jumpy

I'm having a hard time sitting still today. It was bound to be a good day, anyway -- the beloved little white 30GB iPod* I got for Christmas from my fabulous and very generous husband now has an iSkin, which just arrived. Lovely!

But far bigger events are unfolding today. It looks like we might move. VERY soon. We're staying in the D.C. area. I guess that's good or bad news, depending on whom you are, and also whether or not you like us, but I'm going to assume you do, if you're bothering to check in here.

It feels very, very strange to basically buy a house on a whim. We've been thinking about 'upgrading' for some time, but probably not trying in this miserable housing market until summer. Forgive me for omitting a lot of details here, but the point is -- my head is spinning, and it's all weird, and I've talked to almost nobody about this!

Back to trying to work today. Ha.
I'll keep you updated. It might all come to naught, anyway.
If this does go down, we lose some really good, lovely neighbors, and gain some really good, lovely neighbors. I'm already simultaneously sad and excited about it, and I don't even know for sure it's happening yet.


* I didn't even know I wanted an iPod until, say, last month. A couple of solid years of kids' tunes in my heads leaves me believing I "need" it to retain whatever sanity is left. I feel very consumeristic (is that a word?) and selfish, but I do just love it. I really love it. It's got an 'Atomic green' iSkin case now, and Matt says I should call it Kermit the Pod.

Tagged

All right. I've been asked to list five things that not many people know about me. This isn't nearly as fun as 'two truths and a lie,' but I'll do my best.
After mulling it over for awhile, I'm a little embarrassed at how boring I am. :) Are there fascinating facts that I've completely forgotten about? Let's hope so.

1) My two front teeth are fake. Well, they're porcelain veneers. The little nubs of original teeth are still back there -- I can't remove the teeth, or anything -- but the parts you can see aren't really my teeth.

2) I was voted most gullible of my high school class as a senior. One classmate (who had far worse grades, I must add) told me that she voted me most gullible because there wasn't a biggest airhead category. Ouch.

3) I actually went to college to be a veterinarian. If I could've inhabited any person's life, it might well be James Herriot. He was a country vet, and lived in the English countryside. And wrote entertaining, funny, touching books. Brilliant. (though that would be weird, because he was a guy, but you get the point.) In reality, I might not have liked the lifestyle at all, but in a romantic, it-couldn't-possibly-happen-anyway sense, that would be a strong contender for me.
I think I knew, though, in the back of my mind that my skills lay elsewhere. It took an almost-fainting spell at the small-animal vet clinic in my hometown the summer after my freshman year to fully convince me that I shouldn't be in a medical field. The traumatic sight? Watching a dog's sixth toes removed. My handwriting is bad enough to be a doc of some kind, though. No doubt about that.

4) I was on the Welsh national basketball team for a (school) year. As much of one as there was, anyway. The embarrassing thing about that is that I wasn't one of the starting five; that would've been five English girls. Who didn't grow up playing basketball, as I had. Ouch again.

5) I had my first kiss at age 22. TWENTY-TWO. And it was awful. I didn't really like the guy; I just figured, hey. I might not get another chance. Painful, but true.

So -- I'm supposed to tag some other folks. How about Erin, Julie, Tara and Jay? Let's have five things we might not know, folks.

better and better

Turns, out Chocolate was recalled.
Oops.

Still, I trust my 4-year-old not to rip off a limb of her cherished 'honey' and aspirate its tiny beads. I'm always amazed when, in one instance, a child destroys a toy and eats it, and suddenly it's unsafe for all. Better too safe than sorry, I suppose.

On another, very embarrassing subject: Is anyone else suffering from total hilarity after seeing last weekend's SNL video skit with Justin Timb3rl@ke? Oh my gosh. It is so utterly inappropriate, and yet I cannot stop laughing. Or singing it. Which is unfortunate, because there's a naughty word in the main chorus part.
And if you ask me about this in person, I will completely deny any knowledge of it. Sorry.

perhaps I'm not learning the lesson

Last night, we swung by Target to shop with a little friend of ours (a human one). Another little friend -- the aforementioned Chocolate, the pretend lizard -- also went with us.

