So, on with the boots, back out in the snow…

This afternoon will find us wining and dining a six-year-old girl who has never been to our house before.

(To the mom of the six-year-old girl who has never been to our house before: I’m exaggerating on the wining part.)

We’ll be picking her up shortly and heading straight out to the root beer factory and then back to our house to play until 3:00.

To prepare for this event, I pulled out my Homekeeping Handbook. My kitchen and bathroom floors have now been mopped to Martha Stewart standards, including the wiping o’ the baseboards. All kitchen countertops are spotless. The family room is in need of a good floor suck, and then she’s passable.

All of this for a six year old girl who is not a member of royalty.

As I run around folding clothes and disinfecting sinks and tubs, this song keeps playing over and over in my head:

Also on my schedule for today: processing 28 freelance chapters (heh. whoops.), shooting and editing a short introduction video (I’ll talk about that more later), baking a pumpkin cake (in the shape of a pumpkin farm thing!), purchasing a birthday gift for Jeff’s mom, having Jeff’s mom over for dinner, and reading the final twenty pages of The Shack for tomorrow’s book club meeting.

Enjoy your Saturday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This is why I can’t chill with the bird watchers.

The girls are home from school today. I’m not sure why, but I think it has something to do with either staff development or the birth of Matthew Sweet.

As I prepared my very large cup of coffee this morning, I glanced out into the back yard where I noticed a fairly large bird with a red spot on his head.

Me (still suffering from pregnancy brain, five years after the fact): Sssh! Girls! Come look at this! We have a red peckerhead in our back yard!

Harper (scrambling toward the window): What’s a peckerhead?

Me (still completely unaware of what I’m saying): A peckerhead is that bird with the red spot on his head! He takes his beak and he beats it against a tree so it goes knockknockknockknockknock!

Harper: Meredith! We’ve got a peckerhead in the yard!

Thank God for Meredith. She slowly wandered over, looked out into the back yard, and said, “Actually, Mommy, I think that’s a woodpecker.”

Okay then. Right you are. And while we’re here, let’s not ever speak of the peckerheads. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m thinking of pulling out The House of Mirth again.

The first book my book club read was Revolutionary Road. Because I recommended the book, I read it. On book club night, we watched the movie, discussed the book while eating at Canyon Cafe, and chose our next book .

The second book my book club read was The Other Queen. I tried to read it. Really, I did. And when the book club scheduled the next gathering and I hadn’t even made it to the halfway point, I purchased the audio book. And I tried to get through it. But I failed. And when I went to the meeting to discuss the book, I spent most of my time discussing the lemon bars I had made. (They were really great lemon bars! Worth talking about! Mary, Queen of Who?!)

The third book my book club read was Three Cups of Tea. And something must be wrong with me, because I couldn’t get through that one, either. And when the book club scheduled the next gathering and I hadn’t even made it to the halfway point, I purchased the audio book. And I tried to get through it. But I failed. (Does this paragraph sound oddly familiar?!) I had a migraine the night of the bonfire/discussion session—which bums me out to this day, because come on. Bonfire. I still haven’t read the book.

The fourth book my book club read was The Shack. And get this. We chose the book sometime in April, I believe, and I’M STILL NOT FINISHED WITH IT. We’re meeting on Sunday, and I have about forty more pages to go, which means I’ll probably get through it, but what is wrong with me?! I can’t read a book in six months? And it’s a book about God! I should totally be done with it by now!

I’m still working on Infinite Jest. I had a brief e-mail exchange last week with a woman who summed up my feelings perfectly. The more I read this book, the more I fall in love with it, and the more I don’t want it to end. So I’m reading it very slowly. Too slowly. I don’t even believe I’ve reached page 300 yet.

I am not getting any smarter, Internet, and I believe it’s because I’m not reading as much as I should.

I blame silk and wool.

What are you reading these days? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I sort of love Jonathan Safran Foer. And long mittens.

Thanks to all of you, my family will be eating chili for the next three weeks. High fives to one and all.

I’m leaving the house in a few minutes to get a little bit sushified. I may or may not add on a trip to the book store to pick up Eating Animals. I’ve been cheating on my vegetarian sensibilities for the past few months, and I believe this book will put me right where I need to be.

Most importantly, the holiday knitting has begun.

Bella's Mittens (WIP)

So far, I have two mittens, neither of which have thumbs. I shall thumb them in the coming weeks, and they will be gifted to one of Meredith’s teachers. Next up? A hat for the coach who lets Meredith out of the car every morning. Because he does it with a smile and a “Good morning, Meredith!” Every Single Day Even When It’s Raining.

Raw fish doesn’t really count as meat, right?

Don’t answer that. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I put the meat-free thing on hold when it comes to chili.

