Love in a Mug

Today I am thankful for my family and the fact that they love me. And speak my love language.

Coffee.

One Little, Two Little, Three Little Indians..and a Couple of Pilgrims Too

Annelise's class celebrated Thanksgiving a little early with a feast much like the original pilgrims and Indians did so many years ago.

Sort of.

Instead of typical Thanksgiving fare the moms decided on ordering these laptop meals from KFC. Inside each box were two chicken strips, corn on the cob, mac n cheese, and Teddy Grahams. They were quite convenient to just set out on the desks and everything was ready freddie when they came back from PE.

But they were also very beige with only a dash of yellow.

Annelise, however, didn't seem to mind.

Until she dropped her corn on the floor, retrieved it and debated how to proceed,

for about 5 seconds. Germs, sherms and all that.

After lunch it was time to do a craft. One of the totally brilliant and organized moms had individual baggies with all the supplies needed for each child to make a cute hand print turkey with a poem.

Um...no, it wasn't me.

We then had yummy desserts like homemade apple pie and pumpkin squares with cream cheese frosting which some talented moms made.

Again, not me.

No pictures because I was too busy licking my plate. I declared I could NOT be left alone with those pumpkin bars. They were scandalous I tell you, scandalous.

We finished up the party with a Thanksgiving story.

That, I did.

And I brought forks. And napkins. And small plates.

Sheesh, the things we do for our children.

Beauty Parlors, The DMV and Inflatable Dolls

Not only do I have the treat of turning 41 in a few short days, it's also time to renew my driver's license. I decided to take as much control of an iffy situation as possible. I planned to visit the DMV right after my long overdue hair appointment this morning. My stylist worked her magic with some dabs of color, snips of scissors and the miracles known as a round brush and blow dryer.

I left the salon with a spring in my step.

And then this caught my eye in the car parked right beside me.

I heard some of the stylists chatting and laughing about someone (maybe a client? a worker at a nearby shop?) who drives with an, ahem, inflatable um...friend to ward off hooligans and trouble with a Capital T when she drives alone.

I'm not sure if it's the red feathered hat or flowered print dress that sends shivers of fear down the the spines of any potential carjackers.

I could not resist snapping a picture.

I then made my way to the DMV. See?

Thankfully, there were no lines at all. I was in and out in, like, 10 minutes and became an organ donor to boot.

Fingers crossed my driver's license picture turns out decent since I'll be stuck with it for the next six years. Why aren't there mirrors at the DMV? Or test shots? Or retakes?

By the way, here is my new do. It's basically the same angled bob thing, just shaped up and a few kicky bangs.

Maybe I should get a red feathered hat?

A Birthday, A Funeral and Snogging

In six days I will celebrate my 41st birthday. That number, while a fact, sounds odd to me. I will officially be on the flip side of forty. In an effort to think young thoughts and keep a white-knuckled grip on my fleeting youth I have decided to read some young adult fiction. I heard about the Confessions of Georgia Nicolson series through Goodreads and thought it would be a lighthearted break from all the WWII I've been reading lately.

Annelise and I stopped by the library Saturday afternoon hoping to check out their book sale. As it turned out, we were thirty minutes too late for the sale. However, we made the best of it. In a perfect library moment I found the (almost) complete Georgia Nicholson series and compulsively grabbed all nine books. I know, I have a disease.

Today I started the first book, Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging and was immediately captivated by the dry humor (British), teen angst and the fact it's written as diary entries. Apparently, snogging is the British term for kissing and fourteen year old Georgia spends a lot of time wondering when she will have her first kiss. Or snog. If ever, even.

I remember that feeling.

I also remember my first snog. Or kiss.

I was thirteen and it was after my grandmother's funeral.

Is that inappropriate?

Anyway. His name was David and he was a cowboy. An 8th grade cowboy if you can imagine. I met him at a church we visited while on a camping trip with my grandparents. We wrote letters and saw each other a few times (not dates really, always with his parents or mine or my grandparents). He fancied himself to be a bull rider (I know) and I even went to see him (with a friend and his parents) once or twice at little piddly rodeos.

But. He had never kissed me.

Were you like me? Curious and completely clueless how kisses were supposed to work? Where did your noses go? Do you close your eyes? Open mouth or closed? What on earth about tongues? It was all too much to worry about. Did you practice on your hand or kiss your mirror? Didja, huh, didja?

What can I say, I wanted to be as prepared as possible.

Then, suddenly, my grandmother died. The Cowboy and his dad went to my grandmother's funeral and came back to the house for lunch with family and friends. As he was getting ready to leave everything started to move in slow motion. Somehow I was standing in the room alone when he came back inside to get his cowboy hat. I know. In something of a blur, he put his arm around me and leaned in to give me a smooch. Maybe two. Then we mumbled goodbye and he left.

That was that. My first snogging session lasted approximately 3 seconds.

But I still remember it. I also remember being slightly shocked and embarrassed and then happy all at the same time.

