Cleanliness is next to obsessive-compulsive

Please tell me I’m not the only person out there who has a strong urge to clean closets before having a party.

I mean, it’s possible, isn’t it, that someone will open my locked bedroom door, sneak past the unfriendly guard dog, and go rummaging in my closet for a spare, I don’t know, pair of shoes to borrow, and think ill of me that my sewing projects are heaped in a pile behind that closed door?

And what is up with the need to clean a house before a party anyway? I’m going to have forty people – more than half of them under the age of 12 – passing through my house. And the weather isn’t looking very pleasant for Saturday. Will anybody even be able to see the floor in that crowd? And if they did, could they really distinguish between the crushed pretzel that just happened and the crumbs from last night’s dinner? And how clean will my bathroom look after the first hour?

OK. Enough blogging. I have to go sweep the garage.

Naptime with Sandra Boynton

Me: A cow says moo, a sheep says baa…(snip)…it’s quiet now. What do you say?

Mary: More!

Repeat.

Again.

And again.

And again for 7 minutes straight (I estimate the book takes 15 seconds to read).

Finally:

Me: A cow says moo, a sheep says baa…(snip)…it’s quiet now. What do you say?

Mary: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Talk to the hand

I can’t leave Peter in his room after Mary falls asleep, because he will wake her up. Instead, he goes on my bed, which is right near my computer, and he putters around for 10 or 15 minutes (usually) before he falls asleep. I relocate him later.

Sometimes, he doesn’t feel like going to sleep and he’ll keep coming out of the room behind me to “tell me some-fing.” Without even looking up from the computer, I’ll put up my hand in a universally understood “HALT” sign and tell him to go back to bed.

A few nights ago, he came out with this drawing and asked me to put an “M” for Mommy above one of his characters. He explained he hadn’t had time to finish it, so it doesn’t have all the children in the picture. But it does have DAD, and he labeled Dad all by himself much to my surprise. Which one is Mom? The one with the BIG HAND.

Dinner for Eight Minus One

The only thing I remember about our first wedding anniversary is eating defrosted wedding cake. At the time, my husband was either unemployed or underemployed, so that cake was probably the highlight of that day.

I do remember our second anniversary, though. The local paper had run a review of a restaurant not too far from where we lived, located a few miles north of New Hope, PA. We decided to go there, and then walk around the quaint, trendy shopping area of that tiny town. Since the review stated that the place took all major credit cards, we didn’t worry about how much cash we needed to bring. We are not ones to carry much cash, I guess being part of the plastic generation. Debit cards are a wonderful thing, although, as Dave Ramsey points out, they don’t really help you stick to a budget.
But this meal wasn’t about being budget-minded anyway. We had appetizers, and a lovely meal and dessert. I even had wine, secretly glad that nobody could tell I was about 6 weeks pregnant with my first child. This was an elegant place with French provincial food, and I was glad that we hadn’t gone to the ATM first, because we could not have predicted what the final bill would be, and I would have fussed and fretted the whole time calculating if we had enough on hand for this entree or that dessert.
Finally, the bill came and the total was extravagant. It was okay, since we didn’t celebrate like this frequently. But then our server told us that they did not, in fact, take major credit cards. We explained, in embarrassment, that we had not come with cash because of the review. They were aware of this problem and graciously permitted us to leave, with an addressed envelope, to mail in a check at our earliest convenience.
I guess we looked honest. I certainly doubt I would remember so much about the place had this confusion not nearly ruined our evening. Although, by the following spring, our lives, changed by the arrival of our son, no longer included such quiet, unhurried, peaceful meals. It is possible that this “last hurrah” would forever be in my memory simply because of the circumstances.
Sometimes, we still do get out, just the two of us. Not this year, of course. And not always. I have begun to accept that our anniversary is best celebrated with our children anyway. They are, after all, the fruits of our love. The original Oktoberfest was a wedding feast, and the following festivals have been anniversary parties, so to speak. Our annual Oktoberfest, next weekend, parallels that theme nicely.
Outside of the Oktoberfest, we do like to have a private celebration. Even if it’s not quite as elegant as that cozy French place.

To celebrate our 14th anniversary, we had another intimate, peaceful dinner at a small, romantic bistro not too far from home.
This place takes major credit cards, and although I’m sure Dave Ramsey would tsk tsk over my use of the debit card instead of cash, he would probably approve the bottom line total which, even without adjusting for 12 years of inflation, was a fraction of the cost of that long ago meal.