I try to keep Lizzy's toys in the car when we're out and about. I'm afraid we'll lose them. Sadly, Chocolate went the way of pretend lizards last night. One minute, she was sitting on a seat next to the girls (in one of those gigantic carts in which your kid can sit on the outside, but which are impossible to navigate, especially through holiday shopping traffic) -- the next, she was gone. I think I did three complete sweeps of the store last night, and bugged the lost-and-found folks three other times. To no avail. Chocolate, too, is no more.

I took the lost-and-found number so I could bother the people further the next day, and went sadly home. Lizzy, probably giddy in the presence of a rare weeknight friend outing, didn't seem that bummed. I, on the other hand, actually cried at one point.

As soon as we got home -- as soon as we got home and I could pry Matt off of e-mail and YouTube -- I checked eBay. I'm not sure if eBay is my best friend, or worst enemy, for this, but it seems that the reign of Chocolate is not to end this night. For, lo! There she is, in different body but same spirit, shipping speedily to us via a 'Buy It Now' one-click from heaven only knows where.

Now -- to get my daughter to buy the switcheroo.

stuff

This morning, during our mad scramble out the door, Lizzy was rooting around through the Papasan Chair o' Toys (if you've been to our house in the past few months -- both of you -- you know what I'm talking about) to find her chosen toy du jour, a hand-me-down, $5 frog from Kohl's that she has dubbed "Chocolate, the Pretend Lizard." She is among a handful of Lizzy's very prized stuffed animals. We had recently cleaned up the toys from where they had been strewn around the room, so Chocolate was near the bottom. Hence the active search.

We finally found her. As we drew her out of the pile, I heard a strange 'ping/crack' as something else fell and struck the chair next to the papasan. Something breakable, clearly. As there's only one breakable thing in that pile, it had to be ... Olivia, the porcelain doll I found among my childhood possessions when my mom mailed them to me a couple of years ago. Lizzy quickly claimed the doll as her own and named her. She, too, was prized, but I wouldn't allow Lizzy to take her out of the house. I KNEW I shouldn't have allowed Lizzy to play with her at all. Lizzy IS careful, but play is play ...

Olivia's head broke clean off of her body this morning. I'm trying not to care. Really, I am. Even before Lizzy got her mitts on the doll, she was showing signs of age -- the edges of her porcelain head piece were wearing through her vintage gown. Her bonnet was rarely found anywhere near her head. Her boots were actually on her feet, but that was the exception rather than the rule. What I feel slightly ill about is that Olivia was probably some heirloom of a grandmother's. There's probably some 80-year-old history to her, and I blew it by giving her to my (then-) two year old. I'm not going to inquire of the parents as to probable origins. I don't think they remember, anyway.

I'm not wild about the idea of dolls that aren't meant to be played with. I understand that, if one wants something preserved, one does not give it to a child. But I have no use for dolls on a shelf, or under glass. My new rule: If it's fragile, my daughter doesn't get it. And it won't be purchased by me.

My biggest problem (in this regard) is that I'm too sentimental. I'm not into 'stuff,' for stuff's sake, but I have a hard time parting with stuff that I've grown attached to. I have a hard time throwing away stuffed animals or dolls that I've ever played with. I remember people fondly, but many of these dolls and toys that I had are held in much the same esteem. That's a little disturbing to me.

I've heard the suggestion of taking photos of the things you care about -- children's drawings, for instance -- and scrapbooking them. But photos just can't capture certain things. And yet, I have only so much storage in my house, you know? Only so much tolerance for boxes of my past that I have no current, or future, use for (though I can always justify it somehow), and yet can't seem to part with.

It almost makes me wish for a house fire. (BUT NOT REALLY. FICKLE FINGER OF FATE, I'M ONLY JOKING.)

I think the problem is best solved by working on my issues, though. I'm just not sure how to. Therapeutic trashing of one's own possessions? Anyone want to join me? Maybe if we trashed EACH OTHER'S possessions, it would be easier. Gulp.

