If You Would Like to Break Into My House. . .

If I really get on a roll writing today, a bunch of things won’t get done.

That’s been the theme of the last six months for me. It seems like CC and I had a month’s reprieve from being in production at the same time (read: a shitload of overtime for both of us) and then it kicked back up for him.

Huh. I just checked the calendar and there’s no “seeming” about it, that’s actually how it happened. Nice to know I’m not crazy. About that, anyway.

He’s been out of town a lot. Like, for weeks at a time. Many. Weeks. I’ve been running the household.

I can hear many of you married moms going, “So?” or “I wish my husband would go out of town!” and the like. Well this is a very risky post for me, not only because I am revealing online the absence of my husband

-I interrupt this post to inform you that I am, indeed, armed, and while I’m not as good a shot as him, I am decent enough and I use a bigger gun

-but it’s also risky because I am revealing the fact that my husband does everything to run the household. If the women in my town knew exactly how amazing he is, they’d be plotting against me, five kids or no five kids.

He does all your typical man stuff. But he also cooks and cleans and does laundry and makes the kids’ lunches and lets me sleep in. He can sew, and he can wire the furnace into a generator when the power goes out. He has power tools and one of his greatest joys is teaching the girls how to use them. He grocery shops, which I totally suck at.

And most of this year, he’s been working like ninety jobs’ worth of hours out of town and I am trying to fill his shoes here at home, and every day I sit down at my computer and think, if I really get on a roll writing today, a bunch of stuff won’t get done. Because while my husband can get a tasty meal for seven on the table in twenty minutes, it takes me half a week of planning to make that happen. If I don’t plan to run this household, I’m screwed. Or they are, depending on how you look at it. Not a damn piece of it comes naturally to me.

Like, I made cookies. Chocolate Chip and a few White Chocolate Chip. They were really good too, because I added cinnamon. Because I add cinnamon to everything. The kids were not impressed, but I knew that when they got hungry enough they would eat them. Particularly since there wasn’t much else to eat in the house. The next day I was outside engaged in a life and death struggle with the power washer  power washing the house. The puggles were on the couch at the window watching me. They disappeared. I figured they just didn’t like water aimed at their faces through the window. But actually they were gettin’ busy.

What was wrong with these four?

 

That’s two dozen cookies that you don’t see because they’re in dog bellies.

I like what you did with the cinnamon

 

 

 

 

 

 

I feel guilty enough for both of us.

Here are some other highlights from this week:

I never restocked the refrigerator after we had to dump everything from the power being out for a week. We’re still eating out of the pantry.

I entirely forgot to pick up two of my children from school on Thursday. Never even entered my mind.

I managed to get an entire month behind in paying my babysitter. I may have to take out a loan to get current.

We now have to bring the dogs with us on our upcoming road trip and board them when we get in Indiana, about a 12 hour drive, because I couldn’t get all the details squared away in time. Though in my defense, Jack had a strong hand in it by spontaneously developing an upper respiratory infection the night before he was supposed to get shots.

What’s that? Road trip? Indiana? Why, yes! Which is why again I say if I really get on a roll writing today, a bunch of stuff won’t get done. There’s a lot to get done to prep five kids and two dogs and me to head out. We can’t wait! We get to see my whole famdamnily, and CC has Thanksgiving Day off  so I get to retrieve him and bring him back to my mom’s.

Maybe when I get back I can restock the refrigerator.

*****

Meanwhile, back in New Jersey and New York, cleanup efforts continue. I got to see a former co-worker of mine yesterday who lives on Long Beach. We saw pictures and videos of the sea busting through his foundation, of the water rising up to the ceiling. His neighbor drowned in her home. And though he lost nearly everything he owned, including all the years of custom work he had done on his place, he said he sees so much good coming out of it. Before, he said, nobody would speak much to each other on the street. He only knew a few of his neighbors. Now everybody knows each other, they ask how they’re doing; they pitch in and help out.

More train lines are back up and running. Oddly, it made my commute worse, as there are now no trains between 10:14pm and midnight to where I’m going. I’m sure there’s a valid reason for it. I mean, the freaking land that many of the tracks are on washed away. The people along those lines were scrambling every day to try and find a way into work, and many of them still are. A friend of mine who also commutes explained it to his little boy like this: You know how you have your toy trains on your train table? And sometimes the tracks get moved and you have to put them back so the trains will run? Well, here, the train table washed away. He said his mouth dropped open.

And say what you will about Snookie, but she and her guidos/ettes raised a million bucks for their shore town. She was also at the telethon we performed on, early in the morning, answering phones. In Snookie-shoes.

Keep those positive stories coming. We all need them. I opened up the Sunday paper last week and just wept.

By the way? The gas rationing thing totally worked. Granted, getting more stations on line with power and more gasoline helped. But in a week we went from waiting in a line after midnight for two and half hours to no lines.

******

Here are your links:

So my babysitter (the one I owe all the money to) informed me that I really should investigate whether there was a seatbelt law for dogs because she saw something posted at the pet store.

She has sugar gliders. I love her.

