Julie's Blog
January 2010
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Julie's Blog
Crazy Day
I took this photo of Laura a week or so ago, but it fits better for today's entry.
It was one of THOSE days today.
I woke up feeling under the weather. My throat felt funny, my nose felt runny and I felt seriously crummy in my tummy. Not to mention, my little toe on my right foot is the color of a big, purple grape after I rammed it into a door frame over the weekend. (Yeah. That hurt. A lot. I'm still walking like an old person with a limp.)
But I had to get up anyway. Because Laura doesn't accept sick days.
So I rolled out of bed, a little delirious, and made my way downstairs. Martin and Claire were already up and at it, ready to head to work and school. With kisses and hugs, they were out the door and it was just Laura, me and the cats.
And Patches the dog.
All looked up at me, wanting their breakfast.
So when that was done, I took Laura out of her high chair and we played for a little bit. Actually, I laid on the floor and kept one eye opened while I slept with the other as she played with her kitchen set, occasionally walking over to poke me in the face or leave big, wet kisses on my cheek.
Finally, it was 9:30 a.m, and I figured Laura could go down for an early nap. She'd been more fussy than usual over the weekend, and we figured putting her down earlier for a longer morning nap would help with her mood. It worked Saturday, Sunday and Monday.
So, I put her in her crib with a bottle and shut the door. I paused to listen, and there wasn't a even a peep. I headed back downstairs, turned on the television set and drifted off to sleep again on the couch.
And just as I was about to enter that nice, dark dreamland where no throat feels funny, no nose feels runny, and no crummy tummy, I heard it.
The THUMP.
Followed by the SCREAM.
I was upstairs in her room within seconds, purple toe be damned. I swung open the door and immediately swept Laura into my arms.
Laura, who was standing at the door in tears. Laura, who I had last seen in the crib, clutching her bottle and waving bye-bye as I shut the door.
Apparently, she had climbed out of her crib and dropped down to the floor.
I sat down in her rocking chair and started to sing to her. She buried her face into my shoulder , boo-hoo'ing as loud as she could, and I could feel the snot soak through my shirt. But then she lifted her head to face the other direction and I saw that it was not all snot.
She had a bloody nose.
I must have gasped because she stopped crying, looked me right in the eye and smiled at me. Tears, snot, bloody nose and all.
I immediately checked for bumps and bruises, but there were none. A quick swipe of her nose removed all evidence of her fall, save for a small red mark that looked like she picked her nose too much. I let her play with toys in her room as I pulled out Martin's toolkit and adjusted her mattress down to the lowest rung possible. Then I put her back in there with a new bottle and didn't leave until she started doing the sleepy-blinks.
Then I went to my room and took a nap. And all was calm.
For at least those few hours.
I got up with Laura and we had lunch. No drama.
Then we played.
No drama.
Then, it was time for a diaper change.
Drama.
Because we were out of diapers. I ended up using one of Claire's old over-night pull-ups, which we keep around, just in case.
It nearly fell off of Laura's body. But clear mailing tape helped solve that problem.
Then it was time for her afternoon nap.
More drama. She did NOT want to sleep again, until about 15 minutes before I needed to leave to pick up Claire from school. That's when she decided to curl up in a ball and go to sleep on the floor.
So I plopped her down in her crib and tiptoed downstairs to check on Alaina, who stayed home from work because she's also sick today. (Is it okay to be grateful that someone is sick?? In this case, I think it is okay to say, yes, I was grateful.) Fortunately, she was awake, having slept all morning, and didn't mind sitting in our family room while I went to pick up Claire from school. And, oh by the way, I needed to run to the store for milk and diapers, too, because we were out. O-U-T.
Claire was standing at the corner of her school as I walked up. Her head was down except to occasionally glance up to check for me, and when she finally saw me, she came running.
Never a good thing.
