Have you ever wondered what a giraffe says?
Yeah, me either.
However, Woodstock is going through a (very long) phase of wondering what EVERYTHING says. And, since she managed to get us to scramble and obtain a giraffe costume for her for Halloween (*story below), she is now insisting on knowing what a giraffe says.
And I'm totally stumped. Other than the sound of munching leaves, I'm not sure I've ever heard a giraffe make a noise. And I've seen a lot of giraffes.
Of course, she also insisted on wearing her giraffe ensemble to Miss Jan's this morning. After I dressed her, she was wandering around the house quacking. I said, "funny girl, giraffes don't quack." She stopped, looked at me and said, "Giraffes say?" (translation: "what do giraffes say?")
Um ... still no idea.
Silly mommy.
*How Woodstock came to be dressed as a giraffe instead of a lion:
We'd planned on Woodstock being a lion this Halloween. However, at some point she's developed rather strong opinions on things - one of which is apparently about suitable Halloween costumes. She INSISTED she was going to be a giraffe. For days, every time someone asked her she'd say "I be a giraffe." Every time we'd tell her, "How about a lion?" She'd reply, "No, I be a giraffe."
Oooookkkkaaaaay. Except I couldn't find a giraffe costume that didn't cost a small fortune that would fit her. And I'm far from being one of those moms who can just "whip something up."
The last straw came when she told the pediatrician, who asked what Woodstock was going to be for Halloween, "Not a yion (lion). I be a giraffe."
Fortunately, my mom happened to mention the above funny anecdotes about Woodstock to a friend. Her friend (bless her, bless her!) said, "I have a giraffe costume for a 2-year-old you can borrow!" Happy days. The package (mailed priority) arrived yesterday. Woodstock has only taken it off to sleep.
She does make an awfully cute giraffe.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Thank You Satellite Television
Late last spring, when we thought we were moving to the sunny beaches of California, we had our satellite TV service put on hold. For three blissful months we didn't have television.
I didn't miss it. Even Himself, who always has the TV on if he's in the same room as the TV, even if it's muted (sort of defeating the point, but he doesn't seem to realize that), didn't seem to miss it (then again, it wasn't football season).
However, since we do have to fill our contract, we opted to have it tuned on in late summer, about the time Grover showed up and not long before Pebbles was due to arrive.
And, after a recent discovery, I am SO GRATEFUL. (Words I never thought I'd utter about TV in my life).
It turns out that the BYU Channel has these wonderful, 30-minute segments in the morning and the late evening featuring professors of ancient scripture discussing various scriptures in a round-table format. The ones in the morning right now focus on the Book of Mormon. The ones in the evening focus on the Doctrine and Covenants. Each segment focuses on about 3 chapters and is full of insights, commentary and reading many of the verses aloud.
One of the things I've struggled with since going back to work and having two kids is how to fit in the morning quiet time that I require to be a fully-functioning person. As a true introvert, I require "alone time" to recharge. Usually this is when I would read my scriptures. But with an infant and a toddler and a body crying out desperately for sleep (or falling asleep at the mere opening of a book), quiet time is a rare commodity.
Enter the Discussions on the Scriptures segments. Each morning, I sit, baby and pump in hand, scriptures on my lap and watch/listen to the devotional. I've learned so much and feel that quiet Spirit that is so elusive in my house sometimes. It gives me both intellectual and spiritual stimulation that I have lacked for far too long.
Those 30 minutes a morning make whatever we're paying to have satellite TV, and that channel in particular, worth it.
And THAT is something I definitely never thought I'd say!
I didn't miss it. Even Himself, who always has the TV on if he's in the same room as the TV, even if it's muted (sort of defeating the point, but he doesn't seem to realize that), didn't seem to miss it (then again, it wasn't football season).
However, since we do have to fill our contract, we opted to have it tuned on in late summer, about the time Grover showed up and not long before Pebbles was due to arrive.
And, after a recent discovery, I am SO GRATEFUL. (Words I never thought I'd utter about TV in my life).
It turns out that the BYU Channel has these wonderful, 30-minute segments in the morning and the late evening featuring professors of ancient scripture discussing various scriptures in a round-table format. The ones in the morning right now focus on the Book of Mormon. The ones in the evening focus on the Doctrine and Covenants. Each segment focuses on about 3 chapters and is full of insights, commentary and reading many of the verses aloud.
