Letter rip

Sheeeeminey. I mean, I know a blog is public, which is partly the point, but I must keep in mind that the Post puts a link to your blog if you link to one of its stories. Yikes! Thanks for the alert, Becky.
In a defensive move -- you're gonna love this -- I'm going to post an ooey-gooey Lizzy-filled entry right on top! So if anyone comes here looking for politics, they will be repulsed and flee before the kid-friendliness sends them into a sugar coma. YESSSSSS.

But seriously, Lizzy did something awesome yesterday. It's so wild to see your kid grow and mature and advance and learn. Crazy, crazy stuff.


When Matt and I got to the day care, the teacher pulled us aside and said she had something to show us. She didn't want to give it to us yet -- they keep evidence of the kids' advancement, apparently -- but she showed us a paper on which Lizzy had WRITTEN HER NAME. Granted, it was "Lizzy," not "Elizabeth" -- only four letters to master -- but, oh my gosh! How amazing! Matt and I were flipping out. It's just the cutest thing. I wish I had a photo of it to post here. Maybe I'll work on that.
Lizzy -- turning our world upside down, one letter at a time. :)

notes on the news

I don't usually do commentary on the news here, but I've seen a few things in the past couple of days that have piqued my interest. This first one isn't exactly a secret, as I'm told it's on the front page of the Washington Post today. It's a subject that Matt and I talk about a lot, especially in terms of our neighborhood. Check it out:

(link removed in hopes that Post doesn't link to my blog anymore)

But, in brief, the Powers That Be in Manassas have decided that people who own (or rent -- what's the difference) can't have people living with them who aren't "related." And by related, I mean, not IMMEDIATE family. Nephew? Cousin? Not a relative. Not if you already have four or five people in your home -- there's a nifty formula to calculate how many people you're allowed to have. And, okay. But it seems a BIT stringent. Juuust a bit. And it seems suspiciously geared toward causing great pain and inconvenience to a certain minority segment.

Here's an especially intriguing bit of the Post's story, which you can probably still search for at the Post's Web site:

The Dec. 5 town hall meeting at Round Elementary School was advertised in the usual way, without any special outreach to the Latino community. About 30 residents attended, no one objected to the ordinance, and the City Council easily adopted it. Then Brian Smith, chief building official, stood up to explain the new concept in town: consanguinity.

Under the city's old, broad definition of family, just about any group of relatives, however distantly related, was allowed to share a single-family house, along with one unrelated person.

The problem with that, Smith explained, was that when inspectors responded to a complaint, they often found houses full of aunts, uncles, cousins and extended relatives but no violations, because the total number was below the occupancy limit.

"We were stymied by families who met the existing definition," Smith said. And so the city changed the rules to break up more households.


I have two problems with this:
1) There's generally no attempt made to reach out to Spanish-speaking folks on these matters, even when the matter is likely more relevant to them than to others. Yes, it probably would take some effort and expense to translate the notice. But isn't that part of the deal?
2) I'm unclear why (and how, really) we can regulate who lives in someone's house. Are you telling me, if I want a good friend to stay with me, and I have a family of four (or however many) already, he/she can't?
Wow.

Maybe there are angles to this that I'm not grasping at this point. But it smells an awful lot like a way to hassle Hispanics to me.

I'll be painfully honest here. It's a little unsettling to certain not-so-pretty parts of my heart when I hear someone racing through the neighborhood, strange Latino music a-blasting. I remind myself that I don't appreciate any music a-blasting most of the time -- and it always seems to happen when Lizzy's napping, or maybe that's when I notice it. So it's not so much a racial/social thing as an age thing, probably. And sometimes I feel like Hispanic men are giving me certain looks a bit more than I'd like. I'm not a big fan of the ogling and whistling.

But. I have no right (nor inclination, truly) to run them out of "my" neighborhood -- where I've resided an entire 10 months -- or "my" town. (God help me when I start identifying with Manassas that way.)