By the time she reached me, she was in tears. And in disjointed breaths between sobs, she told me what happened. The night before, she and Martin worked on her homework assignment, which was to build a leprechaun catcher. So they took a small, round terra cota jar (given to Claire by her Nona during our trip to Oklahoma) and rigged up a sort of mousetrap on top, using cardboard and tape. It was cute and I'm pretty sure it'd work should any leprechaun comes looking for trouble.
Anyway, sometime during lunch, a classmate bumped into Claire's desk, sending it toppling over and shattering it to pieces. The cafeteria janitor had to come and sweep it all up. I asked Claire what happened to the pieces, and she said it was all put in a bag on a shelf in her classroom.
"Nona's gonna be so disappointed in me!" she wailed.
"Well, maybe we can still put it together," I suggested, thinking the bowl broke in a few big, fixable pieces. "Why don't you run inside and get the bag, and we'll see what we can do."
So, Claire pushed against the crowd of students and went back into the school to retrieve her bag. Five minutes later, she walked out clutching a clear plastic bag. Inside were about fifty small to mid-size pieces of terra cotta. The thing was destroyed.
"Do you have a special glue?" she asked hopefully.
"Uh..." I hesitated. "We'll think of something."
And then I made a mental note to google "terra cotta mosaic crafts."
We dropped off her friend, Justin, at his house, then drove straight to the grocery store. For a few minutes, things were really sweet. Claire stood on the back of the cart, leaning against me as I pushed behind her. She was much happier knowing I'd fix her pot (somehow) and had so much to tell me about her day.
As we loaded up the car with our items, I thought, Maybe this day will get better....
But then we got home. I opened the door and was greeted by Patches. And I could hear the television set in the family room. I put the items on our kitchen table and looked around.
"Hello?" I called out.
"Um, Julie?" came Alaina's voice upstairs. "We're up here?"
The questioning tone of her voice indicated that something was up.
Or rather, something was OUT.
I got halfway up the stairs when I smelled it.
By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Alaina was in the hallway, holding Laura's hand away from her body with a look of hesitation on her face. Her nose was crinkled.
Laura was beaming at me.
I could practically see the vapors coming out of her diaper.
"She woke up crying just now, so I came up and wow.... I'm SOOOO glad you are home!" said Alaina. I gagged.
"Is that HER?" I asked. I couldn't believe it. Alaina just nodded and handed Laura's hand to me. I could barely open my mouth. I didn't want to. This was horrible. All I could do was repeat "Oh, jees. Oh my lord. Oh heavens. OH MY GOD!" as I surveyed the damage.
All over her legs. Her back. Her crib. Her sheets.
EVERYWHERE.
I immediately plunked her in the tub and turned on the shower.
It was going to take some serious effort.
No wonder she was crabby all weekend.
It took about 15 minutes to clean her up and get her in a new diaper and change of clothes.
It took another 20 minutes to clean up the damage.
By the time I was done, and both girls were hanging out downstairs with Alaina, I collapsed in my bed, my head throbbing. Now I had a massive headache. But dinner had to be prepared.
So I dragged myself to the kitchen and started pulling out ingredients for white chicken chili. But alas, realized we were out of one of the key ingredients - white butter beans. I have plenty of red beans, though. So I set out stuff for 'normal' chili.
Then I went back upstairs to take a Tylenol.
However, the only thing we had were Tylenol PMs.
So I took it anyway.
Then I laid down on my bed. For just a minute.
Twenty minutes later, I woke up as Martin came home. I heard him open the front door. I heard the ding-ding of our security system. I heard him shrug out of his jacket and drop his bags.
Then all hell broke loose.
WHAA-WHAA-WHAA-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP!
Something triggered our security alarm. I could hear Martin run to our alarm system port and punch in several numbers. Finally, it was quiet and I could hear him laugh and explain what happened to Alaina. When he dropped his coat and items, something heavy landed on his keys and trigged the alarm. But since he punched in the general code, no worries.
Then, I fell asleep again as I listened to him pull out pots and pans to complete my dinner preparations.
