snapshot

Here's an all-too-typical story, played out in many forms. You parents will recognize it.


I must preface by saying that -- really, honestly -- we don't eat a lot of fast food. Unless you consider Chipotle to be fast food, and then ... the average goes up a little. But of the McDonald's variety, it's rare. Last night was one of those "if Mommy gets to go to Curves, then Daddy has to get groceries with Lizzy, and by the time the twain shall meet, it's going to be 8:20" sorts of evenings. Sacrifices! So Lizzy was plenty ready for feed by then. We knew that making anything at home would put us into her bedtime, so we just swung through the Mickey D's drive thru.


Matt asked Lizzy what sort of Happy Meal she wanted. "A cheeseburger!" she asserted. Okay. Matt, however, is (sometimes) a wise man. He's certainly a wise daddy. He knew better than to believe her. He ordered her one Happy Meal with cheeseburger, and one four-piece Chicken McNugget from the dollar menu.

When she got her Happy Meal, after the disappointment of not finding the Lightning McQueen car toy (of the two we now possess, one was voiced by Cheech, and the other is a VW van called 'Filmore' that represented the hippie drug culture -- hmmmm), she demanded the chicken nuggets. "I want chicken nuggets!" she wailed. Matt knowingly flipped the container of nuggets at her. "I want FOUR chicken nuggets!!" she demanded. "What? How many are in there?" Matt asked. "Only THREEEEEE!" she shrieked. Oops. Mommy ate one.

The crisis continued until she had some food in her tummy. After that, all was well. She was far more interested in mini dill pickles from the fridge (we did wait to eat until after we got home, so give us that, at least) than her food, anyway.

How many nuggets did she end up eating? TWO.

Naturally.

feelin' the heat

Never underestimate the power of denial.

A couple of days ago, I noticed that the thermostat was set on 71, yet it read as 75. Indeed, it felt like 75. But -- well, it could just be a mistake, right? Maybe tomorrow everything will work FINE.
Last night, we forced ourself to face the awful realization that ... yes, the a/c isn't working. A fine icy frost covers the pipe that leads from the outdoor a/c unit, which still was pumping away until we turned it off, to the air vent/furnace contraption in our basement that looks as if it has been cobbled together over the decades by whatever bits of shoestring and bobs of tin foil or sticking plaster were nearby at the moment. Our inspector warned us that the furnace was about to go. "But you might as well ride it as long as it keeps working," he said. "Why replace it until you have to?"

My friends, that day might be upon us.

Lizzy and I slept in the (finished side of the) basement last night, on the couch's foldout bed. Someone -- my dad, maybe? once said that, when you buy a fold-out bed, you should try sleeping on it for a night to see what you're subjecting your guests to. Well, now I know. If I were to look at my back in a mirror today, I'd probably see indentations where the springs were. Lizzy didn't seem to mind the springs, but she wanted "a little light" down there. I explained that if she were going to sleep down there with me, there would be no light. Because Mommy is not a fan of the "little light" while she is trying to sleep. Much wailing ensued, with pauses to see if Mommy was appreciating the angst or if she had fallen asleep.

I'm trying to look at the up sides: At least it's not (yet) 90 degrees out. Until, well, tomorrow. Ugh. And, at least a repairman can come have a looksie tomorrow afternoon. He could've even come today, but I detest having to take an entire day off work so that someone can come fix something. Heck, that'd be my annual allotment of vacation, right there, the way things are breaking down on Quail Run Lane.

Since I know the furnace (or is the furnace at play here? I don't know how these things interconnect) must be replaced at some juncture, maybe it would be best to get it over with right now. On one hand, it's a bad time financially. On the other hand, when would be better? When we're paying for two kids to be in day care?

Home ownership stinks, sometimes.

more 'Fun with Wedding Planning'

I'd love to kill the groom over this one, but then there wouldn't be a wedding at all, so what fun would that be?

Matt tells me last night that he'd really like to have six groomsmen, actually. He doesn't want to look at photos 20 years hence and see some of his dear friends decked out like penguins, and some not! Equal honors for all! So, is that okay? Could I find three more bridesmaids?