My father and I have a problem.

We’re chili fans, you see, and it seems that RB Rice has stopped producing their chili block, which was a vital ingredient in our Perfect Chili recipe. Without the RB Rice chili block, we’re left shaking our heads and throwing beans and spices around all willy nilly.

Dad has found that the recipe on the back of the Brooks Chili Seasoning bag is good, and adding a can of drained kidney beans makes it even better.

I have been known to melt Hershey bars in my chili. Once again, I have no idea what I’m doing.

Are you sitting on The Perfect Chili Recipe? Cough it up, my friend.

My father and I are starting to feel desperate.

And ’tis the season. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

NaBloPoMo Day Two: Thorn in the side, pea in the shoe, etc.

One of the Pudding kids is not eating the turkey we pack for her lunch. According to her best friend, she throws her turkey away Every Single Day. That’s a lot of wasted turkey.

One of the Pudding kids has not been washing her hands after using the bathroom. Instead, she finishes using the bathroom, turns the water on for ten seconds, turns it off again, and walks out thinking she has fooled us. However, I caught her this morning, so she has lost her Washing Hands in Private privileges until further notice. Everyone is sick. EVERYONE. You HAVE to WASH your HANDS. (Yes. I’m very paranoid about this.)

The sink in the kitchen is backed up and I believe it’s because of tree roots growing into our front yard pipes. The plumber came out last year and predicted that he would be making yearly visits to clear the roots. Today is the day. Meanwhile, the kitchen, which is normally fairly messy, is Messy Deluxe. And this is two hundred dollars that we really should not be spending.

While taking Harper to school an hour ago, I drove past a bunch of protestors dancing and yelling at cars while waving their hands in the air like a bunch of idiotic marionettes near the Jewish Communty Center. From what I could gather during my ten second drive-by, they “HATE OBAMA the ANTI-CHRIST!”, they know that “JEWS will be FORCED to REPENT! NOW!”, and “HEALTHCARE for EVERYONE is STUPID!” And, you know what? After the whole turkey/handwash/sink thing, I was already nearing the end of my wits. When Harper asked me to read the signs to her, for the first time ever, I refused. All I could say was, “I don’t think they’re being very nice, Harper.” You know, I respect anyone’s right to speak their mind, if they can do it respectfully and intelligently. In fact, I encourage it! More importantly, I won’t hit you with my car if I disagree with you! But I have to say, standing near an elementary school with a poster of President Obama painted to look like Satan? Really? Worst of all, I saw at least three kids amongst the protestors. Kids who were laughing and yelling out hateful things at passing cars.

I’m tired. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

NaBloPoMo: Kicking it Real.

According to my calendar, this week we’ll see the frost moon, a day to vote, and Roy Roger’s birthday.

Last night found the girls dressed up exactly as they were for last week’s Trunk or Treat minus the rain plus the pink hair.

Ready to Roll!

The night before last saw us posing to show off my recently completed February Lady. (And yes. Harper had whiskers. Actually, she still does! They’re very faint. Don’t mention them to her unless you want to see her explode.)

"Hey, (February) Laydeeee!"

Today? A late brunch with my road trip posse and an appointment to see a store about some yarn. I have been told that all my cousin wants for Christmas—all he has EVER wanted—is a pair of hand-knit socks. Hand-knit socks for his Size 13 feet. I need to see what I can do about that.

Good morning, NaBloPoMo. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’ve got a sweet potato in my oven, and nothing much to say.

Every morning for the past week I have found myself dropping Meredith off at school at 8:30, returning home with Harper, cleaning up the kitchen a bit, putting a sweet potato in the oven at 9:30, figuring out laundry, etc., and then eating the sweet potato at 11:00 (with one tablespoon of butter and light on the salt, if you’re wondering). And, yes. My mornings are bland at best. Aren’t you excited about NaBloPoMo? I need to come up with thirty new and exciting ways to report that I have a sweet potato in my oven!

What else is happening, you ask? Harper and I just assembled twelve bags of potato chips and bubbles for her pre-K’s fall party. Meredith’s class has won a pajama/stuffed animal/cupcake party for this afternoon, and her fall party is tomorrow. (It is NOT a Halloween party, people. It is a celebration of the harvest tide! Nothing spooky about that!)

Harper turned 4.5 yesterday, and Meredith turned 6.5 today. I will be 39.5 in a few weeks.

Meredith has a computer class at school, and yesterday she created this:
mchalloween

I love it for so many reasons, but I especially love that she put an owl in the tree and it’s saying “hoo hoo”.

This is completely unrelated to anything that has to do with Hoo Hoo: Tonight I am going all by myself to see the Michael Jackson movie. I never really considered myself to be a huge Michael Jackson fan, but for some reason I’m drawn to the idea of this film. And it better be good, Michael Jackson, because I don’t get out much.