I didn't wake up again until I heard the doorbell ring.
I looked at the clock. Only about 10 minutes had passed. Who could be at our door at dinner time?
Martin got to it first.
"Hello. We got a call from your security firm that someone hit the panic button?"
It was a female police officer. Behind her stood a male police officer, who was peeking into our house over her shoulder.
This is what he probably saw:
- One annoyed toddler strapped into her high chair, face covered in snot with a red mark under her nose from her crib escape.
- One wide-eyed first grader peeking around the corner, holding a bag of broken terra cotta pieces.
- A box of new diapers ripped apart and thrown on the floor from the desperate clean-up effort from Laura's earlier explosion.
- A loaf of cornbread burning in the oven.
- One embarrassed husband holding a spatula, realizing he didn't punch in the right deactivation code.
- One really confused houseguest probably asking herself if we're really a normal family.
- One housewife standing on the stairs with a bruised toe, funny throat, runny nose, crummy tummy and massive headache, doped up on Tylenol PM.
When the male cop made eye contact with me, his expression softened.
"Is everything all right here, ma'am?" he asked me directly.
"Oh, yeah," I exclaimed. "Everything is super!"
It was only after they left, after they had to write up a false alarm report, that I looked in the mirror.
The whole entire side of my face was red from where I'd slept/drooled on my bed. My hair was also looking like a birds nest. That cop probably thought I looked beat.
Thank god I changed my shirt after Laura's nosebleed. RIGHT?
It wasn't until 8 p.m. that we all finally sat down around the dining room table for dinner. That's a full two hours behind our normal schedule. All of us were so hungry, even Claire stayed in her seat the ENTIRE meal and finished most of it. (Normally, she's up and down, dancing and showing off, while we constantly have to remind her to sit and eat.)
As Alaina and I cleared the table, I asked if she felt well enough to go to back to work in the morning.
"Yes, I'll be going in," she said. "But I kinda wish I didn't. I had fun with you guys today."
Laundry Makes the World Go Round
It's the second time in our marriage we've done this. In fact, our first washing machine was our first major mutual purchase as a couple. It was in 2001, a few months before we married, and it was the first time we both opened our wallets and contributed to something for our household.
I loved that washing machine.
We bought it at a department store in downtown Kaiserslautern. It was a Siemens floor model, so we got it at a discount. It was a European front-loader. (All European machines are front-loaders.) It had a cute little drawer up in the top corner for the detergent and it made the most quiet, soothing whir sounds as it worked.
And while the military provided us a dryer when we moved to Italy, we rarely used it. Instead, we hung our clothes on a little red rack (next to the washer in the picture). If it was warm outside (as it was most of the year), we placed the rack on our back porch. Our clothes were so clean. And they smelled like sunshine.
We had the washer for four years before we had to sell it upon our return to the United States. Of all the items we sold or gave away during our move, the washer carried the most sentimental value. Not only was it our first purchase, but it represented to me our first home. The sound of it was the sound of our first home. Our first baby learned to stand by pulling herself up to look at the suds through the window.
Plus, I knew nothing in the states would be as durable, effective and affordable.
And I was right.
Our first townhouse in Northern Virginia came with a washer and dryer that was at least 20 years old. Since we rented, we didn't bother replacing them. They worked fine. We only had to call the landlord twice to see about getting 'em fixed.
Then we bought our current house in the spring of 2008, and it also came with a washer and dryer. And they were also at least 20 years old. But they worked just fine, so we kept them because there were other things in the house that absolutely needed to be done or fixed, so we spent the money on those things.
But we knew the day would come.
And it did last week.