And now comes Christmas. The loot (almost all for Lizzy) under our tree is unreal. It will soon sit next to the half of the things she got for her birthday that she hasn't yet touched.

At least I asked Grandma and Grandpa Williams for a nice doll for Lizzy. A non-breakable one.
Holy crap! Maybe I doomed Olivia. Maybe our town is only big enough for one pretty doll.

RIP, Olivia. At least two generations loved you well.

the weekend

Things I experienced this weekend that made my gut hurt:


* Not one -- oh, no! -- TWO rounds of chili taste-testing. I thought I was already ill, but Matt pointed out that we sampled 13 varieties of chili this weekend. Hurl. When I look back on it, I realize that I ate little else. (and the copious amounts of cheap candy consumed whilst decorating gingerbread houses with two of my favorite Elizabeths doesn't count. I'm talking nutritional value, here.)



* A priceless moment Friday night: We received a card in the mail from a certain production company that provides music for weddings and group events. Matt said, "What -- do they want more money?" "Nope," I said, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. "It's a Christmas card!"

Then I checked our phone for messages. No WAY. One message -- from said production company, calling to see if we were planning to settle up our account. The timing was priceless. Or, I should say -- the timing had a very specific, large price tag attached. Matt and I looked at each other dumbly, mouths agape. "Didn't YOU send them a check?" we both asked each other. "No. ... Oh."
Oh, well.

Things that made me feel incredibly happy and loved:

* Our church's Christmas party and chili cookoff and gingerbread house-building contest. Really fun! The second annual I've been to. A real highlight of the year.

* Not one, but TWO talented painter friends unexpectedly giving me original works of art that they'd created as wedding gifts. (if you give me license to include today in 'this weekend'.) I am in awe of the talent and thoughtfulness and love expressed in those who would create an entire quilt -- or an entire painting -- for us. Unreal. I was touched by every gift we got -- and the sentiments they expressed -- but absolutely overwhelmed by those. Truth be told, the best gifts were the effort made by people to be there to share the day with us. But I'm still pretty wowed at the moment by the other stuff. :)

holiday cheer

Oddly, the National Press Club's main entrance on 14th street is flanked by a liquor store -- Press Liquors -- to the left. This fact has been the basis of many a joke, and is a great place to run if you've forgotten your gift for the office holiday party (which is tomorrow). Alcohol is always an appreciated gift at this event. I prefer the likes of the fridge magnets shaped like turtles, or even the unimaginative gift card to Corner Bakery. But many do go for the booze.
Never before, however, have I seen a (presumably) homeless man standing right next to the Nat'l Press door, GUZZLING from a fifth-sized bottle. (tequila or rum, I'd say, based on color? Is whiskey brownish? Maybe that, then.) Not until just now.

We've had a slightly interesting week. Matt did make a reappearance Monday night, successfully navigating -- or at least surviving -- an extended weekend with his dad and brother in the wilds of West Virginia. The next morning, we all dashed to the car as usual, but not quick enough for Matt, who (to quote my then-ancient high school driver's ed teacher, Mr. Exeter) romped on the gas in between speed bumps in our neighborhood. When we reached the end of the neighborhood, and took a left, then a right, something audibly snapped. (not just my temper) "What the h--- did you do to MY car?" I barked, ungraciously. Matt slowly pulled over, to reveal that the accelerator pedal was totally lifeless. Seconds later, our one neighbor whom we know well and like happened by, pulled over, diagnosed a snapped throttle cable (I think I remember that right), and bumper-pushed us back to our parking spot. The last time I was bumper-pushed was almost five years ago -- at 3:30 a.m., down by the docks of Long Island. I was pregnant. But that's another story.
We eventually made it to work that day by stealing Matt's mom's car (we had a spare key to it) -- Matt thinks his boss never did believe our story. I volunteered the repair bill, in case he wanted to show it to her. Kinda like a doctor's note.

