Unbelievably, we have almost reached the three week mark. Tomorrow night the Tornadoes will be coming home.
To say that this separation has resembled an out-of-body experience would not be stretching the truth. I can't even put an adjective to it. Not joyful. Not mournful. Just very, very different.
Obviously I have been extremely lax and neglectful here in the blogosphere - not only neglecting to post but also not so much in the "reading other people's blogs" department. I'm all "Hey, come read my new column!" and then I vanish. Not nice, I know. I'm sorry. I am here to make amends.
Seriously, I fully expected to bore you to death with my nonstop wailing about how I have relinquished my own identity to parenthood, how I don't know who I am or what to do with the husk of myself that got left behind when they boarded that early morning flight. Turns out? The old girl's got a little life in her still.
Since I have not bothered to write about what I've been doing these past three weeks, I thought I'd do a recap of sorts. We'll call it "What I Have Learned":
1. It is possible to survive quite a long time on a box of Triscuits and a tub of Wispride sharp cheddar.
2. I love me a Mango Tangarita or two. (Okay, three.)
3. Loved them the next night, too.
4. Running three miles before work is less fun when you drink three Mango Tangaritas the night before.
5. Workdays without personal junk crammed into them are a lot of work, man.
6. That Denise Richards is one messed up chick.
7. But considerably less messed up than the Two Coreys.
8. If you - meaning me - get it into your head that you can still handle a hot nightclub in a major city on a Saturday night? Full of barely clothed twenty-one year olds drinking Red Bull and vodka? ...Yeah, can does not mean should.
9. The little square hand basket at Sephora does not make a good iced coffee holder. And they don't like it when you use all the free tissues to mop up your mess.
10. I guess I can go out for margaritas on a Wednesday night...again...
11. Seriously, out? Again?
Which brings me to the here and now - the Saturday morning that I spent reading in bed, the trips to Target and Hannaford to restock for the Tornadoes' return and subsequent camp lunch packing, and now the afternoon to catch up with the blogosphere. Not a Mango Tangarita in sight.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
This Is Not How I Pictured It Going
Well, I'm halfway there - "there" being reunited with the Tornadoes - and so I'll ask the question for you: How am I holding up?
You know? It's going by pretty quickly. I always thought they were to blame for the fleeting passage of time, but it seems not to be the case. Time is pretty fleeting all on its own. Especially when you waste it getting reacquainted with an old friend: television.
Not that I've spent all of my free time watching T.V. Come on now. In fact last night I didn't turn it on at all. Of course, that's because I was out drinking Mango Tangaritas and playing bar trivia with the girls instead...
That television, though...how it has beckoned. I have barely read. Barely written. And this from a woman who gave her bedroom T.V. away and crammed her TiVo to capacity with unwatched programs, all in the name of "behavior modeling" and "healthier living." Now, apparently, I am binging.
And what has been my binge of choice? TiVo'd History Channel? The last season of Boston Legal? No no.
The Two Coreys.
Tori Spelling.
Gene Simmons.
Denise Richards.
By the way- Denise Richards? Not that complicated. I was so on her side until now.
Well that's all over with. I am getting back off the junk. I am going away for a long weekend of -well, I don't know, exactly - but it will certainly not involve a television. Or a laptop. When I return there will only be eight days remaining, and they are already booked full of dinners and gatherings. I haven't seen my social calendar this full since the last time I bothered to keep a social calendar.
Before you know it, the Tornadoes will be home, and I'll be back to complaining about how I have no life. Over the din of the television, no doubt.
You know? It's going by pretty quickly. I always thought they were to blame for the fleeting passage of time, but it seems not to be the case. Time is pretty fleeting all on its own. Especially when you waste it getting reacquainted with an old friend: television.
Not that I've spent all of my free time watching T.V. Come on now. In fact last night I didn't turn it on at all. Of course, that's because I was out drinking Mango Tangaritas and playing bar trivia with the girls instead...
That television, though...how it has beckoned. I have barely read. Barely written. And this from a woman who gave her bedroom T.V. away and crammed her TiVo to capacity with unwatched programs, all in the name of "behavior modeling" and "healthier living." Now, apparently, I am binging.
And what has been my binge of choice? TiVo'd History Channel? The last season of Boston Legal? No no.
The Two Coreys.
Tori Spelling.
Gene Simmons.
Denise Richards.