Of course, the finding of more willing bridesmaids is not the problem. I am fortunate to have a few kind friends who would probably be willing to stand up there with us, but thanks ever so for the suggestion that I might not. I just don't want this thing spiraling out of hand. Or, should I say, any MORE out of hand... At this point, we're a couple dozen people over our guest list limit. If the groom's ornery family members, who he doesn't think will come but who have to be invited anyway, don't indeed attend. If they do, then we're even more over the limit. Ugh. I know everyone has this problem -- it's not unique to me -- but it still stinks.

If y'all had seen the church we'll be getting married in, you'd be laughing your butts off right now at the thought of 18 people standing up there in front. The mind boggles to imagine the 120 it supposedly will accommodate. I'll believe that when I see it.

I'm too disgusted by this to even articulate it clearly. I don't WANT a dozen people standing up there. Yes, we have other friends who are near and dear, and who would look lovely in periwinkle or whatever Matt puts his boys in. That's why they're AT the wedding. Because we care about them, and they care about us. And we're all celebrating together. Yippee for us.

Maybe we should just issue a uniform for all. We'll ALL look alike! We'll all be equally special!

AARRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

And also, how do I phrase this to three other "lucky" gals? "I know I told you before that we were to have only three attendants each, but actually now we're doubling that number, so -- well, you weren't good enough for the first cut, but -- wanna join the crowd?"

Someone suggested we have three ushers, who have the matching suits of the other guys. As ridiculous as that itself would be, perhaps it's the least ridiculous of the ridiculous ideas.

I realize I'm sharing more with some of these wedding posts than is probably strictly polite, but ... I guess 'misery' loves company. I live but to amuse.

H2Overkill

Sheeminey, folks! Have you ever SEEN so much rain? I heard on the radio this evening that the D.C. area (as measured at Reagan Airport) had received 11 inches this calendar year until last week -- and we've gotten 10 inches more since SATURDAY. We're sure to break that tonight, as the waters keep on risin' ... Nuts.

To those who might be saying to themselves, "Hey, isn't that chick from the Pacific Northwest? Aren't they known for their rain?" I have this rejoinder: We ARE known for rain, but the truth is, it's all about the cloudiness. Not the actual rainfall. Clouds, I can handle. I welcome clouds. And a little rain now and then, well, it must fall, right? But this is totally nuts. I walk out the door and it feels like a steamy tropical jungle. Like one of those misty rooms in a zoo where they keep the really high-maintenance tropical plants. Where your skin is glistening from the misters going at full blast after a minute or two.

I finally had enough today when I used the bathroom at work and, while washing my hands, felt my feet being sprayed from some invisible leak in the sink piping. As if the stuff outdoors, and in our parking garage (is there any good reason that IT shoudld be flooding? And should be dripping from the ceiling? And should smell like my grandma's stone basement? I really think not), and coming from every ceiling tile I encounter weren't enough. Are buildings not waterproof anymore? Okay, we can't do much about rivers and creeks cresting, but ... our CEILINGS?!

Thanks. I just had to get that off of my chest.

In other news, I might just have given a certain workout facility an overly harsh rap the other day. I had my first "independent" workout today, and it wasn't bad! After some more vigorous footwork on the recovery boards, my heart rate was in the suggested range. I certainly did more in that half hour than I would've, had I come home and sat on my tush as I do most nights. And it was DEFINITELY more fun than slogging through 40 minutes on the treadmill. So ... perhaps I'll stick it out.

like the dress?

Well, here's what will probably be the bridesmaids' dresses.
What do you think?
Yes, not a very fall-like color. From a person who loves bright, bold colors. As I've said before, I'm having some sort of weird passion for that cobalt blue/hydrangea color lately, so I'm just going with it instead of fighting it. This dress is not exactly that color, but ... close enough.
Now to find shoes...

an open letter to Cadbury's

To the good people at Cadbury's London branch,

My friends, I've never met you, but you have changed my life.

I used to think I did not like chocolate. Can you imagine that? Not liking chocolate? But I can explain in one word: Hershey's. Yes, I was once a sad American girl who was missing out on one of life's finer things. But, one fateful day, as I loitered in some train station or other in Wales, I thought, Hm. Here's a chocolate bar machine. And I'm hungry. And I have the right amount of pence in my pocket. I think I shall suffer through a chocolate bar, to feel satiated for a few moments.
I made my purchase. I peeled back the paper and foil. I took a large bite...
And found a new love.