One of the things I've struggled with since going back to work and having two kids is how to fit in the morning quiet time that I require to be a fully-functioning person. As a true introvert, I require "alone time" to recharge. Usually this is when I would read my scriptures. But with an infant and a toddler and a body crying out desperately for sleep (or falling asleep at the mere opening of a book), quiet time is a rare commodity.
Enter the Discussions on the Scriptures segments. Each morning, I sit, baby and pump in hand, scriptures on my lap and watch/listen to the devotional. I've learned so much and feel that quiet Spirit that is so elusive in my house sometimes. It gives me both intellectual and spiritual stimulation that I have lacked for far too long.
Those 30 minutes a morning make whatever we're paying to have satellite TV, and that channel in particular, worth it.
And THAT is something I definitely never thought I'd say!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Things That Make Your Heart Melt
Sunday was the children's program in church, as a result, the opening hymn was "I am a Child of God."
Woodstock, who loves music almost as much as Pebbles, looked at me with delight - as she knows the words to two of the verses.
She sat there, all 25 1/2 months of her, and sang all the words to the first two verses.
I had to concentrate on the chorister so I didn't start crying.
I love that kid.
Woodstock, who loves music almost as much as Pebbles, looked at me with delight - as she knows the words to two of the verses.
She sat there, all 25 1/2 months of her, and sang all the words to the first two verses.
I had to concentrate on the chorister so I didn't start crying.
I love that kid.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
One of These Days Is Not Like the Others
This morning, I was woken from a fitful, light sleep by Pebbles gagging and projectile vomiting (1 hour and 45 minutes after she ate). Her acid reflux seems to be getting worse, not better ... and seems to be made worse when I eat vegetables, some fruits, whole grains and beans. In other words, if I eat crap, she's fine. Lovely.
I was too nervous to lie her down again, so I dozed and she slept on my chest until it was well past time to get up. That was the second problem.
The third problem came after I fed her and snuggled with her far too long (she's warm, the living room most definitely is not) - making me even later. That wasn't so much the problem as falling down the stairs with Pebbles in my arms was. Fortunately, it was only the last half of the stairs. Fortunately, my left hip and my right elbow took most of the fall (it's always my left hip!). Fortunately, I didn't drop Pebbles, just scared the living daylights out of her.
She cried. I sat there stunned, wind knocked out of me. Woodstock (whom Himself had just gotten up) cried because "Mamma's hurt. Fall down da stairs." (after she asked, "What's wrong honey?")
From that point on, it was pure chaos. The one day I forget to obsessively stalk the weather and it snows. Woodstock, already the world's pokiest eater, was even pokier than normal (of course, because I was late). It snowed harder.
I finally left the house, 20 minutes late. I took a different way to work than usual, avoiding the bench where the snow tends to be worse. It was snowing hard and I missed the flashing lights of a school zone. Unfortunately, the Sheriff's Deputy out this morning with his radar gun, did not.*
He poked his head in my window - "you were speeding in a school zone," he said. At this point, it felt as if the entire universe was conspiring against me, and I was only seconds away from full-blown histeria.
"Momma, who's dat?" Woodstock piped up from the back seat. The deputy said, "you have beautiful kids. I nodded, "Fortunately the newborn is still alive, I said, this is just the frosting on a really crummy day. I fell down the stairs with her this morning."
He asked if we were okay. I assured him we were - mostly. He said, "I'm sorry I had to do this."
"It's not your fault," I said, wishing he'd just give me the ticket so I could break down in hysterics before I got to work.
What felt like hours later, he came back with what I was certain was my citation. He poked his head in my window to avoid the snow. "You know," he said, "I'm just giving you a warning. You know what did it? I'm human, we all have bad days, but you took responsibility for what you did. I think that's penance enough."
I was glad I didn't have to say anything more than "thank you," because I couldn't. I was so relieved.
Later, my mom called with more good news - she'd tracked down a giraffe costume for Woodstock (who has told everyone she's going to be a giraffe, when in fact she was going to be a lion). I dropped the phone, couldn't reach it.
I was 45 minutes late to work - and I realized I had forgotten my lunch. And now it's really snowing.
But if bad things come in threes, I'm covered. The rest of today should be splendid.
*For the record, I am hyper-vigilant about school zones. I do not speed in school zones. Ever. Well, except this morning. I felt horrible, which just increases my gratitude to the deputy.
