That Holiday Spirit

I was in Kmart early in December and saw what appeared to be a grandmother with her granddaughter. The granddaughter's (apparent)dad had gone in the opposite direction and the granddaughter, who looked to be about three, was squirming in the cart, and saying, to the grandmother, "I don't want you. I don't love you." in a whiny three-year-old voice.

The grandmother said, "Well, good, because the less people who like me this time of year means the less presents I have to buy."

Warms the heart, doesn't it?

NaBloPoMo Recovery

One of the things that happens when you post every day for a month is that when it's over, you feel kind of funny not posting for the first few days.

Then you get over it.

Best Laid Plans and All That Crap

So I made it.

Just barely and with more than a few questionable posts, but still, I made it.

I had a post planned about what I've learned from yet another month of daily posting but a heaping helping of driving two boys back to college with side orders of freezing rain and holiday traffic have dashed those fantastic plans.

Maybe next time.

Saving The Best For Last...

...and tonight's only next-to-last.

Our Whole Friendship In a Nutshell

It's been a busy couple of days. Today, especially, morphed from a much-needed vacation day at work to seven-and-a-half hours of funeral work and deliveries followed by a frantic two hours of errands for the various people in my life. In the midst of all this fun, a friend--Ms. Unattainable--texted me--she was having a minor moment and needed an ear, could I squeeze in dinner with her? When I said yes, she asked if I was sure because she knew how busy I was (she, unlike me, was actually off on her day off, and we had been in touch off and on throughout the day).

My answer: "It's fine--a break from my own insanity for a little of yours will be refreshing."

Giving Thanks...

Too stuffed to post...much.

Just Askin'

You know how you always hear women of a certain age--say 40 and up--talking about finally being "comfortable my own skin?" Now, I'm no expert, having only recently entered the four-ohs, but doesn't it seem possible that we're more comfortable in our skin because that skin is all stretched out and baggy like a worn-out sweatshirt and a broken-in pair of jeans?

...And Humble Too

In the car with Daughter-Only on the way to retrieve Son-One for Thanksgiving Break when she says, in what can only be described as an awe-filled voice:

"I was just sitting here thinking how awesome I am."

Oooohkay.

Masked Mom's Media Monday: The Wordy Shipmates

[In honor of NaBloPoMo (read: because I was such an idiot as to commit to posting daily), Masked Mom's Media Monday makes its triumphant (albeit likely very temporary) return.]

I was reading Sarah Vowell's The Wordy Shipmates at work last week when Cranky Boss Lady glanced over and said, "What's that about?"

I answered, "The Puritans."

She cringed. "Isn't it boring?" I thought at first it was kind of a silly question because, well Cranky Boss Lady was asking it, and since if I found it boring I likely wouldn't have been halfway through the book and so absorbed in it that I was having a hard time putting it down to actually do my job. But the truth is I'd never found the Puritans all that fascinating and the main reason I'd picked up the book was Sarah Vowell's name on the cover. Frankly, I'd follow Vowell to just about any topic she'd want to cover.

And even in this subject, the (allegedly) boring Puritans, Vowell did not disappoint:

"By March, good old Miantonomi sends Boston a tribute of 'forty fathom of wampum and a Pequot's hand,' severed body parts being the seventeenth-century equivalent of a gift basket of mini-muffins."

"Mason is triumphant. After all, this is the will of a righteous God. He praises the Lord for 'burning them up in the fire of his wrath, and dunging the ground with their flesh: It is the Lord's doings, and it is marvelous in our eyes!' That might be the creepiest exclamation point in American literature. No, wait--it's this one: 'Thus did the Lord judge among the heathen, filling the place with their dead bodies!'"

In between smart-ass commentary about the Puritans, Vowell fits in lots of information and even some smart-ass commentary about herself:

"I wish I didn't undertand why Hutchinson risks damning herself to exile and excommunication just for the thrill of shooting off her mouth and making other people listen up. But this here book is evidence that I have this confrontational, chatty bent myself."

And in her usual way, she painlessly sneaks in lessons about how we came to think America is the greatest nation on earth and how, while it might be true, it can be a horribly dangerous notion when taken to extremes.

Masked Mom's One-Word Review: Enlightening.


*Or at least pretend a little harder to be doing my job--though, frankly, a lot of my job lately actually seems to consist entirely of pretending--pretending to be fascinated by the tales of CBL's newest relationship; pretending not to be panicked by the latest round of economic news and what it means for a luxury industry like ours; pretending to have any respect for CBL's opinions on business, politics, religion or any other topic at all; pretending not to want to duct tape CBL's ever-yammering mouth shut...

Hmmmm...

Got this in a fortune cookie the other day and it's been bugging me ever since:

"Ignorance on fire is better than knowledge on ice."

My first thought was "huh?"

My second: "Not only is that not true, it could be dangerous."

My third: "Someone from the Bush administration has been writing fortune cookies."

A Tale Of Two Colleges

Son-One started it by choosing a college in Buffalo, a place known for its nasty winter weather and the dreaded lake effect snow*. Son-Two upped the ante by choosing a college with dorms about one mile from Lake Erie, an area even more prone to lake effect snow.

