this Pentagon from re-building itself even stronger. Go, Pentagon, go! The tall boy will get on a train at the Pentagon. He will go under the ground. He will sleep on the train. Sleep, cranky tall boy, sleep!

See the police officers. "Good morning, officer! Thank you for protecting us here in the nation's capital! Thank you for keeping my tall boy safe!"

Oh! Oh! What has happened? Why has the tall boy's bus stopped in the middle of the busy, busy highway? How will the tall boy get to work on time? Look! Look! A douchebag has left a scary backpack. The scary backpack makes the police officers sad. They must stop all the cars and buses and workers. Bad, bad douchebag!
Finally the tall boy is happy. The bus can move again. Soon he will ride the train. The tall boy will ride the train, but only after the sniffer dog at the Pentagon makes sure that the tall boy is not a douchebag. Good sniffer dog! Thank you for not biting my tall boy!

Thank you, police officers! Thank you, soldiers and marines and sailors and airmen! Thank you, sniffer dogs! Thank you for keeping us safe. Thank you for making us late for work but not in trouble for it because our bosses were late too. Thank you, thank you!

But not you, douchebag.

Wait -- weekends are supposed to be restful, aren't they?

2011-06-15T14:30:00.003-04:00

So the girl urchins and I lurched from one swingin' event to the next last weekend. It felt like it was just party, party, party! The tall boy and his dad were left to fend for themselves . . .

. . . while the sunny girl and I went to the eighth grade dance. Or to be more accurate, we went to a festive munchies and get your pictures taken party.

She went on to the dance (theme = masquerade, which is hilarious, isn't it? -- since my whole theory of why middle school sucks is that urchins can't be themselves . . . but I digress, which is typical), while I partied with the mommies (and a couple of daddies).

The next morning the girl in charge and I woke up bright and early to go to the Bulldawgs' commencement exercises, because she had a whole lot of pals who graduated -- including her bestie. Since the entire northern Virginia area was as hot and muggy as a Louisiana swamp, we were so glad the ceremony was held inside!

In the afternoon, we celebrated with the BFF and her family at a swell party (fabulous barbeque, y'all!), where the bestie's mother forced me to drink wine with her. She forced me!

The next adventure involved the sunny girl and her own bestie (except they they call each other "biffle" by which they really mean BFFL -- and I am sure you can all figure out that this means best friend for life, but I feel I should translate because Deacon Emil -- who should know better -- was very worried about the BFF's I was throwing around once; he said, "I know that the B is for best and the second F stands for friend. It's that first F that is really worrying me." But I digress, which is typical.) -- wait. I lost my sentence.

It was a pool party! And they swam until 10:00 at night and when they got out the sunny girl was blue, by which I mean blue in skin tone -- not in sadness. And exhausted, which is what night swimming always does to her.

And while she partied with the biffle, I partied with my own pals -- whose son graduated at another high school. (So many graduations were stacked up in our county that CVS ran out of Kleenex. It's true.) I love them so much and it was a fabulous party and Coleen and Tommy Bahama were there, which was a lovely treat. And I laughed so hard I hurt myself, which is typical.

So this has turned into the longest party post ever, which just goes to show you how much fun we had. And I'm not even done yet, people! -- because on Sunday the girl in charge and I attended a glamour-filled extravaganza. You're going to have to stay right there until tomorrow when I can tell you all about it, though -- because it's time to go pick up the sunny girl and then things will get crazy around here . . . .

But just so you know -- our extravaganza involved sparkly dresses -- and dancing!

Step aside, middle school -- we're all done with you here!

2011-06-14T13:45:00.001-04:00

So I don't know about you, but I find middle school to be a very tricky proposition, especially for girls. Academically kids are thrown into multiple classrooms during a day for the first time, and into courses that demand more and more of them -- and they encounter teachers who cut them less and less slack. On top of that, it seems like the "mean girl" phenomenon really kicks in to high gear right about 7th grade, and too many intimidated urchins who once said whatever was in their heads or on their hearts just shut down. Too many of them feel like they have to wear a mask -- all day, every day.

And then there's puberty -- that bitch! She whacks our girls over the head with so many changes all at once that I am convinced most of them feel itchy in their own bodies every minute of the day -- and then she stirs up a big batch of hormone stew that makes our sweet girls cranky and sad and giddy and worried and passionately in love and on the verge of tears -- all at the same time.

Middle school sucks.

And that's why the sunny girl is my hero. My tall and graceful ballerina has danced her way through three years that could have sucked her soul dry. Instead, she laughed, sang, twirled, and went rock climbing -- always knowing when to strike a dramatic pose.

She chose great friends and made good decisions and is more than ready to be a Bulldawg. Look out, C.D. Hylton High School: the sunny girl has three more days of eighth grade left, and I am here to tell you that she kicked middle school's ass.

Small pleasures

2011-06-10T09:15:00.001-04:00

I love passing by this building, which is on my path only every once in a while. It sits at the corner of two tree-lined streets in Old Town Alexandria, which is a little north of my daily ramblings.

This building housed the Coca-Cola Bottling Works for the Washington, D.C. area, from 1932 to 1961. Those of you who have known me for a long time will remember that I have an abiding affection for all things Coca-Cola, so you can imagine that I give a little skip every time I walk past this corner on my way to the bank.

Now the structure is the home of several businesses, including a kitchen and bath remodeling center on the first floor, and several smaller office spaces up above. This stained glass window trinket is some sentimental office worker's love note to the building.

Yep -- it just makes my day a little happier.

And the point of these shoes is . . . .?

2011-06-07T06:00:00.001-04:00

So all of the girls at the prom wore pretty, pretty shoes because it's important.

Dudes just don't get this, but the best dudes will say (just to be nice), "Hey! Are those new shoes? I love 'em!" Or -- even better! -- "For your birthday I want you to buy those new boots you were looking at." These are the dudes we marry.

The styles varied from funky, to elegant and sparkly, to "dang!" . . .

. . . but the thing was that many of the girls whose shoes I loved said very matter-of-factly, "these bad boys are coming off as soon as I get to the prom."

One pal -- who loved her glamorous, glamorous shoes . . .

. . . . didn't even wait five minutes to kick them off.

Now that's a good boyfriend! I wonder what she did when she got to the restaurant?

Look how lovely!

2011-06-06T06:00:00.002-04:00

So the girl in charge went to the prom on Saturday night -- and as you can see she was the most stunning girl for miles around.

She and her bestie got together that afternoon and conspired to produce hair that evoked Pre-Raphaelite paintings and dresses that brought to mind Lily Langtry at her most alluring.

