role reversal

I love that, at one point yesterday evening, I was installing Lizzy's new carseat, and Matt was in the kitchen making dinner. A lovely Thai chicken/curry noodles feast, I might add!

He got the curry out of a box that I've been toting around for two or three years. We bought it at a market one time, thinking it'd be right up my alley. And then never had coconut milk lying around, so we never made it. Then we realized that part was optional -- D-oh!

I'm not a huge fan of mouth-melting spices, and this curry ... Whew. Would've been better on a cold, cold day. Matt and I were gamely trying to slurp it down, and Lizzy grew suspicious of the fact that we didn't offer her any. The peanut sauce held her interest for only so long. "What's that?" she inquired, gesturing toward the Demon Curry. "Oh, you don't want that, darlin'," Matt warned. As you can imagine, that inflamed her curiosity. So we scootched my bowl over to her and waited expectantly as she took her first bite.

She liked it! And ate a bunch more. What a curious little thing she is. I would've thought she would have hollered bloody murder. I'll bet she had some crazy, crazy dreams last night.

It suddenly appears to be summer

Mid-90s today? Ouch. I'm trying to be grateful for the mild May we've had thus far. Ah, to live in a place where I could look forward to summer again...

I did something embarrassing last Wednesday. I've been going to a tanning place for a week or so, and last week, I overdid it and burned myself. I'm not sure if I'm more embarrassed about the fact that I went tanning at all, or that I didn't do it "responsibly." I know, I know -- it's horrible for you, and all that. I figure, what's four months of tanning, in the overall, cancer-risk scheme of things? After all, wedding photos are forever. Unfortunately, though, the eating less and losing weight plan has yet to take effect. Not aided by the sitting around and trying to move as little as possible, lest I disturb the angry burnt parts all over the backside of my body, plan that encompassed most of the long weekend.

We had a blessedly low-key weekend, speaking of. Lizzy was supposed to have -- yes, another -- birthday party Saturday, but the guest of honor was slightly ill, so her mother pushed it back to Monday. Which messed me up a little, because I had to work Monday -- it's been busy times here at work the past couple of weeks, but that's over today, hooray!, thus a blog entry. So, we all went, and I worked 'til late, and Lizzy got good and sweaty on the moonbounce. She said her favorite part was trying to knock over the seven dwarfs (sic -- Disney's spelling, not mine) with a water gun. A water gun that wasn't functioning very well, to the parents' chagrin, as it turned out to be a popular station of the "carnival" birthday festivities. A cute idea. The mom was REALLY forward-thinking and even had a book exchange, as opposed to receiving a heap of gifts for her daughter! Awesome. Wish I'd thought of it. Then again, I'd have to actually throw a party for my child to have to think of things like that, wouldn't I. Lizzy really sucked at the ring toss, by the way. She did awesomely on the basketball shoot (toy sized, of course). Her grandpa Williams would have been very proud. Dad -- birthday gift idea alert!!

On Saturday, Matt's mom was able to watch Lizzy for us, so Matt and I went off to explore the wilds of Tyson's Corner, with an eye to choosing a site -- probably sites -- at which to register for gifts. A task that seems fun, but made me feel exceedingly greedy. I cannot vouch for one thing that we genuinely need. Oh, sure. We could use a $40 mini-food processor. And, aren't those Milano-inspired margarita glasses darling, and, oh, there's a matching pitcher! Hey -- a set of rainbow-colored mixing bowls. Hm, don't like the glassware selection at the moment -- let's wait until later to see if anything new comes in. And on we went. Seriously, we need nothing. We can buy our own dang bedsheets. Our $12 coffee maker works fine. Our plates don't match? So what. When the President comes calling, he's unlikely to care. And yet -- I've been convinced of the necessity of registering. And not just registering, but registering for A LOT OF STUFF. Sometimes I hate our society. And then, as I said, I start to enjoy the process, and I hate it even more.

