cool beans

I want to play along with Balabusta and Pamela.

Here’s the thing:

1. Grab the nearest book.

2. Open the book to page 123.

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

5. Don’t search around and look for the “coolest” book you can find. Do what’s actually next to you.

The book nearest me is “Amber Brown Sees Red” by Paula Danziger. It only has 116 pages. However, the fifth sentence on the last page is:

“I may never have a perfect life.”

For fun, I closed my eyes and grabbed a random book from the bookshelf on the other side of the room. The one I snagged: “Executive Orders” by Tom Clancy. (This book has more than 123 pages.) Interestingly, someone (probably not anyone over 5′ tall) scribbled on page 123 with a ballpoint pen. Coinky-dinky! The fifth sentence:

“She’s a surgeon at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore.”

I’m going to stick with Miss Amber Brown on this one. I don’t have the energy for medical school.

At the beginning of January, I had some little panic attacks and struggled with insomnia. The space inside my head where I hear all the voices was really loud and I couldn’t hear one voice over another. I tried to focus on one thing at a time and just couldn’t. It was all a jumbled mess in my brain. Could it be because I have three (great) kids, a (good) full-time job, a (filthy) house, a (no comment) marriage and I’m organizing an enormous (gigantic) fundraiser? Hmm. Possibly. In an attempt to organize my thoughts and concerns, I made a very long list of things I’d like to do/change/complete/fix. I then organized the big list into smaller, categorized lists. Because this is was crazy people do, I guess.

January isn’t over and I’ve crossed the following things off my list(s):

• Fill candy dish at work*
  
• complete spreadsheet project thingie (vague enough for ya?)
• make dentist appointments
• make eye doc appointments
• schedule check-up for The Toddler
• schedule physical for me (ew)
• talk to ped about immunizations
• haircuts for everybody!
• sell too-small cloth diapers
• inquire about knitting/sewing classes
• measure daughter for flower girl dress
• visit coworker and her new baby
• call fire marshal (who is pretty hot, by the way. WOOHOO!)
  
• call printing company

So you see I’ve been a busy lady over here with the phone calls and the appointments and such. It’s been really hectic. To add to all of this, the community college I had an on-again off-again relationship with for several years, called me up to say, “Hey, baby. I miss you. Come back to me, please? I’ll make it worth your while, sugar. Give me one more semester with you, and I’ll give you a degree and leave you alone for good.”

To which I replied: “Ugh! NOW? I’m busy. Look at this to-do list! It’s six categories of stuff on THREE pages of notebook paper! I don’t have time to see you again! Why can’t you call when I don’t have anything going on?! This is SO like you.”

I’m signed up for a three credit hour course that will complete my Associate’s. If I didn’t do it this semester, I guess all my credits would be sucked into the slacker student vacuum and be lost forever. But that’s fine. It’s not like I was doing anything anyway.

*This was the only easy thing on my list. Making appointments for myself and three children, two of whom are in school all day, is a nightmare. If you’re making a list and then making multiple lists from the master list, I recommend including easy stuff like “fill candy dish” and “blink sometimes” and “inhale” and “exhale”.

Before pitching “TV-Free Tuesdays” to the family, check to see when the new season of American Idol starts.

Crap.

I’m kind of sad tonight that someone fired this lady and got away with it because I would so love to sit here, get drunk, and bitch about my job. But! I love my job! There is nothing to bitch about! It’s fun! Exciting! Thrilling! Fulfilling! Not making me homicidal!

Things I can complain about:

1. The CD player in the bathroom has decided to work sporadically.
2. The kitchen floor is already booby-trapped with sticky sticking spots that threaten to rip the socks off my feet.
3. It is very cold here. So cold I have zero (that’s -15 with the Wind Chill Factor) desire to go out tomorrow night even though we have a sitter.
4. I had more stuff to complain about, but I forgot what that was and now I’m out of complainy things to list.

I did notice I’m getting some repeat visitors. I think that means I have something called readers and some of you are coming here on purpose; not just looking for “cool things to put on [your] retainer”.

(We’ve moved on to non-complainy things, by the way. In case you hadn’t caught that. Because I’m not complaining I have readers. I like you. Kissy. Smoochy.)

If you read and liked Bridget Jones’s Diary, is it possible to resist the urge to, when tipsy, blog like this:

11:02p.m.