Last semester as I set out to pick up Son-One for what was laughingly referred to as Spring Break (in March, in Buffalo), there were lake effect snow advisories and white knuckle driving most of the way up and back. The end result being a trip that normally takes four hours taking six instead.

Last night as I set out to pick up Son-Two for Thanksgiving break, there were lake effect snow warnings and white knuckle driving most of the way up and back. The end result being a trip that normally takes four-and-a-half hours taking six instead.

You can only imagine how much I'm looking forward to picking up Son-One Tuesday night.

*For those uninitiated in lake effect greatness, lake effect snow is not caused by a storm but by cold air moving over the warm lakes where it picks up moisture, magically changes it to snow and dumps it by the footful on the regions near the Great Lakes. It is much less predictable than normal weather patterns and ever-so-much more fun.

Fake Post

Maybe the title should be "Another Fake Post." Anyway, my excuse this time is I am on my way to pick up Son-Two at college for Thanksgiving Break and I am not entirely certain I will make it back before midnight. Therefore, rather than the wise, witty and wonderful post you would've gotten if I WERE able to make it back by midnight, you're getting this--a(nother) fake post.

Taking One For The Team

Daughter-Only has not only given permission, but practically demanded that I run this portion of journal entry from February 1997, when she was two-and-three-quarters (or so) years old.

Monday, February 3, 1997

...Last night [Daughter-Only*] matter-of-factly informed me that she doesn't have a weenie. She said, "My weenie wasn't cut off, it was ruined." She said this while I was on the phone with J, who was gigantically amused. [Daughter-Only] refuses to discuss the vagina/vulva at all. She's pretty sure she has two butts.

*She did insist that if I was going to run it, I had to put "Daughter-Only" in brackets to indicate that I had replaced her actual name with "Daughter-Only" lest anyone think I was idiot enough to refer to her in my journal by my blog name for her.

You'll Be Happy To Know...

...it's not really a lack of ideas--I've got several, I mean maybe not enough to make it through the end of the month, but several, fairly decent ideas--it's the lack of energy to execute them properly. It's a lack of the quality time necessary to do these ideas justice.

There now, don't you feel better?

Browns vs. Bills

Last night, Son-Three attended his first NFL football game on a night when the temperature in Buffalo hovered in the low 20s. Among the first things he told me about this momentous occasion:

"Mom, I was talking to some Canadian guys in line for the bathroom and we just couldn't believe the steam coming out of the port-a-potties."

Whatever his future might hold, it's relatively certain that it won't include a career in sportscasting.

Up That Creek...

So tonight, completely lacking inspiration for a blog post, I turn to the little hardbound journals I keep filled with quotes I've pilfered from a gazillion sources--books and magazines mostly, but pop songs and cartoons on occasion*, in hopes of stirring up something. Two pages into my search I found this:

"You have to lay yourself on the altar to the muse. Because once she stops coming around you're really up a creek without a paddle." --Emmylou Harris (From "What I've Learned" column in Esquire, June 2004)

I can't help wondering what the muse of blogging would look like...would I even recognize her if she showed up?

*Like this from Franklin's mom on the adorable cartoon Franklin: "I know you tried your best last time, but maybe your best has gotten better since then."

Public Service Announcement Brought To You From The Backseat of Masked Mom's Car

Sitting in the car at the grocery store with three girls in the backseat--two eleven-year-olds and an eight-year-old. There is general noise and ruckus going on back there and in the midst of it comes this important health alert (courtesy of one of the eleven-year-olds):

"So-and-so tried to give me a titty twister. You should never do that--you could totally dismantle a woman's boobie doing that*."

*You know what else you shouldn't do? Use "dismantle" and "boobie" in the same sentence. You could totally unhinge an unstable forty-year-old in the front seat.

UGH

The halfway mark & I got nothin'.

I realize I've also had nothin' a significant number of days leading up to this one.

The difference is, as celebration of the halfway mark, I'm respecting us both enough to just say so up front.

Awww...

As a jaded cynic who has not only been married 21 years but has been in the flower business for nearly 10, I have a pretty low tolerance for sap. So imagine my delight* when the gentleman sending 21 roses to his wife for their 21st anniversary told me his card message: "I want these roses to see how beautiful you are."

He at least had the good sense to say, "There--is that corny enough?"

Didn't have the heart to tell him that as far as I'm concerned there are only two degrees of corny: not and way too.

*I was, however, exceedingly delighted to run his credit card, thank you very much.

Wishing Upon A (Non-Sequel Movie) Star

Upon all that is holy in Hollywood*, I wish the two-movie-at-a-time theater in town could someday soon get two movies at a time that don't have numbers after their titles. (Offerings for the past month: Saw V, Madagascar 2, High School Musical 3, broken up only by Beverly Hills Chihuahua, which while blessedly number-free, is still clearly not worthy of two hours (or so) of my time.) And no, Quantum of Solace (a.k.a. James Bond 1,239,394), opening this weekend, does not count, thanks for asking.

*Not much.