In a thirteen year old sort of way.

Do you remember your first snog? Do tell...

Craft Diva Crash and Burn

If you hear a loud noise and see some broken glass, it might be me throwing my sewing machine out the window.

Tuesday afternoon I saw Mique's 30Days post about making these delightful ruffle scarves. Right away I knew it was something I had to try. Like that afternoon. Immediately.

Well, as immediately as right after picking Annelise up from school and stopping at Hancock Fabric on the way home. I found some pretty turquoise knit fabric, but it wasn't jersey knit like the tutorial called for, it was interlock. Does that matter? This, I do not know.

I asked the ladies at Hancock about elastic thread, which is required. This, they did not know.

After whipping up one of my favorite easy go-to meals (taco soup) for supper, it was time to get down to crafty business. Soon the strips were cut, the Singer threaded, the moment of truth arrived. Whirr...stitch...snip. No scrunchy ruffles. Looks like elastic thread could NOT be skipped.

The crafty muse was in full force, I had to find elastic thread that. very. night. I called Jo-Ann's and asked the young girl if they sold elastic thread. This, she did not know.

My inner craft diva knew they did, the Jo-Ann website told her so. So I grabbed my keys, yelled gently called upstairs that I had to make an emergency run to Jo-Ann's. Doing so broke my boycott, but this could not be helped. (We used to have a Jo-Ann's less than five minutes from my house, then they moved to shopping purgatory, otherwise known as Near The Mall, hence the boycott.)

Guess what? They DID sell elastic thread, which is conveniently located near the elastic. I resisted the urge to smugly ever so politely tell the girls this fact, which was hard. Since I was already there, I also got a couple more yards of brightly knit fabric because I had big plans to make loads of ruffle scarves for gifts.

Now it's Thursday. How many ruffle scarves have I made?

Zip, zero, zilch, nada.

I take that back. I have one tester scarf and one that I thought was going to ruffle. See?

As it turns out, elastic thread is a wily, temperamental beast. I either get the tension too tight so there are no ruffles or the tension is too loose, creating ruffles (yea!) but they fall out as soon as you move the scarf. Seeing as scarves are meant to be worn, this could pose a problem.

Are ruffle scarves in my future? This, I do not know.

Don't worry, I'm not giving up. I won't let the elastic thread beat me. I won't. Um...any one have any tips?

Of Bouncy Castles, Birthday Cake and, um...Beer

Disclaimer:

First: This is possibly a Judgey Judgerson post. Hate me.
2: I live a sheltered life.
C. I like my bubble.

And, if at all possible, birthday parties should not be scheduled on a Sunday afternoon.

I knew something was a little different as Annelise and I entered the home and made our way through to the back patio. I took notice of the large number of adults mingling in groups here and there, and then I noticed the the kiddy section where children were making crafts (bracelets, crowns or coloring a paddleball) or waiting in line for a clown to make their balloon animal.

Annelise set her present down (another Lego City RV camper set) and got in line. No one had really greeted us, so I made my way to stand near a familiar mom. As I stood there chatting I glanced behind me and noticed a dad holding a beer. Then I noticed a few more between various moms and dads. Okay. I hoped that the brewskis were in a different cooler than the juice boxes.

As the afternoon wore on I noticed something else, the kids were doing kid things and the adults were obviously doing their things, yet few adults interacted with the kids.

At a birthday party for a child.

Not only was there a clown making balloon animals and face painting, there was a bouncy castle with a slide and a cotton candy machine. The kids basically moved from activity to activity, or played in the playroom inside the house as their mood struck. The adults occasionally checked on them or when the child came to find his or her parent. The kids loved it, but it seemed soooooo over the top indulgent (to me) and it broke my heart a little that the kids didn't even realize they were being ignored while they were entertained.

After almost TWO hours no cake had been cut and not one present opened. I realized that this kind of party could go on all evening. What on earth? Would they break out the tiki torches around the bouncy castle once the sun set?

Finally, finally, finally, the mom cut the cake. Soon thereafter, we said our thank yous and goodbyes. (Which was the first time the mom spoke to me, by the way.)

As we made our way to the car I could have sworn I heard another beer tab pop.

Annelise was oblivious to the whole adult scene, which was a blessing. To me, a birthday party for a six year old child should be child centered, and even with all the child party bells and whistles, this one was not. It made me uncomfortable. And sad.

It's Come Down to This

Blogging on a Saturday night. Do I live on the edge or what?

Since we can't watch Friday Night Lights until January (Boo. Hiss.), we decided to catch the last football game of my alma mater Friday night. I had been nursing a headache for a few hours but downed some ibuprofen and put on my best game face. We ran in to some friends and sat with them which made the game more fun. Annelise and Kamri cheered, watched, chatted, ate popcorn, peanuts and candy and played spies (this was a HIT, they crouched down and spied on everyone underneath the bleachers).