Oh, God. V. pathetic. Am drinking alone now. On Friday night. Must find more meaningful way to spend free evenings. Should spend time reading important books or exercising or cleaning flat* or similar.

11:04p.m.

Right. Think I’ll just have one more drink.

11:10p.m.

This isn’t so bad, really. *hic* Hungry, though. Maybe should bake something. Hmm. Oh, goody. “What Not To Wear” is on. Hurrah!

___________________

Okay, maybe it’s not difficult for most people.

*I don’t live in a flat.

To the poor folks who were misled by the following search terms, I apologize. Though you’re probably not reading this now, are you? Because you already searched and this was a bum link! Sorry!

“air wick plug in air freshener toxins”

I don’t know nothin’ bout that. But I do like the apple cinnamon scented Plugin refill. Or, I did. Until they disappeared. I hope they’re not too toxic because it’s possible The Toddler ate them.

“cool toddler bed”

We’re into the co-sleeping thing, so while we have a toddler bed, it’s not very cool. Because it’s not getting used. The Toddler would rather sleep right next to Daddy who sleeps in the middle of the bed while Mama sends up prayers of thanksgiving that the mattress manufacturer had the good sense to put a rolled edge on the sides. I sleep clutching that rolled fabric, teetering between a good night’s rest and broken bones.



“”oscillococcium””

Okay, I’m not sorry you ended up here. I’m glad you’re aware of this stuff because it is so.very.helpful. Also, I’m pretty sure we’re both spelling that correctly. Congrats to us for being good spellers!

““mama cool beans””

Hmm. Were you looking for me? Have we been reunited? Does it feel so good?

““rachel perry vh1 pregnant””

What the hell is this about? Who is this Rachel Perry at VH1 and are we looking for nudey preggo pictures? If that’s the case, I’m glad you landed here. HAHAHAHA. Sucka!

Now for the searches that really make me happy. YAY!

I’m the third Google return for “whirly cushy”! How cool is that? What? You don’t think that’s a big deal? Riiiiiiight. You’re just jealous. Neener on you.

Also, someone searched for “daughter birthday-present”. I don’t know why they hyphenated that, but I do know that the hyphen had to help steer them here since I am a sick-person-who-overuses the poor-hyphen. But! This search led to my archives - (note the “-” ) not just to my site in general. The post? One of my favorites - (SEE?) if not THE favorite:

TahDah!

I know I complain a lot about my husband here - and everywhere else, too. But really, he is a good guy. I love him. I like him most of the time, too.

January 3, 2005 is our 11th wedding anniversary. We were married on a cold and snowy Monday afternoon. We had few guests and there was little fanfare. For a long time, I was sad about our tiny wedding and wished I’d had the big white dress and the dolled-up friends and sisters beside me in a fancy photo album. But that has dissipated over the years as we’ve attended such weddings and realized 1. just how much they cost and 2. just how much they don’t impact the happiness/success of the marriage.

Being married can be hard and we’ve hit our share of bumps. This thing takes a lot of work and we have had to do that work as youngsters at first, and then as very selfish people wanting to recapture that youth (um, this applies mostly to me) and now as adults trying to find a firm footing.

We have been parents nearly the entire time we’ve been married. We’ve made mistakes and watched the children triumph in spite of our failings. We’re doing okay, I think. Better than expected, I suspect.

As we rush around in our daily routines, I tend to focus on the negative things and take the good stuff for granted. I think it’s time I take the time to recognize that good stuff and give The Man some credit for…

• smashing all those roaches so I wouldn’t have to.
• unpacking every time we move because I am quite lazy.
• killing the spiders.
• mowing the lawn.
• taking pregnant me for long drives because the car had a/c (apartment didn’t!).
• being hot.
• wearing a goatee.
• being tall.
• encouraging breastfeeding.
• digging co-sleeping.
• rinsing cloth diapers in the toilet because I insist disposables are evil.*
• balancing the checkbook.
• liking all those corny Christmas shows and songs.
• knowing that I would like some sour cream.
• getting the paper and giant sodas on Sundays.
• grocery shopping every week with three children tagging along.
• lifting all that heavy stuff.
• loading the dishwasher.
• surprising me with the dinner train date.
• the watch with the blue face.
• enduring my recurring insanity.
  