Between the two of them they brought the 21st century to a screeching halt and re-created the Belle Epoque beauty and Edwardian silhouettes that made us all drool when we watched Downton Abbey. Are you looking at the detailing on that shoulder?

And I mean, look at the detail on my girl's dress! So delicately lovely!

It just goes to show that you can wear an utterly gorgeous and sophisticated dress without sacrificing modesty or good taste.

When they got together with the rest of their pals it became clear that every girl there had chosen a dress that was true to her own personal sense of style. You'll note that I don't mention the boys. It is a sad but true prom adage that when it comes to fashion, the dudes are just along for the ride.

tangent: Can I just brag about the young woman on the far left of this picture, who has lost 100 pounds over the past year?! What a knockout!

For one pal, the fashion flair showed itself in a bold floral print that made her eyes glow bluer than seems possible in real life . . . .

. . . while another hipster wore a long skirt that, when pulled over her arm, revealed her inner personality. This dress also cleverly allowed her to be cool when everyone else was moaning about how hot they were. And look at her shoulder ornamentation -- fabulous!

The girl in charge had a great night, spending time with her best friends. Our school's prom was late this year -- just a week before graduation -- so she knows that she needs to make her memories while she can.

Snapshot: sometimes going out to lunch is medicinal

2011-06-03T00:01:00.001-04:00

Well, so this time last week Coleen and I were headed to Old Town Alexandria, for a long-postponed, much-anticipated, totally necessary lunch date. We have really been missing each other the past couple of months, since we have both gone off to work and our kids have become more and more self-sufficient.

That sounds counter-intuitive, doesn't it? We both always thought that when our kids could fend for themselves (didn't need a babysitter, didn't need a ride, able to find the Band-aids if a sibling inadvertently amputated a finger), we would be golden -- ready and able to take off on adventures at a moment's notice, with tons of time for those long, relaxing lunches under a festive European umbrella.

Oh, please.

As it turns out, we have a much more difficult time now finding time to be gal-pals than we did when our urchins needed chaperones, den leaders and class mommies. Now that they are more independent, both Coleen and I have found work that we enjoy and -- swell feeling after eighteen years -- that pays us. But while I am fulfilling a lifelong dream by teaching English to college students, Coleen works part-time for the Federal Aviation Administration. Because get this, y'all: Coleen used to be an air traffic controller! She has a pilot's license! She knows everything you might want to know about the air space between California and New Zealand! How cool is that?! And how different from reading Chaucer for fun?!

So because in many ways we are leading different lives right now, when we get the chance to go to lunch together, we run for the car before anyone gets wind of our plans -- our time together is more limited now, so it's much more precious.

The food and wine didn't suck, either.

Peanuts and crackerjacks means a baseball game!

2011-06-01T14:15:00.001-04:00

So the husband and I went to a Nats game this weekend with some of our besties -- a fabulous time!

The Nationals lost, which was to be expected, but we had fun for the afternoon anyway. Some of us had traveled down from Delaware, so it was good to catch up with each other and bond in between yelling at the umpires and eating peanuts and funnel cakes. Our cheap seats were under a big pavilion cover, so we were even (relatively) cool on a hot, hot day.

This bestie recently had a medical scare -- and can I just say that as medical scares go, it was the scariest. Doesn't he look great?! A beautiful sight, I'm telling you.

There is something about that beautiful green field, and the crisp white lines glowing in the infield, that makes me really happy. I am not one of those uber-fans who keeps the book and knows the stats for all her favorite teams. I just love me some baseball, though.

Under construction!

2011-05-31T13:00:00.001-04:00

So you may remember a while back I got a fabulous new red washing machine. I love that washer, people -- which shows either that anything red really does rock my world, or that I need to get out more.

Well, the down side to getting the fabulous red washer is that I immediately began to covet the fabuous red dryer to go with it -- and to yearn for a laundry room that could live up to the fabulosity of the red glamour machines.

Well, dig this: my Contractor has been working her tail off the past two weeks, to give me the laundry room of my dreams!

My lovely red washer currently resides in my dining room, along with a whole lot of tools and construction schmutz, but when she's done -- have mercy!

First she tore out all of the ugly cabinet frames and wire shelving and battered baseboards and tacky linoleum. I felt better immediately!

And my Contractor loves "demo" -- she says it feels great to rip stuff off of walls and cut through nails with a Saws-All.

Then she patched and sanded and smoothed and prepped the walls; my Contractor is thorough, y'all!

Meanwhile I got a couple of paint samples and slapped them on a wall. That's the only painting I'm allowed to do; my Contractor has very strong feelings about proper painting technique -- and I don't have it. She told me, "just plop the samples up on the wall, because I'm going to put primer over them anyway -- you can't hurt anything." And then she promptly "fixed" the place where I had painted over some spackle.

After using her mad painting skillz to transform my boring white walls into pure gold, my Contractor hung a new door to the carport. Think about that, y'all. Her husband was her minion for the day (though I would have offered up the tall boy), because door-hanging is a four-hands operation. How swell is this new door?! And how cool is my Contractor?!

The next task was to tile the floor, which involves a whole lot of tools I don't know the name of, and some sweaty math moments, trying to make sure that the tiles in inches + grout/caulk = the square root of baseboards(x/threshold). Luckily in a former life my Contractor was an engineer.

When the floor was done, we took a break to play a game of checkers.

And my Contractor took a solemn vow never to work with black grout again unless a manicure is written into the contract.

Today, after she finishes hanging the moulding around the door, she will move the washer and (old, ugly) dryer back so my family can get a little laundry done without spending $40.00 at a time at the Spin Cycle laudrymat or hijacking the fabulous neighbor's machines. Then, while she hangs bright new cabinets, a nice man from the gas company will come and set us up to get a new dryer. Fabulous!

And my Contractor is doing all this while leading three Girl Scout troops, wrangling the copy machines at the elementary school for her daughter's fifth grade teacher, swirling her urchins to hockey practice and art lessons and orchestra rehearsal, walking dogs, making dinner, wrestling her house into submission -- and writing a novel. I shit you not.

Glamour Cat

2011-05-26T10:00:00.004-04:00

So here's our ancient and elegant cat, Phantom. The husband and I have had several cat companions during our twenty-two years of marriage, but I have to say that of all of them, Phantom was the most beautiful. We said good-bye to her yesterday, which was sad, but not surprising, since she was twenty-four years old.

I know, right?

My mom took her in as a stray twenty-three years ago, and named her after the Phantom of the Opera -- because she wore a spiffy tuxedo and a strategically placed brown mask. She seemed a little spooky, too, like a glamorous ghost -- but it turned out she was just easily spooked.