And. I hate to generalize here -- I hope this doesn't offend -- but it seems like most of the Hispanic people I see are the ones out there doing everyone's dirty work. The jobs the rest of us are too good for. And they seem to be doing those jobs cheerfully, efficiently and well. I take my hat off to the hard-working folks who do stuff that I can't, or won't, do. I've worked in a factory, and in fields, with migrant workers, some of whom I know weren't here legally. I barely made it through those college summers, with only the hope of "getting out soon" sustaining me. And THAT'S THEIR LIVELIHOOD. It still blows my mind. How fortunate and, frankly, spoiled I am to sit at a desk all day and make a lot more than a lot of them do.

So, I'm rather offended when I see people crafting laws to edge them out of precious Manassas. I mean, please. Because they have seven people in a five-bedroom home? I'm just sitting here shaking my head, the more I think about it.
(as usual, dissenting opinions more than welcome. Or any other kinds.)

I'll save the other news thingies for another post after I get some more of my cushy desk work done. :)

Merry Christmas to all,

and to all a good weekend!
From our family to yours.

Your input needed

My friend Jayster, with whom I worked in Germany and who is now in California, requests that y'all give him some food for thought. He sent me the following e-mail this morning. I gave it my best 15 seconds of pondering, then shot back a reply. He and I would love to see what you come up with. I bet those who check in with this blog will have some great ideas.
(So -- let 'er rip.)

Good morning, Kate!

OK, so I might have told you that I'm doing this writing course through the Christian Writers Guild. One of my assignments that I'm turning in Dec. 31 revolves around the following question: "If you had a megaphone, what message would you broadcast to the Christian Community, in 100 words or less?"

What say you, o friend? I'm in the process of formulating an answer for my assignment and I've been asking all of my friends.

Tag, you're it. -- Jay

don't mess with me; this cucumber's loaded

A recent favorite!

I feel poopy; oh so poopy

I'm saying this less to whip up sympathy than to explain any meagerness in blogging posts...

And, my apologies to the fine lyricists of West Side Story. But your songs are so darned adaptable!

Lizzy brought home some insidious little bug awhile back. She was coughing and hacking away for a good five weeks. She finally seems better. I can tell because she has to FAKE coughing when I cough. She thinks it's funny. If she were still under the influence, the faking would be unnecessary.
So this bugger makes junk collect in my throat -- hey, stop reading if you don't want to know -- but isn't a cold, exactly. And gives me a headache and a general feeling of malaise and unwellness. I have been living on aspirin for weeks now.
It definitely could be worse -- but if it were, I would have to stay home in bed. So I'm trying to function normally. It's not a good season to have to fake normal function. I deeply resent every request to bring something to this, that or the other 'holiday party.' Which normally would not be a big deal.
Oh, who am I kidding. It still would be. Remembering and gathering everything I need for daily life seems hard enough, most days.
I keep telling myself the usual about how I am so lucky to have a great family, a roof over my head and warm bed at night and food to eat and on and on, but in truth, I just want to be healthy. I don't like coughing so hard I seriously wonder if I'm going to throw up. (If anyone saw me at church on Sunday during the Kanye West song, that's what was up. It wasn't a reaction to Kanye West, actually.)

(and, yes, we played a Kanye West song at church on Sunday. I don't know why, but it was kinda cool.)
(at least, Matt said it was a Kanye West song. I'm certainly no expert.)

In other news, this year I'm giving up on hand-writing my Christmas cards. And boy, did they go fast last night! I got at least 20 done in an hour. It was AWESOME. I'm never goin' back, baby! Those who have received my chicken scratch in the past will be oh so grateful. Because, really. What's the point of a card you can't read. I've still got more to send out. Maybe it'll get done. Another downside to the feeling icky thing: Nothing gets done. If it's sleep or productivity, sleep wins. Last night I read Lizzy books (Dumbo and a Veggie Tales book in which I have to mimic a number of goofy accents, if you want to know), and then fell asleep next to her in my work clothes. All night. Something I have ridiculed Matt for doing (the work clothes thing; I will pry him out of Lizzy's bed if he falls asleep there).

