Holiday House Rules

Three small things.

1) When you buy a jacket or skirt and there is a vent in the back, you are meant to snip the little diagonal or "x" shaped thread. It's called a vent because it vents. If you leave it closed what do you really think it's doing for you? Do not get me started on people who leave the tag near the cuff on their wool coat. 

2) When the man and his pregnant wife in the elevator are taking about his job interview tomorrow for which he needs a suit, and he says he will "just go to H&M in the morning," close your mouth. You look stupid staring at them all gaga and horrified while they are perfectly happy: the guy, the gal and the kid they will probably name Maddysyn Caleighe McKenna or some such.

3) When you are back from your sartorial superiority-complex-inducing trip out of the office for lunch and get the email from school detailing how you need to: sign the teachers card, leave money for a gift within the "official school teacher gift guidelines" (link handily provided), sign up for a volunteer shift at the end of the year party (volunteering to bring food or prizes to the party does not, in fact, get one out of shift-taking responsibilities), bring money to the end of year picnic (NOT to be confused with the end of the year party, btw) to spend at the end of year book sale, send a $1 for the kid to buy a cupcake at the end of year kickball game (proceeds going to Africa or some such worthy place, of course), spend the day before the last day of school with your kid in the classroom to "share their experience," and attend the last day of school assembly from 8:30 - 9:30 am...do NOT lose your shit when you get to the part where you are meant to take your child home for the summer at the end of that 8:30 - 9:30 assembly. You will be tempted to do a cost-per-day tuition analysis and rant about the "last day" of school being hardly a "day" at all. 

No one wants to hear it. And the other mommeighs at the end of the year picnic will be better dressed than you, anyway. They know full well what a vent is. 

This is kind of personal.

But I'm not sure where else to write this down. So, here we go: I collect men without fathers. Men, who, for whatever reason or circumstance, lost their dads early on. Some of these dads are still alive, of course, but you know how these things are. Not everyone knocks it out of the park in child-raising.

I think it started in college, as most things do. I had more guy friends than girl friends (girls can be so sensitive, catty and just work). Guys are easy, if you are a total bitch to them, they tell you that you are being such and then the next day, it's over. I can prove this - I can give you the number of a lovely, lovely man in Germany who will verify. He probably even brought tiramisu home from his restaurant job and gave it to me within 48 hours of my bitchiness. That's guys for ya.

Somewhere around the end of college I remember a dear and wise friend, who also happened to be a Dean at my college, tied the strings of my male friendships together for me. Unlike my father, who assumed all these men were attempting to get in my pants ("I was their age once, you know."), or my mother who feared that my mythical future husband would be "scared away" by these guys hanging around me, my Dean friend was hip to the vibe that is modern relationships among the genders. "Men without fathers" she said to me. Ahhhh, yes, 'tis true.

And it continued, and sometimes wandered into my dating life, but not usually. Men without fathers did not want to date me, they wanted me to take them to buy their first sports coat or suit. They wanted me to talk to them about how to buy their first car, they wanted to tell me every detail of their last breakup. They wanted me to tell them what job to take or how to respond to a particularly cryptic email from a supervisor, or girl. 

Moving into the professional world, where friendships are more fleeting and less personal, despite sheer number of hours spent together, I had petty much forgotten this thread. After all, you often have no idea about the fathers, or lack thereof, of "work friends." And you certainly do not take them shopping for professional attire. They have that all sorted by now.

But then, last week, I had a little shock when a former colleague came back to town and stopped by. You see, I took his picture and posted to Facebook so we could all revel in the joy of having him back in our circle for a little while. We had fun, we joked, there was a crowd. It was nice. And then, in the car I checked Facebook to see the hilarious flurry of comments and I was, like I said, struck. The picture looked oddly familiar to me. Like one I had taken of the guy from Germany a while back. They were so similar, and I had never noticed. Similar in appearance, yes, and demeanor, sure, but also in the way we talk and what we talk about. Both ambitious as all hell, and smart and doing just fine, but also both a little slow in getting comfortable in their own skin. 

I want to send the old colleague the number of the guy in Germany - he's 10 years older, settled, happy, delightful and whole. You will get there, my friend. And I will be delighted.