We inherited her when my dad remarried, and have loved her for the past twelve years. Sweet, shy, and a little goofy like most calicos, she was always willing to be bossed around by Annie the Wonder Cat -- but I have seen her punch a passing dog in the nose, just because.

We will miss her.

The girl in charge takes charge

2011-05-24T07:30:00.001-04:00

So last Friday my girl and I attended the annual Drama Club Banquet, where banquet = pizza fest. The drama glamour filled the home of our hostess and spilled out the front door.

At this event the club says good-bye to the seniors and elects officers for the coming year.

It should shock no one to learn that my girl was elected president of the club for next year. She is, after all, the girl in charge. I wasn't kidding about that clipboard.

But mostly the evening was dedicated to bonding with friends one last time before everyone goes their separate ways.

Some good-byes were just for the summer, while other friends are off to college in the fall.

Here's my girl and her total BFF -- soon to start college at The College of William and Mary (GO, TRIBE! Can you tell that's where I went to school?!).

I spent the evening bonding with the bestie's mother. They call us the "Drama Mamas." I like it!

Catching up: the Louisiana way

2011-05-23T07:30:00.003-04:00

Last month the husband and I went to an authentic Louisiana "Crawfish Boil" -- which, as you can see, is exactly what it sounds like, right down to the Louisiana-brewed beer. Our host boiled up a mess of crawfish along with some sausage, ears of corn, and potatoes. When they were ready, he dumped the whole shebang out on a table covered with brown paper, and told us all to dig in. As a concession to our sissified Eastern sensibilities, he did provide paper plates, although he insisted they were unnecessary.

Some random urchin insisted that I get a close-up of this critter -- he said he felt like he was eating an alien. I think he may be right -- but they're delicious!

Time lapse phtography OR Turns out the hellhounds are really just knuckeheads

2011-05-20T07:30:00.006-04:00

When Watson sleeps, he really means it. Getting his belly scratched tends to bring on a fit of narcolepsy . . . .

. . . and he loses the battle with gravity . . .

. . . but, hey! As long as he's comfortable!

Sorry about the crappy iPhone photography -- and just ignore the slovenly housekeeping, won't you?

Snapshot: visiting old friends

2011-05-19T07:30:00.000-04:00

So the tall boy and I spent some quality time last weekend with our old pals at the Virginia Hospital Center. People, can I just say that I have taken this exact photograph far too many damned times? Worried about the possibility of another lung collapse, the ER doctor kept him through the night for observation -- and as a bonus, he got to add more x-rays and another CT scan to his collection.

And just how sad is it that we were thrilled with a diagnosis of pleurisy? Painful enough to require narcotics, this diagnosis has the added benefit of making the tall boy feel like he has stepped into a Dickens novel. Maybe next we'll find out he has dropsy. Just as long as they stay away from the "consumption" diagnosis. That one we can live without.

Catching up: Come, Holy Spirit!

2011-05-18T07:30:00.004-04:00

So the sunny girl was confirmed at our church last month, and it was fabulous. Confirmation in the Catholic Church is a sacrament during which the confirmandi (dig the Latin!) are sealed with the Holy Spirit. For most people who are confirmed, this is the moment when they affirm to the bishop and the world that they will keep the promises made on their behalf by their parents and god-parents when they were baptized as infants.

And -- you get to buy a new dress!

The sunny girl chose the tall boy as her confirmation sponsor, because she has always looked up to him.

And I got to sponsor this Cool Breeze -- one of the sunny girl's besties. If you're looking for a rockin' sparkly mani/pedi and some excellent life philosophy, I can hook you up with her.

Oh, and if you were wondering why I took such a long break from blogging, this just might be one of the reasons: all three of my main subjects got obnoxiously camera shy; the girl in charge just flat out walked away from this photo. Eventually I told them that if they wouldn't let me take current pictures, I would just start using old photos. Very, very old photos. I've got some great shots -- real blackmail material. Let's just say we came to an understanding.

Why I suck

2011-05-17T07:30:00.005-04:00

So I teach part-time at the community college,and I love just about everything about it. I especially love the students; college kids are my favorite -- always have been.

tangent: I have been a den leader, a brownie and girl scout troop leader, a day camp volunteer, and a dance recital cat herder. But if you told me I had to teach elementary school, I would very sweetly reply, "how about instead of that, you just give me that big stick over there and I'll poke my eyes out with it?" These teachers are either saints or insane. Probably both.

Well, as at most community colleges, space is at a premium throughout the campus where I work. There are classes stacked on top of each other, and the full-time faculty "offices" are really a warren of cubicle spaces. And office/work space for adjunct instructors? Oh, please.

But see, all of that is fine by me; I can do most of the non-classroom stuff I need to do at home, so I don't really need a work space. Some functioning copy machines would be nice . . . but here's my point -- most of the time the space constraints don't bother me.

But parking: this sucks. Especially in the middle of the day, there are just more faculty on campus than there are parking spaces for those faculty. Many, many days this semester I swore bad swears under my breath as I stalked some poor old professor as he toddled toward his ancient Volvo, and the clock crept ever closer to 11:00 -- when my class was supposed to start. I would die a slow death as 10:57 became 10:58 and I still had nowhere to put my car.

So one day as I cruised the lot and the clock sat at 10:59, I spied an open spot and whipped into it, victorious. As I jumped out of the car I noticed a sign . . . .

Hmmm . . . Well. My huffy reasoning was that certainly if the provost intended to work on campus that day he would have shown up by 11:00, right? So he wouldn't be needing his spot, right? And why weren't there enough spaces for us poor adjunct faculty, anyway?? And he's a very collegial man, so I was sure he would understand. Right . . . ?

So I left my car there, but after my first class ended at 12:15, I rushed out to try to move it to a more appropriate spot. But when I got to it, I saw that I was parked in by a big honking SUV with a faculty sticker on it. Hmmph, I thought to myself; the nerve of some people! So I just figured I would go back and teach my second class and when I came back the (other) illegally parked car would be gone.

You see why I was a little resistant to the idea of going to the campus police with my tale of woe, right? I was sure that they would make frowny faces at me for parking illegally, and besides, they were not really able to do anything about the big SUV that prevented me from moving my car. At 2:00, when my last class was over, I looked out toward the parking lot, and saw that I was still parked in. Now this was a problem, because I needed to get back to my real life and my car pool responsibilities. But no. I was stuck.

So -- and this is always a great solution -- I went into the library, grabbed a book I'd been wanting to read for a while, and read it. The whole thing. I highly recommend it -- funny, thought-provoking . . . you'll love it!