Yes, folks at Cadbury's, that chocolate bar was one of your creation. I'm not quite sure what your American Cadbury's folks are doing differently -- have we grown so accustomed to the taste of waxy chocolate here in the U.S. of A. that we won't accept your rich, milky goodness? -- but I applaud the pure, true product of Britain. Hail Britannia, and all that.

And now, I hear that your time of need has come. As a token of my sincere appreciation for your product, I will bravely volunteer to help you take care of this problem. E-mail me for the correct address to which to send the goods. No, no -- no need to thank me. As I noted before, it is I who owe you a boon.

Fondest regards,
a lifelong Cadbury's addict

P.S. -- I like all forms of your product, but my very especial fave is the fruit and nut bar. Ta!

the thinker

Lizzy's a sharp little one. It's pretty hard to get anything past her.

For instance: With memories of my brother's noncommittal teenage shrugs still fresh in my memory, I nonetheless press on each evening as I pick up Lizzy from day care: "What did you do today, honey?" Sometimes, she'll have a strange little anecdote about how she and some combination of her friends Sean, Henry, Alex and Nicholas pretended to be something-or-other. Or maybe someone inflicted an injury, real or imaginary. ("Well, Lucas bit me!" as she shows me a bruise that I know she's had for a week.) Almost never the sorts of things I expect to hear about, such as dance class; or the famous traveling minstrel, Mr. Knick-Knack; or what she had for lunch; or something else specific to that day's activity.

The other day, she really threw me for a loop. I said, "Lizzy, what did you do at school today?" She kind of sighed, and shrugged, and gave lazy answers to a couple of more specific questions. Then she piped up, more enthusiastically: "Mom, what did YOU do at WORK today?"

Uhhh... *crickets chirping*

All I could come up with was, "Well, a guy who had long hair got it cut really short!" Believe you me, that was high excitement among my coworkers. Seriously. We were shooting out of our seats to see this reporter, headed to Iraq, and his shockingly shorn mane.
Lizzy wasn't very impressed, though.

an eventful day

What stinks about not blogging for awhile is that, in retrospect, nothing seems important enough to say a week later. Not that it's riveting, must-read material in the here and now, but -- maybe it's the ghost of my journalism professor, taunting me that old news is worthless. I suppose I could pretend that everything happened yesterday! Let's do that.

Wow, yesterday was a wild day! I did SO MUCH STUFF.

For one thing, I went to a restaurant a few blocks from where I work for the first time. I've been wanting to go there ever since I spotted it, at least a year ago, so this was in fact true excitement. I used to eat out more, but it became frowned upon by The Powers That Be around here a few years ago, so now we mostly spend 'lunchtime' hovering over our keyboards, dropping bits of food into them and giving the computer techs fits, not to mention nauseating each other with our smelly food.
So my coworker and I went to Elephant and Castle. Fun stuff! I should research more about it before I blab on and on, but -- well, if you're that interested, look it up yourself. I'm assuming it's a chain. As you might guess from the name, it's (as Lizzy would say) pretending to be a British pub. Or as much like one as you're gonna get around these parts. Except, I guess, Irish pubs... So, well, whatever. I had a lovely shepherd's pie and treated myself to a pint of Strongbow cider. The first alcoholic drink I ever had. (I was 20, and was living in a place where drinking was legal at 18. Just had to point that out.) Even better than I remember! It's not my custom to drink at lunchtime -- most of the time, as I said, that'd be tippling at my desk -- but I figured I wouldn't be too loopy over one pint. I forgot one key detail, though -- I'm sort of an old person now. Which means that alcohol basically puts me to sleep (when did this start happening?). So I propped my eyelids open all afternoon.