Flatware.

What do you think? I mean, more specifically, what do you think if this little set again pops up on Ruelala? 

See, I have been dreaming of it since the last time it shimmied at me from the land of online discount invite-only sale shopping. I didn't take the plunge, of course, preferring to "wait and see." And, then, I Googled the stuff to find out that a 40 piece set is like $600. For silverware. Oh, wait, I'm sorry - "flatware." Gotta get the lingo right if I'm going to play in the big leagues. 

Shoulda, woulda, coulda. I think it was like $250 on Rue. And I was all like, "no way man, for silverware!?!?!" Oh, sometimes I am so naive it's not even funny. Kind of like last weekend when I went to a 5 year old's birthday party where the invite specifically said "no gifts." And I chatted with the mom in advance and asked, "really, no gifts?" And we did the "we don't need no pile 'o plastic junk" dance together and all was right with the world. 

And then, at the party? So totally did all the other kids show up with gift bags full of tissue paper and probably eco-sourced wood toys or something. Ahhh. Naivete is so refreshing, right? Not. I was actually not horrified, since we had a playdate on tap for the actual birthday day, and this little 5 year old-to-be is quite a fixture in our lives, so I was planning to send a gift then anyway. You know, all personal and shit. Anyone who assumes I was caught unawares and without gift simply has not been paying enough attention. I have bought, and wrapped, 40% of next years Christmas presents already. I have birthday presents for children ages 3-8 coming out the wazzoo. Right now, today, if you told me that a family of 6 was dropping by tonight and it was, surprisingly but not impossibly, the anniversary of each and every family member's birth, I'd be all like, "no worries, just let me wrap a few last things." 

Yeah, I'm that good. 

But perhaps still a tad naive.

The good with the bad. I got that.

Oh, I'm just never happy.

I moped for, what, 18 months that my kid was not growing, right? Stuck in a 3T, she was. Then she edged into the 4s. And now, she's somehow skipped 5 and is sliding into a size 6. Suddenly the girl has legs a mile long. I actually looked back at her in her car seat last week and jumped - whoa, where did all that leg come from?!?!

That made her giggle.

But, with the release of that nagging concern regarding her lack of growth...comes nagging concern part dos: her clothes and shoes. Soon she will be out of the cute stuff. Soon she will want her own say...wait, she already has to bless most purchases, but within the confines of "dresses," "pink," and "purple" I have been given free range. 

But in Kindergarten, I fear, there will be social pressure to look more adult. Or maybe that starts in first grade? Not sure, you see, so I went ahead and bought her a raincoat and boots for next year. This may well be the last time I am able to buy attire for her that sports ladybugs. 

Had to grab that ring one more time!

         

(Zappos and Zappos)

And, I spied these super cute sneakers, too. And I got them for like 2 sizes up from now. They are purple, so provided that metric remains an approved one, I'm good.

      

(Zappos)

I must be feeling better.

No, not saying I'm back to full-on posting, or even that I've gone back to the gym...but I am, again, browsing the interwebs and feeling those little jolts of inspiration.

Today, it was these lovely side tables scattered around the house features on Little Green Notebook. So may tray tables seem out of proportion to me. These seem to have that solved by incorporating the more interesting base shape.

Must find!

via littlegreennotebook.blogspot.com

French Dress - Birds & Flowers Navy on BlueWinter Water Factory

via www.winterwaterfactory.com

Hell to the cute. That's what this is.

Catharsis.

So, here is how it went down. All the prurient details. 

2 weeks ago I was chugging along at work. And when I say chugging, I mean really knocking it out of the park. I had been brought in on a digital project, not normally my milieu, but the people were so delightful and appreciative...and that's the kind of shit that turns me into super-employee. I go above and beyond. I am calm, capable, and oh-so-resourceful. 