Lizzy loved the Super Grover show, in case you were wondering. The best was at the intermission, when -- after they'd already soaked us for the price of admission, and tried to tempt us with other junk at the door -- two guys headed down to the floor with EIGHT-DOLLAR Elmo balloons. And, really, what child doesn't want an Elmo balloon, when it's all bobbing in your face and stuff. Matt and I put our foot down on that one. I told Lizzy, "Later." And, some other day, I'm sure we WILL get an Elmo balloon! So there.

The church Christmas party was so fun! Matt really really loved it. I love (hm, I'm creative today in my word usage, eh?) to see him having good conversations with my friends. There's such a feeling of general goodwill, and caring ... It's like a little piece of heaven. For the benefit of the four people who read this who didn't already receive Ross' Christmas party photos, here are two of (parts of) Lizzy and me:




Lizzy's day care party was chaotic. Too many kids/parents, too little space. Aiieeee. Everyone seemed to like their gifts, so that was a relief.

One downside to a blog is that, of course, one must be careful not to offend anyone by putting someone else's personal stuff out there along with yours. But, I have procured permission from the relevant party to share with you the following:

Saturday: Matt gets a check from his dad. For $500. For Christmas. So he gives me $100 (from his dad) and pockets $400. I said, “Yeah, right! Isn’t this to split three ways?” (w/Lizzy) He’s all, "No! What? Are you serious? You don’t think I’m being fair?" When I realized he wasn’t joking, I just shut up about it. I mean, okay. $100 is a generous gift. But it was just bizarre. We were both looking at each other like the other was a serious and complete moron/skinflint.

So he tells me Sunday night that his dad called to say he was supposed to split it evenly FOUR ways, including with his brother…

HA HA HA HA HA.

shivering on the job

Our computer system is down, and I've already exhausted most of the other e-goofing around possibilities I can think of, so it's time for ... a pointless blog entry!
Though I am a few "House" recaps behind on televisionwithoutpity.com. Oh, well. You're more important, right?!

It has been 63 or 64 degrees in my corner of the office for the past couple of weeks. The building's facade (or something) is being repaired, and rumor has it, the cold air is seeping in and making us miserable. We share a wall with a big, vast, un-insulated storage area, so it makes us cold... Waaaaaaah. Just had to whine a bit.
Lizzy brought home this icky cough thing that I cannot shake. I suspect the office temps are not making it better. After about a month of scary hacking, she seems to be improving, so there's hope for Matt and me, too.

Once again, weather promises to be icky enough to prompt school cancellations. Ugh. Please, God! I want to come to work tomorrow! You know it's ridiculous when I'm saying that. (Maggie, you are so sweet to volunteer to take Lizzy, but I'd rather wait until things were completely dire before calling on you. Thank you.)
For now, I'm hoping tomorrow will be okay. It's supposed to warm up, so there's that. You know, all the way to the mid-40s!
Here's where those of you who 'did time' in the Midwest or similar parts can tell me what a wimp I am. And you will get no debate from me about it.

I should add here how grateful it makes me, when I'm a little uncomfortable. I walk around the block to get my $3 Starbucks latte, and think, "Sheeminey, it's freezing out here!" And feel sorry for my little shivering self. Then I think about the homeless; those who can't afford their heating bills this winter; those in the South/Southeast who are without power because of the latest storm. God bless and keep them.

'Tis the season for three parties -- two holiday parties, one Christmas party, hee! -- in the next two days. One at day care, one at the office -- should I come in -- and one with the church gang. Lizzy's day care has put together a program of some sort for the parents, which should be insanely cute. They're only three!! I MUST remember the video camera.
We forged out to look for a five-dollar gift for her Secret Santa recipient the other night. Yeah, RIGHT. I'm finding that three is that age where it's difficult to know what to get a kid that they will truly enjoy. If you know they're into a particular thing, then that's easy. But, c'mon -- five bucks. We ended up getting a Bob the Builder tractor thingie for $10. I hope he doesn't already have it. I worry just a wee bit too much about these things. More importantly, I hope Lizzy doesn't do or say something rude if she doesn't like her gift. Urk.

