Me: You kids better go to sleep right away or the Valentine Bunny won’t come!
Billy: Oh! That’s right! St. Valentine is coming tonight!
Me: ?
After that, I wasn’t sure if I should put the 4 little chocolate hearts per child in a basket or in a stocking so I just left them on the dining room table per usual.
Note: the kids went to sleep right away!
In an effort to have greater empathy for the suffering unemployed in America, I have turned my thermostats down to 50 degrees. The four older kids huddled in one bedroom with an electric heater, and the little ones snuggled in my bed with the electric blanket cranked on high. We’re cold, but our hearts are warmed with fraternal love.
OK, apparently, we’re out of heating oil.
I thought the company said they would return automatically and fill us up when needed, but I guess not. Of course, one never discovers things like this at a reasonable hour, say, noon. Nope. Bedtime is a better time, right?
I sure hope they’ll be able to make my delivery before lunchtime. Solidarity has its limits.
**Update: After bottoming out around 51 degrees, we’re on the way up.
Heating Oil Delivery Man: Wow. I can’t believe you guys have gone since October without a fill. It’s February!
Me: Yeah, I thought you guys were supposed to come automatically?
HODM: We are!
Me: Okaaaay……???????
See, honey, it’s not my fault.
A few weeks ago, I signed up for six weeks of fresh vegetables delivered right to my home from a local farm via this site. They have a “winter” program, stuff grown in their greenhouse. We received our first delivery yesterday, which was mainly salad greens – and that’s fine. We eat salad. There was a small bunch of carrots, which everybody has been sneaking as though they were candy, so I don’t think they’ll last a full 24 hours, unless I hide them.
They also sent a bunch of fresh tarragon. Any suggestions on what to do with it? Tarragon has not been a key ingredient in my usual repertoire of dishes, but I’m always willing to try something new.
These 6 weeks are a test-run to see if we use the majority of the produce. The spring-summer program costs over $1000 for 18-20 weeks (not exactly sure). I can’t afford to waste that kind of money if we don’t eat the stuff. Based on this week, though, I like what I see. I’d prefer to grow my own, but between the shady garden plot and the deer who frequent our yard, I’m concerned I’d spend a lot of time working, and have little to show for it.
Which reminds me: I claimed that the only thing that would inspire me to shoot a gun at an animal was a rabid one preparing to attack my toddler. That’s untrue. Years ago, when I had my own garden in a nice sunny spot, I attempted lettuce for the first time. It was easy to grow, and my little row of leaves was coming up nicely, and I was salivating over the thought of a minutes-fresh green salad in a few weeks. One morning, I went back to do some weeding and pruning when I looked over at my row of lettuce. It was gone, nibbled down to the ground by a groundhog we saw frequently in the area, and one that Bill had once gone after with a shovel. At that moment, I could have throttled the thing with my bare hands. So, I’m willing to bet that even Bambi himself partaking of the fruits of my labor would find his hind quarters peppered with buck shot.
My steeply sloped driveway is a thick sheet of ice. Bill got out Tuesday morning before the snow came and has been parking up on the street for the last two days. There is a tree strategical placed in the middle of the bottom of the drive, so if you lose control, that would likely be the thing to halt your slide.
Right now, it is below freezing, but the sun is on its way up and the temps are expected to climb a few degrees above the melting point. Hopefully the sunny day and the just-warm-enough temperatures will make clearing that drive of ice an easy task. The kids will be sorely disappointed to lose their sledding hill, but we have Tuesday’s rescheduled piano lessons this afternoon and Scouts tonight.
I’ll be a bit sad to see the sledding hill go, too. Not only were the kids entertained for hours yesterday afternoon, they all went straight to bed.
I was cracking the whip assisting my daughters in the tidying of their room. Everything has a place. Nothing was in it.
“Is this pretty?” I asked.
They admitted it was not.
On top of the dresser, among other things, was a lone sock.
“Katie, put this in the hamper.” I ordered requested nicely.
“But it doesn’t have a match,” she moaned explained. And keeping it on the dresser solves that problem? {Sarcastic comments are kept to myself.}
“I KNOW it doesn’t have a match. It’s mate is on the dryer, where it has been for a month, waiting for this one to cycle through the laundry.”
“Oh.”
Oh, indeed.
Three kids wanted the last little bit of eggnog.
The things you do for love.
Grownups with no children were coming to dinner. I contemplated having our usual family-style meal with all ten of us crammed around the dining room table and the children complaining about what I made and then using their fingers to dip their veggies in ketchup and draw pictures on their plates.
Dinner was great – effortlessly fabulous, thanks to this great cookbook (notice that the book only has 5 star reviews).Because my girls’ ballet studio is a bit chilly, I gave them ballet sweaters and leg warmers for Christmas. They have worn them every single day, so I guess they like their gifts.
It won’t be Jenny, though. She almost never stops carrying her bag. It is rather stylish.
In this picture you can (barely) see a hair net I made for the girls back in October. I made another one for Jenny to match her bag.
Yesterday’s two hour adventure at the grocery store was slightly less successful than I had hoped. Items I could not find:
clementines
syrup
pineapple juice (in any form)
canned pumpkin
almond extract
powdered sugar
pecans
For school, Fritz just needs to recopy an essay and read a few chapters in a book and then school is officially out for 2008. I guess I’ll be heading to another grocery store when he’s done. Today is baking day. Tomorrow is cleaning day.
Bill has a theory that Christmas lights charge up children. Last weekend he decorated outside, and the kids went wild. Yesterday he strung the lights on the tree, and I was convinced I could hear their little bodies emitting a humming vibratory noise whenever they passed near.
Only.three.more.days. Are you excited yet?
Last night, Bill very generously left work “early” (before 6 pm) and got home in time for me to attend a penance service sans children. Mary was not happy at being left behind, but she would have been more unhappy to attend a reflective service past her bedtime. And I would have been most unhappy at dealing with an unhappy baby at said reflective service and might possibly have nullified any potential grace received thereby.
As toddlers, my children are not as anti Not the Momma as they are when infants. With no other choice, they will eventually find solace on daddy’s shoulder and pass out from exhaustion. Or they might resolve to hold an all-night vigil awaiting my return. Either way, a few hours every so often without me doesn’t kill them.
Bill, though, long used to playing second fiddle to me, is now finding even that slight superiority being usurped by his oldest son. Mary spends much more time with her homeschooled big brother than with her works-out-of-the-house father, and she finds Fritz to be a fun and adequate alternative to her preferred caregiver. Fritz, to his credit, loves to dote on her, carry her around, play with her (anything, anything, to avoid doing school work, right?).
So last night, as she loudly informed everyone her opinion regarding Mom-going-out-for-the-evening, Bill would reach for her to offer his comfort, and she would swat him away while turning to Fritz. It was his chest I saw draped with her sleeping body when I returned.
Poor Bill. Not only is he Not the Momma, he’s Not Fritz either.
Reit This Way 