The washer just stopped mid-cycle. Done. Dead. Not even a spark, a crank, a clank or sputter. It just stopped, full of water and soiled clothes. We didn't even bother looking up the number for a repair man. It was simply time. So today we rounded up the girls and headed to the local appliance store. Martin spent the morning looking up customer reviews and recommendations and determined we wanted a Maytag. While he talked with the salesman, I chased after Laura through the aisles while Claire followed behind me with the camera. I only got to catch snippets of the conversation, but finally I sensed Martin was looking to me to help with a decision and I rushed over to him and said, "Whatever you want, I'll take it. I just want one that works."
So we got a top-loading Maytag. And within 10 minutes of making the decision, we were wheeling it out and loading it into our care. We'd heard too many delivery horror stories to wait until Monday. Instead, Martin and one of our awesome, helpful neighbors carried it to our basement. He had it hooked up and ready to whirl within 20 minutes.
I was ecstatic.
It's new. Though it's smaller in size, it can hold more clothing. It supposedly uses less water and less energy to run, too.
And it's got a nice, normal whir sound to it.
As I hurried to start the first load and get rid of the piles of dirty clothes that had accumulated the past few days, I thought about my relationship with laundry.
Sure, my ownership of a machine started in 2001, but my relationship with laundry started when I was born in 1981, when I was slipped into my first little hospital shirt...which my mother pasted into my scrapbook.
Since that day, laundry has been a part of my life. In some of my childhood photos, you can see stacks of folded towels and shirts sitting on the couch in the background. I remember standing next to my Dad as he dumped powder detergent onto our clothes before starting the machine, and asking if I would ever be old enough to do that myself.
I think I even said I couldn't wait until I was old enough to do laundry myself. I think I equated laundry with independence. Such a silly little girl was I.
When I was a teenager and my parents were divorced, my mother had a stackable washer and dryer in her apartment that couldn't withstand the amount of dirty clothes accumulated by one woman and three teenagers. So she often sent me to the laundromat with bags full of clothes and a purse full of quarters. My high school boyfriend often went with me, and to pass the time, we organized the quarters according to year while waiting to switch out the clothes in the machines.
Then I joined the military and during basic training, my clothing was sent away. Years later, when I deployed, finding a washing machine and dryer in some of those locations was impossible. But the laundry never went away. So I cleaned my clothing in sinks and showers, wherever there was a water source, using little packets of detergent I carried with me. Or shampoo. And I scrubbed those things silly, trying to remove the sweat and dust from the fibers. Then I put them out to dry wherever I could, using the Middle East heat to my advantage.
After all that, I never take a working washing machine for granted.
As often as I reference about the crazy amount of laundry I have in my life, the truth is, washing clothes is a necessary part of life, and as common as eating and breathing. Everyone has laundry. Everyone has the chore of getting their clothes clean. It's been that way since the beginning of time. No matter where you go in the world, no matter what era, from the folks wading out into rivers to beat their shirts on rocks, to the women who used to spend entire weekends pressing laundry and ironing and starching, to people like me who can get a load done in an hour or less ... it's a part of the human experience. It's more of a connector than motherhood. Because not everyone is a mother.
But everyone has dirty laundry.
Well, except for those at a nudist colony. But you know ....
Cake in a Pan
Claire and I made a cake today.
Which was perfect because today was also Dr. Seuss' birthday. I didn't plan it that way when I made my dinner menu/forecast over the weekend, but it worked out. Claire's school held a party in honor of the great children's author and she not only got to spend the day reading his books, but she also made a "Cat in the Hat" hat which listed all the books she read today. It looked just like a baker's hat, so she decided to wear it as she helped me bake the cake (which really was baked for the simple purpose of being our dessert for the evening, but nobody has to know that).
We sort of ran into issues, though.
I don't know how many times I've made this cake, but it's safe to say I've made it a lot. It's the recipe on the back of the cocoa powder box. Pretty basic.
But I was so unprepared!
First, I found out mid-way through the mixing process that we were all out of all-purpose flour, thanks to our recent obsession with our bread machine. So I used whole wheat flour.