So we decided, to my surprise, that Crate and Barrel was the way to go, and we weren't all that dazzled by the stuff at Macy's. We did our little tour, gunning down a few items, until our enthusiasm waned, and, happily at the same time, our gun battery died. We 'downloaded' our purchases at the desk, where merry attendants shove booklets at you, urging you to get a bajillion place settings -- 'things break, and you never know when you'll be hosting the entire Upper East Side for Thanksgiving' -- and reminding you that you'll have this stuff your whole life! This is your One Big Chance to twist your friends' and family's arms for stuff, so Go To It! Oddly, they advise that you keep in mind that you're buying for life, but to go ahead and get stuff that you like now. If I had gotten married at age 20 or 22, all of my plates and possessions would be black. I would be hating it now, at (muffled) 30-somethingharrumph. I wasn't goth; I'm not sure what my deal was. And I don't think being a Portland Trail Blazer fan was enough of an excuse.

As we drove home, I examined the papers on which were listed our Possessions-To-Be (maybe). I commented to Matt, "Hey, we registered for only 18 things!" "So?" he says, after a pause. "We'll do another registry at Home Depot, right? Besides, how many more things are we supposed to register for?" It was one of those (frequent) moments where we were each convinced the other was bats.

When we got home, Matt logged on the trusty home computer to show his mom the stuff we'd registered for. At the top of the page was, "WARNING: Your registry is running low. Please add more items."
HA!

Today's wedding question: A two-fer. First, in what way (if any?) did you get carried away in the planning, way past what you intended when you started? Bonus points if the anecdote involves items for which you registered.

Also: I have been saying all along that I see no need for an extra dinnerware set. But it sort of seems like, hm, well what else am I going to register for? (Honestly. I should just put 'no gifts; just show up and have fun,' on the invites, but I know that would be a giant breach of etiquette. Because, you know, I'm not supposed to EXPECT gifts, right? And I truly don't. I would be somewhat pleased if we didn't get any.) I did add one to the registry; is this wise, along the lines of "I'll use it someday," and, "It's my turn to get nice things that I wouldn't buy for myself," or should I take it off? And, do I really need 10 sets? Although, this is a bit of a moot point, since probably not that many would be purchased, anyway.

Finally on board

Hooray! Last night, Matt joined the rank (singular -- not referring to odor, thank you very much) of those attempting to plan this here Sept. 30 wedding. At times, I have broached certain topics -- granted, picayune details, mostly, but things I wanted to bounce off him -- but his mind was usually elsewhere. Uninterrupted time to talk is a bit of a luxury, when there's a little one about. So we haven't done extensive batting around of ideas. He usually gives me the typical groom-to-be, "Whatever you want, dear. I don't much care about most of it, and anyway, do we REALLY have to address this right now?" vibe.

Yesterday, Matt had a conversation with his temporary office mate who has been dating a guy for about five months. They've been engaged for two months, and are planning a wedding for August 2008. Which, frankly, I find to be insane, but whatever floats their boat... So this woman was wigging out that we are four months away and everything remains so unplanned! What!? You'd best get going! Matt came away very alarmed, saying things like, "You know how you were talking about having your bridesmaids just wear one of their dresses? (X) says that the hemlines will be all crooked!" (crazy hand gestures up and down the leg.) "They're gonna need to buy a dress after all!" I said, "Oh, you mean that realization that I told you about days ago? That one? Yeah. I agree." Repeat two or three times, changing the minor wedding detail variable, and you have the gist.

The part that disturbed me was the earnest concern Matt showed for an idea that another, close friend-type of his brought up: Since there is no hotel near the reception site -- for those of you who haven't been there, which I'm guessing is most everybody, the place is SMALL! Which is neat and quaint, but in some senses, perhaps impractical -- his friends can't do their usual wedding (or gathering of any sort) stunt of getting rip-roaring drunk, then stumbing to their rooms and passing out. Whoops! Matt guesses we'll have to rent a limo van to escort them all back to Manassas. I'm all, we WHAT? We "have" to do WHAT?!! I mean, c'mon. I've driven to Allentown, Pa., and back -- a journey of four hours each way, as I recall, for a summer wedding in an un-air-conditioned car -- to attend someone's marital union for a few hours. I was a Big Girl. I planned accordingly. Didn't drink much, left in time for me to get back before I figured I'd be too tired, etc. Aren't we adults here? Can't we make our own accommodations? He said, Hey! I'm just looking out for everyone! I just want to make sure everyone's taken care of! What if some long-lost aunt of yours, who wasn't expected to come, does so at the last minute? Where will SHE stay? Now, that's a dumb example, because any aunts of mine are flying cross-country, and likely buying their tickets well in advance. But, playing along, I said, "I don't much care. That's their problem." He gaped at me, then said that was a selfish attitude. Hm, maybe. But dont'cha think I have a few more things to worry about that week than how to accommodate for last-minute folks who, by definition, won't have let us know they're coming for catering purposes, etc.? Really. I like to trust adults to fend for themselves. Herein lies an essential difference between me and the Mattster -- I have had that luxury growing up, for the most part. I have played the part of the kid, when that was age-appropriate, and when I was an adult, I was allowed to be one. I didn't have to cover for anyone else. Matt has always had to be the adult, and still is. (and here's where I get in trouble for saying too much about his family, whom I hope to goodness never find this post. Oops. But you know what? It's my blog.*)