That actually did occur yesterday, by the way. Also "yesterday" -- actually last Saturday -- I did something rather unlike me, which speaks of my desperation to lose a few pounds (in a healthy way) before the wedding. I joined a, well, not exactly an athletic club -- judge for yourself. I actually do consider myself some degree of athletic -- a lapsed athlete, shall we say? Or a lazy one? Is there such a thing? If there's such a thing as a lazy athlete, my father will attest that this is what I am. :) So I'm quite at home in any old athletic club or workout facility. This particular option appeals for a few reasons: It's fast (I can talk the significant other into springing me loose for a half hour, plus time for transport, with fair regularity); and ... well, it's fast. Okay, maybe that was my only reason. Also, it's fairly near our house. Sort of. It's not as far away as the county rec center place. And it does have a set program. You're not even ALLOWED to do more than a half hour. It's far too peppy for my taste -- I'd rather go in and get out on my own terms, and not have anyone shrieking encouragement as I lift weights -- but I think I can take it for a year or so. It's clearly for a certain, ahem, not-so-athletic type who does want to get in some semblance of shape and be healthy. In fact, it seems to be marketing itself strongly toward the heftier-built woman. The woman who gave me the initial spiel even told another woman there that I was "her goal weight." I had to fight not to grimace, I'll be honest. I guess it's all relative.
I can't resist telling a story I heard third-hand about a friend who is likely to be reading this post (sorry, T!). She strongly suspects she was denied membership because she was 'too skinny.' Not that they SAID that of course, but ... I laughed and laughed when I heard that. Yes. I don't doubt it. Another oddity of this place: I heard not fewer than three songs that were either overt praise or by Christian artists in the 45 minutes or so that I was there. I asked the woman if the business was founded by Christians, and she delivered the smoothest diversion of topic I've seen in quite some time. Poor lady. I wonder if the tunes have been a liability for some? It's all re-done to absurdly peppy beats, so I doubt it's that uncomfortable -- or even obvious? -- to those who don't know the songs already. But I was amused by the evasive non-answer. Nothing like "Here I am to worship/Here I am to bow down/Here I am to say that you're my God" set to a house tempo at 80 beats a minute. Woo!
I didn't actually do the circuit workout that day; merely signed up, pledged my financial life away for a year and had my body fat tested. Yes, folks, I'm clinically considered obese. Woo-wee! Not that I'm superficial enough to care, of course... Drat. You all know that I am, though.

Next topic: Paint. You know someone loves you when they'll spend the afternoon slapping a black trim on the porch roof because you told them you thought it would look good. They respectfully disagreed, but did it anyway. And now it looks like some sort of Lego construct, and they will have to cover it up with approximately six coats of white paint to repair the damage. Because Matt was right in the first place about what color it should have been.

Lizzy had her ear surgery "yesterday" (Friday) -- ear tubes in, adenoids out. Everything went fine, except that she chose the recovery time as an excuse to take a 2-hour nap. I was envisioning getting home first, so the time could be spent constructively. But the sick kid gets what the sick kid wants, is my motto. I forgot how annoyingly repetitive these things can be. At least five or six nurses and doctors asked if Lizzy had allergies, if she had loose teeth, if I understood what was happening, etc. No, no and yes -- and the answers will be the same each time y'all ask. I can imagine my approach to the malpractice suit: "Hey, they only asked three times whether she was allergic to this medicine! Not five or six! So I totally deserve to cash in." Anyway, Lizzy's doing well. The horrid, something-died-in-her-throat breath the doc warned us might occur wasn't any worse than her usual morning breath (ha!), so that was good. But she's her usual really happy or really cranky self.

I finally got to see the Stavlund's adorable Miss Ella last night. Oh MY! What a sweet little round pink, slightly fuzzy head. It was better yet to see them, and meet some amazing friends of theirs who generously treated the houseful to a mini-concert. Cool stuff. I don't usually get such treats on weekday nights. And these people had a unique way of ... hm. Inviting clarity, perhaps? As I talked to them, and listened to them perform, it was so easy to be in the moment -- petty things seemed unimportant, and I felt like I was sitting in a place of depth. Of scope. That I could see possibilities. Which was funny, because these people would seem to be at quite a crossroads -- having a baby in four or five months, having less of a "home" than the average person would consider strictly wise... And yet, it was so clear that they were, and would be, provided for. That they had nothing to worry about. Really, who among us does? But it's hard to stay in that moment of perspective. Nice to see it every once in awhile.
Neat to see a few other friends from church there, too. I've been feeling somewhat socially starved lately. And I get to see more church friends on Friday night. Yay! Yay for friends. I got to see some old (old as far as D.C.-era friends go, anyway) last Saturday, too. We had a going-away for two wonderful sets of buddies -- Dottie and her hubby, and the J's. Upon recommendations received at that function, Matt and I watched Anchorman the following night. He had seen it before, of course. I suspect I could have done without the poo-eating joke, but I'm told that wasn't in the theatrical release. Otherwise, hilarious. Very quotable, indeed.