It was a love fest. I was getting daily props from all over the building for pulling out miracle moves that were really quite generic. But, you know, new audiences are often impressed by old tricks. And then, on Wednesday I had a little file-type snafu and had to run downstairs at 6 pm to corral an art director and a retoucher and just get it fixed. No biggie, took 5 minutes, really. But as I stood there, I remember thinking that my legs hurt, like ached. Like I needed to take off my shoes. So I did. (Yes, shoelessness is totally fine in our company dress code.) I was wondering if maybe the cortisone shot I'd had in my knee (the week before, yes I am old!) was the problem, maybe too high a heel so soon after that? But I wear heels often. And it was both legs hurting. Odd...

So I decided I was just tired and I left. I was done. Cooked. I got into the elevator and I was not even able to make small talk or check my phone. I was doing the JWH marathon thing where I was like, "you can totally get to the garage, just like 50 steps and then you can sit down, one, two, three, four..." And then on the street some lady was laying on the sidewalk. She had fallen and hit her head. And I made the universal "are you calling 911?" gesture at a colleague who was there, got the nod and walked on by. This is not like me. I did recognize that I was acting aberrantly at this point, and for a second I thought maybe I should stay by this lady, so, you know, in case I really did pass out, the EMTs were like totally already on the way...Hooray for the logic of the ill!

Anyway, I made it home. And in my own garage I had a flash of inspiration - I was tired because I could not breathe! Ahhh, yessss, lack of oxygen does that and, yes, it also makes you damned stupid. So I used my inhaler and headed up to the house, expecting salvation. 

Instead I started to shake uncontrollably. 

Silly me pretended to be just fine and sent the nanny home and took the Bun up to bed with me. Wild Kratts for her, a little R&R for me. Totally solid decision making, right? Except when I found that I could not get up. Nope, just not happening. And JWH was in flight somewhere over Connecticut, I'd guess, at that point. So, I devised a plan to have the Bun just sleep with me till her dad got home. She was game and I was like "winning! I have such a cooperative child!"

I also texted JWH all sorts of scary things like, "get home now," "shaking," "can't get up." Poor dude got them upon landing and kinda freaked. But, he's good in crisis and got me Tylenol (fever 103!) and called the doctor ("ER, now!) and his parents to watch the (sleeping) kid. And off we went.

At the ER, or, as I have since learned the pros call it - the ED, they stuck something waaaaaay up my nose, gave me an IV, a chest X-Ray and took a few gallons of my blood. And then I slept for 72 hours. 

No lie. 

But, that was weeks ago now and I am totally on the mend. I got the all clear yesterday to return to work full time and even exercise again! Woot!* I'll have a chest x-ray next week to make sure we are totally all good. And then? I am treating anyone with so much as a sniffle as my mortal enemy - this means you, JWH!

 

*Stay tuned for my whining posts on how little I can run and how out of shape I am. Sure to come. 

Still breathing.

So, yes, it's been awhile. And it may well be a while more before I have anything witty to say or creative to show. It is what it is.

And what it is is the 3rd case of pneumonia in 6 months. And, it's a bitch. 

Mainly, I am tired. Tired like I have never been tired before. After having the Bun, I remember being very, very tired, like I just wanted to sleep forever. This is different, my mind wants to be awake and doing things, but my body is just...inert. It wants to lay there and be handed Gatorade and Fage. Not at the same time. That would be gross.

JWH has been a peach, and I am truly on the mend, but the blog will surely suffer neglect a bit longer. I'm working part time, seeing less of my kid than I'd like, and the ironing board I took out 3 weeks ago to make curtains is still leaning against the wall in my living room. To those of you who know me, that should say it all. Ironing board. Visible. For weeks. My cheeks burn with shame. I have harshly judged others for less: we have a neighbor who dared throw a party while her vacuum was hanging out all casual-like in the dining room. I still talk about it. I won't go so far as to call it a moral failing on her part, but as far as I know she was in good health...so, yeah, I'll attend her funeral in like 50 years and think, "well, I hope someone put the damned vacuum away at least." 

And, because I'm feeling guilty about not blogging I will go so far as to tell you one more secret of my neurotic mind. I fantasize about going into her house and putting away her vaccuum. True story. And if I have ever been to your house, I have considered cleaning up a bit when you weren't looking. Don't judge me. 

I am ill.

I sleep.

I have pneumonia for the 3rd time in 6 months. It's hiatus time while I sort this out. 

Later, taters.