So there's the long-winded set-up for today's wedding question: How much effort did you go to, to accommodate for drunken people? And if your spouse-to-be was cool with not serving any alcohol at your reception, then, well, I envy you. That would seem to be the cheap and easy way out. However, that's Not The Way It's Done as far as certain parties are concerned, so there we are. We have managed to compromise on beer and wine only, which I feel will help.

Don't get me wrong -- If anyone needs help or suggestions on where to stay, I am very very happy to help. I want to help! There will be some out-of-towners, and I am so honored and happy that they're planning to come. They're not out in the cold, on their own, as far as planning goes. But doesn't it make sense that they would wonder for themselves, ahead of time, and inquire what the lodging considerations are?

* Have I mentioned that Matt threatens to start a blog called "Srettel Sunil" to refute all of my "slanted" stories that involve him? Heh. I think he should. I'll let you know if he ever does.

an open letter of apology to my parents

Dear Mom and Dad,

As we have experienced, sometimes one's memory of one's own childhood isn’t an entirely accurate account. Who can say what memories, or pieces of memories, we’ll retain over the years?

However, I do know that I was a bit – nay, a large chunk – of a pill from time to time. I don’t recall the early childhood years so well, but I have rather vivid memories of later incidents in which I just didn’t want to cooperate. And I can’t recall having a super reason for my obstinacy.

Occasionally, I didn’t want to take my medicine. Sometimes, I didn’t want to memorize my multiplication tables, or finish my vegetables if we were having some unfortunate, Southern-inspired selection purchased by Dad. (who can eat straight lima beans? They are as paste in your mouth.) Eh, that’s a kid for ya.

But the times I really regret are the occasions in which you chose to attempt -- knowing it would be easier, frankly, not to take the time and effort -- to introduce me to something new. Something neat, something fun – something that shaped you. Something you thought I could benefit from. At the very least, an experience we could share.

I would resist and resist, and finally, just cry and run to my room. (or was I sent there? It doesn’t much matter.) I would fling myself on my bed and weep, feeling the shame of being old enough to know better. Why did I do it? Why didn’t I exert 1/5th of that energy to simply attempt whatever it was you were offering to show me? Maybe I wasn’t in the mood. Maybe it felt unnecessary. (Layups when I was 8? Come on, Dad. True, I would’ve been a better basketball player, but maybe that was pushing it.) I think by running away, I was partially trying to punish you somehow for trying to get me to do something new. How dare you! Don’t I know a lifetime’s worth of skills before I’m 10? No? Oh.

Which brings me to the worst part of these experiences – the most painful part of the tears were brought on by the awareness that I was missing out on something. Some neat new skill, but more than that – a time to bond with my mom and/or dad. Who are pretty cool people, actually.

I'm glad you had a more cooperative, competitive child the second time around. And, in fairness, i WAS the one kid who would answer in non-monosyllabic tones when asked at the dinner table, 'So, what happened in school today?' Granted, it was often a tale from biology class about hookworms or some such thing... But at least it was something.
I hope I was better in my later teen years, to help make up for some of the frustration you must have experienced. I did eventually learn how to do a layup! I did eventually learn those multiplication tables! I will eat just about any vegetable now! But I still regret putting you through that.

Why must our children repeat our mistakes… Why…

Lizzy's rainbow

Mommy'sfavoritecolorred
Orange (it's available! anyone interested?)
GrandmaConnie'sfavoritecoloryellow
Myfavoritecolorgreen
Daddy'sfavoritecolorblue
Sean'sfavoritecolorpurple (friend from school)

And also -- Myotherfavoritecolorspinkandwhite.
Additionally -- Lucas'favoritecolorblack.

