“I don’t need you anymore,” said boy wonder this afternoon as I was whipping up some tasty hummus in the cuisinart. “I can make toast and cook dinner and do the dishes.”
Yeowch! Hard to say which hurts worse—the prospect of being considered irrelevant by my firstborn or the pathetic assessment of my role in the household as related by a preschooler. Sadly, that’s pretty much what it feels like around here much of the time. Which brings me to another subject: where the hell is my dishwasher??
I had let my husband know that one of my conditions for having a second child was the presence of a fully functional dishwasher before delivery. Well, somebody forgot to get Coco that memo, so here she is over eight months old and I’ve still got dishpan hands.
The truth is, Christian acquired a perfectly fine secondhand dishwasher several months ago. It’s even installed in our kitchen. The only problem is that it’s not hooked up. Apparently, some fairly complicated plumbing/electrical work is required for my dream to be realized. Neither of those being Christian’s area of expertise, we are at the mercy of a charming but unreliable buddy of his who has the required skills and has offered to help out but can’t seem to make it over here. Now, you may ask why we couldn’t have just gone out and bought a dishwasher and had it installed. That would seem to be the simple way to do it. Unfortunately, that is out of the question. That, you see, is what normal people would do.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Fair Enough
Spent the late morning/early afternoon in the nearby village of Lucketts at the first in a series of local fairs that continue throughout the early fall. Lucketts is only 10 miles away from the farm, but it took me about an hour to get there. Thought I was being impossibly clever in taking the back roads, only to find them swarming with annoying cyclists. One poor guy was apparently hit by a car (not mine, thank God!) so traffic was stopped for half an hour while they put him in an ambulance. Must say I’m glad I finally made it since the Lucketts Fair is one of my favorite events of this kind, the main attraction being a lineup of first-rate bluegrass bands. The arts and crafts vendors pretty much suck, which is okay with me since I’m not really into that foolishness. For me it’s about the music and, of course, the food. One of the local service clubs dishes up some decent barbecue, sweet potato fries and fresh limeade (unbelievably refreshing on an August afternoon).
Christian was MIA (in the studio with the band), but my sister and her family (two little girls and husband Ron who is this thoroughly modern, bjorn-wearing, meal-preparing hipster superdad)came out from DC. My mother and stepfather also showed up so there were some extra hands to help me wrangle Henry. I hesitate to take the kids to something like this on my own because Henry’s a total bolter, and I’m always afraid he’s going to escape and get up to no good whenever I need a break to nurse the baby.
Anyway, we had, overall, a fine afternoon. Heard some good music. The preschoolers rode ponies. Henry pooped his pants (good lord!). My niece was terrified of a clown on stilts. We ate ice cream. Finally, I felt like I was going to wilt, and it was time to go home.
While hanging around at the bluegrass pavilion, I ran into BP, my old boss at one of the local papers around here, where I interned in high school and had my first real job after college. He sold the newspaper a few years ago and retired to South Carolina so I’ve only seen him a handful of times since I moved back to Virginia. He was kind of blown away to see me with a baby hanging off my neck, messing with a stroller. (Let’s just say that my lifestyle/attitude as a young reporter were in sharp contrast to the picture of domestic tranquility my world has become.) Anyway, BP’s an interesting guy--kind of a cowboy intellectual and the subject of one of my all-time most memorable dreams (a dozen years ago), in which he was the chef in a sushi restaurant and I was the only waitress. In the dream, he was wearing a bandana (samurai style), swearing and madly chopping sushi, which I was struggling to deliver to the clamoring throngs. Guess that’s pretty much how it felt in the newsroom most of the time. I learned a lot from old BP though. He says he’s had enough of writing and spends as little time as possible at the keyboard these days. Well, I’ve had enough writing, too. At least for this evening.
Christian was MIA (in the studio with the band), but my sister and her family (two little girls and husband Ron who is this thoroughly modern, bjorn-wearing, meal-preparing hipster superdad)came out from DC. My mother and stepfather also showed up so there were some extra hands to help me wrangle Henry. I hesitate to take the kids to something like this on my own because Henry’s a total bolter, and I’m always afraid he’s going to escape and get up to no good whenever I need a break to nurse the baby.
Anyway, we had, overall, a fine afternoon. Heard some good music. The preschoolers rode ponies. Henry pooped his pants (good lord!). My niece was terrified of a clown on stilts. We ate ice cream. Finally, I felt like I was going to wilt, and it was time to go home.
While hanging around at the bluegrass pavilion, I ran into BP, my old boss at one of the local papers around here, where I interned in high school and had my first real job after college. He sold the newspaper a few years ago and retired to South Carolina so I’ve only seen him a handful of times since I moved back to Virginia. He was kind of blown away to see me with a baby hanging off my neck, messing with a stroller. (Let’s just say that my lifestyle/attitude as a young reporter were in sharp contrast to the picture of domestic tranquility my world has become.) Anyway, BP’s an interesting guy--kind of a cowboy intellectual and the subject of one of my all-time most memorable dreams (a dozen years ago), in which he was the chef in a sushi restaurant and I was the only waitress. In the dream, he was wearing a bandana (samurai style), swearing and madly chopping sushi, which I was struggling to deliver to the clamoring throngs. Guess that’s pretty much how it felt in the newsroom most of the time. I learned a lot from old BP though. He says he’s had enough of writing and spends as little time as possible at the keyboard these days. Well, I’ve had enough writing, too. At least for this evening.