By the way- Denise Richards? Not that complicated. I was so on her side until now.
Well that's all over with. I am getting back off the junk. I am going away for a long weekend of -well, I don't know, exactly - but it will certainly not involve a television. Or a laptop. When I return there will only be eight days remaining, and they are already booked full of dinners and gatherings. I haven't seen my social calendar this full since the last time I bothered to keep a social calendar.
Before you know it, the Tornadoes will be home, and I'll be back to complaining about how I have no life. Over the din of the television, no doubt.
Friday, July 4, 2008
The Problem Child
I'm not ready to assess how I am doing with the girls' absence, but it seems I have not been left entirely child-free.
There's the cat, you know.
This is not my cat. She belongs to the Tornadoes. I submitted to Fourth Grader's pleas for a kitten when she was still Third Grader. Not because I thought it would be super to have a cat around again, mind you, but because I had seen one too many country mice scurrying across my kitchen floor. The mice had grown so bold, in fact, that they didn't even scurry anymore; they just sauntered out from under the cellar door, looked around, and washed themselves.
We didn't so much adopt a kitten as hire one.
She fulfilled her duties, I will give her that. In eighteen months I have only seen two and a half mice. The second whole mouse was about an hour ago. I'll come back to that...
In addition to being vigilant, the cat has turned out to be a pleasant addition to the family: cute and dainty and peaceful. And quite loving.
Yeah.
Eye-opener #1: The comment by the lovely lady who cleans my house. "Your cat really doesn't like to be touched, does she?" Excuse me? Well, you see her twice a month. She's not familiar enough with you, that's all.
Eye-opener #2: Yesterday morning's vaccination appointment at the vet's office. Where I became aware of the note on her chart. The note that must have been written last summer when we boarded her for a few days.
The note that says: "Caution: Explodes and lunges."
Meaning the cat. Explodes. And lunges.
This explains why the vet's assistant chose to don giant yellow oven mitts and twist the cat into a half-nelson so the vet could do her job. Apparently, she's difficult. But only for other people.
Yeah.
About that mouse. I saw it when I came in from doing yard work, just sitting there on the basement floor, taking its little bath. So I raced upstairs and fetched the Mousekiller - napping on Fourth Grader's bed - and carried her to her prey.
And what did she do? I'll tell you what she didn't do:
She did not explode. She did not lunge.
She smelled it. Then she flopped down on her side. And she curled up with it. And the mouse? Didn't have a problem with that.
She is so not my cat. And I touched a mouse - ew.
I have to do everything around here...
There's the cat, you know.
This is not my cat. She belongs to the Tornadoes. I submitted to Fourth Grader's pleas for a kitten when she was still Third Grader. Not because I thought it would be super to have a cat around again, mind you, but because I had seen one too many country mice scurrying across my kitchen floor. The mice had grown so bold, in fact, that they didn't even scurry anymore; they just sauntered out from under the cellar door, looked around, and washed themselves.
We didn't so much adopt a kitten as hire one.
She fulfilled her duties, I will give her that. In eighteen months I have only seen two and a half mice. The second whole mouse was about an hour ago. I'll come back to that...
In addition to being vigilant, the cat has turned out to be a pleasant addition to the family: cute and dainty and peaceful. And quite loving.
Yeah.
Eye-opener #1: The comment by the lovely lady who cleans my house. "Your cat really doesn't like to be touched, does she?" Excuse me? Well, you see her twice a month. She's not familiar enough with you, that's all.
Eye-opener #2: Yesterday morning's vaccination appointment at the vet's office. Where I became aware of the note on her chart. The note that must have been written last summer when we boarded her for a few days.
The note that says: "Caution: Explodes and lunges."
Meaning the cat. Explodes. And lunges.
This explains why the vet's assistant chose to don giant yellow oven mitts and twist the cat into a half-nelson so the vet could do her job. Apparently, she's difficult. But only for other people.
Yeah.
About that mouse. I saw it when I came in from doing yard work, just sitting there on the basement floor, taking its little bath. So I raced upstairs and fetched the Mousekiller - napping on Fourth Grader's bed - and carried her to her prey.
And what did she do? I'll tell you what she didn't do:
She did not explode. She did not lunge.
She smelled it. Then she flopped down on her side. And she curled up with it. And the mouse? Didn't have a problem with that.
She is so not my cat. And I touched a mouse - ew.