I'm trying to think of something else blog-worthy that's happened this week, but I'm coming up blank. I learned this morning that it's often best to let Amazon do the shipping for you. Especially if the item is oversized. Also, there are worse things than endless loops of kids' music in the car. Thirty minutes of hearing about poo-poo and pee-pee sandwiches (don't ask ME where she gets this stuff), and you'll be DYING for some Larry and Bob and the rest of the Veggie Tale gang.

hubby appreciation

One way I know I married the right guy: I hate it when he's out of reach (by phone or e-mail), because after half a day, I start having a hard time keeping track of all the no doubt fascinating things I want to tell him, or talk to him about.
He's a really great listening ear. :)
And processing mind.
I already miss him.

one reason I'm at least 10 pounds overweight

Lizzy's day care teachers asked the parents to donate a cake for a bake sale they're having today. I decided to go all out -- in my mind, it's worth it for baked goods, but you won't catch me making a proper meal very often; go figure -- and make a carrot cake from scratch, complete with cream cheese frosting and decorated with carrots on top!
(yes, yes, okay. enough applause. Thank you.)

So I proudly trotted it in there yesterday. Matt was slightly annoyed because I used our Tupperware cake transporter thingie; we figured we'd never see it again as a result, but I couldn't find anything that would get the cake there, and back to someone's house without the cake being smashed. He joked that I'd have to buy it back myself.

I was late this morning. My usual motivation for getting into town in a timely manner -- the aforementioned Matt -- is going to West Virginia with his brother to visit his dad and help him work on some crappy rental houses he owns. Here's hoping his dad sells them, so the guilt trips can end about Matt coming to help with them. But that's the wild optimist in me. Anyhow, Matt will be gone until Monday night, so I dorked around, wrapping gifts and such, and Lizzy and I left about an hour later than usual.

We arrived at day care about a half-hour into the bake sale. To my surprise and delight, the ladies had sliced up the cakes and were selling the pieces for $1. Yay! I'll get my Tupperware back! And, I could contribute a few dollars toward the cause. I HAD to buy a piece of the carrot cake to make sure it was fit for consumption by paying customers. And I basically bought whatever else wasn't chocolate. (I'm not a fan of chocolate cake.)

I just had a midmorning snack of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, and my trusty Starbucks drip coffee. Ahhh! Can't wait for my post-lunch dessert of velvet cake. Or perhaps the pumpkin muffin.

And then there's the Sunday night cookie exchange with some ladies from church...
I'd better set aside some time this weekend to shop for bigger pants. :)

random (not at all deep) thoughts

* Why is it, when you have a gift card to spend in a store, you almost never can find anything you really want? And the reverse is usually true.
I just wandered through Barnes and Noble with a $50 card burning a hole in my purse, and the only thing I got was a $2.50 caramel apple cider. (it IS yummy, though!) I successfully resisted the urge to buy Lizzy something in the kid's section. She has enough books, for now. And it's MY card, darnit. Some few things must remain mine. She tends not to agree with that sentiment.

* Speaking of Starbucks: I'm really glad they (it?) dropped last year's holiday slogan. I'm not sure what the specific name of the grammatical mistake was that they were (it was?) making, but said mistake 'bout drove me crazy.
("It only happens once a year.")*

* Have I stated here, for the record, what an unexpected delight it was for me to discover that Patrick Stewart is the voice of the Great Prince, Bambi's father, in Bambi II? This factoid is not even mentioned on the packaging. WHAT! I'll watch just about anything -- including 'I, Clavdivs,' and 'X-Men III' -- if my beloved Jean-Luc is involved. I'm embarrassed at how long it took me to recognize his princely voice, though. *hangs head in shame*

* Seriously. If I thought the world were as amoral and corrupt at Michael Crichton appears to, I would be tempted to give up and end it all right now. That man has some issues. And that is (I promise!) the last I'll say about that book, except that I was delighted that one of the monkeys in the book does, in fact, eventually throw poo. Because, as I explained to my mom, you can't have monkeys without including a little poo-throwing. (right, Ryan?!)