And then I looked at my car again. Still trapped! Well, at least I could get some work done, if I grabbed my computer out of the car. So I walked out to the car -- ticketed, of course. And as I approached, I heard the beautiful rich baritone voice that could only belong to one person . . . the provost.

"Is this your car?" he asked, and as I turned around I saw that he had a look on his face that said, you are killing me here.

"Yes, sir -- and I'm so sorry!"

"Well . . . let me move my car so you can leave, loser." No, he didn't call me a loser. But he thought it, I'm sure.

And I'll tell you in case you were wondering -- yes. It is possible for a car to slink away in shame.

Catching up: How 'bout them Bulldawgs?!

2011-05-16T10:30:00.005-04:00

So it has been a while . . . . How's things? We've had a busy spring around here and that's no lie. Now that I can actually sit down for a minute, the first thing I want to say is:

YOU GO, BULDAWGS!

The girl is charge is having another fabulous season playing softball for her high school team -- these girls take no prisoners, people! Just like the girl in charge!

This one (one of my girl's besties) broke the district home run record this season -- and she ain't even done yet! So far she has smacked ten balls over the fence; one of them hit the scoreboard, which the fans loved and the Athletic Director hated. Look for a profile of her in the next issue of Softball Today, because, to quote the girl in charge, "she's just that awesome."

And here's her sister, also a phenom; softball is paying her way to college this fall. Don't let that sweet face fool you. No prisoners, people.

All in all that could sum up this whole team. They're lovely girls: smart, shockingly tough, kind, funny -- and girlie. In fact, they got a little razzing from an opposing team once, because the Bulldawgs showed up with pretty, pretty ribbons in their hair.

Final score: Bulldawgs 11, Razzers 3

You may be noticing that the Blue and Gold Bulldawgs are rocking the Pink in some photos. We've got some breast cancer awareness going on this season -- which you can imagine warms my heart. At one game both the Bulldawgs and the opposing team were decked out in dazzling pink jerseys. The only way the umpire could tell the two teams apart was by their socks.

Love those Bulldawgs!

My sunny girl rocks!

2011-03-23T17:00:00.001-04:00

OK, so I tried my very hardest to upload a video of the sunny girl singing at her spring chorus concert, but I experienced what the urchins refer to as "an epic fail." So instead, try this link to a Facebook version of the video. I really do hope you will be able to check out the fabulous sunny girl, who sang a solo -- and she rocked it, people!

The thing that makes this video so sweet for me (and allows me to overlook my crappy videography) is watching how nervous she is before she starts singing. She wraps one arm around her back, and flashes infinitely brief grins at various parents in the audience as she recognizes them. I know she is thinking, "Oh no! Someone else who will know it's me if I screw this up!"

The last dad whose eyes met hers was the Bar Mitzvah girl's father -- and something about the way he smiled at her calmed her right down. You can see her take a big breath -- and then when she starts to sing she's as cool as a cucumber -- although she squinches up her toes over and over again while she's singing -- hilarious!

And you have no idea how many times she practiced putting the microphone away -- she says that was the most nerve-wracking part of the whole adventure.

For the sunny girl -- for whom singing is like breathing, but whose companions have only heard her sing informally -- it was gratifying to hear a new note of respect in the voices of her friends. She overheard one pal say to another, "Did you know she could do that?!"

It's a start

2011-03-22T07:00:00.000-04:00

So I cleaned out my little linen closet, and people, it wore me out.

You're seeing the "after" picture; I didn't take a picture of the "before" closet because it would be too embarrassing and because my camera had apparently been eaten by the closet.

But when I did find the camera I recorded just how many bags of ~~crap~~ gently used linens I hauled to the Salvation Army. All of this was in the closet -- plus the stuff I put back in, which completely filled that same closet.

It's some sort of miracle of physics.

Meet the hellhounds!

2011-03-21T07:00:00.003-04:00

So two new dogs came into our family about a month ago -- Jesse and Watson. And they are just terrific, and so cute, and they add a warmth to our home that we've been missing since our round mound of hound Toby died, blah, blah, blah.

But I show a photo of Jesse licking his butt to accompany the fabulous news that they came to us with love to spare, and they also came to us with multiple intestinal parasites. Yes, they did. (I can't say "no shit," because it would be a lie. Heh.)

Let's all take a moment to meditate on all the meanings of this information. Among other things it means that these dogs have no "regular" intestinal function, and thus there is no way of predicting a "good" time of day to, let's say, "meet their needs" with a nice walk. Am I being too discreet? They shit everywhere, people.

This also means that they must eat a specialized diet, take specialized drugs, and receive a specialized supplement "to enhance digestive health." And by specialized I think we all know that I mean, "oh my God, it costs what?"

It also involves the most dreaded two words ever uttered by a veterinarian: stool samples. Lots and lots of stool samples.

OK, so here's what I know about these dogs:

They are rescues -- picked up in North Carolina while they were in the middle of a crime spree; no one knows how long they had been on the lam.

They are mixed breed mutts -- but both clearly have more than a little hound in 'em -- because they lead with their noses, and will eat anything.

What do I mean by anything? Oh, let's see: Pencils. Dish towels. Cough drops and the accompanying wrappers. Paper towels. Cat food, obviously. Mulch. The shit of other dogs. Tampons. Shall I continue?

They are heartbreakingly eager to please -- and starved for affection.

And they would love to be best, best friends with our two cats -- who hate them. Here Jake has found a perch as close to the ceiling as he can possibly get; from here he plans to use a sniper rifle to take out the dogs. Please note my fabulous Jane Austen action figure, because I am who I am.

Phantom is too much of a lady to participate in the killing spree, but I think she paid for the gun.

I have to admit they're pretty awesome, for hounds from hell. I just hope we all survive!

Snapshot: Fabulous news!

2011-03-12T10:30:00.000-05:00

One of the tall boy's best friends gave him this cute replica of his lungs (with anatomically correct surgery performed -- see the section of lung she removed?) as he recuperated from his pulmonary drama last year. We love her -- such a great pal!

She took a gap year before starting college at the University of Chicago this fall, and is living with her family in Japan right now -- so you can imagine how glad we were to hear from her yesterday, and to know that she and her people are safe!

What part of Texas is that in?

2011-03-07T20:30:00.000-05:00

So I have clearly been talking too much about my Oklahoma kinfolk, and have not been reminding you all that at least one half of my soul yearns for the Lone Star State. My Uncle James reminded me of my Texas roots by sending a lovely gift for each of the urchins and pointing out to me that my job is to record the glamour for the genealogy documents.

