Confessional

My name is Amy.

And I don't like scrapbooking.

I don't understand scrapbooking. The time, the money. It's an art lost on me.

I would much prefer to put everything in a box and dig through it later when it has accumulated a protective coating of dust.

I'm the kind of person who likes her memories the way they evolve over the course of years. Please don't bother me with the facts of how it all went down. This is why we didn't get a video of our wedding. I don't want to know about what I didn't see. I don't want to know what Drunk Kristen would have said if there was a camera in her face. I want to look at the album the photographer put together for me and remember my wedding the way I want to remember it: that I was in love (and still am) and that I was so happy and that I didn't get to eat any of my wedding cake.

How about you? Anything that you feel sort of like you're supposed to like/do/get/be that just doesn't click for you? Or, is there anything that you're not supposed to like/do/get/be that you can't resist? Mine is the Wonder Pets. It's a show for kids, but I'll watch it even if there's no one else at home. :)

Oktoberfest!

Curly Sue sits at the table, eating her 4th slice of cheese.

Me: You're going to turn into a piece of cheese.

CS: No, I'm going to turn into a piece of beer!

Romance, but a factual romance

On Thursday, I got a catalog for the J. Peterman Company. First thing I did was giggle because I immediately heard in my mind John O'Hurley say to Julia Louis-Dreyfus, "E-laine...". My wits collected, I remembered that my dad used to get this catalog shipped to him every once in a while. I loved looking at this catalog when I was a kid. Kandahar, Balmoral, Morocco-all places that sounded so exotic. Places I was unlikely ever to go. Places I might not be able to find on a map. And the clothes! It was like looking at the costumes from "Murder on the Orient Express."

I still do love looking at the clothes. I like how there are no photos of the garments but instead: designers' sketches. I love the little stories they put in before they describe the garment:
"Light Show. My hostess is the official harbinger of holiday cheer, takes her job seriously. Orchestrates every perfectly-popped cork, each precisely-dollopped caviar blini, every stargazer lily in the cascading rivers of pink pointsettias. And best of all is her personal light show. Overhead spots capture the glimmering gold in her silk blouse, the deep garnet of her velvet pants, bouncing the colors off frosty windowpanes and chandelier crystals and raised champagne flutes...she looks like she's been gift-wrapped by Printemps of Paris. Next, she'll predict an end to the Cuban cigar embargo and the return of French blue to the Hamptons for summer." (J. Peterman Owner's Manual No. 64 p. 20)

The catalog-no, sorry, Owners' Manual-is truly a work of art. It's nice on a gray day like today when the wind is swaying the trees and the rain has begun to drizzle down (too heavy for a London rain, it's going to downpour-there goes the yard work!) to curl up with it on the couch (better-a chaise) under a blanket (cotton will do if you don't have a cashmere one) with a cup of tea (Earl Gray, of course) and pretend for a few moments that you are that woman from East Hampton who throws catered affairs for charity, not Christmas parties, and who has people to make it all possible.

Enter the smallest one, nose drizzling like the rain outside, who curls up in my lap, rubs that drizzly nose on my cotton T-shirt, scoots herself under the blanket with me, and takes my J. Peterman catalog so she can look at the pictures. The boys run in, arguing, as usual, over who won't let who play with whatever toy they have chosen as the only worthwhile toy in the entire house(!). The husband enters, "Honey, do you know where I put the-oh. Here it is. Nevermind."

I may not be able to drink that Earl Gray before it gets cold or be permitted 5 minutes to myself in my living room, but those delightful people with whom the Lord, in all His goodness, has deigned to bless me are better than catered affairs and $330 outfits I would wear only once if I were that woman in East Hampton. This is the life I have chosen. This is how the Lord has blessed me. This is where I am right now. And it is very, very good.

Post title from the inside cover of the Owners' Manual.

hurm...

Ok, so the phone has not been working since Monday at around 10 AM. All the phone jacks in the house are dead. Last night, Scott went out and tested the line at the box. Dead. So I call Verizon to get a tech out. And I don't to talk to a human. I get the computer that sounds like a person. And after I answer "her" questions, "she" agrees to set me up with an appointment. but, see, it's not really an appointment because that would require there be a set time. No. I have a...ready...wait for it...13 HOUR WINDOW in which a tech might appear at my house. And I have to be there in case he has to come inside. Never mind that the service has been down for nearly two days and I have to give a 1st penance parent meeting tomorrow and we have parent teacher conferences tomorrow night. I get to wait around my house from 8 AM-9PM for a guy not to do work on the inside of my house because the problem is outside of my house. AND Bubba has an ear infection so, knowing that I would be a prisoner in my home for most of the day, I sent Scott and the hooligans to the emergency care doctor's office (while I was at work) to wait for 2 hours so that Bub could get medicine because I wasn't going to be able to take him to the regular doctor tomorrow as we wait with bated breath for the man in the black and red shirt to arrive. Sometime.

And did I mention the dishwasher doesn't work?

How was your day?

I Lost Mother of the Year. Again.

Picture it: This morning, our bathroom. Mommy trying to get ready for work. Curly Sue decides to brush her teeth. She gets hold of the big boys' Spongebob Flouride toothpaste, unscrews the cap, and starts sucking on the end.

Me: Don't do that. Too much toothpaste will make you sick. Put that down.

CS: (Pouts as if I had just kicked her puppy)

Me: Don't you be looking at me like that. You can't eat the toothpaste.

CS: (welling up) I sowwy, Mommy. (crying, trying to open the bathroom door) I go to my woom now.

Is it cheaper...

...to have a repairman come fix my dishwasher or to buy a new one since this one is probably 20 years old. Please advise.

I knew it!!!!

Your result for The Presidential Capacity Test...

Presidential Success!

68% Values, 89% Charisma and 88% Judgment!

"In America, anyone can become president. That's one of the risks you take." -Adlai E. Stevenson

Congratulations! You encapsulate everything that a successful candidate should encapsulate.

Crack open the whiskey and break out the celebratory cigar. You are destined for success in the Presidential Campaign. You exude confidence and charisma. You exhibit true leadership abilities and demonstrate the ability to make snap judgement calls if the need arises. You are well-respected for your strong values and your steadfast stance on honesty and loyalty.

The USA needs a President like you. You are one of a select few deserving of the influence and recognition commanded by the Presidential title. Congrats!

Other possibilities:

Take The Presidential Capacity Test

H/T to Barb, please pray for her dad who may have cancer.