Thursday, July 28, 2011

Two Bits

Veevs has just decided to set up a lemonade stand. The street on which we live has not-so-much traffic, and I was tempted to tell her that, but then I remembered the many hours I spent peddling lemonade to uninterested passers-by, and thought, Oh, what the hell. Go to it, girl.

I'm always amazed at how much I want her to not experience disappointment. I am constantly having to argue myself out of thwarting all her desires just to save her the sting of failure. Silly.

She has recruited her brothers: Spe gets to hold the sign, Jakers gets to hold the cups (manly, really). In just a minute, I will have to go out and fake a devastating thirst and buy three cups so that they can each pocket a quarter. Although knowing Veevs, those boys have been less employed and more conscripted.

Another one of her projects that I was tempted to quash was her desire to write a book based on the Warriors series about feral cats living in the forest with strange clan names and apprentices and all sorts of wacky stuff. I wanted to tell her it has all been done, to find her own story and write that, but then again, I convinced myself to file it in the What the hell, girl, go to it place in my mind. Why do I care, really, when it means forty minutes more of quiet?

The thirst. It is unbearable. Off to quench.

PS--I went out to find that they were selling lemonade for a dollar a glass. It seemed like highway robbery to me, so I gave them all a short lecture on market forces. They ignored me, and I returned twenty minutes later to find that they had sold seven glasses. Market forces, my foot.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


I can't think of a title, most likely because I have no idea what I'll be blogging about. It's the same spontaneity that makes me Rhett's nightmare in a dollar store.

There was a period (which may have coincided with the depression mentioned previously) where we were living in The Residence Inn while our new Alabama house was being finished. I have determined that it is impossible to be cheerful while living in The Residence Inn with four children, a husband, and morning sickness. But our house is finished now, and the kids are loving being able to play. Outdoors. Of course, we do miss the complimentary breakfasts and "manager's receptions" (read: dinner), but the return of my humanity cannot be dismissed.

Right now it's fixing to rain (see how Southern I've become?) and I can hear Spe yelling at Jake who is continuing to ride his scooter despite the downpour, "Jacob, do you want to get killed? Then come inside! You will DIE!" I am unsure where this bent to the dramatic comes from, but I'd better blame my dad. (If you knew my dad, the most taciturn, unflappable man possible, you would get the joke.)

We got a dog from the humane society, a beautiful terrier mix kind of thing. She is half black and half white, and so of course, my children have named her Oreo. I can only comfort myself that it is better than their first choices, which were "Blackie" and "Whitey". It is only their naivete that makes that okay.

We had some awesome visitors last week, our old best friends from Texas. It was like Christmas and spring time and a four-day hospital stay all wrapped up in one. And then, as if that weren't enough to make me happy, I left all my children behind with their father and went to visit my brother in Baltimore. It was seriously like a four-day hospital stay (joy!) because I read books all day, stayed in bed for as long as I wanted, and had delightful conversations (hospital nurses are rather delightful once you get them talking, you know?).

If I were a horse, I would imagine that I would be described as getting fat and glossy with this pregnancy, but as I'm a human, I can only say that we are well on our way to breaking a total weight record with this baby. Since I always look about like I've swallowed a small car with every pregnancy, one can only imagine the beauty that will be mine shortly when it looks instead as if I've swallowed a Suburban. Some people say every pregnant woman is beautiful, and I can only say that they have clearly never seen me. I don't say this in the spirit of self-denigration, but rather just to be honest. I don't hate myself when I'm pregnant, because it's totally temporary and quite frankly, I don't have enough iron in my pregnant blood stream to allow for any extra emotions during pregnancy. It's just, you know, I can acknowledge the truth: I look disturbingly large.

Well, the baby has woken up from his nap and Jake has come inside (fortunately he escaped death from rain) and the children are building a fort, and something tells me my presence will shortly be required. I know this because it is quite peaceful for a few moments, and I know what that means: impending chaos.

And now I am proved right by the shrieks of discord. Until next time?