See, here's the thing about my Uncle James. He's a genius, and he has single-handedly recorded the complete genealogical history of our family. I'm not even kidding -- he has traced our family roots back to England before the Jamestown settlers even considered heading west. According to my Uncle James, Pocahontas is a Johnny-come-lately. Some of us call her Rebecca Rolfe, but my Uncle James doesn't care -- he can produce Townsends as far back as 1564.

For an example of my uncle's skills, check out what he has told us about this gentleman: John P. Offield was born in 1841 in the Republic of Texas, served in the Army of the Confederate States of America, and died in 1910 in the great state of Texas, United States of America. And if you don't understand how much of our country's great and tragic history is summed up in this photograph, let me put you in touch with my Uncle James so he can set you straight.

Well, Uncle James (who reads this blog -- hi, Uncle James! Love you, Aunt Betty!) recently sent a bolo tie for the tall boy, and necklaces and earrings for the two girl urchins; all of them are festooned with the Lone Star of Texas -- and I have been given the commandment: "thou shalt take a family portrait that will document the loveliness of that part of Texas which calls itself Virginia."

You know that joke beloved by all Texans, right? You tell a Texan, "I'm from Boston -- the home of John Adams and the Boston Tea Party!" And a Texan will ask very cheerfully, "Boston, you say? What part of Texas is that in?"

Look how lovely!

2011-02-25T12:30:00.001-05:00

Since it's February, it must be time for "Sonnets," the Bulldawgs' annual Drama Club fundraiser. For two days right around Valentine's Day, members of the group roam the halls of the high school in full Renaissance garb. They have permission to burst into classrooms unannounced and recite Shakespearean sonnets to unsuspecting recipients. Boyfriends and girlfriends buy the service, of course, as well as friends who want to make a pal's day. But a big chunk of the clientele is made up of secret admirers making their crushes known for the first time. Fabulous!

The girl in charge loved sailing through the day dressed so regally. Doesn't she look lovely?

Intrepid reporter -- until I ran from the scene

2011-02-22T19:00:00.001-05:00

So the drama around here last Saturday was pretty dramatic; our part of the world seemed to burst into flames in every direction all at the same time. Dry, dry air and high, high winds combined to create a day just ripe for combustion. Pals from California or western Canada might laugh and say, "how quaint!" But fire fighters throughout the Washington D.C. area were working it all day long.

Well, I shock myself that I took these pictures: I am never on the scene when drama occurs, or if I am, the drama is occurring to me or to one of the urchins -- so photographing the historic events is usually the last thing on my mind.

tangent: When the sunny girl was born we had to borrow a disposable camera from the midwife who helped her into the world, because by the third child we were not so much about checking and re-checking the "Baby Being Born" hospital bag to make sure we had everything. So: camera -- yes; batteries -- not so much.

But I took the sunny girl and a pal to the movies, and we drove into smoky air that was thick enough that I turned on my headlights and the sunny girl reached for her inhaler. After I dropped the two girls off at the mega-cineplex-o-rama, I decided to check out the source of the smoke.

Plumes rose from a wooded area right behind my beloved Borders Books. I kept thinking, "How hard would it blow to be one of the stores that escaped the corporate bankruptcy axe, only to see one's entire inventory go up in flames?"

tangent: Pipe down, book lovers -- Borders is all right by me. Yes, yes -- we should all support our local independent booksellers. They support the new, the quirky, the overlooked. But you know what? So does my Borders. And I can tell you right now -- there ain't no independent booksellers in Prince William County, Virginia; if Borders goes, we are SOL. Virginians all know that stands for "Standards Of Learning."

OK, so the fire caused businesses up and down the suburban strip malls to evacuate, as it spread north and east through a large wooded area. These woods are bordered by things like a Home Depot, the Department of Motor Vehicles, Best Buy, and -- scary -- an animal hospital. All evacuated their customers (and patients).

As always, the firefighters walked forward to fight the blazes (and yes, I do mean blazes; these brush fires were everywhere) while everyone else fled. As I took these pictures I was shocked at how quickly I stopped needing the telephoto feature on my camera as the fire raced through the woods towards my vantage point; I kept thinking, I should not be here . . . I am where I should not be . . . this is really, really stupid . . . . I am not Christiane Amanpour -- or even Brenda Starr . . . . I need to go now . . . . And the firefighters geared up, and did what they had to do, and stopped my town from burning.

Snapshot: tall boy, a.k.a. goofball

2011-02-15T21:00:00.001-05:00

The ~~goofball~~ tall boy was home this weekend, and as he was rummaging through some of his junk he happened to find some of those chew tablets they give you at the dentist to show you how well or poorly you are brushing your teeth. His teeth looked pretty good, which made him inordinately proud -- although it's hard to see how he can demand praise and accolades for this: those tablets are aimed at eight-year-olds. His tongue, however, remained bright pink for hours. He reported that the tablets tasted weird but in a good way.

He amused himself greatly.

He's weird, but in a good way.

Snapshot: Book bag

2011-02-07T07:30:00.004-05:00

So the girl in charge carries this book bag, which is one of my favorite pieces of art. She took a messenger bag, and decorated it with quotations from songs and poems, and with pithy sayings that either tickle her fancy or inspire her. How awesome is that? To give creativity its due, she follows in the footsteps of the tall boy, who did the same thing a few years ago. But there's something about the girl in charge's choices that just makes me grin.

She has quite a few songs from Disney movies represented -- "Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally; golly, what a day!" "I'll get that arrow, pretty boy -- and I'll get it with my shirt on!" Simon and Garfunkel make an appearance as well. In addition to some of the classic angsty teenager S&G lyrics ("And a rock feels no pain/And and island never cries.") the girl in charge has also included, "Life, I love you! All is groovy!" Gotta love that!

I love particularly that she has Jean Valjean's prisoner number on her bag. But here's why my girl is all that and a slice of peach pie: While her brother wrote the Hail, Mary across the strap of his messenger bag, she has written the entire Prayer to St. Michael the Archangel in a winding ribbon all around her bag:

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray. And do thou, oh Prince of the heavenly host, by the divine power of God, cast in to hell Satan and all the other evil spirits, who prowl throughout the world seeking the ruin of souls.

People, I love that girl!

And can you really say "Cream of Mushroom" and "gourmet" in the same sentence?

2011-02-02T23:00:00.003-05:00

So the fabulous neighbors had us over the other night for pizza and beer. As usual, I spent too much time laughing to actually take any good pictures. And I will also report that there were no stories told that night that can be repeated on this blog. My urchins read this, people. My Aunt Carol Jean reads it! [Actually, my Aunt Carol Jean has been known to tell a bawdy tale or two . . . but we won't go there tonight.]

