Friday, February 26, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Do you wake up sometimes and just know that it's going to be a sweatshirt and herbal tea kind of day? I do. Sometimes, I know it's going to be a "cute jeans and get stuff done" kind of day. Other days, it's a "gloves and get outside" kind of day.
But today, is a comfortable and joy day. My friend Ruth would've called it a "Mental health" day.
So I'm planning to stay inside, wearing my husband's blue "Purdue" sweatshirt. Spa socks. A strong mug of lemon tea with honey, of course.
And while I'm talking about joy, I just love the graphic that I found for my early spring header. Don't you love it? It makes me smile every time I see it. I can't claim to be into everything that's vintage, but I do have a soft spot for great depression and World War II era graphics. But I still haven't found the perfect background to go with my header. If any of you come across anything that's *perfect*, let me know, will you?
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
First up, pairs figure skating.
I think we can all agree that the Chinese couple who has been married 18 years and came out of retirement to compete, deserved to win the gold medal. Even if she did almost fall off in the free skate. Whatever. But what *really* clinched their gold wasn't her gigantic, open-mouth smile or his ever present jazz hands. No. It was when the German couple chose their costumes:
Really? Or in German, wirklich??? Send in the clowns?! You chose THAT as your Olympic theme? Maybe something got lost in translation. It could be cultural differences. But I have a hard time believing that a CLOWN costume says "Take me seriously" in any language.
But, then I took a good long look at the Norwegian men's curling team, and decided that I might be wrong:
Masterfully done, guys. Masterfully done. The circus that loaned you those pants was high-fiving all over the place as you used their elephant cleaning brooms to sweep that ice. Sweep it!
Now. On to women's moguls, or--another way to put it--showing the world how.it's.done.
That is American Hannah Kearney, known in the Olympic village as the "Prude" who didn't do a swimsuit photo shoot in preparation for her Olympic experience. And that is American Hannah Kearney just hanging out upside down. For a long time. While her Canadian competition started bawling at the bottom of the run. I know nothing about skiing, and the only time I've attempted skiing I ended up in a pretzel on the bunny hill, but even *I* could see that her run was flawless. Here's to you, Prudie.
But even watching that breathlessly beautiful run isn't as entertaining, The Spouse pointed out to me, as watching the cross country skiers and biathalon...um....ers... cross the finish line. Why? Because it's like a big game of ring around the rosie:
Sing it with me "ASHES, ASHES, WE ALL FALL DOWN!!!" I love it! I love a sport where everyone collapses in despair/joy/exhaustion at the end. Awesome! So unlike those marathon runners who cross the finish line after more than 26 miles.... and just keep running. Like they can't stop. Take a page from your cross-country friends and collapse in a heap instead. It feels SO much better.
Unless you're Lindsey Jacobellis. And you're sitting on your backside halfway through the course as your competition crosses the finish line and you're thinking "WHAT THE HECK JUST HAPPENED?!"
Well, Linds (can I call you Linds?) I'll tell you what happened. That blue gate? Which actually just looks like a pole? You ran into it. So, Lesson 1 from Torino: no showing off before the finish line. Lesson 2 from Vancouver: don't run into the pole. I mean gate. Maybe next time.
But for our final sport, I'm not sure there should be a next time:
I'm sorry. I try to be supportive and understanding. Everyone has their thing. Some people think curling is cool in clown pants. Some people, I'm sure, watch the couples ice dancing. Even if it's just to laugh. But WHO in their RIGHT MIND trains for a sport called "Skeleton." If I understand it correctly, you get on the sled. Face first. And you go down the same track that those bobsledders and crazy lugers use. At 70 miles per hour. FACE FIRST.
Please. Someone explain to me how this is a good idea. Or even legal. Because it boggles my unathletic mind. Ice + speed + face + downhill does NOT, in my also mathematically challenged mind, = FUN.
Stay tuned. You never know what kind of hilarity is left in the second week of competition.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Does that lady know that doesn't have any pants on? I mean really--does she?
But I know we all look at this and think "But no one really expects me to wear that stuff. I mean, that jacket alone probably costs more than my mortgage." Which is a good point. Until you walk into Target and see how they actually are expecting you to dress. Then "Dior" doesn't look so bad.
Far right conservatives. Far left liberals.
Can't we all just get along??
I'm telling you, what the world needs now is love. Sweet love.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
But I have to admit--it is hard, sometimes, to make things stretch. Make it do, or do without. I know that sounds like whining. It really isn't. I realize what a blessed life I live, and how fortunate I am. Living this way has made me realize that more than ever.
But sometimes you just don't care. Sometimes your determination slips away and you just want to throw up your hands and pull out your credit card. What does it matter? We've figured it out before. And those purchases are so easy to justify--Thing 1 doesn't have a single pair of jeans that aren't floods. It's Valentine's Day this weekend--why shouldn't I my sweetheart some roses, or at least the stuff to make red velvet cake balls? I haven't seen my mother in a year, and tickets are really *pretty* affordable right now.
But even all those things seem pathetic when you're debating--do we transfer money from savings to fix the furnace? Do we transfer money from savings to pay for school lunches? Do we transfer money to buy the Munchkin's soy milk or let her suffer the consequences of cow's milk?In the end, do we put on coats, make some bread to put jam on, and open the piggy bank and pay for the soy milk in change?
In the end--what is a want, and what is a need?
In the end, how determined am I?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Three days (and sleepless nights) later, I finally decided to take her in. I dropped Thing 2 off at our co-op preschool (apologizing in my head for his constantly runny nose) and headed to the pediatrician's office. Parked. Grabbed the Munchkin out of the car and headed in.
The moment Herr Doctor breezed into the room, Munchkin started wailing--squirting gigantic tears *off* her face. (How DO kids do that??) I was delighted by this. Because, you see, a good temper tantrum usually leads to a coughing fit. So we'd be able to get an accurate diagnosis. I am nothing if not a logical parent. Doc sighed and asked me to hold her on my lap, which did nothing to comfort her. She was now simply screaming in BOTH our ears, which seemed unfair to me. He was being paid to have his ears screamed in.
Herr Doctor whistled and said "Sounds like a case of RSV. Bronchitis. Maybe both. How long has she sounded like this again??"
My good parent meter wobbled slightly in it's dial.
"But RSV kids are usually pretty happy even if they sound terrible..." he continued as he peered in her ear "...but with a raging ear infection like THIS one has..." changing ears "or a DOUBLE ear infection like this one has, it's no surprise she's miserable."
Good parent meter tilted ominously toward the yellow.
Herr Doctor now looked in her mouth, whistled again, "And her throat is really red. And she's cutting all 4 molars. Poor kid."
He twirled his stool around and leaned over her chart and started making notes, giving instructions: antibiotic, humidifier, rest, fluids. "Oh. And make sure you keep her bundled up. It's cold outside, and that can wreak havoc on these little bodies."
I looked down at my hiccoughing daughter in my lap--shoeless, sockless, hatless, coatless.
The good parent meter tanked. Red alarm bells going off.
But then I reminded myself--I had put socks on her. She took them off herself. And at least I'd gotten her coat into the car. So that wasn't as bad as leaving it home.
"Give her her medicine with food--you know, breakfast would be perfect."
Crap. Breakfast. The Munchkin looked up at me accusingly and sniffed.
I humbly took the prescription and vowed to do better. Or at least to remember to refill the humidifier with water before turning it on "high" for the night.
(On a side note, coming out of the doctor's office I saw the coolest thing! There were 50+ robins in the trees, on the ground--everywhere! They were so fat and twittering and happy. I have never seen that many at once. It was incredible.)