I've been staying up late a lot recently to read a new (to me) series of books by Laurie King, based on the premise that Sherlock Holmes, in his older (late 50s) years, took a young apprentice and eventually married her. Sounds pretty flimsy, but it really works! She's a good writer. I think she put it a wee over the top in the bit I read last night, though, when our protagonist (the woman) offhandedly mentioned that she met a new acquaintance at the Eagle and Child in Oxford -- a fellow named Tolkien. Ehhh, cute, but let's leave the true greats alone, shall we? Anyway, if you're not too particular about keeping canon pure, and like a fun mystery, I recommend the books.

Today, I got hold of the woman who (supposedly?) coordinates affairs at the inn where we're having our reception. We're due to meet next weekend to discuss some actual (gasp!) details. Here's hoping that meeting actually happens.

bubble tea

I'm usually all for food fads. But this one's a little too weird for me.
Who's tried it? Who likes it?
Matt and I stopped by a great tea place at Tyson's a few weeks ago -- called Teavana. I don't know what they do to the tea, but it tastes out of this world. We're hoping fancy teas catch on. Still costs as much as fancy coffee, though.

I've seen signs for bubble tea here and there, and thought I'd finally try it that day. Matt said he'd have whatever I was having. His mistake!
So this bubble tea stuff has any kind of tea you want, and you can add a flavor or sweeten it if you like, and also add milk, if that's your thing. The distinctive part (but apparently not the part that gives it the name 'bubble' -- Wikipedia confused me a bit here) is the tapioca balls at the bottom. Yes, tapioca balls. Balls of tapioca. You get a massive straw with which to suck up these balls and chew on them in between sips. Which is cool, in theory -- it's a drink, and a meal! But in practice, ewwww. I was a little more game about it at first -- Matt just wanted to chuck it -- but after awhile, I tired of mouthfuls of chewy tapioca. When we got home, I dumped it out on the grass, forgetting that those tapioca balls are well nigh indestructible -- they're still there.
Please let me know if you tried it, and especially if you liked it. Or if you've had it for years and my distaste has grievously offended you.
And if you visit our home any time soon, be careful to keep off the grass.

the pieces come together

Matt and I had a first last night -- we put together a puzzle. Lizzy helped us, too, actually. That kid will never cease to amaze me. I think she delights in keeping us off-balance... But, back to me and Matt. We agreed that it was a terribly dorky thing to do, and yet very fun and companionable, as well. Those are some of my favorite moments with him -- when we're combining our people power (maybe helping a friend move), or our brainpower (doing a crossword puzzle, say) or making some big plans for the backyard or porch or something.

I haven't done a puzzle in ages. I recently bought one at a bookstore on a whim. It's a 500-piecer. Not super-simple, but not super-hard. And it's Disney characters, so it's not super-tricky. Though the all-brown border gave us fits! I was surprised that Matt got so into it. I asked him about that. "Oh, you know me," he said. "I avoid these types of things because I'm totally anal, and won't be able to rest until it's done." I think we slapped the 500th piece in there at about 11:55 p.m. Because, well, I'm the exact same way.

My mom's family are big puzzlers from way back. We used to vacation at Rockaway Beach, Oregon, for every spring break -- my three girl cousins, me, my little brother and our parents and grandparents. It was a blast. Invariably, there was a 1,000-piece puzzle, most likely of a quilt or field of flowers or something else totally impossible and nearly without much variance to the pattern, to induce extra blindness -- er, provide extra challenge. I didn't take part in the puzzle-doing much in those days, but I learned the basics -- first, you find the edge pieces. Especially the corner pieces. Work from there. Of course, let the picture on the box be your guide. It's been fun to guide Lizzy through her 30-piece puzzles. They cost $3 at craft stores, and she really enjoys peeling off two or three of them before dinner. With those puzzles, the edges and corners become less important -- the picture is pretty obvious, and it's the easiest way to get the thing to take shape -- but I taught her the other method, anyway.