I was too nervous to lie her down again, so I dozed and she slept on my chest until it was well past time to get up. That was the second problem.
The third problem came after I fed her and snuggled with her far too long (she's warm, the living room most definitely is not) - making me even later. That wasn't so much the problem as falling down the stairs with Pebbles in my arms was. Fortunately, it was only the last half of the stairs. Fortunately, my left hip and my right elbow took most of the fall (it's always my left hip!). Fortunately, I didn't drop Pebbles, just scared the living daylights out of her.
She cried. I sat there stunned, wind knocked out of me. Woodstock (whom Himself had just gotten up) cried because "Mamma's hurt. Fall down da stairs." (after she asked, "What's wrong honey?")
From that point on, it was pure chaos. The one day I forget to obsessively stalk the weather and it snows. Woodstock, already the world's pokiest eater, was even pokier than normal (of course, because I was late). It snowed harder.
I finally left the house, 20 minutes late. I took a different way to work than usual, avoiding the bench where the snow tends to be worse. It was snowing hard and I missed the flashing lights of a school zone. Unfortunately, the Sheriff's Deputy out this morning with his radar gun, did not.*
He poked his head in my window - "you were speeding in a school zone," he said. At this point, it felt as if the entire universe was conspiring against me, and I was only seconds away from full-blown histeria.
"Momma, who's dat?" Woodstock piped up from the back seat. The deputy said, "you have beautiful kids. I nodded, "Fortunately the newborn is still alive, I said, this is just the frosting on a really crummy day. I fell down the stairs with her this morning."
He asked if we were okay. I assured him we were - mostly. He said, "I'm sorry I had to do this."
"It's not your fault," I said, wishing he'd just give me the ticket so I could break down in hysterics before I got to work.
What felt like hours later, he came back with what I was certain was my citation. He poked his head in my window to avoid the snow. "You know," he said, "I'm just giving you a warning. You know what did it? I'm human, we all have bad days, but you took responsibility for what you did. I think that's penance enough."
I was glad I didn't have to say anything more than "thank you," because I couldn't. I was so relieved.
Later, my mom called with more good news - she'd tracked down a giraffe costume for Woodstock (who has told everyone she's going to be a giraffe, when in fact she was going to be a lion). I dropped the phone, couldn't reach it.
I was 45 minutes late to work - and I realized I had forgotten my lunch. And now it's really snowing.
But if bad things come in threes, I'm covered. The rest of today should be splendid.
*For the record, I am hyper-vigilant about school zones. I do not speed in school zones. Ever. Well, except this morning. I felt horrible, which just increases my gratitude to the deputy.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
You Know You've Grown Old When ...
In my twenties, I lined up for things like concerts, movies, free tickets to the Kennedy Center's Sing-a-Long Messiah, obscure Washington tours, etc. I endured dark, cold, long lines, crowds, and ridiculous crowd management.
Something must have happened when I crossed the threshold into "thirtysomething." I found myself dragging the girls out at oh-dark-thirty to stand in line so Woodstock and I could get stuck by a needle. Except, well, the entire known universe also came and by 7 a.m. there were 3,000 people and a line 6 blocks long for 1,700-2,500 shots.
I took Woodstock and Pebbles out to breakfast instead.
Please don't cough on us.
Something must have happened when I crossed the threshold into "thirtysomething." I found myself dragging the girls out at oh-dark-thirty to stand in line so Woodstock and I could get stuck by a needle. Except, well, the entire known universe also came and by 7 a.m. there were 3,000 people and a line 6 blocks long for 1,700-2,500 shots.
I took Woodstock and Pebbles out to breakfast instead.
Please don't cough on us.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Over the River and Through the Woods ...
For the record, I love road trips. I love adventuring to new places, seeing new scenery, exploring and feeling the freedom that comes with leaving the mundane behind for a couple of days.
This fall, however, I issued an edict that never before would I have considered: NO MORE ROAD TRIPS. Not forever, mind you, this is merely a temporary moratorium. But after seeing the better part of four states, thousands of miles, two sets of in-laws and my own family, I'm done. It wasn't so much those things that inspired the unprecedented proclamation, it was all of the above PLUS doing it in a compact-car stuffed to its gills with everything required for traveling with children (and the things Himself inherited from his father), PLUS a toddler and a 4- to 7-week-old infant. It was spending 18 days of a 22-day span on the road or at someone else's house, where even under the best of circumstances I don't sleep well, and when it involves a nursing newborn - well, sleep was the one thing I didn't get too much of.
