We don’t have enough to do. I came to this conclusion last week after several failed play-date attempts. Perhaps I’ve read too many parenting articles on the dangers of over-scheduled kids or maybe it’s that I’m too lame-o to figure out where we should be running to, or what we should be doing; I’m really not sure, but I am sure that everyone around us is super busy, and we are not.
“Oh, we’d love to, but today is errand day. Sally needs her tap shoes and Bobby, you know, reads to the elderly every Wednesday afternoon, and tomorrow at 3:30 we have dance and hockey and ice-skating and then at 5:00 we plan to save the world, but maybe, you know, some other time.”
And don’t get me started on the grandparents. The only thing worse than being rejected for errands is being reminded, once again, that everyone here has grandparents. Grandparents, Great-Grandparents, in-laws, cousins, sisters, yada, yada. They are everywhere and they are seriously starting to get on my nerves. (read: I’m jealous) “Oh, sorry, we can’t today. We are meeting Grandma for some shopping time. Yes, well maybe another time. Nope, not tomorrow either. Gran and Gramps are coming like they do every Tuesday. It’s so great; they do all my laundry and cook all our meals for the week (we’ll just put it in the freezer and then all I have to do is thaw and bake. Isn’t that cool?) and well, we’d love to meet on Thursday but that’s our day to go the farm. We’ll ride horses and drive tractors and what’s that? Oh, Friday? Sorry, but that’s my Bunko group. It’s super fun. You should try and start one. You know, with all your friends. And this weekend we’re going to be at the lake….gotta try out those new jet skies. So, anyway, what are you doing this weekend?”
Uhm, oh yeah, it’s going to be super busy; lots of,......well.....you know just really, really fun and busy. Yeah. Maybe we can catch up next week, you know, if our schedule frees up.
I know that the green-eyed monster and robe of self-pity isn’t pretty, or as my mom would say, “it’s not becoming” and yet today, it’s what I’m wearing.
And then something happened. Alecia’s mom at Coulter’s school mentioned that Alecia won’t have a grandparent for grandparent’s day on Friday. We’ve missed plenty of grandparent days, so I tried to encourage her. “Oh, I know, it’s hard when they live so far away.” Except Alecia’s don’t. They live 30 miles from Fremont.
Tomorrow, Coulter’s grandparents will make the 12 hour drive north to be here for Grandparent’s day. They will watch him play his first flag-football game and they will take him shopping for yet one more Under Amour shirt (our very own school uniform). They will treat us and pamper us and, perhaps best of all, they will take one of us home with them for the week. (Hint: she’s two.) I will never stop wishing that they (we) were closer, but I am reminded often that there’s more to being close than just geography. It takes a little more effort (and a lot more gas) but my parents are always there for their grandchildren; they will always be close.
Goodbye, Mr. Green Monster. I'll have you know (you, the monster; not you, the reader...just didn't want you to think I was being rude) that today we were super busy. We had piano lessons, Kindermusik, gymnastics, dance class and AWANA. And tomorrow, CeCe and Pop.
“What's that? Lunch on Friday? Sorry, we’d love to but we have grandparents in town.”
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The (My) Sears Guy
This morning I went for an early run and I was quickly reminded of two things. One, I hate (sorry to used the H-word) being cold and two, I miss my village. While everyone is going around talking about how beautiful the weather is, I’m secretly mourning the loss of heat, humidity and 90 + temps; I’m mourning the fact that my ears were cold for the entire 5 miles this morning. And my village? Well, I guess I can’t expect Berm the Worm or Mary Elizabeth to call every time we leave the garage door open, but Mr. Mark on Alpine Ave would’ve called. To be fair, Mr. Mark knew our phone number and I’m not sure Berm can even see to dial, but still it was a shock to realize that we (although, it wasn’t me!) left the garage door open all night, which is a little embarrassing considering that we are still in transition (read: chaos) but at least I didn’t have to worry about anyone taking anything. I’m pretty sure if anyone tried, they would take one look and decide it wasn’t worth it.
Once you close the garage door, though, you walk into a beautiful kitchen filled with new appliances and new cabinets and a drawer that hides my trash. There’s even a little tip-drawer for my sponges and a faucet that has the sprayer connected; I mean how cool is that? The only problem is that having new things breeds paranioa. Legos in the kitchen? I don’t think so. Are those scissors? Absolutely not. What? You thought you were going to get to eat in here? Step away from my (ooops, I mean our) kitchen.
The first time I cooked in the new oven, I was making BLT’s. (In case yall missed it, I'm a fan of the sandwich and BLT's are my way of really stepping it up a notch!) Anyway, in an effort to keep bacon grease from spilling all over, I lined the bottom with Reynolds wrap. This is a good idea, right? Me being responsible, right? Well, according to the service man who visited my house today, Reynolds wrap melts under high heat….it becomes like metal and it is now basically welded to the bottom of my (our) new oven. He looks it over and chuckles, “Yep, that’s too bad.” He wasn’t here, though, because of my Reynolds fiasco. He was here because my (good grief, our) new oven makes a noise…almost like a loud fan….when it’s pre-heating. I’ve never had an oven that you could actually hear, so I requested a service call. Turns out, we have a convection oven and there’s seriously a fan that heats it up. But here’s how I see it, thanks to me that Sears guy is going to be ahead of schedule all day and better yet, he got to start his morning with a good laugh (or two, if he remembers the Reynolds and I’m thinking he will).
The Sears guy probably can’t do anything about fall (or the looming winter) but he did teach me how to heat up my oven and I guess, in a weird way, that makes him part of my village.
Once you close the garage door, though, you walk into a beautiful kitchen filled with new appliances and new cabinets and a drawer that hides my trash. There’s even a little tip-drawer for my sponges and a faucet that has the sprayer connected; I mean how cool is that? The only problem is that having new things breeds paranioa. Legos in the kitchen? I don’t think so. Are those scissors? Absolutely not. What? You thought you were going to get to eat in here? Step away from my (ooops, I mean our) kitchen.
The first time I cooked in the new oven, I was making BLT’s. (In case yall missed it, I'm a fan of the sandwich and BLT's are my way of really stepping it up a notch!) Anyway, in an effort to keep bacon grease from spilling all over, I lined the bottom with Reynolds wrap. This is a good idea, right? Me being responsible, right? Well, according to the service man who visited my house today, Reynolds wrap melts under high heat….it becomes like metal and it is now basically welded to the bottom of my (our) new oven. He looks it over and chuckles, “Yep, that’s too bad.” He wasn’t here, though, because of my Reynolds fiasco. He was here because my (good grief, our) new oven makes a noise…almost like a loud fan….when it’s pre-heating. I’ve never had an oven that you could actually hear, so I requested a service call. Turns out, we have a convection oven and there’s seriously a fan that heats it up. But here’s how I see it, thanks to me that Sears guy is going to be ahead of schedule all day and better yet, he got to start his morning with a good laugh (or two, if he remembers the Reynolds and I’m thinking he will).
The Sears guy probably can’t do anything about fall (or the looming winter) but he did teach me how to heat up my oven and I guess, in a weird way, that makes him part of my village.
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