Then I couldn't find our two round baking pans. I could have sworn we had some, but they were nowhere to be found. (That's because Martin put them away in the cabinets above the fridge, which I didn't learn until I recounted this story to him over dinner. Why he would suddenly decide to store them there instead of with the other baking pans is beyond me. Still love him, though!)
Then, when I decided I was going to bake this cake in our casserole pan, I couldn't find the cooking spray of canola oil. So I used a tablespoon of olive oil.
Once it was in the oven, things went well. It smelled amazing. And when I took it out of the oven, it looked nice and even. The toothpick came out clear.
So I let it cool before putting on the icing, which I melted a little bit to ensure a smooth, even cover.
But as I dumped the icing on the cake, it sunk. I watched as the melted chocolate soaked into the spongy texture of the cake, creating a huge crater in the middle. Apparently, the whole wheat flour made a difference.
But it was still good cake. So I gingerly slathered on the rest of the icing and decided to hide the flaws by sprinkling a bunch of shredded coconut on top.
Then I used the cake as an example of topography when explaining the Earth's surface to Claire, who asked about the recent earthquake in Chile as we waited for Martin and Alaina to get home.
After dinner, I served up the cake, scooping out chocolate-y chunks from the edges. Claire and I told them about it's ingredients, Dr. Suess and his birthday, and I began to hint at the comedy of errors behind the cake's creation. But as I opened my mouth to speak, Martin dug into the cake with a spoon to get a second serving.
"Julie!" he exclaimed. "You made this a lava cake???"
As this was the second serving, he was scooping from the center. And as he lifted the cake out of the pan, the melted chocolate icing I "accidently" poured in the center of the cake oozed out of it. Alaina's eyes lit up and she pushed her plate over for another piece.
"Ummmm ...." I began. Then I stopped.
If Dr. Suess were alive, he'd probably have me say .....
Sure. Sure. This cake in a pan.
I do make such things.
I can! I can!
Photos Galore
I uploaded some family photos today. One of our cameras - the point-and-shoot - was temporarily missing-in-action, only to be recovered when Martin went looking for a tool in his man-cave corner in the basement.
How it ended up there will probably never be explained.
But it's safe to say that Claire was its last user.
While I made a mental note to talk about accountability again with my eldest daughter, I also burst out laughing when I saw her photos loading up on my computer screen.
The girl has a sense of humor.
The Suite
Remember this hot mess from December?
It's our basement room, which was built by our previous owner. It wasn't the best, most beautiful room ever created, but it had space for Claire's many, many toys, so we used it as her toy room.
Which was great because it kept the majority of her toy mess out of sight, out of mind.
But when she started school, it didn't get used very much, and I had long dreamed of having a really nice guest room in my home. And this room was not only big enough for a guest bed, but also a little living area, too. A real suite! So, I recruited Martin and together, we turned my dream into reality.
First, we purged a lot of stuff. Toys got donated or moved to the girls rooms. Papers got shredded. Books and clothes were given away. We moved our European shelving unit into the laundry room so it could hold all our holiday decorations and food supply.
Then, we repaired and repainted the walls. We found panels attached to cement with Velcro and randomly cut holes which may have been made for ventilation, but no thought was apparently given to any of it. So Martin went to work securing the panels and replacing some of the nuts and bolts holding the room together. And while the majority of my walls in my house have color on them, we stuck with simple white paint to brighten up the place, to compensate for the dreary gray-brown color from before. Plus, we had plenty of it left over from painting the ceilings when we moved in.
Then, Martin replaced the ugly vinyl floor with a more modern, nicer vinyl that looked like wood.
I steam-cleaned the large blue area rug.
We also replaced the horrible "office cubicle" fluorescent lights. The light above the stairs was actually homemade by the previous owner, who used an ordinary light bulb and aluminum baking sheets to illuminate a translucent ceiling tile. Yeah. Baking sheets. So, Martin installed new lights from IKEA and replaced some of the ceiling tiles while I held the flashlight and handed him his tools.