Let's just say that in this particular instance vulgarity and hilarity are integrally related. You can tell because of the look on my own street sister's face. Her eyes are closed because really, the pals are telling the most scandalous story, using words that are making me blush right now -- and I'm not even typing them; I'm just thinking them. But you do see that she is laughing her ass off, right?

Don't get me wrong -- it wasn't all genitalia jokes and strippers. Actually there were no strippers that I remember. And we did discuss the merits of various fine dining options. Some of us are enamored of "Cream of Something and Something Casserole" while others seem more intrigued by the new cuisine being touted these days, which consists of instant rice topped with a can of delicious Chunky Beef with Barley soup. Your thoughts?

Well, it was swell to get together with the fabulous neighbors -- it always is -- and I feel particularly honored that they wanted to bond with us, since the next morning he left for a year-long deployment to Afghanistan. You know how I feel about my fabulous neighbors, so you know how much I will miss my friend while he's gone. His wife is just as dear -- my wonderful pal, my earliest and staunchest blog supporter, and a heroine to all REAL real housewives of D.C. Just so you understand how hard she kicks ass, she will spend this coming year finishing her Master's degree. Suck on that, Michaele Salahi.

Well, if I were more eloquent I would offer a pithy and moving commentary about the bravery and selflessness of the men and women who volunteer to go to war for us -- and about the sacrifice we ask of their families as well. But really, all I pray for is for my friend to come home safely. So I guess that's what I would ask you to do, too. Pray for my friend. Or pray for someone you know and love. Pick a specific soldier, or marine, or sailor -- and pray.

Thanks.

Step aside, Tallulah Bankhead!

2011-01-23T22:00:00.003-05:00

So the girl in charge starred in her high school's entry in the district One-Act Play festival -- "The Murder Box." People, she tore up the stage! Just like Tallulah Bankhead, without the opium addiction and vast promiscuity . . . .

She was fabulously obnoxious as the sneaky and manipulative Maggie, well and truly detested by her colleagues backstage at an old and soon-to-be demolished theater. Because they hate her so much (Maggie, not my girl) and because she is a notorious liar (Maggie, not my girl), no one believes her after she witnesses several murders. Bummer . . . .

Could their disbelief have something to do with the fact that each dead body is stuffed into a (cue dramatic music) magician's box?? Hmm . . . .

The girl in charge had so much fun flinging herself about the stage! She hid so she could eavesdrop on crucial conversations; she screamed with fright as the lights flickered dramatically; she threw herself at the feet of a potential rescuer. She was shot at, clunked on the head with a flashlight, . . .

. . . and chased by a crazed Lothario wearing a fur coat and a feather boa. I tell you, she was fabulous! The crazed Lothario was pretty awesome, too.

Unfortunately, things ended badly for the wicked and conniving Maggie. Her colleagues conspired against her; and she wound up bound with rope, gagged and hand-cuffed, and then stuffed right into the Murder Box -- right there in front of her entire family! Well, in front of the girl in charge's family, anyway. The tall boy even came home from college for the afternoon to watch, in awe of his little sister. It was good for him -- and great for her.

I loved every minute!

Snapshot: Why I suck

2011-01-11T11:45:00.003-05:00

This tragically accurate (and let me note -- completely unstaged) picture tells you everything you need to know about me:

1. Newly purchased P90X workout discs (pricey) and glamorous "Extreme Home Fitness Nutrition Plan," being eaten by a delicious bag of potato chips. The girl in charge and I are starting this challenging! yet awesome! workout program ("Extreme workout! Extreme results!"), just as soon as we finish watching all of our backlogged NCIS and Gilmore Girls episodes. Honest!

2. Festive Merry Christmas tablecloth. Hello, January!

3. I've always had a thing for Sharpies, but it feels like the Sharpie Fairy scatters them all over my house like glitter, except more permanently staining. I seem to trip over them in the oddest places. Ask anyone, including Coleen's heart-faced girl, who, at the age of two, found one on the floor of my bedroom and proceeded to scribble in bright blue all over the pristine white belly of a sleeping Annie the Wonder Cat. Just one more way that my slovenly housekeeping has created one of my all-time favorite memories.

4. Blog posts, unwritten.

5. Bills, paid. Maybe.

6. A Midsummer Night's Dream. Hello, dream lover!

Everyone should have a Lisa

2010-12-31T01:00:00.001-05:00

So this week the husband and I went out to dinner with Lisa and her husband, Ali Hakim. Not really. I mean, yes. We went out to dinner. And yes, Lisa and her true love were our companions. But his name is only sometimes Ali Hakim. Whatever -- if you're not from Oklahoma you wouldn't understand.

But really, I just want to tell you how lucky I am that Lisa is in my life. She has been my best friend since I was thirteen. Think about that, my people. I don't know about you, but when I was thirteen I was a complete pain in the ass. I think it's part of being thirteen, but still -- I'm not sure why my parents didn't sell me to the gypsies. So I am eternally grateful that Lisa was willing to ride it out and stick with me, even though I was a) a giant mutant, freakishly tall; b) painfully shy and more comfortable with my nose in a book than engaged with actual people; c) new to the school and thus totally toxic in terms of coolness; d) did I mention freakish?

Lisa, on the other hand, was athletic and pretty, with curly, curly hair that she hated and I coveted, and a giant smile that said to the world: "I am here to have fun, so step aside!" She was always the one who said, "Let's go skating!" or "Meet me at the basketball game!" And whatever she told me we were doing, I did. I even managed the gymnastics team, so I could hang out with my bestie every day after school. It cracks me up that I "lettered" in gymnastics that year.

It's weird that we are even able to be friends, because we are biologically so different. She is up before dawn, ready to go for a run, or play a round of golf, or wrestle a bear. Meanwhile, I feel that a day spent lounging in bed is a day well-spent. And when I am ready to stay up all night watching Fred Astaire movies, or the fabulous "Ishtar," Lisa just kisses me on the head on her way to her bedroom.

On paper we should not be friends, but I thank God every day for her.

Straight to the source

2010-12-24T23:15:00.001-05:00

The last door of the Advent calendar opens to reveal the Holy Bible. Today (tonight, really) is when our family goes right to the source: the Gospels according to St. Luke and St. Matthew.

Happy Christmas!

The best Christmas storybook ever. Yes, I mean ever.

2010-12-23T22:45:00.002-05:00

As Christmas Eve approaches, the Advent calendar door opens to reveal The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey. This is the one book that each of my three urchins insisted had to be included as part of our favorite Christmas book memories. The tall boy even texted me special from college, just to make sure I was including it on my list. It's wonderful.