Me: That’s stupid. I’m not getting freaking seatbelts for the puggles.

Her: Yeah but I heard it’s like a $250 fine if you get pulled over.

Me: If we get pulled over I’ll have #4 shove them down inside a sleeping bag.

I dutifully googled and the first hit I got was this article: Christie Says No ‘Stupid’ Seat Belt Law For Dogs In New Jersey

I love it when I quote Chris Christie without even realizing it.

This is funny. REALLY funny. The Hater’s Guide to the Williams-Sonoma Catalogue. Thanks Michelle for the link.

From the Star-Ledger: New Jersey’s Unsung Heroes of Hurricane Sandy

I just spent an hour looking for an article about gratitude that conveyed what I feel about it (that’s the equivalent of two loads of laundry started, for those of you playing along at home). I found it: Giving Thanks from Woman’s Day.

And let’s close this Sunday post out with a link I found on The Bloggess to a 1984 video clip from the Today Show about a toaster possessed by Satan. It Makes Good Toast.

******

PS: If you are, in fact, going to break into my house, could you please throw a load of towels in the washer? They’re going to moulder while I’m gone. Help yourself to the lemons in the fridge. There’s like, forty in there. Lemons are unfazed by power outages. They’re lonely.

Happy Sunday.

 

Threats

We have a time-honored tradition in my house of going to great lengths to keep treats to ourselves.

It goes with the territory in a family of this size. Some boxes of goodies don’t have enough for everyone to get even one.

Often we hide things we like, in the pantry, in the fridge, in the freezer. We hope they won’t be found; we hope we won’t hide them so well we forget about them.

Sometimes we hide them in our rooms. Usually the dogs find the treats then. It’s a real bummer when your dog manages to climb to the top of your desk, smash one of two wedding china tea cups that you own, and pulls your purse down from the highest shelf only to dump it upside down and root out your Godiva stash. Bummer for you and the dog. And then you again, after the vet bill and the carpet cleaning and the sad, sad fact that you are, once more, out of chocolate.

Marking treats as one’s own by licking them and posting a warning regarding said licking happens in my house. That’s usually pretty effective at keeping the poachers at bay.

Lately, they’re resorting to threats.

It’s a total set-up. Leaving your fund raiser cupcakes on the counter where everyone can see them, with a very clearly written, expressly detailed threat on the box.

 

Simple. Clear. To the point. Of dubious plausibility.

But everybody is afraid to risk it.

They think, Will she know if I just lick the frosting? Does she really have them counted? Would she really, really really cut my hair off in my sleep? Well, if she did, she’d get in trouble! Except my hair would still be cut off.

They think, No, she wouldn’t follow through. Would she?

 

They wonder, Is a cupcake really worth it? Do I feel lucky?

One member of the family does.

Score one for Dad.

A Post for #3

Last night I experienced one of the less cool aspects of my job: not having a sub trained in my position, and having to miss a certain 8th-grade graduation.

Sometimes because of the timing of a show’s opening in relation to the Tony awards and when Tony voters are coming to see it you can’t train a sound sub, which is at least a two-week process, for a while.

And sometimes the show gets a closing notice before that even happens. Sadly, we did get a closing notice for July 1 but that’s not what this post is about.

This post is dedicated to #3, whose 8th grade promotion I missed last night, who is attending her very last day of middle school today.

She is beautiful and she makes me laugh and I am pretty sure that neither she nor I are ready for her to be in high school yet.

I am also certain that neither her father nor I are prepared for her to look this grown up, but it’s happened.

Isn’t she lovely?

***********

Text exchange with her earlier this year after her field trip to the Franklin Institute:

Me: How was the field trip?

#3: Mmm the busss ride was rlly good. The actual place not so much.

Me: Oh that’s too bad- he was a really interesting dude. Guess they didn’t really bring that through?

#3: Mmm noooo maybbbe they should paint his statue pink.

**************

Texts we exchanged yesterday:

Me: Hope you’re enjoying your last day of middle school!

#3: the last day is tomorrow… haha but thanks

Me: Well it’s kinda silly that you have to go in after you graduate, isn’t it?

#3: yeah but we also have the pool is party 2mom.

Me: That’s worth going in for.

#3: I guess… all the guys r obsessed with one of the teachers with big boobs so now theyr even more obsessed since she’s going to the pool partyy

Me: That’s pretty much how they’re going to act for the rest of their lives.

#3: Ugh!

I was pleased to note that her text spelling has improved somewhat over this year, and that even though she still seems to have something against apostrophes, she did use more than one ellipsis.

When I came home from work Tuesday night she had just finished up a collage for one of her teachers: on a background of crazy colored and patterned tape, she had cut out and artfully arranged all her test grades for the year.

She had a bunch of writing on her arm and at first I thought it was some sort of home-made tribal tattoo. Then I thought it was a cheat sheet for a final.

“No,” she said. “I’m done with my finals. It’s the mean, median and mode of all the Facebook Likes on the pictures we put up from the 8th grade dance.”

Just in case you teachers thought they weren’t paying attention. . .