Then there were the adventures. The trip to my parents' house with both girls by myself where the entire car was full of cases of apples (loose - the car was too full of kids and kid stuff to do anything other than dump the the boxes of apples in and let them roam around during the ride). There was the point at which our car refused to start at a rest stop in Oregon (the 3-year-old car that with just over 50k miles should NOT be refusing to start). It added an extra 90 minutes to our travels - ended up being a bad batter. Of course, it meant we missed a horrific dust storm in the wilds of Eastern Washington - so it ended up being one of those "hmmm..." moments. There was the funeral - the whole reason for the longest of the road trips. There was the sleeping in the same room as both kids for 8 of the longest nights of my lie, where they took turns waking each other (and us) up. There was the stopping every couple of hours to feed Pebbles and exercise Woodstock's legs. And there was an abundance of mediocre, calorie-laden food during the long days on the road.
Still, it took until the end of the 16.5-hour drive back from our last road trip before I cracked. Somewhere in the wilds of Idaho, I exclaimed, "We're not going ANYWHERE for a very long time. If anyone wants to see us, we have a guest bedroom (with a bed!) and an extra bathroom - they can come see US!"
Fortunately, Himself agreed. The very next day I issued an e-mail to all relatives explaining that we were not leaving the county for Thanksgiving this year. If anyone wanted to see us, they could come to us.
Anytime I think about having to spend more than 30 minutes in the car, I break out in hives. Every time we got in the car for a week after returning, Woodstock would ask which grandparent we were going to see. How quickly the cry of "My bum is tired!" fade from her memory. (Although, to be completely honest, Woodstock wins the "Toddler Traveler of a Lifetime" award - she was a FANTASTIC road-tripper. Not one tantrum in the car. Not one utterance of "are we there yet?" The only peep that let us know she was as tired of the whole deal as we were was the tired bum comment. Pebbles, on the other hand, loathes her car seat if she is awake. Fortunately 4- to 7-week-olds sleep a lot).
I cannot explain how blissfully happy I am to have banned all road trips in the immediate future. There is something to be said after all about order, familiarity and routine.
There's also something to be said about a good night's sleep, but we're not there quite yet.
This fall, however, I issued an edict that never before would I have considered: NO MORE ROAD TRIPS. Not forever, mind you, this is merely a temporary moratorium. But after seeing the better part of four states, thousands of miles, two sets of in-laws and my own family, I'm done. It wasn't so much those things that inspired the unprecedented proclamation, it was all of the above PLUS doing it in a compact-car stuffed to its gills with everything required for traveling with children (and the things Himself inherited from his father), PLUS a toddler and a 4- to 7-week-old infant. It was spending 18 days of a 22-day span on the road or at someone else's house, where even under the best of circumstances I don't sleep well, and when it involves a nursing newborn - well, sleep was the one thing I didn't get too much of.
Then there were the adventures. The trip to my parents' house with both girls by myself where the entire car was full of cases of apples (loose - the car was too full of kids and kid stuff to do anything other than dump the the boxes of apples in and let them roam around during the ride). There was the point at which our car refused to start at a rest stop in Oregon (the 3-year-old car that with just over 50k miles should NOT be refusing to start). It added an extra 90 minutes to our travels - ended up being a bad batter. Of course, it meant we missed a horrific dust storm in the wilds of Eastern Washington - so it ended up being one of those "hmmm..." moments. There was the funeral - the whole reason for the longest of the road trips. There was the sleeping in the same room as both kids for 8 of the longest nights of my lie, where they took turns waking each other (and us) up. There was the stopping every couple of hours to feed Pebbles and exercise Woodstock's legs. And there was an abundance of mediocre, calorie-laden food during the long days on the road.
Still, it took until the end of the 16.5-hour drive back from our last road trip before I cracked. Somewhere in the wilds of Idaho, I exclaimed, "We're not going ANYWHERE for a very long time. If anyone wants to see us, we have a guest bedroom (with a bed!) and an extra bathroom - they can come see US!"