I have to do everything around here...
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Why Must I Chronicle This?
You would think I was sending these girls to live on the International Space Station the way I carry on, wouldn't you?
Well deal with it, people. Three weeks is a long freaking time. And if you think I'm exaggerating, let's see you last twenty-four hours with them and then multiply that by 21. Yeah, I thought not.
So. Two polka-dotted suitcases (plus coordinating backpack carry-ons) await the morning departure. The alarm is set for 4 a.m. Yes, we are going to bed soon, Tylenol PM willing (me, obviously. They get whiskey straight up.) ((Just kidding.))
In an effort to make the day not entirely about my own anxiety, I mentioned to the girls that today would have been my father's 60th birthday and perhaps we could pay a visit to the cemetery. Second Grader one-upped me. She suggested we bring balloons and send them up to Grandpa while we're there. Damn kid and her sweetness. So we bought three helium-filled balloons, took them to Dad's marker, and let them go.
Almost a touching moment. Except Second Grader knows only one way to act in the out-of-doors, which is like a hyperactive puppy.
So that's it, I'm out of ways to prepare for this. I must go disconnect them from their intravenous Disney Channel drips now and force them to go to bed.
Well deal with it, people. Three weeks is a long freaking time. And if you think I'm exaggerating, let's see you last twenty-four hours with them and then multiply that by 21. Yeah, I thought not.
So. Two polka-dotted suitcases (plus coordinating backpack carry-ons) await the morning departure. The alarm is set for 4 a.m. Yes, we are going to bed soon, Tylenol PM willing (me, obviously. They get whiskey straight up.) ((Just kidding.))
In an effort to make the day not entirely about my own anxiety, I mentioned to the girls that today would have been my father's 60th birthday and perhaps we could pay a visit to the cemetery. Second Grader one-upped me. She suggested we bring balloons and send them up to Grandpa while we're there. Damn kid and her sweetness. So we bought three helium-filled balloons, took them to Dad's marker, and let them go.
Almost a touching moment. Except Second Grader knows only one way to act in the out-of-doors, which is like a hyperactive puppy.
So that's it, I'm out of ways to prepare for this. I must go disconnect them from their intravenous Disney Channel drips now and force them to go to bed.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Get Ready, Get Set, Don't Go
Obviously I stole that.
Not because it's terribly clever, but because Billy Ray Cyrus and his nubile offspring are belting it out on Fourth Grader's boom box right now. Which, in the spirit of sharing, is set up in the hall. This way we can all enjoy a little Miley while we go about the business of preparing for the Tornadoes' imminent departure.
That's a half-truth. True, today is packing day. But let's talk about yesterday, better known as Cram Half of Summer Into Twenty-Four Hours day.
The plan for CHOSITH day was as follows:
1. Sleep until 8 a.m.; breakfast on the road; beach by 10 a.m.
2. 10 a.m. - Noon: Boogie Board
3. Noon - Several Hours Later: Leisurely lunch on the upper deck of our favorite beach restaurant. Steamed clams for them, cocktails for me, live music and heaps of french fries all around.
4. Back to the beach for a few more hours of waves before cleaning up and heading to:
5. Fisher Cats game at 7:05. (non-New Hampshirites: Fisher Cats are our minor league baseball team. We go to 2-3 games every summer simply because it's fun to go, even if you don't know - or care - about the players' stats. Or, quite frankly, their names.)
If it wasn't obvious, CHOSITH day was planned by me for me, along the lines of "These are some of the things we love to do together. Now please shower me with love." Except the tornadoes choseth to break into a million pieces until I allowed them to each bring along a friend.
So here's how it went really:
1. Wake up at 6, damnit, even though the alarm was shut off. Wait for Second Grader's friend to be dropped off. Drive across two towns to pick up Fourth Grader's friend, finally get on the road to beach at 10:30.
2. Buy two more boogie boards so nobody has to share.
3. 11:30 - 12:30 boogie away.
4. 12:30 - 2:00 Beachside Bagels and Sub Shack for lunch. Fourth Grader and her friend chose to sit inside at the counter, while Second Grader and Co. ate outside at plastic patio table with me.
5. 2:00 - 3:00 girls boogie some more while I pack up car then sit on rock by myself.