She doesn't like Lucas, another kid from the day care. He and the Swiper character from Dora tend to stand for all that is bad and unsavory -- or, to use her newest favorite word of the past few days -- "Nasty."

farewell, sweet ride

We had a slight bit o' drama at the homestead this weekend.
Lizzy wanted to go outside, so Matt took her out. She wanted to go on the playground -- no, she wanted to ride her bike! To the playground! Matt said, let's not get your bike out. Let's just go play. That's the last I heard -- the next thing I knew, Matt was coming inside, saying that Lizzy's little plastic three-wheeled bike, a 2-year-old gift from Grandma and Grandpa Williams, had been stolen. It appears that, as he predicted, Lizzy started riding toward the playground, then abandoned interest in the bike project and just walked across the grass. So they left the bike just behind our fence, in the common area, in full view of the playground, where they played. But while they were distracted, the bike somehow rode away... Our knee-jerk reaction was that someone flat-out swiped it, but that hasn't seemed to be a problem in this neighborhood. People have problems understanding how and when to put trash out -- our sense (and the HOA's sense) of what is appropriate in that regard is quite a bit different than what appears to the be general feeling, and I'm told it has been so for years and years by a previous resident friend -- but thieves, not really. Matt floated the theory that, well, the bike was sort of placed near a public garbage can -- perhaps it's possible that someone mistook it for trash. In the 10 to 15 minutes that it was there, at nearly dusk. I'd much rather believe that than that someone would take it. Matt and I strolled around the neighborhood looking for kids who might be playing with it right away, but whoever it was made a clean getaway.
(photo from toys r us -- no one we know. as you might have guessed.)

Cut to tonight. Matt called me away from my post in front of The Lion King 1 1/2 (yes, there is such a thing) with Lizzy to look out the window at the playground. A couple of kids were playing with what appeared to be Lizzy's bike! Surprise, surprise. Matt went out to ask them about it. Perhaps it wasn't worth the effort; we've had the bike for a year and a half, and it's really not worth a battle. We kind of wanted to get to the bottom of things, though. The small kid who was on the bike told him his "older brother" found it in the trash. a-HA! The suspicious thing, though, was that -- in a moment of parental smart-aleckiness -- we purchased a license plate for the thing that said SPOILED. And it had been removed. I suppose the non-English-speaking folks who took the bike might've preferred the plate gone, but it raises the suspicion level a little... The kids insisted that the bike had been found over THERE, not over THERE, where Matt was pointing. Okay. That's fine. We really don't care that much. To me, it's just an interesting difference of cultural interpretation, probably made worse by the fact that the "older brother" appeared to be about 6 years old. I don't mean to be judgmental or skeptical, but it makes me wonder when a bike that's left vaguely near a trash can -- not in a dumpster, not in the usual curbside trash spots the evening before a trash pick-up day, say -- can be interpreted as trash. Seems a bit convenient.

My favorite part of this story is that, after Matt went out to inquire as to the origins of the bike they all ended up concluding that, fine, the boys could go ahead and have it -- the boy said, "Well, it needs batteries! Do you have any batteries?" (we splurged on the model that has an ignition sound, and lights up and plays tunes as you ride along. But over the winter, the batteries died.) Apparently, if we once owned the bike, and had "thrown it away," we owed the next owners a fully-functioning model. Matt's response: "Go ask your brother for batteries." Maybe we should leave some out by the garbage can. Heh.

The important thing, to me, is that Lizzy didn't notice the bike tonight, and doesn't seem to care much. There will probably come a moment when she wants to ride, and doesn't have the bike, and might make a fuss. My bike was stolen when we lived in Schenectady, N.Y. -- one of those killer banana seat models -- when I was 7 or 8, and that really felt like a violation and a loss. It's good that she hasn't reacted that way. And, really -- I know that those kids need a toy more than Lizzy does. Granted, a bike is a nice thing to have, but she needs an extra toy like she needs a hole in her sweet, pony-tailed head.

complaints on a train

Is it kinda ridiculous to gripe about people griping? Well, I'm going to do it anyway.

My office has a white board in the "break room" (where the water cooler, sink, fridge and microwave are -- not much breaking to be done in there, really). Usually, it reminds us not to dump coffee grounds in the sink, or to take our leftovers out of the fridge before they are considered a new life form -- that sort of thing. Or someone will make a snarky comment about how the board is too clean -- get it? HAR! Their very comment makes itself obsolete! The cleverness astounds me anew each time someone does it.