Fortunately, Himself agreed. The very next day I issued an e-mail to all relatives explaining that we were not leaving the county for Thanksgiving this year. If anyone wanted to see us, they could come to us.
Anytime I think about having to spend more than 30 minutes in the car, I break out in hives. Every time we got in the car for a week after returning, Woodstock would ask which grandparent we were going to see. How quickly the cry of "My bum is tired!" fade from her memory. (Although, to be completely honest, Woodstock wins the "Toddler Traveler of a Lifetime" award - she was a FANTASTIC road-tripper. Not one tantrum in the car. Not one utterance of "are we there yet?" The only peep that let us know she was as tired of the whole deal as we were was the tired bum comment. Pebbles, on the other hand, loathes her car seat if she is awake. Fortunately 4- to 7-week-olds sleep a lot).
I cannot explain how blissfully happy I am to have banned all road trips in the immediate future. There is something to be said after all about order, familiarity and routine.
There's also something to be said about a good night's sleep, but we're not there quite yet.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Charity Never Faileth ... But Sometimes it Goes Awry
Tuesday night I stood in my kitchen, a newborn happily swaddled and sitting in her bouncy seat on the counter (shhh! don't tell the child safety police), and toddler standing next to me on a dining room chair, peppering with questions like "whas dat?" and "chocat chip?" every 30 seconds. I was attempting to make pumpkin bars for a funeral.
Wait ... first week back at work, second day in, sleep-deprived, infant with acid reflux, toddler who developed "selective hearing" on her second birthday ... BAKING? For a funeral?! Are you insane?
Probably.
But I decided that I need to do more to help others out - because I've been on the receiving end a lot of late, and as much as I'd love to claim that I'm a big-hearted saint of a woman, it's really more half-truth than truth (half-truth because I aspire to be that, but I'm not so much). Besides, how hard is it to bake a batch of pumpkin bars for the funeral of the sister of a woman from church I'm assigned to visit?
Rather complicated, as it turns out.
So the baking went fairly well, but I had to frost them before I went to bed, so I could deliver them the following evening to another woman from church, as they wanted the deserts to be dropped off at 8 a.m. on Thursday - the morning of the funeral - and I'm lucky to get us all out of the house fully clothed and fed by 8:30 these days.
Anyway, the bars hadn't quite cooled, so the cream cheese frosting melted a little into the cake-like bars, but still ... not so bad. Except, remember the toddler, who was still helping - which means that the bars defintely tasted much better than they looked. And the newborn who had given up on peaceful slumber and was wailing that she might starve to death in the next 30 seconds if I didn't drop everything and feed her rightthisverysecond. Instant gratification starts early!
Fast forward to last night (Wednesday). I remember suddenly that they'd asked that we bring the "individual serving desserts" (ie cookies, cupcakes, bars) on something that was disposable, so the family wouldn't have to return the dish. Complication. It appears that in all my stocking-up, paper plates are not to be found anywhere in my house. And since there is no such thing as a "quick trip to the store" when it involves a newborn and a toddler, well ... never mind, I thought, I had to drop the bars off at someone else's house that evening and maybe she would have something suitable.
Meanwhile, it turns out Woodstock can reach way back on top of the chest freezer. Turns out she can reach a lot of things these days I didn't know about (like my vitamins - thank heavens it was just the Vitamin D!) Turns out toddler finger prints make a really big mess in cream cheese frosting. I smoothed it out the best I could - at least her fingers were clean.
I called the neighbor to see if she was home and I could drop off the bars. Pebbles picked that moment to need to eat rightthisverysecond (Murphys Law says that if the baby is crying, the phone will ring, and if you pick up the phone, the baby will start to cry just to spite you). Above the wailing, I heard the answering machine picked up. No worries, the evening was still youngish ... another couple of hours until my eyes would be so bleary I'd have to head to bed, whether or not I had accomplished anything.
Bedtime came and went, two middle-of-the-night feedings came and went (payback for falling asleep early and not waking up to feed Pebbles at 10:30 p.m. - curses!), the alarm clock came ... and went. (Twice this week I've slept through the annoying little artificial birdies that are supposed to wake me). This was the day - the pumpkin bars needed to be on something disposable and delivered to the relatives of the deceased by 8 a.m.
Wasn't going to happen.