Jonathan Toomey is a carpenter who has experienced a great sadness. When a widow and her young son move into his town and commission the carving of a new Nativity set, he initially rejects every one of their overtures of friendship. But as the figurines that make up the Nativity scene are brought to life through his skill as a carver, he finds that his heart has made room to welcome the kindness of these two new friends.

I have given this book as a gift to so many of my family's friends. The universal report back is, "This is the most wonderful Christmas story! Maybe someday I'll be able to read it to my kids without getting a lump in my throat." Maybe -- but I doubt it.

I'm not ready, but I'm ready to start getting ready!

2010-12-22T15:00:00.001-05:00

So the tree is decorated (right on time, thank you) and I feel good about that. It was touch and go for a while, because I am fundamentally lazy. But the urchins rallied and swarmed me until I succumbed to the pressure. They represent a united Christmas front and collectively they're impossible to resist. You have not lived until you've seen the tall boy, the sunny girl AND the girl in charge, all lurching toward you like zombies, chanting, "Doom on you! Doom on you!" The scariest part is the little skip they give to emphasize "you!"

But I do still feel like I have yards and yards of work to do -- buying, wrapping, cleaning, fluffing -- before the baby Jesus can be born. Do you think he'd be willing to put it off for a couple of days? No?

+++

The book behind the door of the Advent calendar today is The Tale of Three Trees. This is a retelling of an old folktale about three trees who each dream of greatness. One is cut down and made into a manger; one is cut down and made into a fishing boat. The third is cut down and is horrified to learn that he will be used to crucify a criminal. Do you think they all found greatness?

Come on, Big Snow!

2010-12-21T18:30:00.001-05:00

So around here we feel like we can take whatever Mother Nature dishes out, snow-wise. I mean, after all -- we did survive the Blizzards of 2010 last February. We've got to get extra points for that!

OK, now pipe down, all you Chicagoans and upstate New Yorkers, and folks who experience snow as an annual drudgery rather than as the adventure of a lifetime. We rocked our blizzard down here in the South! So this year as The Big Day draws nearer and nearer, we are hoping with a childlike hope for a white Christmas. My Doug Hill says it could happen!

So obviously the book we discover behind the door of the Advent calendar today is Katy and the Big Snow. Oh, my people -- this is such a fabulous book! It was written by Virginia Lee Burton, who wrote Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel and The Little House -- so you know it's wonderful. As Katy the snow plow proceeded to dig out an entire town, the urchins used to have so much fun following her route with their fingers as she traveled from the hospital past the police and fire stations and out to the airport, before digging out the schools and the stores. This is a great book for a snowy day -- or for a family that yearns to experience one truly Big Snow.

"In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines . . . "

2010-12-20T23:45:00.000-05:00

Behind the door of the Advent calendar, we find Madeline's Christmas. The fun illustrations are the best part of this story, but we have always had a soft spot on our hearts for Madeline -- one of the great heroines of children's literature. As for me, Miss Clavel is one of my role models. Ask the urchins how often I have stopped in my tracks and said, "Something is not right!"

A book lover's Advent calendar: Day 19

2010-12-19T21:00:00.001-05:00

Today, on the fourth Sunday of Advent, we find Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol behind the door of the Advent calendar. We love just about every version of this story: it's a treat to curl up under a blanket and listen as the story is read aloud, but there are also so many wonderful movie versions of the tale! Whether we watch George C. Scott or Patrick Stewart or Michael Caine (love me some Muppets!), it's hard to beat the story of Scrooge's Yuletide change of heart. Coleen and I went with our fabulous friend Sylvia last Christmas to see the production offered at the newly refurbished Ford's Theater. Oh, have mercy -- I'm so glad I saw it there!

But I do always keep coming back to the book. I know I have a bias toward the printed page, but I just cannot help but believe that this is a story that everyone should read. I challenge you and your family to plunge into the book together. Dickens wrote this Christmas ghost story knowing that it would be read aloud -- and I believe that everyone should experience the story this way at least once.

Sometimes Mommy gets a little punchy at Christmastime.

2010-12-18T20:30:00.001-05:00

Tonight behind the door of the Advent calendar is a fun book just for Mommy and Daddy but mostly Mommy because Daddy rolls his eyes at Mommy when she gets so hysterical with laughter that she can't speak. Back when I used to exercise, I listened to the essay "Six to Eight Black Men" while I was out walking. People, I laughed so hard I had to sit down on the curb and put my head between my knees. Holidays on Ice is the perfect antidote to the sickly sweet junk that often gets pushed at us this time of year. I actually prefer the audio version, narrated by Dave Sedaris himself. It's perfect for your listening pleasure while you're up way too late wrapping those gifts that you waited too long to buy. Oh. Is that just me?

tangent: Every year Santa is forced into a holding pattern, circling our cul-de-sac while he waits for me to finish wrapping gifts. Air traffic controllers hate me.

Please do note that David Sedaris rarely writes essays that are appropriate for children and these are no exception -- although my urchins are old enough now that their heads won't explode if they are exposed to his peculiar and hilarious sense of humor.

Shop 'til you run screaming from the mall . . . .

2010-12-17T19:00:00.002-05:00

So today was a snow day for the urchins, but a shopping day for me. I know it shocks you to realize that I may or may not have procrastinated a wee little bit about the merry old Christmas shopping . . .

. . . but the beauty of my system is that I get to shop with every other person on the planet -- who all come to my own personal mall to enhance my Christmas ~~angst~~ joy. So that's a plus.

+++

Last night was the first night of Las Posadas -- the Latin American tradition that celebrates the scripture passage, "because there was no room for them at the inn." My family has always been drawn to this tradition; the "Catholic" part of the tradition appeals, even though we cannot claim to be Latin American. Today behind the door of the Advent calendar is another story by Tomie de Paola -- this one a sweet telling of the Las Posadas story. We do love us some Tomie de Paola. I hope you enjoy The Night of Las Posadas as much as we did.

In honor of our first snowy day . . .

2010-12-16T20:00:00.001-05:00

The Advent calendar door opens to reveal The Snowy Day. This is a great little picture book that perfectly depicts the joy of bundling up to go outside and have an adventure in the snow. A classic!

A Book Lover's Advent Calendar: Day Fifteen

2010-12-15T10:30:00.001-05:00

Today when I opened the door to my Advent calendar I found Carl's Christmas -- and the timing could not be more perfect. A beautiful picture book with no words is just what I need on a day when I have to grade seventy-five English Composition papers.

