Mm Mm Good

My husband's birthday was on Tuesday, but, between weeknight activities and a his last-minute trip to D.C., we rescheduled it. So, since I'm getting ready to spend several hours making a cake and, later, coq au vin, I figured I'd pick on him for a bit!

My husband is a coffee snob. Now, he comes by it honorably because his dad was the ultimate coffee snob, ordering beans by mail and grinding his own back before Starbucks made it fashionable. I, on the other hand, grew up in a household where last night's coffee becomes this morning's coffee with a simple flick of the little red button (or, in a pan on the stove back in the olden days). Have I mentioned that I left my parents' home not liking coffee?

Early in our marriage, my husband started getting coffee through the mail. Every month the little Starbucks box would show up. The rise of internet ordering meant that he could tweak his monthly order, adding more or taking away depending on our usage, and switching out blends based on his current fancy. He took great pleasure in this tweaking and in grinding his own beans and raving about how good the coffee was.

Shortly after we moved to Connecticut, he got a letter from Starbucks, informing him that they would no longer be providing mail order services, and directing him to his "local" store. At that point, the "local" store was a good hour away. (My husband is also a former retail manager and is, therefore, a retail snob. Sometime I'll have to post about his rants on the shelf-stocking policy downfalls of Target.) Enter a month that included great rants and letters written to Starbucks. Ultimately, he switched his loyalty to Peet's, and now claims that Starbucks "tastes burnt and really isn't good coffee anyway."

He's mellowed a bit over the years. He orders it pre-ground now, rather than grinding his own. He figures that he uses it fast enough, and Peet's grinds it just prior to delivery, so it's a toss-up. Last year his trusty old coffee pot at work died (yes, you read that right--he made his own coffee at work), and he decided that he would discontinue the tradition. I bought him a new stainless thermos for Christmas, and now he gets up early, brews it, and takes it with him. He could fill up a big travel mug with it and take it all (I would!), but he doesn't. So, every morning when I go downstairs, there's at least one large mug of freshly-brewed coffee left in the carafe for me to drink while I chivvy the kids out the door to school.

And that's my silver lining for today.

Girl's Best Friend

We've had four dogs since we were married, all of them Schipperkes. They've brought us varying degrees of joy and sadness over the years, including one of the toughest decisions I ever had to make.

Sabot, our first dog, our pre-children baby, was a cute little puppy that we bought at the local pet store. We took her to puppy school and, later, obedience training; we read all of the books; we socialized her; and, yet, at about a year old, when she matured, she started developing aggressive tendencies (translation: she bit people). Since then, we've learned all about the negative side of buying a pet store dog--she was loving to us, and we loved her, but she had fear aggression, the worst kind, as it's psychological as opposed to habitual or territorial, and, ultimately, we had to have Sabot put to sleep when she was seven years old. I still miss that dog and feel an overwhelming sense of failure when I think about her.

During the time we had Sabot, before her problems became obvious and STILL pre-children, we adopted our second dog, Laars. Laars was a rescue who had been abandoned outside a vet's office. He shared our lives for four very short years, when he slammed his 22 lb bulk against the screen door in our new/old home ("The 1900 House") in Connecticut, popped the latch, and was hit by a car moments later. We still miss that dog, too, but for different reasons--he was truly one of the sweetest, gentlest, and most loving dogs I've ever had the pleasure to share my life with, and he was taken from us far too soon.

Our third dog came to us by chance. We were consulting with Schipperke Rescue when we were deciding what to do about Sabot. Maverick was a nine year old dog who'd already been returned to rescue by the first family who adopted him. Unfortunately, the husband abused him, and the wife had to return him. His injured leg developed arthritis, which was really his only health issue up until old age caught up with him. He was our dog for 6-1/2 years, when on a cold January morning, shortly after his sixteenth birthday, he took off (yes, a dog who had to be carried down the steps to go outdoors somehow managed to pick up and mosey off in the sunset in the 30 seconds my husband got distracted by a screaming child). My last vivid memory of him was the week before. I took him for a walk out to the mailbox on a brisk, grey, wintry afternoon. His legs were stiff and, as he limped back up the driveway, he stopped, turned his nose into the wind, and closed his eyes, almost like he was imagining himself running into it. Maverick's first owners gave him up to rescue when they had a baby. Well, he made it through TWO babies with us, and I think he did just fine, don't you? We were happy to have shared our lives with him, and he clearly enjoyed living with us and "his" cats.