When someone is feeling especially creative, he or she will start a list. Inevitably, people who think they are clever will turn it into a negative thing. I am fascinated by the regularity of this occurrence. I started a list one day, as a test of this phenomenon, that was intentionally shiny/happy. "What do you like best about spring." Five or six people put a comment, then someone started "What's the worst about spring." That one gained comments quickly.

Today's tired subject was, "What annoying things do people do on the metro?" I will grant that most of these things were pretty pickin' annoying, all right. Clip nails (haven't actually seen that one -- but I have seen someone doing it in the office, come to think of it); talking loudly on cell phone (ditto! Have seen it in the office as often as on the metro; it annoys me far more here); loudly announcing to others in their party how many stops are left. "We don't care," said the commenter. "So keep it to yourself." The next comment went one better -- people who talk at all. "Guess what?" he/she said. "We don't want to talk to you." What? We can't talk now? When suggestions start reminding me of my encounters with Germans (in Germany), I realize the comment has gone too far. It's not very complimentary to Germans -- sorry about that -- but that's what wakes me up.

I can think of a few times that talking to a tourist on the metro has really made my day. The enthusiasm for their visit, and general openness, is refreshing. They usual stony-faced masses are a real downer. I, too, don't like to be able to sing along to someone's Ipod, but you know what? It's public transportation. If you have a better, more preferable mode of travel, people, employ it. If not -- just deal, and be glad that you're part of the great human race. That you have a pretty good job to head to. That you live in a city that's worth attracting tourists. (though I'll never understand why they come in the summer. I know, I know; summer break. But still. The humidity, ai!)

Don't get me wrong -- I delight in the mockery of silliness that we see on the metro. But when we start turning it into a 15-point list of gripes and rules, it's gone too far. We are too lucky, I think. We have to be griping about something.

And that's my gripe for the day. :)

simple pleasures

My dear friend from high school, Lisa, sent me this today:



Hee.

This morning, I had the rare need to kill about 45 minutes from 9 to 9:45. I brought in my novel and settled down in a comfy chair at Starbucks -- though, I can't imagine many sillier things than a padded chair with no arms! -- and instead of attending to my novel, read The Washington Post for the duration. It's almost scary, how much I enjoyed relaxing there and reading whatever I wanted to, for as long (sort of) as I wanted to. I came darn near to crying at the tale of the teen who rounded up 2,800 prom dresses for Katrina 'victims'. A somewhat silly story, I suppose, but so sweet in its own way. So fun for me to SIT and RELAX with the PHYSICAL PAPER. I can't explain it. I guess you either know what I mean, or you don't.

We -- the day care -- had a field trip today, to the Natural History Museum. It was originally billed as a trip to the American History Museum, which I found odd -- wondering what could interest 3- and 4-year-olds. Heck, I'm not that interested in the A.H.M. I mean, some of it's good and all, but ... anyway. I went along to make sure Lizzy wasn't lost or stolen. Mission: Accomplished! The odd thing was, we all went our separate ways for about 45 minutes, then ate lunch together. So basically, Lizzy and I bummed around the VERY CROWDED museum by ourselves, occasionally bumping into her wee partners in crime and their parents or day carers. Something we could have done together any old time. Man, that place was crowded! Hey, did I mention how crowded it was?!? Swarms of kids. Streams of kids. Squadrons of kids. Kids, kids, kids!

Thankfully, work is reasonably peaceful today. Ran into the ex-fiance at Starbucks (yes, my second trip of the day). It continues not to be as weird as you'd think it might be. He told me a couple days ago that he and his wife (married in December) are having a baby this coming December. Quick work, folks! I'm really happy for him.

Random comment o' the day -- anyone considering getting LASIK surgery, I strongly recommend it. It is awesome to have semi-perfect vision. I saw a woman in Starbucks today who had to go into the restroom to swap her contact lenses. She put them in the wrong eyes. I thought, Oh yeah! I used to have that problem.

Happy weekend, everyone. I'm going to visit my Dotty friend in Baltimore. Proving that I love her by voluntarily driving close to five hours round trip tomorrow. Ewwwww.
(Just kidding, Dotty. I mean, I do love ya, of course! But driving by myself -- I can actually control the radio! YESSSSS! -- is almost a pleasure.
Almost.)