Then, we moved in my sofa love-seat from my very first studio apartment, which I've held onto all these years despite Martin's insistence that I get rid of it. (I just couldn't. It's the most comfortable sofa ever. And perfect for my height -- I can sleep on it without a problem.) Since we moved here, it's been in my scrapbook room, but I knew it would be perfect for the guest suite. We also set up a twin-size bed (although we have air mattresses for more people), the entertainment center we had as newlyweds, a new dresser from IKEA, and a vanity table.
I also picked up some mirrors and lamps from IKEA, too.
I think the total amount of money we invested came to less than $300.
And so this is what the room looks like now ....
BEST OF ALL, we already have a houseguest! We started our project in December, and got an email from my Aunt Janet in January regarding her friend's daughter, Alaina, who I wrote about HERE. When we got that email, I told Martin it was meant to be. Things just don't happen like that. There've been SO many times in my life when I've gotten an idea or started a project or just DID something that shortly thereafter proved to be exactly the right thing needed at the right time.
So while I basked in the coincidence, Martin basked in the knowledge that his work to the room was actually being put to use, and that it wasn't all just some crazy way for me to get him to work.
Although, I must admit, it was kinda nice watching him work with a hammer.
Good Times
I had such a great day today.
I actually woke up early -- on a Saturday! -- just because I knew it was going to be an awesome day.
Martin and I started the day by heading into the city to attend a play date with the girls. It's a group made up of other American-German couples raising their kids in our area. We had attended a barbecue last summer and immediately loved it, although the past few months, we haven't been able to meet up with them because I've been traveling so much, and Martin and I rarely get a Saturday together since he is usually at the bank. But it worked out this morning, so as the kids played together, Martin and I got to chat - in German - with a great mix of adults. It was awesome, and it made me even more homesick for Europe.
Afterwards, we rushed home to prepare the house for Alaina, our latest houseguest. She hails from Northern Kentucky, where I grew up. Her mom has worked with my Aunt Janet (of my Idol Trilogy mentioned HERE) for years, so when Alaina got a temporary position with a company in DC, Aunt Janet wrote to me, asking if I'd be a contact for her in DC.
Of course, I responded. And, oh by the way, Martin and I are re-doing our basement into a guest suite....
So that started a chain of events which led up to Alaina pulling into our driveway this afternoon, her car full of clothes, books and all those other things young, nomadic people tend to bring with them.
Claire immediately went into hostess mode and gave Alaina a tour of the house, explaining EVERY little thing she thought would be relevant to Alaina's stay.
"This is our fridge. It's where we keep our food. You can keep your food in there, too. Oh, and these are my crayons. You can use them to color if you want. I usually keep them right here, but my mom makes me put them away over there. Oh, and this is my cat, Kiwi. She's a troublemaker, but her sister, Ellie, is the shy one. And this is Patches. She's my dog. Sometimes she pees in the house, but she's gotten better about that. Oh, and this is ......."
Fortunately, Alaina was a good sport and let both girls hang out with her as she made herself at home.
Meanwhile, I got the rest of the house ready for my 90's party.
Yes. I hosted a 90's party.
I invited some ladies from my other play group, the one made up of other local stay-at-home/work-at-home mothers. A lot of us graduated high school in the 1990s, and during one group event, we started recalling random stuff from that decade. That's when I suggested we have a themed party. So we did.
To prepare, I played 90s shows on every screen in my house: My So-Called Life played in the family room, Ghost played on my laptop in the kitchen, Friends played in my living room and Forest Gump played on our computer. Obviously, the volume was low on all of these.
Then, I put on some music: Alanis Morrisette, Aerosmith, Smashing Pumpkins, George Strait (for the country fans!), Six Pence None the Richer, Mary J. Blige, Bell Biv Devo, etc.
I also set out my old yearbooks, along with some magazines and books dedicated to the 90s.
