Developing a Reputation

Over the last week, I have had several casual acquaintances mention something about my “immaculate house” to which I have snorted, and commented that clearly they don’t spend much time in my home.  Today at the playground, another casual acquaintance mentioned something about it in front of Caffeine Addicted Friend, who actually DOES have an immaculate house, even when one stops by unexpectedly.  She managed to hold back her snort, barely.

The woman who commented on my immaculate house has never actually stepped foot in it, so I felt justified in asking how she would know anything about the state of my house.  It turns out that another casual acquaintance (who has also never set foot in my house) heard from a close friend of hers who has been in my house once, right after I had cleaned the place from top to bottom in an effort to get rid of the fleas, that my house was so incredibly clean.

This is the stuff a reputation is made of folks.  Random people who barely know you from a hole in the wall talking to other random people who barely know you from a hole in the wall.  But, now, I feel obligated to scrub my house as if it had fleas every time someone other than Rebecca comes over.  I have a reputation to uphold you know…



I am seriously debating turning on the heat.  I know, I know, it is the end of April.  But it is cold!  And damp!  And I already have on a sweater and slippers and my fleece, and I am still cold.  But yet the thermostat tells me it is 63 degrees in here, which is the norm for us in winter.

Maybe I am getting sick.

Overheard in the Family Room

Chichimama: “I’m not so sure about these caterpillars.  The FAQ say they are supposed to be substantially increasing over their original size, but they seem to be just as small as they were a few days ago.  They sure are pooping a lot though, so I guess they aren’t dead.”

M: “Ah!  That’s my problem!  I am a butterfly larvae!”

Chichimama falls on the floor laughing.  “Can I blog that?”

Overheard in the Kitchen

Chichimama: “A, if you like fish so much, would you like to try shrimp?”

A makes a face and pretends to gag. “No!!!!”

Chichimama: “But it is pink!”

A: “Pink???  Yummm! Light pink or dark pink?”

Chichimama: “Light pink, with a little white.”

A: “Yes! Yes!”

Chichimama (under her breath): “Excellent.  I’ll just tell her to send me the therapy bills in 20 years…”


In the middle of the night I woke up to the muffled noise of a crying child.  “Ulgh, A is up,” I thought and dragged myself out of my nice comfy bed to investigate.  But her door was open and she was sleeping soundly, as was C.  I was confused for a moment, and then realized that it was nice enough out that we had a window cracked, and apparently so did some other poor family whose child was clearly having a rough night.

I happily crawled into my bed and snuggled back into my pillow.  But the noise seemed to be getting louder.  “Is the child out and wandering around?”  I had visions of a sleepwalking child who had somehow managed to open her front door, and tried to remember where my shoes were.  Then I listened harder, and I reccognized the sound.

It was Dumb Cat, in a cat fight with Down the Street Neighbor Cat.  And so I did in fact have to drag myself out of bed, find my shoes, and troop outside in the middle of the night to break up a cat fight.  “If you are going to fight in the middle of the night Cat, next time could you please pick Down the Street Neighbor’s back yard instead of ours?”  Dumb Cat just looked at me pitifully and demanded a midnight snack.

By the time I made it back into my bed, I was up for the night.  Serves me right for having that moment of glee when I thought it was someone else’s child up in the middle of the night.

Random Bullets of Grumpiness

  • Why do people who get books for free on book trading sites feel the need to complain bitterly about one dogeared page?  You just got a $30 book for free, minus shipping costs.  It would never occur to me to complain about a  book I got for free except, perhaps, if there were multiple pages actually MISSING from the book.  And even then, I doubt I would bother.
  • Why do people crossing a road feel like they can stop in the middle of it to chat with a friend walking the other way?  Pick one side or the other folks, not the middle.  The next person to come along might not have the self-restraint I showed for TWO MINUTES this afternoon.
  • Why must small children who refuse to go to sleep at night feel like it is their prerogative to whine their way through the following day(s)?  I understand wanting to finish a good book, but so sorry, you still need to make it through your normal day(s) after the fact.  Just because you were up late reading does not excuse you from school attendance, even if it is library day and you already have enough books.
  • Why must sun block be so slimy and why does it have to be applied so frequently?  I dread the application of sunblock.
  • Why does the fish store have to close fifteen minutes before my husband gets off the train?  I really wanted grilled tuna for dinner tonight.
  • Why can’t I seem to lose the excess poundage I have been carrying for (gulp) four years now.  Oh, wait, I can answer that one.  Animal crackers, left over grilled cheese crust and wine.  Never mind…

A joke that pleases all

C: “What do aliens have that no one else has? (dramatic pause) Alien babies!”

A: “Awww, how cute!!!”

C: “Wouldn’t that be cool?!?!?!”


Do you Twitter?  I’m trying it out, because I so need another activity to suck time out of my day.  And I know that some of you twitter (is it a verb?) because it found you in my address book.  But I’m a bit unclear how one actually uses twitter.  It is striking me as the type of thing I really don’t need in my life.  Opinions?


Today I went to a “ladies lunch,” featuring some fabulous authors. As I stood in my closet this morning I realized that despite some shopping this spring I had nothing appropriate to wear to a “ladies lunch.” (And really, what DOES one wear to a ladies lunch? And who really has the time to lunch anymore? The only reason I was able to attend was because M decided that working at home and watching the kids for two hours beat fighting the Pope traffic).

After trying on pretty much everything from the back corner where the old work clothes still reside and realizing that I must have looked just atrocious in the late 1990’s, I finally settled on black pants and a brown sleeveless sweater. And yes, I looked out of place among the florals and pastels. But I had on a pair of stillettos from my pre-baby days, so I convinced myself that I looked snazzy enough. And I made it a point to tell anyone I met who I didn’t know that I was a city transplant. I just neglected to tell them how long ago I transplanted.

Anywhoo, it was all lovely. I won a beautiful watch, and there was a delicious lunch, even if the coffee was cold. But in the middle of the remarks from the “Mistress of Ceremonies,” I realized that I had used my salad fork for my main meal, the main meal fork for the dessert, and I had eaten my neighbor’s bread. Classy. Clearly I don’t get out much anymore.

Oh, and the Mistress of Ceremonies? Peggy Post. I’ll let you know when I am featured in her next book so you can laugh along with me, ahem.

Ah, it speaks the truth!

As seen everywhere

and almost wakes a
chichimama cranky c
i am tired

I had to cheat and use my old blogger site, but yep. Still cranky. Go figure.