* If you're scratching your head, wondering what the mistake is, "only" should come AFTER happens. What the phrase is saying in its current form is that the only thing that happens -- ever! -- is "it." Once a year. Nothing else ever happens. As opposed to, "It happens only once a year." Just the once. "It" does not occur at any other time. Other things might well occur, but not "it."

smug -n- sassy

A conversation from this morning's car ride:

LIZZY: Guess whose birthday it was yesterday!

ME: I know!

LIZZY (distressed): NO! I asked DADDY!


ME: Oh. (nudges Matt, who's driving to allow me to finish my crappy Crichton novel for once and all)


MATT: Uh ... Henry? Shefali? Katherine? Christopher? (flounders for more names)

LIZZY (impatiently): No! ... You're not very smart, Dad.

MATT: (silently steams a little. suddenly concentrates very hard on traffic.)

ME: Lizzy, why do you say that? Your daddy's a very smart man.

LIZZY: Well, maybe so. Sort of. But he's not as smart as me.

(By the way, it was Jack's birthday. In case you were curious.)

Deck the home

We had our second annual Family Tree-Trimming Party this Saturday. We drove about six blocks to the local K-Mart parking lot where we picked out our tree by streetlight -- we meant to make it there before dark, but c'mon! That's, like, pre-4:30 these days. THAT wasn't happening. We managed to keep Lizzy and her friend, Rachel, from dashing to their deaths on the highway that ran scarily close to where the trees were sold. Nor did they snag their little shoes on the twine that lay all over the ground, trip and fall and knock out their front teeth. (Hi, Chris! Yes, your daughter was with responsible people that evening. Seriously.) Nor did they spill their Starbucks (tm) milk all over our back seat, for which I was grateful.
So we decorated with great gusto -- it took Lizzy approximately six seconds to break the Hallmark ornament I had to special-order her by mail (you saw it -- the Dumbo one). I wasn't very pleased. Matt had to remind me to channel some holiday cheer.
Lizzy was very enthusiastic -- VERY enthusiastic -- about the ornament-hanging. We had to step in and help rather quickly. Otherwise, there would've been a well-hung (so to speak) midsection of tree, and bare top. Woo HOO! Pretty racy for the Christmas season. (Yes, it's getting late and I'm tired.) (Yes, for me, 9:45 is late these days.)
Without further ado, some photos. I didn't take any of the actual unloading of the tree from the car, because we took those last year. Matt "joked" that if I hadn't done anything (scrapbooky) with the photos I took the year before, I wasn't allowed to take any more the following year. Hardy HAR-har. Easy for him to say.
And, sorry about the red-eye. We don't have photoshop at home. Maybe I do have a way to fix it. I really can't remember at the moment, though. But you get the point.

... aaand, once AGAIN, despite Blogger's repeated claims that it is uploading photos, it is not, in fact, displaying them. So, instead of six or eight, it will allow me two. Oh, wait -- three. I slipped another one past it. Woo!
I'm in a rather grumpy mood right now; can you tell?

Better luck to me next time, I guess.

For the record -- the Jean-Luc Picard ornament at the bottom of the second photo WAS A GIFT. I managed to restrain myself from purchasing this year's killer Star Trek Hallmark ornament. With great willpower.

Things I Learned Over The Weekend, Which I Should Have Already Known

1) Don't believe the 4-year-old when she says, at bedtime, that she's "just" gone potty. (as in, just a few minutes ago.) Don't believe it unless I see it with my own eyes.

2) Don't assume that my phone company has decent -- as in, short of highway robbery -- rates to foreign countries. Definitely call the company first to confirm this before talking to an old friend for an hour.

3) Don't open any bills right before it's time for the family to trim the Christmas tree. Having a heart attack because of a $161 hourlong call to England is not going to put me in a festive mood.

4) Don't assume that the car has gas in it, even if it appears to be above the "empty" line and the gas light has not come on yet. In fact, don't ever let it get below empty. One day, an angel in the form of a good friend might not happen along quite as conveniently. (Thanks, God! And Dee!)

5) When my mother warns me, in not so many words, that a bit of pulpy fiction I'm considering reading isn't worth my time (or money), I should listen. Please remind me of this when his, er, "next" book comes out.