The church Christmas party sounds so cool! A chili cook-off, and a gingerbread house-building contest. What fun!! I'm glad there are minds more (MUCH more) creative than mine at work there. And we're doing a neat charity function before that. Matt's more excited about that than he is about this Christmas party. I guess I shouldn't be surprised by that. (Sorry, sweetie!) I've never really seen this philanthropic side of him before. We talked about trying to find ways -- maybe annual 'traditions' -- to do stuff for others. I mean, there are so SO many possibilities. But sometimes, the day-to-day drudgery of routine can be hard to break out of enough to give, especially if it's in non-monetary ways. Still, obviously worth the effort! And we want to impress upon Lizzy the importance of giving; help foster a sense of meeting others' needs; etc. Wish us luck.

At the work party, we're going to have some wounded war vets visiting from Walter Reed. THAT should be interesting. I'm especially intrigued by this because (here's where I get in trouble) our reporters seem to have been strongly discouraged -- one might say, prevented -- from talking to these guys. Considering the nature of the folks for whom our paper is intended, this seems odd. I'm looking forward to seeing if there's much interaction, if anyone tries to write a story about it, or what. (note my careful omission of any proper nouns here. Heh.)

On Sunday afternoon, Matt is treating Lizzy and me
to a SuperGrover show. (Yes, whatever that is.) We haven't really been to anything like that yet with her, so it should be interesting! The best part about this story is that he initially told me it was a dinner party given by his boss and his good friend. So, did I want to go? I gave a weak "Maybe -- let me think about it." (I'm not so nice sometimes.) He said, ummm, okay... (this was via e-mail)
On our way home that night, he was looking in the back seat at Lizzy's cherubic little face, and said, "I can't stand it any more! I'm horrible at keeping secrets. Here's what we're REALLY doing." He explained that if I thought it was a dinner party, I wouldn't have fed Lizzy, wouldn't have cared if we were on time, and generally would have been grumpy about the whole enterprise. Which is all true.
It's nice to be with someone who knows you, but a bit uncomfortable sometimes, too, yes? :)

Cool! I just heard that the day care plans to stay open, unless conditions worsen. What a relief.

october

You remember? Back when it was fairly warm?



That's Lizzy and Stephanie, one of her newer best friends at day care. It's hard to keep up with the Best Friend O' The Day. (but I should point out that Ethan always makes the list these days.)

I LOVE this one:



These are from that day care field trip I mentioned awhile back. To the punkin patch, obviously. The one on which Lizzy was taught (but it doesn't seem to have stuck, thankfully) the "Jingle Bells, Batman Smells" variation.
Speaking of patches:



That's Jack, one of her oldest friends -- they used to fight and lead mini-rebellions as infants in the first day care room, where they'd crawl into the sleeping areas and pull out diapers from underneath the cribs and throw them around. He's a wild one.
Then again, so is she.

more photos

Julie,
Aha! Matt DID dress up, but not that night. He saved his finery (which will look familiar) for a friend's party...




More in a few minutes!

better late than never?

It's feast or famine with us technophobes. I've got some pics for y'all. Sorry they're from months ago. And, always, bear in mind that my mom reads this blog, so when the rest of you are thinking to yourselves, "Why in the name of all that isn't boring is Kate relating ANOTHER story/posting ANOTHER blog about that darned kid of hers," just remember that a grandmother can never get enough. (or maybe she can, and is being too kind to say anything.)
So. Some from Halloween -- a trip to Boo at the Zoo -- and, oh, darn. I'm outta time. More later.

'L' is for Lizzy

Yesterday, when we picked up The Lizzard at school, all the kids (these are 3-year-olds) were proudly learning how to make their letters. The smaller ones, like Lizzy, were mastering the first letters in their names. Others had more letters down.
But I've never seen Lizzy draw an actual LETTER before. She does smiley faces, and they are soo precious -- a big circle, of course, and two long lines for eyes, toward the outer edges of the circle, then a big, curvy line, toward the bottom and all the way across the circle, for the mouth. The sweetest little childlike drawings. I have to get her to do one on ACTUAL PAPER, not her doodle pad thingie, so I can keep it for posterity. She is so precious.
She's calling me "mama" for some reason these days. And she does it kind of coyly, as if she knows it's a pet name. She's just been a charmer for the past week or so. *sigh* It WAS great to have a three-day weekend with her.