I just had a conference with her teacher at day care -- they really are quite ambitious about what the kids learn, if it sounds odd that I call a day-care employee a teacher -- and she was telling me that Lizzy asked to 'see the box' one day when the kids were putting together oversized puzzles on the rug. It really blew her away. It's cute, and gratifying, to hear of Lizzy continuing family traditions, be they ever so minor. She's got a heritage, as do we all, in some form or another, and I'm realizing more and more of the things that make my family distinctive and familiar to me as I model them for Lizzy. Here's hoping most of them will be GOOD things!

art

I'm proud of myself for, amid all the scattered wisps of things to keep track of in my addled brain this week, remembering to get to the Renwick Gallery to see Grant Wood's American Gothic in its last week here. I really need to get to Chicago and see its more permanent home there. Side story: My parents have a board game, "Masterpiece," which they were given by family friends who found it at a garage sale. My parents and they used to play it together, so it was a neat gift, since (I think) it's either no longer sold, or not sold in this edition. This particular one contains only art from the Art Institute of Chicago. So it's fun to get to see a painting from this game that we played a lot when I was a teen. And that's why I want to go see them all in Chicago someday. We gave some of them silly nicknames; I should probably learn their real names one day. "The gum-wrapper one" or "the clown with the backward butt" are probably less elegant than their actual titles.

I'm not terribly art educated, I'll admit. Art history is one of those areas, like, say, architecture, or other aspects of European history, that I wish I'd learned more about. I got snippets here and there in honors classes in college, and very little else. I hear my mother saying, "That (or not having been born yet -- another excuse she hates) is no excuse for not knowing something." And, it's true. There are so many books, classes, etc. out there ripe for the picking. But ... it takes an effort. And I'm lazy. That's all to say, I don't know nearly as much as I should about what I'm looking at when I see art. But I still like it. I like to look up close, at the paint strokes and the cracks in the paint, which sometimes causes a lot of alarm on the part of the security guards; then stand back, and take in what the painting looks like halfway, then all the way, across the room; then read the background info on what I'm looking at, and its importance in the scheme of the artist's life and the time in which it was created. Then analyze what catches my eye, or my brain, about the piece. What I find funny is (and here's where my lack of education becomes really apparent), I can rarely see what is so phenomenal about an artist's so-called greatest work. American Gothic is cool, and all, and I read for the first time about the significance of the house in the background, and the farmer's expression is somewhat comical, but -- like, say, the Mona Lisa -- taken out of context, looking at it from X number of years later, it's hard to know why it's better than any number of other paintings by that artist.

Let me emphasize that I've no doubt it IS the best of the guy's work. I guess. I'm not saying I know more than the art community. It's more of a comment on perspective than anything. I suppose some more art education would empower me a bit more to make up my own mind on what's the most special. And art is all about opinion, after all.

In any case, seeing art in person is always so much better than looking at a picture in a book. Walking five blocks to a museum to see a painting I've been hearing about for years reminds me of the reasons I have enjoyed being in D.C. Reminds me that my weekday routine doesn't have to be exactly the same. There's more to see and do, if only I take a minute to remember it and rise from my chair occasionally.

Jiggity-jig

Lizzy and I are home again, home again today. Lizzy threw up a couple of times at day care yesterday at noonish, and they insisted on sending her home! Can you BELIEVE that? What the heck are we paying those people for? (I'm totally joking, of course.) Naturally, she retained enough ammo to unload on the way home as I was whizzing past exit 57 (Hwy. 66) at about 72 miles an hour. Did I mention, we have a new carseat? Well, now it's an old carseat. Doesn't take long.

She's doing well today, though. We're trying our first complex solid food for lunch -- an old Williams family lunch favorite, peanut butter and jelly. I figure, if she can keep that down, we're golden.

Matt's boss was so desperate to have him work today that she offered him a 'free day off' some other time and a present for me! I think that last part was a joke. I, of course, upon hearing this from Matt, suggested that the present be the long-awaited promotion we'd heard about last September.

I just called him to 'check in', and he said -- kind of in code, so the office mate couldn't comprehend -- that he just learned he wasn't getting the new (much higher-paying) job. Sounds like it's going away; not going to someone else, at least. Wow. That blows. We've been hoping for that for most of a year now... That doesn't put us in the poorhouse or anything, but it changes the outlook a lot. Second kid next year: Not so affordable. Wedding band: Definitely out. ... I can't remember if I mentioned this in the last post or two, but we found a killer band that we both loved when we finished watching the DVD of potential bands. It would've been an awesome reception, but a really ridiculous added expense. (can you hear me talking myself out of it? Not that it's an option any more, anyway?)