We (Clear Creek) were playing our big rival team, Clear Lake with a chance at the playoffs riding on this last game. Sadly, we lost, 28 to 20. It's funny, when I was in high school there were two high schools in our district (Creek and Lake), now there are four with another opening next year. Talk about urban sprawl.

The girls were also treated to some perks. Mrs. Edna, a lady from our church and a teacher at the high school was so sweet to take Annelise and Kamri to meet some of the cheerleaders, Willie the Wildcat and some band members too. They LOVED it!

Since my supper consisted of a few peanuts, a few sips of shared Sprite and some Skittles, needless to say my headache came back by the time the game was wrapping up. I was beyond ready to scrape my contacts out and hit the hay.

Saturday morning, Scott got up at the hiney crack of dawn to go play golf. Annelise and I both slept in a bit (praise and glory) then got ourselves together to go to TarJay. On a Saturday. Blech. I H-A-T-E driving near the mall on a Saturday, but since I had waited until the last possible moment to buy a birthday present (1.5 hours before the party), we had to venture into shopper purgatory.

Once again, we put on our game faces.

I don't know about you, but I find it hard to shop for school friend birthday parties. Since I don't really know the children very well it's hard to pick out something they would like. I have this unwritten rule that a birthday present for a school friend should cost no more than $15-$20 (preferably $15). I also try to apply the rule of Would I Want This In My House? (especially to crafty things that come with glitter/glue/beads/8,689 small parts or dolls of questionable character/mature clothing and accessories.) We looked down Barbie row, paused beside the crafty things, wavered about the Pixos and Chixos, glanced at games, bypassed stuffed life-like animals that require batteries and ended up on the Lego aisle.

This was good. I like Legos. Annelise likes Legos. Therefore, we shall buy Legos.

I mentioned before how much Annelise loved building and playing with the Lego City RV camper, so when she saw it on the shelf she wanted to get it for her school friend. It met my criteria, so I agreed. I also asked her if she'd like to get the same set for her other school friend's (whose party happens to be tomorrow), so we grabbed another one. We then made a beeline for the gift bags, tissue and cards. How much do I lurrve one stop bullseye shopping?!?!

Since we still had a little time before the party we hit the $ spot to gather items for Annelise's shoebox gifts. Every year her school collects shoeboxes filled with small gifts for a child in need (part of the Operation Christmas Child) and has a special chapel before the Thanksgiving holidays begin. I'm usually such a terrible procrastinator (hello, present shopping 1.5 hours before party), but at least I'll get this project done ahead of time. I felt a little guilty having $30 worth of Legos in my cart for two school friends and then shopping the $ Spot for trinkets for a needy child. (Not that I'm anti-$ Spot at all, I'm not, I love it and you can find some really good things there.) At least $ Spot shopping allows you to buy lots of little things, so maybe it all evens out.

We then went to the birthday party which was at a local Little Gym. Annelise had a great time doing all the gymnastics and playing with her friends. When it came time to open presents, all the kids gathered around the birthday girl. There were oohs and aahs over the various girly craft/princess/Barbie themed gifts. One of the biggest ooh-aah was over a plastic winged horse. I began to fear I had made the wrong call on the gift.

Then she opened Annelise's gift.

And said, "Oh. It's Legos."

And went right to the next present.

Sigh.

I hope tomorrow's birthday girl is more of a fan of creative building play.

On the way home from the party we stopped at a Dollar Tree (lurrve Dollar Tree) to look for more shoebox items. Annelise asked me to buy her a small journal with Troy from High School Musical on it. I suggested she choose a larger notebook or drawing pad because she would get more paper, ergo more drawing power. She was stuck on Troy. We reached a stalemate. I told her to either choose a bigger pad or if she really wanted Troy she had to give me a $1.00 plus tax from her piggy bank when we got home.

I know. I'm so mean.

Scott got home from his golf outing soon after we got home. While I was in the bathroom, she hit him up. When I came out, she handed me a crisp $1.00 bill. Since it wasn't crumpled, I figured she had asked him for the money (the clever stinker). I told her to give it back and get me a $1.00 and a dime from her piggy bank, which she did.

I know. I'm so mean.

On a funny end note, this is Annelise's first aid kit. Yes, she made it herself.

For weeks, even months, she wanted us to buy her a first aid kit. Begged even. When this did not yield fruit, she put together her own.

I know. I'm so mean.

She found an empty wipe container, decorated it (grinning from ear to ear because I let her use Sharpies), and gathered a few things from our medicine cabinet. A few band-aids, Q-tips, gauze, an Ace bandage, some Purell and Calomine lotion. She was in hog heaven.

This afternoon Scott bumped his head on the golf cart and came home with a scrape. Nurse Annelise went into action. She dabbed it with a wet cotton ball (as water dripped down his face), mopped that up with a paper towel, and then sprayed Bactine on his head. We stopped her before she busted out the Calomine lotion.

Also, in the five hours since purchasing the Troy journal, she has already used at least 10-15 pages. I did not say I told you so.

I know. I'm not that mean.