• the blue pearl for Easter.
• saying yes when I don’t expect it.
• not getting mad when I vent about you here.
• how you look when you’re sleeping and snuggling our children.
• letting me laugh at your old, huge, BLUE glasses.
• allowing me to boss you around.
• not clipping your toenails in bed.
• reading (on average) one book a year during Christmas break.
• trying every new recipe I slop in front of you.
• liking the enchiladas even though “This has green stuff in it.”
• your incredible loyalty.
  
  AND
• all your quirks that usually annoy the living crap out of me that give me plenty to complain about which I will probably list sometime in the future. (This was getting a little too sappy.)

Happy Anniversary to us.

*I don’t think disposables are evil. But I have to exaggerate and be really dramatic to get my way sometimes. At least, that’s what I tell myself to cover for my drama queen tendencies.

This is the first of two posts that I will insist my husband read (since he mostly lets me have this space to myself).

Look, honey. Even the Internet wants this for me:

It is our destiny.

Ways in which 2005 already rocks hard:

1. I have already out-played my husband at poker.
2. I slept until 2:00 p.m., January 1, 2005.
3. I am still in my pajamas and enjoying it at 5:00 p.m.
   
4. My house is clean.
5. My sister is coming over to play Scene It? with me tonight after the kids are in bed.
6. My kids have been entertaining themselves today and have been playing downstairs for over an hour.

Ways in which my husband is already driving me crazy:

1. He keeps insisting I disconnect to let him use the phone.
   

Every New Year’s Eve that we host a party for our family, I try a new recipe. The first time I did this, I made a “Pizza Fondue” for the crockpot. The texture wasn’t what I’d anticipated, but I thought it was pretty good. When my daughter wrinkled up her nose and said, “Mom, this tastes like puke.” it was totally over for me. Though my mother insists it was good and did not taste like vomit, I can’t break the association in my brain. No more pizza fondue for me, thanks.

The following year we decided that since we’d never had caviar, we’d try caviar! We got the crackers and the lemon and some other stuff and opened the little jar. Here’s the thing about caviar: I don’t like it. Also, if it says to rinse the caviar, rinse the caviar. I’m pretty sure that’s really important.

This year I decided this sounded interesting. I love butter and garlic and olive oil. Maybe I’ll love anchovies, too. Who knows? I like brussel sprouts, you know. And spinach and all kinds of food that has a bad reputation.

I had no problem melting butter and cooking garlic and dipping my bread in the deliciousness pre-little fishy. But then there was a problem: I had to add anchovies. Opening the can, I was nervous. And I felt a little faint. Then, when I was draining them, my finger brushed against one and made me feel a little sick. But I was on a mission, dammit! We were going to try anchovies! You can’t hate something you’ve never tried. It’s just not right!

So I watched as they dissolved into the butter and sent up a little prayer of thanks that I don’t dissolve in melted butter like that. And then I put in the cream. And then I had to excuse myself from the kitchen. I reminded myself that I eat cows and pigs and chickens and even duck that one time. I think I ate chocolate-covered bug things in seventh grade on a dare or because I was completely insane. I can handle a damn anchovy!

I can’t! I can’t! I tried. I wanted to! In fact, I felt kind of stupid when the kids LOVED it and I couldn’t get excited about it. And then, after really trying to like it on several different vegetables and bread chunks, I belched.

GAME OVER.

No more anchovies, thanks. I mean, maybe if I don’t know they’re in there, or maybe if I don’t have to touch one with my own finger first. But really, no more anchovies. Thanks. I could get up out of this chair and run screaming away from the thought of anchovies and their really creepy dissolving properties.

Tonight for dinner I’m planning to make spaghetti. Totally safe, completely fishless, lovely spaghetti.

I have one 2-ounce can of anchovies. I’ll give you twenty bucks to get it out of my kitchen.

The party was a success. We played games and ate too much (and not ALL of any one thing!) and had some lovely beverages. After a lot of hard work, my house was the cleanest it’s been in…well, it’s pretty damn clean. Even now after the party. Woo.

I.am.exhausted.

I will have to post about the new recipe that won’t be getting used again. And about how I won at Texas Hold ‘Em against my husband…again. Neener.

In the meantime, head on over to dooce and enjoy the female blogger love fest.

I hope you are filled with hope and inspiration and a whole big list of positive wonderful things for 2005. Enjoy yourselves and each other and some of my leftover party food, if you don’t mind.