I ran through various scenarios in my mind as I seared short ribs in my pjs in hopes that the crock pot would magically turn them into dinner by the time I got home. I could just not drop them off...except that invalidated the whole purpose to begin with and really who needs to be stuck with a sheet pan full of bars frosted with cream cheese, butter and sugar? I could try and see if anyone else in the neighborhood was dropping theirs off - and could they drop mine off too? But that required too much time.
And what to do about the #$%#$%^#%& disposable plate problem? In a flash of MacGuyver-like inspiration, I cut the flap off of a diaper box (of which we have plenty) and covered it in tinfoil. Voila! Disposable pumpkin bar transporter.
I slogged through the morning, barely able to keep my eyelids open. Of course, because I needed to leave the house early, everything (and everybody) moved in slow motion. We left the house at 8:40 a.m. - and gone were both my chances of making it to work or delivering the goodies reasonably close to on time.
I drove up to the home of the family to whom the bars needed to be delivered. Good sign - all vehicles were still present and accounted for. I rang the bell. For a moment I felt sheepish about ringing someone's doorbell at 8:40 a.m. - then realized of course they'd be up - today was a funeral after all.
The man of the house answered the door in his pjs. Odd.
He looked at me quizzically when I said, "These are for you," so I added, "For the funeral." He thanked me, still puzzled. I drove to work, slightly amazed at how much work it took to produce 24 pumpkin bars for a fumerarl, and put it out of my mind.
Until I checked my voice mail on my cell phone this morning.
Odd. I don't remember missing any calls on Tuesday or Wednesday. I looked back through all of my calls ... not a single one that indicated it was missed. I simply just had a voice mail show up.
Creepy.
And aggravating! No wonder the man of the house appeared baffled and in his pjs. No wonder the woman I'd arranged to take my goodies early wasn't home the night before the funeral.
Do you think pumpkin bars - cut and placed on tinfoil-covered cardboard - will last until mid-day tomorrow and still taste okay?
I give up. Maybe I am insane.
Wait ... first week back at work, second day in, sleep-deprived, infant with acid reflux, toddler who developed "selective hearing" on her second birthday ... BAKING? For a funeral?! Are you insane?
Probably.
But I decided that I need to do more to help others out - because I've been on the receiving end a lot of late, and as much as I'd love to claim that I'm a big-hearted saint of a woman, it's really more half-truth than truth (half-truth because I aspire to be that, but I'm not so much). Besides, how hard is it to bake a batch of pumpkin bars for the funeral of the sister of a woman from church I'm assigned to visit?
Rather complicated, as it turns out.
So the baking went fairly well, but I had to frost them before I went to bed, so I could deliver them the following evening to another woman from church, as they wanted the deserts to be dropped off at 8 a.m. on Thursday - the morning of the funeral - and I'm lucky to get us all out of the house fully clothed and fed by 8:30 these days.
Anyway, the bars hadn't quite cooled, so the cream cheese frosting melted a little into the cake-like bars, but still ... not so bad. Except, remember the toddler, who was still helping - which means that the bars defintely tasted much better than they looked. And the newborn who had given up on peaceful slumber and was wailing that she might starve to death in the next 30 seconds if I didn't drop everything and feed her rightthisverysecond. Instant gratification starts early!
Fast forward to last night (Wednesday). I remember suddenly that they'd asked that we bring the "individual serving desserts" (ie cookies, cupcakes, bars) on something that was disposable, so the family wouldn't have to return the dish. Complication. It appears that in all my stocking-up, paper plates are not to be found anywhere in my house. And since there is no such thing as a "quick trip to the store" when it involves a newborn and a toddler, well ... never mind, I thought, I had to drop the bars off at someone else's house that evening and maybe she would have something suitable.
Meanwhile, it turns out Woodstock can reach way back on top of the chest freezer. Turns out she can reach a lot of things these days I didn't know about (like my vitamins - thank heavens it was just the Vitamin D!) Turns out toddler finger prints make a really big mess in cream cheese frosting. I smoothed it out the best I could - at least her fingers were clean.
I called the neighbor to see if she was home and I could drop off the bars. Pebbles picked that moment to need to eat rightthisverysecond (Murphys Law says that if the baby is crying, the phone will ring, and if you pick up the phone, the baby will start to cry just to spite you). Above the wailing, I heard the answering machine picked up. No worries, the evening was still youngish ... another couple of hours until my eyes would be so bleary I'd have to head to bed, whether or not I had accomplished anything.