And that brings me to my current dog. I say "my" because, oddly enough, this is the first dog to have totally latched onto me. Sabot gave fairly equivalent affection to both my husband and me; Laars just plain loved everyone with two legs (he chased cats, though, and took great pleasure in it); Maverick liked us all, two-legged and four-legged alike, in his big-hearted way, but worshipped the ground my husband walked on. So, now, out of the blue, I have a dog. We adopted Berry right after Maverick died. We'd been working with the rescue organization for over a month to adopt a senior dog as a companion to Maverick. Black Bear was a 10 year old Schipperke with Addison's disease, placed into rescue by her owners because they moved and could only keep two dogs (I note that they appear to have kept the two that didn't have the expensive medical condition). As my husband says every month when we go to the drug store and pay $100 for her medication, "What price, love?" We redubbed her "Blackberry," a much more feminine name, but not different enough to confuse her Senior Dogginess, and, really, do you know how many Schipperkes there are named "Bear"? Berry has been with us for almost two years now. While it took her a while to get used to kids and to make friends with our cat, she's now a much-loved member of the family. She's even decided that it's probably not a good use of her time to sit by the door pining for me when I go out--after all, she might miss some errant crumb of food dropped by some other member of the family. During the day, the cat follows her around, and she follows me. Sometimes I feel like a drum major leading a parade--I have to be careful not to turn around too quickly, or I'll trip over a pile of black animals.


(This photo is as bad as it is because every time I backed up to take the shot, they followed me! But, it gives you a good idea of the view from where I am.)

And that's my silver lining for today.

Life in the Slow Lane

Now that my youngest son has started kindergarten, there are three boys to get out the door in the morning. OK, two, because my husband gets rid of one of them without even waking me. I am happy to leave this 6 am wake-up routine to Mr. Bright and Cheery because I am NOT a morning person (besides, I woke up Mr. Coma for many, many years, even when I worked, and I was quite happy to pass on that baton). My 7 year old has always been a late sleeper, and, despite getting up for years at 5:30 am and bouncing in our bed, my 5 year old is becoming quite the little bed bug as well. Because of a change in the bus schedule, their bus ride this year is about 50 minutes long. So, between our sleepy-headedness, my five year old's stringent desire to NOT ride the bus for 50 minutes, AND my having to be at the middle school to volunteer two days a week, I confess that I've been driving them to school more days than not.

Enter the Bus Lane.

Our bus lane is really just a traffic pattern. The parking spaces are in the middle, with the driving lane in a big oval around them. It's wide enough that people can pull up to the crosswalk that crosses the buses-only lane, while other people can go around them to leave the lot or to find a parking space. In a school with only 400 kids, there's really no need for a highly-organized teachers-get-kids-from-cars-and-parents-better-stay-in-their-seats-and-be-ready-to-move-on extravaganza. But, really, people, can't you show some common courtesy?

Almost every time we go to the school, there is someone in front of us who wants to make a huge production out of getting out of the car. For a week or so, we got stuck repeatedly behind the same Dad (how's that for dumb luck?), who got out of the car, got a kid out of the driver's side, walked around and got the other kid out of the passenger side, handed them their backpacks, gave goodbye hugs, and then stood at the crosswalk and watched his daughters walk the whole way into the school before getting into his car and driving forward so the next person could drop off. Today (in case you're wondering what set me off on this tirade), we pulled up behind a big black van, its doors shut. I assumed that the parent was watching her children walk into the school, as more people than not seem to feel the need to do this, no matter how many people are waiting behind them. Since we were directly behind her, next to an empty handicapped space, I went ahead and let the kids out. Still, it sat there. I was stuck, since I'd been stupid enough to pull too close (you know, assuming that she was about to pull away). The parents lined up behind me got out of their cars and started escorting their children to the crosswalk, as it was getting late. Finally, there was MOVEMENT in the car, and kids started getting out. Yes, dear reader, the whole time they were sitting there, they were GETTING READY to get out. Find a parking space, idiot, if it takes that much work to get your kids out of the car.

Now, when we pull up, my second grader opens the van door; both boys hop out; second grader closes van door; boys head into crosswalk; and I pull ahead. Sometimes, after I've pulled out of the drop-off spot, I'll pause and watch them--they generally walk straight into the school, looking fairly cheery, sometimes greeting people they see, but not dawdling outside. During the first few weeks of school, my second grader walked my kindergartener to his classroom without being asked to do so. While I still like to snuggle with them in bed in the morning and push the snooze button a few times, and they, more often than not, drive me nuts, it's also nice to know that they are growing up into self-sufficient boys who don't need their Mommy to hand them their backpacks and watch to make sure they make it into the school from no further than they'd go if they were getting off the bus.

And that's my silver lining for today.

Boo!