Have ya heard the one about ...

Or, Mother's Day, Part II.

At first, I was amused. I'm still amused, actually, but in a more 'dark humor'-type way now. It's officially a rumor around the day care that I'm pregnant. I don't know of any woman who wants to be thought of as pregnant, when they're not. Especially if people start asking things like, "How far along are you?" and, "Do you know the gender of the baby yet?" The answers to these are, respectively, "Zero months," and, "No." I don't say that, of course. These are nice ladies who just want Lizzy to be a big sister! So do I. That's probably why this all started. She's been telling her teachers, and anyone who will listen, apparently, that Mommy has a baby in her tummy.
If she tells you, be not alarmed. Or curious. Really. I'm not.
It's an odd thing to tell one's child that "Mommy won't have a baby in her tummy until after she and Daddy get married," but I've found those words coming out of my mouth.

This morning, after getting the "how far along are you?" query, I pulled Lizzy aside and explained to her that Mommy does NOT have a baby in her tummy; please do not tell people that she does. Lizzy looked rather crestfallen and chastened; I wondered if this was another example of her creating the alternate reality she would prefer.

I'm not even sure if that's an apt description. But I've noticed -- I assume this is normal for her age -- that if she doesn't want something to be the way it is, she simply denies it. She believes what she wants to. For instance: In the morning, I try to get her to go potty before we leave the house. It makes me, and -- I would assume -- her, feel better to know she's not having to hold it until we get to school (close to an hour later). Some days, she will insist she doesn't have to go. First thing in the morning? C'mon, child! But I insist, so she gets up on the pot and hunches over and scowls. Then we hear some tinkling. "That's NOT pee-pee!" she will shout defiantly. Uhhhhokay, hon. If that's the way you want it. As long as you DO wipe yourself and wash your hands, despite the fact that you "didn't go pee-pee," I don't care what you call it. So perhaps I'm aiding and abetting the falsehood there.
If she wants a particular snack in the car, and we tell her we don't have it -- because we don't -- she will say, "YES you DO!" as if we're withholding goodies. Now, I do a number of screwed-up things to my child, sure, but I don't think I lie to her much. Except, you know, the usual -- Santa Claus brought that gift; if you don't hold Mommy or Daddy's hand in the parking lot, you'll surely get squished; etc.

One more note on the Lizzy wants to be a big sister thing -- she actually cradled her own foot to her chest the other day -- don't try this at home, adults! -- and cooed and sang to it and called it a little baby. THAT is one desperate child.

Happy Mother's Day!

I'm going to start with a disclaimer. I'm really not obsessed with getting stuff, or being recognized, in general, and certainly not for mother's day. Matt's in trouble if he doesn't get me a card for mother's day and my birthday, but really, that's the extent of it. Okay. On with the show.

As I've said before, this week is a little hairy. Boss gone, a few things (I almost typed 'several' -- oops) taking me away from work for a couple of hours at a time, just a lot to juggle. A lot more than I usually do, anyway. I'm quite sure that most of you out there juggle more than I do at your jobs normally. But it's the difference in what we usually handle that's shocking to us, right?

One of the things I sort of forgot about -- mostly because it didn't much matter if I remembered or not -- was that Lizzy's day care planned a 'Mother's Day breakfast' for us this morning. At 9 a.m. Ideally, I drop her off by more like 8:30, but today we were rather late anyway, so it was nearly 9 when we got there. Oh yeah -- a mother's day breakfast. Um, er, I'm not hungry, but okay. So all the mothers wait around (probably about 15 of us) in a space that was about 5 feet wide by about 20 feet long, for about 20 minutes, waiting for the lead teacher to show up. Finally, she does, and she organizes the kids into some semblance of rows. They recite a poem, in which each letter of MOTHER stands for something that we mothers are. Don't ask me to repeat what they were. I do recall that some of the words were things that 3- and 4-year-olds have no idea of the meanings of, which totally cracked me up. For instance: E was Earnest. heh. I was more engrossed in the fact that Lizzy was standing at the very back, not terribly interested in chanting the poem, or singing the song, which she knows backwards and forwards because we have it on a "Bob and Larry" (Veggie Tales) CD that's on the regular rotation of Tunes To Drive Your Parents Nuts With On Your Family Commute. ("You Are My Sunshine")