Oh! One more thing! Yesterday afternoon Meredith told me that she had lunch with a new friend at school. When I asked what the new friend had brought in her lunch, Meredith answered, “She eats The Lonely Sandwiches.”

Me: What is a lonely sandwich?

Meredith: The Lonely Sandwiches! You know, with the round pink stuff inside. And cheese and mustard.

Me: Baloney sandwiches?

Meredith: No. The Lonely Sandwiches.

I kind of like the idea of sharing lunch with the lonely sandwiches. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

You ain’t a beauty, but hey, you’re alright.

Bruce Springsteen was in town last night, and I have a friend who works for him. (And I wish the friend lived closer than she does, because I do believe we’re quite compatible in the Hanging Out While Knitting and Drinking Coffee department—which is one of my very favorite departments.) I met her for the first time last year when Mr. Springsteen was in town, and she completely floored us by giving us total VIP treatment.

When we arrived at the Scottrade Center for last night’s show, I couldn’t get past Security because I had brought a gift for my friend and a knitted hat for Mr. Springsteen. When I called her to explain the situation and apologize for the inconvenience, she quickly rescued us and took us backstage where (are you ready for this?!) we stood outside Mr. Springsteen’s dressing room and heard him yell, “Hey, Lady!” when one of his staff members entered. Also? I stood less than twenty feet away from Roy Bittan and Max Weinberg as they ate chicken skewers. I watched Steven van Zandt contemplate dinner options. We passed Nils Lofgren (and Tony La Russa) in the hall. Did I mention the chicken skewer thing?! (Seriously. That was a high point.)

When I worked at the hospital as a bagger of the dead, I would occasionally turn my badge over and wrap a stethoscope around my neck for the walk down to the cafeteria. I found that people respected the stethoscope more than the Unit Secretary badge, and they would often clear the way for me as I returned to the SICU with milk and Kit Kat in hand. Since leaving the hospital, I haven’t really had the chance to duplicate that feeling of power I experienced while wearing the stethoscope around my neck, until last night when I had this on my chest:
P1010898
When we took our place in the pit, I caught at least a dozen people staring at my chest (that NEVER happens) and then whispering for their friends to stare at my chest. This badge quickly became my Bruce Springsteen Stethoscope.

Highlights of my night: Watching Mr. Springsteen playing piano and singing “For You.” (I’ll update to the St. Louis video if it becomes available. It was absolutely perfect.) Getting a quick visit in with my friend. The chicken skewer thing.  “She’s the One” (my favorite Springsteen tune).

Highlight of Jeff’s night: Being part of Mr. Springsteen’s crowd surfing moment during “Hungry Heart.” He was able to grab a leg o’ Bruce, and when I asked if it was muscular, he smiled and answered, “It was strong.”

When the show ended, we walked back to our car in the parking garage and found that our battery was dead. We called AAA and they weren’t able to get to us until over an hour after the final car had left the garage. AND, they were unable to get their truck to us because of the low ceilings in the garage. SO, the AAA guy had to walk his big battery thing up five flights of steps to help us out. (Thanks, Jake from AAA!) In other words, I’m now working from four hours of sleep, but I have absolutely zero complaints, for I saw Roy Bittan eat chicken, and the only thighs Jeff has touched in the past decade or more belong to me and Mr. Bruce Springsteen.

(I’ve received word that my hat made it onto Mr. Springsteen’s flight last night from St. Louis to Kansas City. This news will keep me smiling for at least 37 days.)

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Next year we’re going to fill the back of the car with fake dead people.

Tonight was Trunk or Treat at the girls’ school. To prepare, we signed up for a parking spot (#29! Because you’re only as old as you feel!), I hemmed Harper’s Sleeping Beauty dress, I purchased treats for 200 kids, I cleaned out the back of the car, and I carved a pumpkin. (I’m proud of my pumpkin. Full disclosure: Yes. I used a pattern.)

Pumpkin!

Because our neighbors are not very enthusiastic about Halloween, this is pretty much it for the girls. And they were a tiny bit excited.

Sleeping Beauty and the Dancing Diva

Harper, as I mentioned earlier, is Sleeping Beauty. Meredith? Meredith is a Barbie Dancing Diva. Yes she is.

Sadly, I had No Idea how seriously some people are about Trunk or Treat.

Notes for next year:

  • Bring more candy. (We left with three Tootsie Roll Pops to spare. That was a close one.)
  • Make a Spooky Song CD (although Jeff’s last minute Tom Waits iPod blast was quite impressive).
  • Hang streamers and/or garbage bags in the car.
  • Bring a live camel.
  • Floss.

Business:

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