My sister is a costumer out in Hollywood (Doesn't that sound impressive? I keep telling her that it is!), and I guess I got a little bit of the gene because we generally go all out. I've posted elsewhere about my crocheted chain mail, and I'm usually digging out the sewing machine and sewing like mad right up to the day, because, well, I'm a procrastinator and, even with a cut-off date for costume decisions, we often end up making idea changes when we actually head out to the stores to shop for materials (see my post from Wednesday, 10/22). Despite the often tight deadlines, I really enjoy making the costumes. It gets my brain working and my creative juices flowing. Even the annoyance of now having to make the Headless Horseman be able to see and move his arms has an upside because, in the end, it's a challenge that can be overcome if I can just get my brain to go in the right direction.

The costumes I make go into our (now) vast costume bin. If you drive by my house on any given day, you'll probably see my kids dressed in various combinations of the pieces that have been made or purchased (I'm also a sucker for Disney Store costumes--good quality, and usually on massive sale right before or right after Halloween--we've even given them to the kids for Christmas presents). When we go places we also tend to pick up bits and pieces--hats, swords, props. Really, I promise--I'm not trying to be an Impressive Mommy when I make this stuff. It's fun, and their enjoyment of it is worth any effort I expend. Plus, pinky swear--it's FUN!

:::Returning the next day because I got distracted by finishing up Mr. Headless for the party they are at right now:::


Yesterday, as I was driving the kids to school, I was talking my my 7 year old about his costume. I told him I'd make him a cravat out of the black material I'd brought up out of the basement, and he'd be able to see through it. This material is left over from making my younger son's Halloween Bat costume two years ago (one of the photos in the slide show). He got very concerned and said, "Oh, mom, please don't cut up Tom's bat wings." I told him that it was leftover from when I made them, so the bat wings would survive to swoop another day. His reply? "You MADE Tom's bat wings? Wow!"

And that's my silver lining for today.

Far From the Home I Love

Two weeks ago we flew to California, and drove north from L.A. to a little town called Solvang in the Santa Ynez Valley. My husband, a California-is-for-Californians kind of guy, who whined about having no snow the entire time we lived in Virginia, has been out to L.A. and San Diego a few times on business, as have I, but our view was mostly of highways and Naval bases (although I was lucky enough to have time to visit the San Diego Zoo, and my husband still talks about getting to play Torrey Pines at the resident/military fee). So, it was rather refreshing to actually spend some time in a section of California that is more similar in character to our own town in rural Connecticut. It was interesting to see the farms, with raised or covered crops and large irrigation systems, and to note the difference in the landscape, which ran in shades of vivid blue, dark green, and various degrees of brown. We both decided that, given a winning Powerball ticket, we'd have no problem living there (because, as I pointed out to my husband, one can always visit snow, which, of course, would be shoveled and plowed by others).

Then we came home. Right into the height of a New England Autumn. Now, I have to admit, I'm liking spring more and more each year. The colors are more subtle, but I like to see how many different shades of green I can see, and then see them develop over the next month, as they mix with the flowering bushes and bulbs that also start appearing around that time. Autumn gives a brief, fiery show and then you get...fall (literally, as I look out at the yard covered with dead leaves that weren't there on Sunday). That said, coming back into it from the more subdued browns and tans of California was invigorating. It's nice to travel and get away from the humdrum of daily life, but sometimes, in quirky little ways, it points out to you what you'd miss if you weren't where you are, right now.

So, it's a week past peak color, but it's still going strong and breathtakingly beautiful. On the drive home from my volunteer job this morning, I was thinking about how gorgeous it is where I live. I'll have to do another post on the view driving into town, because it's picture-postcard perfect. Can you imagine what it really looks like, if it looks this good through my dirty car windows with a cell phone camera?



And that's my silver lining for today.


Note: Here's a (rather blurry--I'll have to get another one on Saturday--he kept jumping around) photo of the costume that resulted from yesterday's turmoil:


Of course, apparently I still have to figure out how he can lower his arms and see to walk. But, hey, it LOOKS good, right?!?!

A Vacation from the Vacation

That's what I need. Even though I did several loads of laundry on our trip (thank-you, sister dear, for loaning your machine, and, of course, the Embassy Suites free-wine-fiesta is quite amenable to waiting for the laundry to be done!), it has piled up again. Where did it come from? It was all done before we left, and we came back with only the dirty clothes from 2 days of travel. But, here I sit staring at 3 or 4 baskets (now clean) and another two (still to be washed).

Enter Halloween. I thought I had two weeks after we got home from an eight-day trip to California. Nope. Cub Scout party, this Saturday. Happy, happy, joy, joy. My husband e-mailed me from work yesterday to remind me (and, yes, I should have known, since I do the Cub Scout newsletter, so stupid on me). Luckily, or so I thought, I had the stuff already--my son and I bought the materials Sunday when we went on a mall trip. But, then the trouble starts. My husband and son have apparently totally redesigned the costume, against my better wishes. Several dozen e-mails have gone back and forth between yesterday and today, as well as some quite livid in-person conversation last night (which ended with me declaring that, as I was in the process of leaving the house for choir for the evening, they could do what they wanted, but leave me out of it). Then, when I got home, they couldn't find this, and this isn't working, and could I just...sigh. So, more e-mail this morning, and sarcastic words and then nice words. And, we've worked it out.