Afterward, each kid gave his/her mom a flower. The stem of the carnation was breaking, so I broke it off (some stem was still left attached) and put it in Lizzy's cubby area in the hallway. She then threw herself on the floor and wailed for me to give her "her" flower back, with stem. When I convinced her to eat some of the breakfast the day care ladies had thoughtfully made available, she wanted to sit with her friend Sean, who was wedged in between his mom and two or three other kids with moms, against the table that was supporting other little top-heavy treats for the moms. I alternately tried to balance in the roughly 4-inch-by-4-inch space available, then finally gave up and stood a few feet away. Watching the kids stomp through, spilling red juice on the floor, watching the candy swans on the table tip over and shower the little heads with Hershey's Kisses periodically, watching a little girl attempt to share a waffle with Lizzy when Lizzy wanted a waffle but they were all gone (Lizzy refused it, and put it back on the girl's plate repeatedly -- there's no fun like watching another mom try to explain to her same-aged tot why my child is refusing her kind gesture!). Watching the clock, knowing that I have roughly 5 1/2 more things to do at work today than I have time for, yet here I am, at a mother's day breakfast, not eating, not sitting with my kid and generally experiencing what it's sometimes like to be a mother.
But it was very sweet of the day care ladies. They are gems. I love Lizzy's day care.
Happy Mother's Day, to all of us. Because if we're not moms, we've got moms, or we act momlike sometimes... Oh, never mind. Happy day, anyway.

peace

It's hard to concentrate on what I'm doing today. When about a mile away -- very imprecise measurement there -- our dear friends Mike and Stacy are having their C-section, and their children. Crazy to contemplate. Impossible to wrap the head around. Some things just don't compute, no matter how long you have to mull them over. Some things are just too big; too momentous.

So different from my workday today! My boss is gone, and I'm the ersatz in charge features person. Far from being swollen with power, I'm getting all the random e-mail junk that he usually gets, and people asking for seemingly silly things that I don't usually have to deal with. I appreciate him so much when he's away. Heh. He's in L.A., for a video-game conference. Nice job if you can get it! Though, no thanks. I have enough cross-country travel all on my own.

This weekend wasn't a very good one for me, and I have no idea why. I just wasn't in a happy place, mentally. Again, no reason. Not even a good 'hormonal' excuse, if you will. I just wasn't very content with anything. Quite grumpy. Lizzy was pretty much a little pill, too. More so than usual. It seemed to take dire threats to get her to listen to us or cooperate at all.

We ran around a lot. Always rushing here and there, and that does tend to make me a little nutty. Especially when I have the sense that it's "on me" to herd everyone along. So, along we herded -- eat breakfast; go to crafts fair to talk to guy from whom we might buy cards to use as invitations, yet he had none of the practical info. we were led to believe he would have; rush home so Lizzy can take a nap; threaten Lizzy with dire beatings (no, not really) if she did not close her eyes; 45 minutes later, wake up Lizzy with promises of birthday party; drive to Arlington for gymnastics party, get thwarted by Mapquest, practically cry because I wasn't in the best of moods anyway; eventually find party; persuade child to leave playground outside of party a few hours later; get home; blah, blah. Next day: Church; rush into D.C. to help significant other with silly project, requiring smuggling him into my office so he can use Illustrator program; find out that he can't possibly finish project in time allotted, so rush RUSH back to Manassas to drop him off before heading back to Hwy. 66 to go to Disney show with friends Elizabeth and Liz; get back home; grab novel of the week and head to back porch.

It was raining. I sat there and opened my book. I heard the sliding door open and shut. I looked up to see Lizzy, squatting down beside me. "What are you doing out here?" she inquired. "I just needed a moment alone," I said, sighing. Obviously not getting said moment alone. "Me, too," she said. "I need a moment alone -- with you."

Suddenly, I didn't seem to need that moment so badly. :)

God bless you, Mike and Stacy. And babies X and Y. If you don't know them, and you pray, please stop and say a prayer for them right now. If you do know them, I know you're praying already!

in the air

I'm still just on a high that it's spring. I need more azaleas in my life. Maybe I'll take a drive this weekend. Oh, yeah -- I'll be doing a lot of driving this weekend. I avoided telling Lizzy about last weekend's birthday party invite, but this weekend there's another, and I feel too guilty to avoid it. (Since we go to day care in Arlington, we are invited to lots of birthday parties in Arlington. Not a place I'm eager to retrace my steps to on the weekend.) Here's hoping there are azaleas en route.