I'd like to say more about the weekend, but I can't for a certain reason. Nothing exciting. Just would spoil a Christmas present surprise. Not that that person doesn't already probably suspect what it is. Anyway, suffice to say, we had a good weekend.

------


It's the time of year when I get ACTUAL MAIL. It's so exciting! I'm capitulating this year, and (in theory -- the task hasn't yet been accomplished) writing a form letter to all. I figure, better they get something than nothing, as many got (or didn't get) last year. And also, if I'm being honest, it might be nice if the recipients could actually decipher what I wrote. But since my handwriting has regressed to the point of chicken scratch, it's best for all that I type something out.

So far, I've gotten four Christmas cards and/or letters. Yay! Yesterday's was from my dear friends Kat and John, some of the sweetest, most lovely, gracious, fun people you will (or won't) ever meet. They moved back to London (they're English) this year, and left us their car. Which they had taken METICULOUS care of in the four years they were here. Thanks, Kat and John! It's still purring like a kitten.
They're the kinds of people who invite the "orphans" over for Christmas, and cook a huge roast with roast potatoes and three veggies on the side and desserts that you pour alcohol over and then light on fire, and THEN make sure that you have several gifts AND A STOCKING to open besides. They're the kind of people who are actually sad when I show up without a then-toddler in tow. (Oh, wait. That's most everybody I know... Because you are ALL special people, as it turns out!)

I love getting these letters because they remind me of a few things: First, that I know some really amazing people. That I have been blessed by the company of some very special folks over the years. These letters also remind me of who and where I have been, and therefore who I am.

The first letter I got was from a very dear high school friend, Lisa, and I enjoyed every bit of it. Her husband served in Iraq for a year, and he returned in early 2005. So her letter was very thankful, and full of anecdotes about her three boys (bless her), and very fun to read. I love seeing how we've grown, in many ways, learning the same lessons, even though we've lived so far apart for so long now and had such different experiences.

The second was from my one-time boss and his wife, who showed me around and helped me adjust when I was in Germany. The wife, Kathy, was a fun lady who encouraged me to join the church choir, thus throwing me into the path of Germans, great classical music, and some wonderful memories. As well as countless rides, advice and other invaluable lessons, such as the admonition to weigh your fruit before you buy it at a German market. You might never be seen from again otherwise. Germans take their rules VERRRY seriously. Alles in ordnung, Ja!

The third was a card from a gal I used to work with here in D.C., who just had a baby and is holding her own quite well, despite the fact that her husband is a surgical resident and therefore pretty much never around. And the fourth, as I said, from Kat and John. I wish I could link to a blog, so those of you who don't know them could get more of a flavor of who they are, but THEY DON'T HAVE ONE, to my knowledge. (if you're reading this, K and J, consider that a hint!!)
I love my friends.

I'm reminded that my everyday life here, which can feel, hm, not lonely, but just so DIFFERENT from the more social way I used to live, is a phase. And a precious phase at that. How often will I have a little girl who calls me "mama" and draws funny, lopsided smiley faces and hugs me tightly around the neck? Not very often, I suspect.

