You like me, you really . . . wait

I ran into this woman yesterday who doesn't particularly like me. (Not you Laura P . . . as far as I know.) It could have something to do with the fact that I once saw her in a compromising situation with someone who was not (ahem) her husband.

I always try to be pleasant enough. I'm not here to judge. I think she dislikes the fact that my spotting her took some of the wind out of her sails for judging some of my bad pre-marriage behavior. I don't really know. I don't really care. Can't we all just get along? Haven't we all made some bad decisions down the line? Didn't Jesus have something to say about this in John 8?

I don't really feel like I'm missing out on much because she doesn't like me, but she makes it all the more awkward by being extra friendly to my husband. What shall my response be to this?

It would be a weird world if everybody liked us all the time. I understand. My personality just rubs some people the wrong way. I've been told I am elitist and condescending -- in one sitting, come to think of it. I don't see myself that way, but I can sort of see why others might see me that way.

I think I am very shy. One on one, I'm fine. Talking alone in front of large groups, no problem, but I have a hard time in social group settings. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have a melodramatic personality, which I imagine could appear stand-offish or snobby in these types of settings. I am just coping.

Are you following any of this?

What is it that makes us say, "I certainly don't like you, but you have NO REASON not to like me."

Sunrise, sunset

I am happy to report that the sun set last night at 4:53 p.m. We have gained 20 + minutes since last month. Oh, yes, my friends, I can almost smell spring from here. In fact, an Eddie Bauer "summer preview" catalog arrived yesterday with its pages and pages of shorts.

Big Daddy Brent and I are actually looking at the shorts this week as we are taking a big trip next month for our big anniversary/birthday/birthday year. We stopped at a store in a larger town the other day because I wanted to try the shorts on in person and not just order them and send them back (which, it turns out, is what would have happened). It felt more than a little weird. They only had two different kinds of shorts out and everyone else in the store was picking through the Christmas clearance sweaters. If I'd had more time I certainly would have too, but I didn't.

Nope, I just zipped to the back and tried on my shorts. My little ghost like legs stuck out of the shorts and immediately started turning purple . . . because it's cold. It's hard to determine just how attractive shorts are when you have to imagine sandals where your wool socks are.

It's actually even sort of hard to look at the models in the Eddie Bauer catalog. I keep thinking, "You must be so cold."

Back in the saddle

Although there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I got everyone out the door this morning and back where they belong. I'm stretching the truth here -- actually the bus was so late this morning that Big Daddy Brent fired up the large American SUV and hauled all the neighbor kids himself. I did the important job of keeping Toddler D asleep in bed with me.

But now we are all up and most of us are dressed and on our way back to a regular routine.

I have a big ol' bag of mixed emotions about this. Our family does so much better on a regular schedule. We get tired and feisty when were not. But what a fun, fun vacation time we had together.

The big mystery of Christmas vacation is What Happened to Colin's Snowpants? He has two pair: one for school and one for home. They send the school pants home at holiday breaks to be washed. I remember seeing them in a laundry basket, but I don't remember if I washed them, and they are no where to be found. No where. We've looked in logic places. We've looked in illogical places. We've called both grandmas and made them look. We've call Jeremy and made him look in his car. No where.

It's not like a baby sock or something that got eaten by the washer. It's a big pair of elementary kid snowpants.

It seems like the school pair gets lost every other year, but usually it's . . . in school. You know, where there's a lot of chaos and several hundred pair of black snow pants. What could possibly have happened to them between here and the washing machine?

It's only one floor.

Happy Birthday, Toddler D

It's Baby D's second birthday. He helped me making the frosting for his cake. I know he's a big helpful (?) toddler now, but I imagine he'll always be my little baby.

What do you do?

We have discussed before that it took me a long time to become comfortable with being an at-home mom. It was thanks to a certain friend whose husband prefers short blogs that I began to see it as a privilege and not some weird experiment.

During those first awkward years, when someone asked me what I did I would say, "Well, I worked for my father in the publishing field, but I have left that now." Thereby sort of leaving the impression that I was between careers. Lately, I have embraced the term "homemaker" and from my dear friend Patty I have added the phrase "practising mothercraft." It's fabulous. It sounds all artsy craftsy.

Frankly, I very seldom have to answer the question. I live in a very small town. Everyone knows that I worked for my dad, now I don't. No one really cares.

So imagine my surprise the other night at the New Year's Eve thing when I was introduced to a man I did not know and the FIRST question out of his mouth was, "And what do you do?" Well, my gut response was "nothing," but it was New Year's Eve; I was all dolled up; and, to be honest, there was just something in his tone that led me to believe he expected me to say something more impressive than "nothing."

Before I had a chance to say anything, the woman I was talking to shouted out enthusiastically, "She's a thespian!!" Now, look kids, it's true I have done my share of bad community dinner theatre and preschool productions, but it is not something I brag about. So I laughed heartily and said in my most charming, dressed up, cocktail party voice, "I like to say I practice the ancient art of home economics (wink, wink)."

He looked startled . . . and puzzled. "Oh! You're a home ec teacher?"

I didn't have the heart to tell him I don't think they have those anymore, so I said in that humoring way Auntie Mame has when she goes to visit the Upsons, "Why no, I practice home economics (wink, wink)."

"Oh," he said as his face fell. "You're an at-home mom."

And off he went.

Will I never learn the subtle art of cocktail party conversation?

Ode to Mark

So New Year's Eve, Brent and I got all dressed up and went with Cyberspace Sarah and Captain America, our parents and our beloved friends Molly and Mark to our local hometown gala. We were have a lovely time together when Mark (Perhaps his name has been changed to protect him . . . perhaps not) turns to me and says, "You need to stop writing your blog."

What?

"Well, at least make them shorter."

So. In an effort to please this particular section of my readership, I shall end here. Mark, this one is for you.

Don't say I never did anything for you.

Death of a tree

Is there anything more depressing than taking the Christmas decorations down?

I can't quite make it to Twelfth Night like my mom used to do, but I do like to leave the lights up through New Year's because I think it's more festive and I'm just not done until then.

But now it's time.

I tried to ease into it over the course of the week putting things away that no one would notice much . . . empty chocolate Advent calendars . . . stockings . . . I threw away half a dozen candy canes no one seemed to be eating . . . stale cookies. Now it's time for the tree, though. I have an artificial tree, so there will be no trauma of seeing it outside on the curb until tree pickup day. That's a good thing. Those trees . . . it's like driving past the body every day. I know you real tree lovers enjoy your smell and all that, but I just can't deal with the death.

The ornaments are another project. For whatever reason, I rebox the Hallmark ornaments in their boxes which just got tossed in a pile at decorating time. And the glass ornaments have to be packaged in such a way as not to get broken. And I label the kids' ornaments so they'll know which ones are theirs.

We should create some sort of tradition which celebrates the life of our Christmas which has passed. A memorial service for Christmas. A cake? No, we'll be having one for Baby D's second birthday and the poor kid is getting short changed the way things are so close to Christmas. A movie? A lasagna? Trip to Florida?! Ideal, but probably not.

I have to think about this.

Happy New Year, anyway!!