And then, I got dressed in my best 90s get-up. I used My So-Called Life for inspiration: black hose, cut-off jeans rolled, combat boots, black shirt and flannel. Then, I styled my bangs into a high, side arch, using a curling iron and hairspray. Then I smeared on some eye-liner and some DARK brown lipstick.
When I came down the stairs, Martin's eyebrows went straight up, followed by a disbelieving sneer.
"REALLY?" he asked. "American girls dressed like that?"
I didn't even answer him. I just picked up the remote, forwarded through a My-So Called Life episode and paused it on a scene showing Angela and RayAnne hanging out ... wearing flannel, cut-offs and hose.
He just shook his head.
I shook my head, too, but only to adjust to the added weight of my bangs.
Soon, Martin left with the girls for Chuck-E-Cheese and my guests began to arrive.
I couldn't help but laugh hysterically as they came in the door. All of them went all out for the perfect 90s outfit.
Susanna went to the thrift store to find the tackiest print pants ever. She also made her scrunchie. We figured this outfit would have been worn in 1994 -1995. In fact, I'm pretty sure this is identical to the outfit I wore as a freshman on my first day of high school, except it was a floral print skirt. And that was in the fall 1995. (By the way, that's Friends playing in the background.)
Irene pulled out a 1990 Seventeen magazine she's kept all these years and flipped through the pages for her inspiration. She even brought it with her for us to read! There was a young Denise Richards and Heather Locklear modeling some serious high-waisted mom-jeans. Fortunately, Irene didn't go the mom-jeans route, but she did glue sequins to her jean pockets and wear Birkenstocks with socks.
Marcie also picked up her outfit from the thrift store, going for that whole cropped-sweater-and-chocker look from (what we guessed) the 1997-1998 years. However, we did see Monica wearing a similar outfit during the first season of Friends.
Even Alaina got into it. She just happened to have some cool Converse shoes (which were my shoes of choice in high school), and I loaned her my senior year t-shirt (1999) and some flannel. (Come on - admit it - you have stuff from high school in your closet, too.) Her outfit was what I wore the majority of my junior and senior years.
All of us munched on Subway sandwiches (in honor of Happy Gilmore) and drank Snapple (in honor of the Snapple Lady). We also snacked on junk food popular back in the day. And I made a huge pot of coffee. Of course.
We played 90s Trivial Pursuit, too. That was hilarious. We remembered so much, but also forgot so much, too. Ironically, Alaina did the best even though she was the youngest in our group and was a kid for most of that decade. The game covers major headlines, sports, movies, celebrities and fashion/trends, and it really brought back a lot of memories.
I really didn't want the night to end! The conversation flowed so easily. We talked about high school, cliques, old boyfriends, movies, our first celebrity crushes, celebrities who haven't aged well, school cafeteria stories, styles and hometowns.
And as we all sat there in silly clothes and banana clips, chatting away about the days before college, marriage, kids and adult responsibilities, I couldn't help but think, was it all really so long ago?
Seriously. Was 1990 really 20 years ago????
By the time Suzanne, Irene and Marcie left, it was almost midnight. Martin had arrived home with Laura and Claire a few hours earlier, quietly putting them straight to bed, although Claire eventually snuck out of her room to listen in on us, so eager to be part of the fun, too. She later passed out on the couch.
After I cleaned up a bit and put away the leftovers, I collapsed on the couch next to her, exhausted, but amused.
"It sounded like you guys had a good time," said Martin, who was working on the computer.
And it was.
Good times remembering good times.
Mornings with Martin
There is a benefit to working from home that I've rarely written about until now: my mornings with Martin.
When I was working full time at the Pentagon, I left the house by 6 a.m. every morning to begin my long commute. Martin, who works at a bank not far from the house, wasn't usually out of bed by then. In that early morning darkness, I started the coffee machine, set out Claire's clothes, jotted a note to remind him of something and then I was quietly out the door. When we moved, and I could leave my house a little later, the three of us (at the time) got up together and while I was still out the door first, at least Martin and Claire stood at the window to wave goodbye.