The weird thing is, as much as we told ourselves we "really needed" this promotion, I don't feel as down as I might have expected about Matt not getting it. It almost seems like the news of it, itself, was God's way of encouraging us -- telling us He'd provide the necessaries. I felt myself counting on it a bit too much, which worried me. I know that God WILL provide what we NEED, when we need it. I want to rely on Him, not circumstances.

I'm a little more worried about Matt -- he's been really busting his tail at work, being the go-to guy for people who are all paid way more than he is (knowing how to do their jobs better than they do -- that sort of thing). Apparently, he's that guy who's computer literate though he's not a computer tech, and is always trouble-shooting and installing stuff for people. He's the only guy in the office who knows how all the departments work, and fit together, and can fill in for everyone. But, as I say, he's also the lowest-paid guy in the office... He puts a really good face on it most of the time, but he's getting a bit tired of being Mr. Super-Capable and also Mr. Lowest-Paid. I just hope his hard work is appreciated and rewarded one of these days. (and, once again, I'll probably get in big trouble if he finds this post.) God bless and keep you today, Matt.

Must go now -- I've gotta watch 'Lady and the Tramp' for the 17th time and get a just-post-sickness spunky girl down for a nap.

must-see tv

I'm told there's to be a TV show called "Bridezillas" starting next week. I don't have cable, so I won't be able to watch. A pity. (on the "WE" network? Women's entertainment, I hear?) But the Web site is free (of course), so I can have some vicarious fun there.


My boss, who told me of its existence, half-suspiciously asked me about the "Kate's Bridal Blog" included on the Web site. I chuckled complacently, and prepared myself to laugh at yet another overzealous Manhattan bride-to-be. (what the heck is up with Manhattanites? Addictions to high-end shoes; eating out and drinking every night; what a life.) Then I checked out the site. Most recent entry; a tanning mishap. This Kate person got a bad burn in a suntanning bed as she prepared her pale skin for the Big Day... Uh, whoops. That could, er, happen to anybody, right?!

Then, the next entry: Finding The Perfect Dress. I mean, who would waste time agonizing over THAT? (Oops, yes. Guilty again.) I do remain smug over her description of her bargain-shopping ways, however: "I'm an outlet junkie, and I'm not even above a dash through Filene's Basement now and then." Yeah, who is? Sheesh.

Other funnies:

* She thought she'd save money by attempting to bake her own wedding cake. Except that she's apparently never seen the inside of a kitchen before. After confusing baking powder with baking soda, she decided to give up that precious notion
* So far, she's "auditioned" six hairstylists, but is unhappy with all of them, including (not that I can blame her) the one who suggested incorporating a birdcage into the hair, complete with live bird. I think the hairstylist was messing with her at that point.
* She let her fiance pick out the tuxes, but then made him take them back when she found them hideous. Ha!
* And she "let" him select the band, until he (could he really have?) chose a mariachi band. Not at Kate's wedding, buster! No -- Kate's wedding will be reasonable and "within budget."
* Except that I have to wonder what the heck her budget is when I read that she'll be serving veal at $150 a plate -- her guest list is "250 people and growing" --
* and she strongly considered, but ultimately rejected, a $13,000 photographer. My photography budget: Zero. (Until Ross decides to charge something, as he should, and I'll pretty much pay it, whatever it is, because he is totally awesome. And also, photography-minded wedding guests will be shaken down for copies of their photos. You've been warned.) Development, I realize, is more, but that can be done here and there, I figure. (translation: As with all of my other photo albums, this one will be complete about 20 years after anyone cares.)

If you are in the mood to laugh at poor hapless Kate, here's the link.
I am also frightened at her, "However will we pay for this wedding? And don't suggest a home equity loan, because we rent" attitude. Yikes. The 21st-century bail-out method of payment. (guilty again. If only we'd purchased a few years ago! The eternal lament.)

I have other trivial stray bits of commentary piling up around my ears, and will post them when I get a chance. Today, I hope.

You haven't lived...

Until you've seen a potential wedding band of 50-somethings wail to covers of Smashmouth and Outkast. If not in person, at least on DVD.
Then again, maybe ignorance IS bliss...