We started e-mailing each other years ago (the Navy is kind of a hurry-up-and-wait workplace, with massive lulls in between the gotta-do-it-yesterdays, so we'd e-mail to chat back and forth), but, since having the third child and realizing that we either (a) got so busy that we forgot to talk about things in the evening that needed to be discussed or (b) were so tired by the time the kids went to bed that we got nowhere, it's really become a useful tool. My husband is funny, too, because, unlike the stereotypical wife bothering her husband at work with trivialities, most of the time he starts the conversation ("By the way, don't forget that we have_______"...of course, half the time, I didn't know in the first place, but that's another topic!). For two introverts who are of the type to need to think a little bit between volleys, it's helpful, too. Or, sometimes it's as simple as a stream-of-consciousness "Help me remember to talk to you about _______ tonight" (although, I usually send those to his home e-mail, so he sees it when he's checking it while I'm making dinner). And, if there's a sticky issue (money, kid behavior problems, our-parent issues, etc.), we can work it out without the kids around to hear it (particularly with a twelve year old now staying up until 10 pm), which is better for them, too. In the end, even though it's probably an odd way to handle it, I'm glad we've discovered it.

And that's my Silver Lining for today.

The Twouble with Tweens

This year my youngest started kindergarten. I'm toying with getting a job starting in January (i.e. the start of the spring college semester). I couldn't really start this fall because we had a family wedding/vacation to attend, and I didn't want to start a new job and then cause trouble by leaving for over a week. In the meantime, I thought I'd enjoy having time to be alone in the house. You know--to clean, declutter, muck out the kids' rooms when they aren't here to see what I'm removing. Oh, and EXERCISE. Ha! OK, I might have the time if I made it, but I'm lazy at heart and, really, kindergarten just isn't long enough. Plus, I'm just not in any hurry whatsoever to try to figure out how to manage my oldest son's activities. Shoot, I'd put the youngest in after-school daycare in a heartbeat, but who's going to pick the 7th grader up at school at 3:30 pm (when most of the one-hour-after-school extra-curricular activities end)?

That said, one of the reasons I don't have a lot of free time in the mornings is that I started volunteering at the middle school library two mornings per week. I love libraries. I'm thinking about going back to grad school and getting a Master of Library Science degree. Libraries ROCK!! I originally thought I'd volunteer in the elementary school library. But, then, I realized that there are lots of Mommies hanging out at the elementary school, while the middle school has trouble getting people to volunteer for anything. Plus, I figured I owed it to my oldest to give him the first shot, since I had these darned babies the whole time he was in elementary school, and couldn't conveniently come in and volunteer there (Note: Yes, the Mommies will tell me that I could have just brought my toddler with me. No way. Is it really helpful to a teacher or to the PTA book fair if you volunteer-avec-toddler?). All right, and, I'll admit it--the middle school just opened in August and the library is freaking gorgeous!

But, I ramble. I've been having fun at the library. I'm organizing the card catalog, which they still want to use as a learning tool, but haven't been able to keep up to date due to staffing issues. I go in, I grab my work, and I get to it. The librarian and her assistant are nice, the kids come in and out. It's all very pleasant, but mindless. In other words, it's relaxing.

And, the funny thing is that, as many fights as we have over homework; as many times as we tussle over chores or behavior towards parents and younger brothers; as many times as I am subject to that Tween Attitude on Steroids...my son comes to see me every day that I'm in there.

And that's my Silver Lining for today.

Monday Morning

OK, we all have Monday mornings. Some of them more Monday than others. But, doesn't something good happen every day? A smile, a sudden burst of sunshine...SOMETHING?

So, here you have it--my list of somethings. Monday morning somethings. Wednesday afternoon somethings. Sunday-and-the-kids-woke-me-up somethings.

Today's something:

I got into the freezer this morning to get ice. Now, I've gotten into the freezer many times over the last few days. But, what caught my eye this morning (as I prepared to battle an errant McAfee program that had been sending me the same error message every 30 seconds ever since it updated Saturday night)? A little package of meatloaf that I'd stuck in the freezer before we went on vacation 2 weeks ago. Just enough for one sandwich. Mine. All mine. Warmed, rechilled (for proper cold meatloaf consistancy), and slabbed onto wheat bread with mayo. Mmmmmm.

(No photo--it was a done deal before I thought to post this).