But it still wasn't the same. I never really felt like I was a part of my family's day until the evening, when we could actually come together and wind down, and talk without being rushed or frantic about a missing wallet, sock or set of keys.
It's different now.
Now, I'm part of the morning routine. And while it's still always a little bit of crazy getting the girls rounded up in the mornings, it's the moments I get with Martin that I enjoy the most.
I get to help my husband pick out his ties. I get to talk with him about the television episodes we watched the night before or remind him of our weekend plans.
I get to lean against the kitchen counter and watch him drink his coffee and eat a piece of toast on bread that I made for him.
He gets to tell me about his plans for the day, about the clients he's going to meet and the sales he hopes to make.
I get to tell him about my plans for Laura and me.
I get to walk him to the door, or at least, give him a kiss as he puts on his coat.
I don't think it's a coincidence that we are getting along so much better now. I'm less stressed with no commute. And he's less stressed about having to get the girls ready for the day himself.
Sometimes, we remind each other of those days when we had the mornings to ourselves. No kids. No chores. No commute. No need to change out of pajamas. Eating whatever was in the fridge and not caring if we didn't go anywhere or do anything because nothing was expected of us and nobody depended on us.
Those were the mornings when we daydreamed about a life together, about future kids and future careers.
Daydreaming about mornings exactly like we're living now.
I love my mornings with Martin.
Dreaming of Spring
I caught my dog Patches sitting in the sun this afternoon. Normally the cats like to occupy this space, especially when I have the curtains open and the sun warms up the carpet right in front of the door.
But Patches claimed the spot today, to stare outside and dream of spring, when she can run and chase birds, and not worry about muddy paw prints and frozen ground.
The good news: the snow is finally melting! After weeks of living under several feet of snow, we are finally seeing grass and concrete again. We can see the wooden planks of our back porch. The sidewalks are starting to clear. Little rivers of water continually flow down our street, taking along the smaller branches and remnants of grass that didn't survive underneath all the snow.
Icicles no longer hang from our roof. Neither do sections of our gutters; they will need to be replaced. The neighbor's tree in their front yard is practically destroyed and some heavy, thick branches snapped off my own.
Our backyard is a giant swamp and mud pit, and our sump pump roars to life every hour or so as it keeps the water from infiltrating our basement. This winter was a harsh one.
Like Patches, I look out our window and dream of spring, too.
Mornings with Laura
I love spending my mornings with Laura.
She's so happy and cheerful in the mornings. Always following me around, wanting to sit on my lap and do what I'm doing.
Or act like doing what I'm doing.
This morning, the two of us worked in our respective kitchens.
I played with my bread machine while she played with her telephone and "baked" a pie.
I made peanut butter bread (click on the link for the recipe).
Then we both played with some blocks and took a nap after stuffing ourselves with slices of the bread smeared with honey (for me) and jam (for her).
I love my mornings with Laura.
Picked Up at the Airport
I was walking out of the airport terminal, wearing jeans and a Gortex winter coat. I'd been up since 3 a.m. this morning to catch an early flight from Ohio to DC, with a quick layover in Atlanta. I wasn't dressed to impress. Half my ponytail was falling out. No make-up, although I'm sure there was a red splotch on my face from where I fell asleep with my face pressed up on the airplane window.
He was dressed in a business suit, wearing his London Fog trench coat with the belt cinched at his waist.
He just got his hair cut, too.
He looked dapper.
I saw him as soon as I passed the security guard, walking into the baggage claim area, but he didn't see me. His eyes were focused on the arrival signs across from me.
Our paths were doing to intersect, but I didn't rush it.
When he was an arm's length away, our eyes locked.
And then he reached out and pulled me to him and planted a huge kiss on my face.
I'm sure it looked completely random to those around us.
Which made me feel giggle even more like a school girl.
If there's one benefit to traveling so much and being away from my family, it's coming home.