Where to eat

We’re having some friends over for dinner tonight, and I’m having a serious problem trying to determine where to eat. There will be eight of us, so the dining room makes the most sense. But our dining room is so, well, formal (I am starting to really hate the concept of a formal dining room. Because who really lives that life any more?). And four of the eight people are children. Small children, who will be eating pasta with red sauce. But in the kitchen, I have three stools with backs, and one backless one that kids topple off of. And only three kitchen chairs. So the kitchen doesn’t make much sense. And after all my bitching and moaning about the heat last week, the cold front came through last night and it is only supposed to be 65 be dinnertime, which I think is probably too cold for outdoor dinning.

Plus, my dining room doesn’t look nearly as cute as Jackie Sue’s. Clearly she should come north and help a design challenge gal out…


Note to Self

A calendar is a useful tool. If you open it before opening your mouth that is. Three times this week I have booked something and then had to call back five minutes later because it conflicted with something else. I’m unclear how my life got quite so busy, but clearly it has something to do with the fact that I still have not learned to sit on my hands when a request for a volunteer is made.

And speaking of volunteering, at a meeting this morning someone remarked that A was very well behaved in a roomful of adults. And then as an aside (in a not so nice a way), she said “Of course, that’s probably because you bring her everyplace with you instead of hiring a sitter.” I think I am choosing to take that as a compliment on my child’s behavior, rather than a comment on how I am raising my daughter…


Hypothetically, if one had to return a recalled garden tool to Target, and if one also needed cat food and litter, toothbrushes, toothpaste, soda and some birthday gifts for small children one has only interacted with at kindergarten drop off, do you think one could hypothetically purchase all of said things at Target instead of shelpping two children to three different stores and paying much more for each of those items without violating the spirit of the law? Hypothetically, of course.


I am a New England girl. It should not be 90 in late September. The leaves should be turning, I should not be forced to get a pedicure so I can continue to wear my flip flops. Just as Rebecca is insistent that she should not be forced to turn on her heat in September, I am insistent that I should not be forced to run my air conditioner in September. So we are lolling around the house sweating. Or maybe we are lolling around the house because I had my rear end handed to me in a body sculpting class at the gym today (Yes! I saw the inside of the gym! Hallelujah!). But regardless of the reason we are lolling around the house, we are all sweating.

I thought I was in reasonable shape. But today as I face planted in the middle of a push up and found myself staring at the sneakers of the instructor who came racing over to see if I was OK, I realized that I may be able to trot several a few miles, but I have not an ounce of strength in my body. Well, except for the muscles one needs to lug children around. Those are pretty strong. But clearly those are not the muscles one needs to complete a push up.

After the instructor determined that she didn’t have to track down a first aid kit, I was held up as the shining example of what not to do. Fabulous. She also made sure to learn my name so she can hound me to keep coming to her class when she sees me around town. Even more fabulous. And I bet you that by tomorrow morning I will be hobbling about, as I can already feel my leg muscles turning to jello. If only yoga met at a time that actually worked for me.

I’m not quite sure what possessed me to sign up for this class (well, except for that muffin top that hangs out over my jeans. And will one class a week REALLY do anything for that? Yeah. I didn’t think so either.). But as I lay on the floor rubbing my nose and wondering whether this might be a good excuse for a nose job, I decided that really, my original Wednesday morning plan of Starbucks and a bagel would have been a much better choice.

Spam gone wild

So apparently emails headed to my blog account have been spam filtered to death over the last few months. So if you emailed me and I never got back to you, please try again. I’m behind in email, but only by a few days. Gah.

Overheard in the Driveway

C: “Mom, when you were in college and you missed Nana, did you just send her an email?”

Chichimama: “When I was in college there wasn’t really email yet.”

C: ” Well, you had a computer, right?”

Chichimama: “Actually, I went some place called a computer cluster where everyone shared computers.”

C: “Huh. Well, did you call home from your cell phone then?”

Chichimama: “There were no such things as cell phones when I was in college. In fact, for a year I called from a pay phone that I shared with 30 other girls.”

C: “What’s a pay phone?”

Chichimama: “I am getting old.”

Click Clack Creak

Has anyone ever seen a chiropractor? Seriously. My neck has started creaking and clicking whenever I turn it. And it strikes me that that can’t be so good. Or else I really am getting old like all the doctors seem to think.

My MIL loves her chiropractor, but I have always been somewhat suspect of them. I have no idea why. Perhaps it is just the thought that if they crack my back slightly wrong, I could end up an awful lot worse than creaky. Shiver.

So I’m taking a poll of everyone I know to see who has experienced chiropracty (I have no idea how to spell that one, but you get the drift). So far, my MIL is it. Anyone else out there? Or should I resign myself to creaking my way into my 4th decade??? (And yes, I know I should go to yoga. And if you can figure out when I could hit a yoga class when I have one or both kids with me every second of the day, I will. I swear.)

Dear Neighborhood Teens

Dear Neighborhood Teens Who Shall Remain Nameless,

I am pleased to know that you are not getting into trouble loitering downtown or shoplifting. I am even pleased to know that ringing doorbells and running away is still considered an amusing past time for the 18 and under set. In the grand scheme of things, you have picked a rather harmless Saturday night activity, and for that I applaud you.

However, I would like to request that you refrain from ringing my particular doorbell, as I have small children who go to sleep at 7pm at night. And when the doorbell rings multiple times at 7:45, all hell breaks loose over here. Of course, if your ringing of my doorbell is an indication that you are interested in coming to babysit for me, feel free to ring all you want.



PS: You are lucky it was me and not my husband who opened the door and figured out who it was. Because he is jet-lagged and not quite as amused as I.

I’ve never been good with dates

A happy belated three year blogiversary to me. Hard to believe. At least this year I’m only a day late…better than a dollar short I suppose.

Another Rocking Friday Night

Tis the season of travel (or should I say the year of travel, since the season seems to have never ended) and M is currently somewhere over the midwest. At least one can hope he is somewhere over the midwest by now. So I have spent a rocking Friday night reprogramming the DVR. Y’all can oohh and ahhhh now.

Somehow overnight the kids have left behind the old television standbys of Dragon Tales and Dora the Explorer for shows like Word Girl and Word World. Both children are desperate to learn everything there is to know about words, and I spend my day reading books, signs, spelling words and trying desperately to understand what “citin” and “luk” really stands for. C is starting to read real books all on his own, and A, not one to be left behind, is trying to learn to read by brute force. So I suppose it should be no surprise that their television viewing habits are shifting accordingly.

But it was still sad to swap the shows I could recite line by line for ones that I have no real relationship with. And since these days television viewing is taking place while I am cooking dinner, I don’t know that I will develop the same closeness with Word Girl as Dora and I experienced. Sniff, sniff. Dora, you will be missed.

Who knew that one could become so attached to children’s TV shows? And if I am getting so worked up about Dora, I hate to think what I will do when C and A give up Frances and Frog and Toad. Although I will have no problem passing on the TtFTE books to another family.