Bedtime came and went, two middle-of-the-night feedings came and went (payback for falling asleep early and not waking up to feed Pebbles at 10:30 p.m. - curses!), the alarm clock came ... and went. (Twice this week I've slept through the annoying little artificial birdies that are supposed to wake me). This was the day - the pumpkin bars needed to be on something disposable and delivered to the relatives of the deceased by 8 a.m.
Wasn't going to happen.
I ran through various scenarios in my mind as I seared short ribs in my pjs in hopes that the crock pot would magically turn them into dinner by the time I got home. I could just not drop them off...except that invalidated the whole purpose to begin with and really who needs to be stuck with a sheet pan full of bars frosted with cream cheese, butter and sugar? I could try and see if anyone else in the neighborhood was dropping theirs off - and could they drop mine off too? But that required too much time.
And what to do about the #$%#$%^#%& disposable plate problem? In a flash of MacGuyver-like inspiration, I cut the flap off of a diaper box (of which we have plenty) and covered it in tinfoil. Voila! Disposable pumpkin bar transporter.
I slogged through the morning, barely able to keep my eyelids open. Of course, because I needed to leave the house early, everything (and everybody) moved in slow motion. We left the house at 8:40 a.m. - and gone were both my chances of making it to work or delivering the goodies reasonably close to on time.
I drove up to the home of the family to whom the bars needed to be delivered. Good sign - all vehicles were still present and accounted for. I rang the bell. For a moment I felt sheepish about ringing someone's doorbell at 8:40 a.m. - then realized of course they'd be up - today was a funeral after all.
The man of the house answered the door in his pjs. Odd.
He looked at me quizzically when I said, "These are for you," so I added, "For the funeral." He thanked me, still puzzled. I drove to work, slightly amazed at how much work it took to produce 24 pumpkin bars for a fumerarl, and put it out of my mind.
Until I checked my voice mail on my cell phone this morning.
"Sara, this is Sister X. I wanted to let you know we got the date of the funeral wrong. It is FRIDAY. Not Thursday. So you can drop them off at 8 a.m. Friday."
Odd. I don't remember missing any calls on Tuesday or Wednesday. I looked back through all of my calls ... not a single one that indicated it was missed. I simply just had a voice mail show up.
Creepy.
And aggravating! No wonder the man of the house appeared baffled and in his pjs. No wonder the woman I'd arranged to take my goodies early wasn't home the night before the funeral.
Do you think pumpkin bars - cut and placed on tinfoil-covered cardboard - will last until mid-day tomorrow and still taste okay?
I give up. Maybe I am insane.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
End Radio Silence
We're still here.
We're (er, I) am sleep-deprived, a bit overwhelmed and not at all sure if my sanity is in tact, but ... I have two of the cutest little girls on the planet, so that makes most of it tolerable.
Pebbles is starting to make cute baby noises and Woodstock is chattering non-stop about anything and everything and is making herself heard, even when we'd rather not hear her. Like when the phone rings. Apologies to anyone who calls. You'll be met with a shrieking, "MOOOOOOM!" in the background followed by "Who's it?" (who is it). She'll pause for the answer, then regardless of said answer she will respond with, "Talk to her?" (or talk to him) If the answer isn't "yes," (it rarely is), she pulls out all of her 2-year-old weapons of ear drum destruction. Oy.
I was never much for phone conversations, but this takes my telephone hibernation to a whole new level. Play phones are no longer satisfactory now that she's discovered the real ones talk back!
We're (er, I) am sleep-deprived, a bit overwhelmed and not at all sure if my sanity is in tact, but ... I have two of the cutest little girls on the planet, so that makes most of it tolerable.
Pebbles is starting to make cute baby noises and Woodstock is chattering non-stop about anything and everything and is making herself heard, even when we'd rather not hear her. Like when the phone rings. Apologies to anyone who calls. You'll be met with a shrieking, "MOOOOOOM!" in the background followed by "Who's it?" (who is it). She'll pause for the answer, then regardless of said answer she will respond with, "Talk to her?" (or talk to him) If the answer isn't "yes," (it rarely is), she pulls out all of her 2-year-old weapons of ear drum destruction. Oy.
I was never much for phone conversations, but this takes my telephone hibernation to a whole new level. Play phones are no longer satisfactory now that she's discovered the real ones talk back!
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