Back to spring. I love the two or three months of the year that it's pleasant to be outside in the D.C. area, but I work with, and am engaged to, some allergy sufferers, so I feel rather guilty about enjoying it. Hm, two doses of guilt in two paragraphs. Let's not overanalyze that. Poor Matt forgot to take Claritin before we headed out into "the country" on Sunday, and the poor man was pretty bad off, all right. I'm very grateful for my relative health on this matter. It's just so darn gorgeous out there! Everyone bursts outside from out of nowhere. Flowers all over the place... *pauses for deep breath of springtime air* I can almost forget to dread the coming Humid Months. Blech.

This reminds me of a time when I seemed more vulnerable to the seasonal elements. Pre-adolescent Katie, who lived in a suburb of Portland Oregon, at this time, developed a nasty, itchy rash every spring. Cause: Unknown. Cure: None but the passage of time, apparently. Treatment: Calamine lotion all over the place. Very unpleasant to go to school with great patches of pink Calamine lotion all over me.

After several years of this, my father discovered the likely culprit: We had poison ivy (or was it poison oak?) GROWING IN OUR BACKYARD. Hm... Could that be why? He figured, for reasons I cannot fathom, that he was immune to it, and proceeded to hack it down whilst wearing wrist-length gloves, arms bare. My next memory of this incident is of playing a board game ("Careers" -- anyone played it?) a few days later with our family, and of him scratching at his forearms furiously in between turns, then rolling the communal dice when the turn came back around to him. Ewwww.

wedding update, I guess

One of the reasons Matt and I were so delighted to find the place we found for our reception was its all-encompassing nature. Originally, we thought we'd have an outdoor wedding ceremony there, too. Since then, we've shifted our wedding focus to a little church next door -- more on that in a minute. Hey! We thought. They do the food, they do the cake, we don't need to rent tables/chairs/plates/cups/napkins/all the other foolish little things caterers nickel-and-dime you for! This is great! Less for us to worry about.

We headed out there yesterday, since our church didn't officially meet (though we missed the service project -- whoops), to check out the Methodist church next door. It's fairly cute inside. We were three of the 16 people there, and the youngest by at least 30 years. The people were very friendly and sweet, and obviously solid folks in general. They didn't recoil in horror at the idea that were unmarried with a 3-year-old, or were basically just visiting to meet the pastor and get a lay of the land for wedding purposes. We sang some traditional Methodist hymns that I remember from my girlhood (for example, The Old Rugged Cross), and I got to use my "church girl falsetto" that Matt loves to mock. The sermon was blessedly short, but good -- I don't mind a longer sermon, but the Lizzard has only so much patience, and our every creak and rustle echoed throughout the smallish room. You have to love a 60-something-year-old (female) pastor who includes as a sermon illustration a tale from the past week in which she is speeding along on her riding lawnmower and hits a major bump, throwing her up in the air. I liked her.

Afterward, we wandered over to the inn to chat with the lady who coordinates the weddings. I had pre-arranged to stop by that day, and called the day before (but she was busy with another wedding, so I left a reminder that we were coming) to re-confirm. But she had already gone home. One of the managers came out, obviously not to help us, but to quell any major outburst of anger that a typical Bridezilla might exhibit (?). And, we weren't angry. I was just confused. If you're so busy with a wedding or two every weekend, when do you plan the upcoming weddings? Is there a timeline of some sort? I'd be happy with that. Just tell me what, and when, we're supposed to do. JUST TELL ME. I'd love to be able to estimate a per-person cost at this point. Know what we'll have on the menu. Know what you allow in terms of decorations, chairs on the lawn, etc.? Am I being unreasonable here?

After freaking us out with an "I'll check to make sure your date has been put on the calendar," the guy assured me, with a look of wild fear in his eye, that I would be contacted this week. But, I realized this morning, he neglected to take down our phone number, just in case his coordinator misplaced it...

Yeesh.

I'm taking suggestions

for responses to the question, "Do I need to get you anything for Mother's Day?"