Oh, and Erin -- you want me to link to your blog? As if my friends don't already know you? OKAY. There's an off chance they don't know Julie, so I'll do that as well. I'm so pleased that the world now gets to benefit from your collective wackiness. Julie, I can't wait to hear the Jane song performed live.

let it snow

This time of year is treacherous for us for reasons beyond those typically brought by inclement weather: When Arlington county schools close, Lizzy's day care closes, and Matt and I have to thumb-wrestle to decide who stays home with her. When you combine that with the days she is actually ill, it's much like we're each cashing in a week of vacation per year for these purposes. So it goes if you choose to both work and have your kid in day care, I suppose.
So, usually -- as happened Monday night -- I am nervously fretting and shaking my fist at the sky when a large (for D.C.) dump of snow is expected.
But today, no. I welcome it. How great would a three-day weekend be! I think I'm a little tired of the holiday rush, and didn't take any time off at Thanksgiving. Time to sit home and work on Christmas gifts ... time to get a little sleep ... time to chase Lizzy around and threaten her with spankings if she grabs chocolate chip cookies after being expressly told three times that she wasn't allowed to have another one. What a rascal. ... She cried far more last night at the news that she'd be getting a spanking for disobeying than she did from the punishment's execution. Heh. Maybe it's because I can't help grabbing her and hugging her tightly right afterwards. I always feel so bad.

On another note: Two friends whom, despite their relative proximity, I rarely get to see, have started blogs this week. Which I think is soooo very cool. I love the chance to peek in on my friends' lives without, you know, the hassle of actually having contact with them. Okay, I was MOSTLY kidding there. But, you know what I mean. A little cyber-contact is SO much better than none.

I'll end with a random question I was pondering this morning: Why do many cough syrups include alcohol? What does the alcohol possibly do for you? Because, despite the fact that I occasionally imbibe, I CANNOT STAND those cough medicines. It gives me yukky shivers just to think about drinking some.
Anyone know?

in defense of German consumerism

I really shouldn't even attempt this subject because I am so woefully ignorant of economies, social structures, etc. But I've been thinking about what Brickdude observed last week, and I have to toss in my two Euro cents.

I'm not sure what the attitude about Christmas was in Germany, in terms of orgy of gift-giving. It sure feels out of control here. I keep thinking about what the money I'm spending could buy for someone who was actually in need ... but I digress.
I do, however, remember the things that affected me. Namely, convenience. I lived in Germany from 1997/'99 -- 19 months -- when I first worked for Stars and Stripes. I had a "TOOM Markt" just up the street from my hotel room. It's a grocery/assorted other stuff store. Multipurpose, but mostly groceries. Rather fascinating to wander around and learn the names of fruits, wonder about the contents of most of the cans and boxes on the shelves, and buy a mystery cheese that could later be heated over bread in the company microwave, but since it was stinky cheese, as it turns out, the entire office would reek for hours. Good times!
But don't try to get through the doors of TOOM after, oh, 7:55. Perhaps even earlier. Because that baby closed at 2000 sharp (8 p.m.), and woe to you if you kept those Groceryfrau there past hours. TOOM also closed in midafternoon on Saturday, and all day Sunday. Don't ask me when two-income families ever shopped. Probably on their many, many national holidays (many of them religious occasion-based). Or on their way home?
So, occasionally, I'd be baking or cooking something after work -- I worked from noon to 8 just down the street from TOOM and the motel suite in which I lived -- and I'd think, "Schize!" (joke. I probably said 'drat' or something) "Drat! I need another egg!" Also -- I had one of those teensy-tiny fridges, about the size of Mike and Stacy's currently, that could hold, oh, a half-bag of groceries or so. Stocking up on most things wasn't an option.
Could I run down to the German equivalent of a 7-11? Nope. Actually, I think these types of things did exist -- gas stations, anyway, with convenience stores -- but only closer to downtown. Not where most people actually LIVED. And I doubt they sold eggs. Probably lots of beer, though.
Oh, and Germans also seemed to make things from scratch a lot. To buy their produce and bread daily. Ahhh, the bakeries! I miss the Bakerei.
My point in all this is, Germans might shop a lot. Or they might not. There are many shops, of this we have no doubt. But I liked their priorities. They were very set on being home with their families, or on holiday, or just generally AWAY FROM WORK now and then. Oh, and they also took a half-day off on Friday afternoons. This was annoying and inconvenient to those of us who expect someone to be there to sell us stuff at any time of day or night, but I imagine I could have adjusted and thrived in those conditions, had I stayed for longer. It's worth sacrificing something to allow everyone to have lives once in awhile.
What does this work ethic mean for their economy? I have no idea. Maybe America would crumble into dust if we did the same. But I've always said -- please don't throw anything at me for this -- that it might be better if America was a wee bit weaker, anyway.
Feel free, though, in a non-throwing-things way, to set me straight if you see differently.