6. 3:00 - 6:15 bring everyone to our house to shower and change. Empty and vacuum car in effort to keep my wits about me. Internally freak out a little when it starts to downpour and thunder outside. Spend at least an hour basically staring out the window and willing the Fisher Cats not to call a rainout. (Again, not because I am any kind of fan, but because the alternative is four girls standing on my last nerve on a rainy Friday night). Fortunately, storm passes and we go to game.
7. Fairly pleasant night at baseball game only costs $80 in burgers, sodas, sno cones and fried dough, plus one Sam Adams draft. Leave after eighth inning - no need to go all fanatic on the experience.
8. All tucked in by midnight.
Their friends were picked up by noon today, Packing Day. I spent the morning doing laundry, which now sits in three heaps of white, dark, and pink on my bed. Nothing left to do but pack.
Unless I insist that the girls clean their rooms top to bottom before we get started, while I fold the laundry. Unless, instead of folding the laundry, I turn on my laptop. Unless, when I go to check on the room cleaning progress, I find that Second Grader chose to first alphabetize her bookshelf and Fourth Grader is looking at old math papers from first grade that she keeps in a box under her bed.
If those things were to happen, the packing might take a little longer. It might not even get done at all.
Unfortunately, we can probably squeeze it in tomorrow.
Not because it's terribly clever, but because Billy Ray Cyrus and his nubile offspring are belting it out on Fourth Grader's boom box right now. Which, in the spirit of sharing, is set up in the hall. This way we can all enjoy a little Miley while we go about the business of preparing for the Tornadoes' imminent departure.
That's a half-truth. True, today is packing day. But let's talk about yesterday, better known as Cram Half of Summer Into Twenty-Four Hours day.
The plan for CHOSITH day was as follows:
1. Sleep until 8 a.m.; breakfast on the road; beach by 10 a.m.
2. 10 a.m. - Noon: Boogie Board
3. Noon - Several Hours Later: Leisurely lunch on the upper deck of our favorite beach restaurant. Steamed clams for them, cocktails for me, live music and heaps of french fries all around.
4. Back to the beach for a few more hours of waves before cleaning up and heading to:
5. Fisher Cats game at 7:05. (non-New Hampshirites: Fisher Cats are our minor league baseball team. We go to 2-3 games every summer simply because it's fun to go, even if you don't know - or care - about the players' stats. Or, quite frankly, their names.)
If it wasn't obvious, CHOSITH day was planned by me for me, along the lines of "These are some of the things we love to do together. Now please shower me with love." Except the tornadoes choseth to break into a million pieces until I allowed them to each bring along a friend.
So here's how it went really:
1. Wake up at 6, damnit, even though the alarm was shut off. Wait for Second Grader's friend to be dropped off. Drive across two towns to pick up Fourth Grader's friend, finally get on the road to beach at 10:30.
2. Buy two more boogie boards so nobody has to share.
3. 11:30 - 12:30 boogie away.
4. 12:30 - 2:00 Beachside Bagels and Sub Shack for lunch. Fourth Grader and her friend chose to sit inside at the counter, while Second Grader and Co. ate outside at plastic patio table with me.
5. 2:00 - 3:00 girls boogie some more while I pack up car then sit on rock by myself.
6. 3:00 - 6:15 bring everyone to our house to shower and change. Empty and vacuum car in effort to keep my wits about me. Internally freak out a little when it starts to downpour and thunder outside. Spend at least an hour basically staring out the window and willing the Fisher Cats not to call a rainout. (Again, not because I am any kind of fan, but because the alternative is four girls standing on my last nerve on a rainy Friday night). Fortunately, storm passes and we go to game.
7. Fairly pleasant night at baseball game only costs $80 in burgers, sodas, sno cones and fried dough, plus one Sam Adams draft. Leave after eighth inning - no need to go all fanatic on the experience.
8. All tucked in by midnight.
Their friends were picked up by noon today, Packing Day. I spent the morning doing laundry, which now sits in three heaps of white, dark, and pink on my bed. Nothing left to do but pack.
Unless I insist that the girls clean their rooms top to bottom before we get started, while I fold the laundry. Unless, instead of folding the laundry, I turn on my laptop. Unless, when I go to check on the room cleaning progress, I find that Second Grader chose to first alphabetize her bookshelf and Fourth Grader is looking at old math papers from first grade that she keeps in a box under her bed.
If those things were to happen, the packing might take a little longer. It might not even get done at all.
Unfortunately, we can probably squeeze it in tomorrow.
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