Mar
I maintain several recurring bad dreams in my repetoire. (How come the good ones never recur?) In one of these dreams, there is not much plot or action; the only real substance of the dream is that I am trying to get away from someone or something, but my feet are like lead. I can hardly move; it’s a struggle to take a step.
This particular dream culminates when whoever or whatever is trying to get me appears in front of me; at that point, I feel that I must scream, only I cannot. No matter how hard I try, no sound comes forth.
The other night, in my dream, I realized I was having “the dream” and told myself that I only had to try harder. For the first time in my life, I was successful in eking out a howl.
Much to the chagrin of my husband sleeping next to me.
Mar
I am completely drained from the last few weeks: work stress + family stress = one tired mama.
The universe did not get the memo, though. Two nights ago, because I had too many things to do at once, I decided to fix loaded baked potatoes for supper. After I popped the washed, poked, and salted spuds in the oven, I worked at my computer for a while. At one point in the evening, I heard a muffled sound, not unlike a heavy book being closed.
When I went to remove the baked offerings, I discovered that one of them was not happy being a plain, white potato from Idaho. No, it thought of itself more like a Hellfire Missile, and it chose this day to unleash its terrifying and awesome power against the oven coils.
The universe seems to have forgotten that moms bake potatoes for dinner when they absolutely do not have time for anything more elaborate, and as a corollary, do not have time to clean the fucking oven.
The universe needs to remember that I can do voodoo.
Mar
My son has a facebook account, but, only with the caveat that I 1) am his friend so I can see what he’s posting, and 2) have his password so I can log in occasionally and make sure his contacts aren’t posting inappropriate things.
This morning, I was checking out a thread one of his friends’ was posting where he was answering a bunch of questions about my kid and others.
One of the questions was What is your most memorable moment with (insert my son’s name here) ? I am not quite sure what to make of his answer:
When i was at his house watching the Saints vs Vikings game and the Vikings fumble it and his mother jumps up and yells ” FALL ON THE DAMN BALL” hahal
That’s his most memorable moment with my son? Me, cussing at the TV! Oy, I probably have some apologizing to offer his parents.
Feb
Last night was the annual benefit gala fundraiser for our kids’ school. It’s an evening of dinner, dancing, boozin’, auction, games and prize drawings. There’s a large cash prize, and this year, my name was drawn as one of the 10 finalists. I even got a lapel pin to wear all night, so as not to forget I was one of the finalists. I thought this particular pin was a good omen!
The theme of the evening was Paris, or something like that. We entered through the Arc de Triomphe (and a giant hat tip to the designer, it was a fabulous idea). Speaking of the designer, I begged him to let me have these banners after they take down the decorations!
(I circled the evening’s emcee to illustrate scale.) I am keeping my fingers crossed that he remembers because those would be so cool for my next party. He’s a Colts fan, though, and might burn them or something.
Unfortunately, in the final draw, my name was drawn out early; we won back the price of our entrance ticket. I did score some super goodies in the silent auction, so I walked away thrilled.
When I arrived home, my husband, who skipped this year’s event, wondered what I had bought and how much I had spent.
“Guess!” I said.
He looked at me.
“Guess! Guess!” I said.
“A baseball?” (Aside: we have a major league baseball collection that actually started with one I obtained at this event quite a few years ago.)
“Yes!”
“Really?”
“Yes!”, I said, “and, it’s a GOOD one.”
“Tom Glavine?”
“Nope.”
“Better than Tom Glavine?”
“Yep.”
“Really? Better than that? Okay, was it a Brave?”
“YEP.”
“Bobby Cox.”
“NO. Nooooooooooo. Way better than that.”
“WAY BETTER THAN BOBBY?!?”
“Uh-huh.”
So he threw out what he thought was a crazy guess, “Hank Aaron.”
“YES! YES! YES!”
I think I shopped well.