Oh, and, side note -- they did NOT have Starbucks over there yet. They had some really tasty German coffee, which I realized after about half my stay had elapsed, but you could not get it in a takeaway-type cup. You had to stay and sip it there in their little cafe. Which was quite lovely, unless you were unused to doing things that way. Investing time in your little coffee moment.
It always reminds me of Europe now, when I take the time to sit in -- or on the sidewalk outside of -- a coffee place. Especially if it's morning. It makes me want to pick up my little travel book and go hunt down and take pictures of cool stuff.

It's nice when someday is now

I've composed several blog entries in my head on various topics, but haven't taken the opportunity to type them. Oh, well. I'll do my best to catch up.

This Sunday, Matt and Lizzy and I went out and got a tree. No big glamorous trip, mind you -- we were variously busy until about 4:30, so we caught the last bit of daylight and drove the four blocks to K-mart and picked out a tree in about 90 seconds from the good fellows who were freezing their tushies off so we could pay an exorbitant amount for a tree. I'm the one insisting on a "real" tree; my parents always had one, and I love the way it smells and feels and looks. But I'm not a fan of fake flowers, either. I guess I want the real thing, or nothing, in this respect.
So we got our tree, and went to Lowe's and got some lights. Matt thought we'd have to buy a bunch of ornaments until I showed him the boxes I had collected from my half-dozen trips to Rothenburg while I lived in Germany. You can't beat Kathe Wohlfahrt for nice, affordable tree bling. Even he decided that my outrageous collection was enough. Augmented by a few Hallmark ornaments we'd already picked out ... My Captain Jean-Luc Picard ornament needed an abominable snowman (with real fuzz!) to keep him company. And no tree would be complete without the merry five (including Toto) from the Wizard of Oz skipping down the green fir branch. I guess.

The putting up of the tree went surprisingly quickly and painlessly -- probably because I was not involved in the logistical elements -- and when it came time to put on the ornaments, Matt's mom and brother dropped by as if by magic. Seriously, we enjoyed sharing the moment with them. They oohed and aahed over the ornaments, and helped us find just the right spots on the tree, a task that became increasingly difficult. Lizzy took the job very seriously, trotting carefully from the ornament-strewn table to the lower branches of the tree to lovingly relocate anything she could get her hands on. If you come to our house while our tree is up, she will warn you that the watermelon slice ornament is not actually meant to be eaten; just to be admired. So be careful!

Then we turned off all the interior lights, and turned on the tree lights, and sat and admired our perfect tree. I had never bothered to get myself a tree when I was on my own; too much expense and trouble. Those hundred-odd ornaments, collected about seven years ago, could wait until I had someone else to share them with. And now I do.

death becomes her

In the same conversational vein as the last post:
The next one, looming so close I can feel its stinky breath on my shoulder, is a conversation about death. And, while I can make up some odd way to deal with the "Why"s -- I love the advice and anecdotes on that one! -- I have NO IDEA how to deal with this weird subject.
The reason I think it will come up soon is because the most recent accursed obsession is The Lion King. And, lemme tell you, there's a lot of death going on there. Most importantly, the death of Simba's father. Ugh.
She hasn't asked yet. But I'm worried. "They fall asleep, and don't wake up"? That can't be good. She'll be even more loath to fall asleep than she is already. I can tell her about heaven, I suppose... but, yikes. Not yet, please.

Any ideas?

I don't really remember my first discussions with my parents about death and dying, but I do vividly remember (as does my mom) telling her that when she and dad died, I would put Band-Aids on them and lie them out in the grass in the backyard. Which was to say, I would take care of them. I would care.
I clearly didn't get it, and my mom thought it was super creepy. She wasn't very reassured.