Monday, August 18, 2008
The Sound of Mucus
What could be more fun than a summer cold? While our neighbors are out enjoying the latest in a string of near perfect days (unheard of in VA in August), here we are inside sniffling. Henry caught it first (of course) and passed it on to mama and then Coco. Christian has so far been spared but was complaining of a sore throat this morning. Praying it doesn’t stick since he is by far the least tough among us when it comes to routine illnesses (isn’t that always that way?).
It has essentially been a great big snot festival around here--lovely. Christian has been handling it remarkably well considering the fact that he had a fairly acute snot aversion not so long ago. There was a time when I couldn’t even pronounce the word in front of him. I am happy to report that he has made great strides since we had kids and even wipes noses.
Little Co was up all night, waking us up every couple hours with pathetic whimpers and snuffles over the monitor. I went in a few times to give her squeeze with the dreaded bulb aspirator. Our girl is amazingly good natured but the nasty old bulb manages to faze even the sweetest pea. So after a go-round with that instrument of torture, I usually wound up putting her on the boob to get her to quiet down.
So in addition to being sick, I am operating on no sleep. Would love to stay in bed and watch the Olympics all day, but that is, of course, out of the question. I have rarely encountered the bug that could cramp Henry’s style, so he is as energetic as ever and itching to get out on the new two-wheeler (with training wheels) that he inherited from a friend (thanks Curtis!). Counting on grandma to come over here and save the day this afternoon.
It has essentially been a great big snot festival around here--lovely. Christian has been handling it remarkably well considering the fact that he had a fairly acute snot aversion not so long ago. There was a time when I couldn’t even pronounce the word in front of him. I am happy to report that he has made great strides since we had kids and even wipes noses.
Little Co was up all night, waking us up every couple hours with pathetic whimpers and snuffles over the monitor. I went in a few times to give her squeeze with the dreaded bulb aspirator. Our girl is amazingly good natured but the nasty old bulb manages to faze even the sweetest pea. So after a go-round with that instrument of torture, I usually wound up putting her on the boob to get her to quiet down.
So in addition to being sick, I am operating on no sleep. Would love to stay in bed and watch the Olympics all day, but that is, of course, out of the question. I have rarely encountered the bug that could cramp Henry’s style, so he is as energetic as ever and itching to get out on the new two-wheeler (with training wheels) that he inherited from a friend (thanks Curtis!). Counting on grandma to come over here and save the day this afternoon.
Monday, August 11, 2008
More Carla
Fabulous article on Carla Bruni in September’s Vanity Fair. I swear I was just about to write them and beg them to do a story on her. My Parisian friend Jacky (total leftist and Sarko-hater) is disgusted by whole affair, but I’m totally fixated. Can’t help thinking our lives are on some kind of crazy parallel. When she was dating Mick Jagger, I was scraping the bottom of the barrel for a prom date. When I was doing crummy showrooms in Paris, she was a supermodel. She’s partial to Saint Laurent-- I’m heavily into Tarzhay. She lives in the Elysee Palace—I live in the dirt palace. She’s married to a tiny tyrant…Well, maybe not.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Mixed Marriage Update
Christian: devastated that his love Jennifer Garner has come out hard for Obama. Convinced that Ben has brainwashed her. I can tell you, if we hear anything from Nicole, there just might be some tears shed. Sorry my love, the fact is, there just aren’t any hot Republican chicks out there, and please don’t even think of mentioning Ann Coulter.
Bracing for stormy seas here at the funny farm as the campaign kicks into high gear. Fall of 2004 was rough. We were still getting used to living together and the nastiness of the campaign seemed to overflow into our living room. Must admit, I was hard pressed to come up with much in defense of John Kerry. This time, I’m gung ho, although have much less time to follow the ins and outs of it all. Christian’s idea of pillow talk these days is to fill me in on Obama’s latest gaffes while I’m half asleep. Something about people not inflating their tires properly…. Anyway, hoping things will remain more civil this go-round for the sake of the children.
Bracing for stormy seas here at the funny farm as the campaign kicks into high gear. Fall of 2004 was rough. We were still getting used to living together and the nastiness of the campaign seemed to overflow into our living room. Must admit, I was hard pressed to come up with much in defense of John Kerry. This time, I’m gung ho, although have much less time to follow the ins and outs of it all. Christian’s idea of pillow talk these days is to fill me in on Obama’s latest gaffes while I’m half asleep. Something about people not inflating their tires properly…. Anyway, hoping things will remain more civil this go-round for the sake of the children.
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