We got our first Carl book when the tall boy was a tall newborn: Carl's Afternoon in the Park (thanks, Boyce and Deneen!). Others include Carl's Masquerade, Carl Goes Shopping, and Good Dog, Carl! Each book tells a story about Carl and Madeleine, the lovely baby he takes care of. So the premise of every book is that the parents go out somewhere fun and leave their baby with the pet Rottweiler. Now that's good parenting!

And the wonderful thing about the books is that the only words spoken are, "Take good care of the baby, Carl!' when the parents leave the house, and then when Mommy and Daddy get home: "Good dog, Carl!"

Every page shows intricate details of the adventures of Carl and the baby, and the story is told with no words at all. In Carl's Christmas, he and the baby prepare Christmas gifts for several different people. After baby falls asleep, Carl is surprised by a visitor!

These are fabulous books!

As far as I'm concerned, we're ahead of schedule.

2010-12-14T11:23:00.004-05:00

OK, so this time last year there was too much crap piled up in my living room to even think about adding a tree to the chaos. So I'm feeling pretty good that this year, the tree is in the house and upright. Don't get pushy about lights and ornaments -- I can only do so much!

The sunny girl did put up some gel-filled sticky thingies on the windows. So that's festive.

Our Advent calendar is an annual tradition, but there have been December 1sts that have been calendar-free because I just could not lay my hands on it. Those were the years we played a game I like to call "Advent Catch-Up" when I did find the calendar. This year -- win!

It's not even time for our Christmas stockings, but I know where they are, too! You have no idea how big this is. Ask Grandma Donna about the Christmas Eve when I couldn't find the stockings, so I hung six Santa hats on the mantel. One of the "hats" was actually a cloth wine gift bag decorated to look like a Santa hat. That bad boy hung there with all the other hats, like it knew what it was doing. Pathetic, and absolutely true. How cool is Santa, though?! -- he didn't even mind!

And best of all, the merry old basket of Hershey's kisses has taken up its accustomed place by the front door. This means that the merry old Hershey's kisses wrappers have taken up their accustomed places all over every floor of the home.

Some Christmas traditions live on forever.

+++

Behind the Advent calendar door on Day 14, we find Silent Night, written and illustrated by Will Moses. Coleen turned our family on to this gorgeously illustrated book; Will Moses is her favorite artist. With the lyrics to the lovely carol as section headings, it tells the story of the Miller family as they prepare for the Christmas Eve birth of a baby girl. It's a great bedtime story.

Who needs birth control when you've got migraines?

2010-12-13T11:00:00.000-05:00

OK, so the thing that really blows about a migraine is that once it takes you down, your perfectly good day is completely wasted. Well -- that's not the only thing that blows about it, but it sure is a huge frustration. When I have been felled by a migraine, I cannot function, but I also have a difficult time even sleeping unless I have taken some pretty potent narcotics.

As we all know, sleeping is not a waste of a perfectly good day.

Saturday night the husband and I went to the swell annual company Christmas party, where I wore this rockin' dress; of course I looked just as fabulous as this model does -- and my shoes were better than these, which is important. We had a great time, but it might be true that I had just a teensy bit too much of the migraine-triggering red wine. We stayed at the party hotel Saturday night, and met up with friends for brunch yesterday morning. The tragic news? I was where my excellent migraine-specific drugs were not.

tangent: These triptan drugs are amazing, y'all. When they work, it's like being ever-so-gently touched by the finger of God. Of course, they don't work for every person, and they don't work for every headache. And if you don't take them quickly enough, you are ever-so-gently screwed.

Well, when we got home, I took my drugs (too late) and then took to my bed. This is where the Percocet would have been a delicious option. But I do adore the husband and the urchins, because every so often I would swim to consciousness from my haze of pain, to find a fresh glass of ice water, crackers, or a nice cold Coca-Cola sitting on the bedside table.

Ooh, my dears! I know they took the cocaine out of the Coca-Cola, but what if they put the Percocet in the Coca-Cola?! Talk about the pause that refreshes!

+++

Today behind the door of the Advent calendar, we find The Polar Express. We love all of Chris Van Allsburg's books: Jumanji, Zathura, The Z Was Zapped, The Garden of Abdul Gasazi, and the phenomenal Bad Day at Riverbend. The stories are all filled with just the right amount of eerie and weird, and the illustrations cannot be beat.

The Polar Express includes the eerie along with a helping of Christmas sweet; it's a classic.

Advent Calendar: Day 12

2010-12-12T22:15:00.001-05:00

Today the Catholic Church celebrates the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. So while her story is not necessarily a Christmas tale, it is part of our family's Advent tradition.

Today's book, The Lady of Guadalupe, is a sweet story recounting the miracles encountered by Juan Diego at Guadalupe. We just love the author, Tomie dePaola! Strega Nona rocks!

Advent Calendar: Day 11

2010-12-11T16:13:00.002-05:00

Love, love, love it!

You know it -- you love it! It's hard to beat the animated television special, and you know why? It's because what's really going on is that you are listening to the complete text of a Christmas story, read to you by Boris Karloff. Boris Karloff, people! The animation is just delicious icing on an already fabulous cake. But you can read it out loud, too -- just put on your Grinchiest voice and let 'er rip!

One more step in her plan to take over the world . . .

2010-12-10T18:15:00.000-05:00

The girl in charge was inducted into the National Honor Society last night, and reports that the pins in her corsage tried to kill her, her program gave her a paper cut, and she didn't get any punch at the reception because she was too busy chatting.

Other than that, it was a lovely evening!

+++

Our Advent calendar book is Santa's Book of Names, which is a great little story about a little boy who struggles to read. But when Santa loses his glasses, Edward must travel with him on Christmas Eve, and read from Santa's book so that the right gifts will be given to the right boys and girls. It's an important job, but Edward discovers he is up to the task..

Snapshot: Beautiful girls

2010-12-09T23:00:00.001-05:00

Look at how pretty the girl urchins are! We were on our way out the door tonight, to various school functions that made me pray for the aid of Padre Pio (bilocation would solve a lot of my problems, yo), but the urchins allowed me to capture the glamour before we all went our separate ways.

+++

Today's discovery behind the Advent calendar door (snuck in just under the wire) is Look-Alikes Christmas. We have always loved these quirky picture books. In a Look-Alikes book, intricate miniature scenes are created out of the most mundane and everyday items: combs, pretzel sticks, playing cards, dominoes . . . . The challenge is to find all of the items used to create the scene. For some reason, all of us took to the Look-Alike books with great enthusiasm, while the I Spy books (constructed similarly) left us cold.

It's just so cool! Do you see the erasers and the dog biscuit used as chimneys in the cover photograph? Fabulous!