I try to tell myself, "Hey, it's just 73. If this were September, this would be a veritable cold front." Trouble is, there's no convincing myself that this is anything other than what it is, which is January for the love of Pete, and it's supposed to be, I don't know, 56 and cloudy. Not 73.
I just checked the forecast, and next Tuesday will supposedly be 47 (that's the high, not the low). Bring it on!
2. So my friend Rachel is putting a renewed effort into producing dinner. You go, girl! Yesterday afternoon I thought I'd make Tim's day by grilling hamburgers and serving them with corn on the cob and Aunt Karen's beloved cheesy hash brown casserole. I went out in the rain to pick up the burgers and a few more items. I came home and began assembling the meal. Buns? Check. Ketchup and mustard? Check. Cheese? Check. Hamburgers? Still at the store! How in the world can I go the store for hamburgers and manage to come home with toilet paper, chardonnay, sunflower seeds, etc., etc., and no blasted hamburgers? Back to the store in the rain once more.
I love you, Tim. I really, really love you.
3. Note to self: If the piano teacher apologizes for the music she's just given to your son, best you go back to that blasted store and lay in a fresh supply of ear plugs and chardonnay.
Kolbe is in the process of mastering Axle F, otherwise known as the theme to Forty-Eight Hours, otherwise known as the most repetitive and annoying musical score Ever! Written! And this is coming from a mother who loves to hear her kids play the piano even when they play badly. Tim is ready to move out, I can't say that I blame him, and Kolbe just asked when he'll be allowed to watch Forty-Eight Hours. Answer? Neva!
4. So Sunday night means early bedtimes for the little people while the old folks enjoy Downton Abbey. A friend just told me about a show she had caught on NPR. Seems Hugh Bonneville, our beloved Lord Grantham, was recently interviewed. The newscaster apparently said something along the lines of, "Well, Hugh, we have a show here in American that, like Downton Abbey, provides a peek into a unique home. It's called Here Comes Honey Boo Boo."
Oh, the pain!
I first saw a commercial for Honey Boo Boo last summer when I watched my first (and only) episode of Toddlers and Tiaras. It seems Honey Boo Boo got her start on Toddlers and Tiaras. No surprise there! I recently learned that Honey Boo Boo hails from none other than the fine state of Georgia.
Oh, the pain!
By all accounts, Hugh was a good sport about the whole thing. But isn't it bad enough that we have this drivel on our airwaves? Must we parade it in front of visitors from abroad?
As a professor of mine once said, "Europe gives us Upstairs, Downstairs. We give them Dumb and Dumber."
Oh, the pain!
Honey Boo Boo. Carson's right on. We are staring into the chaos of Gomorrah.
5. Speaking of pain . . . If you see an exhausted Saint Anthony leaving my house wiping his brow on a weekday morning around, oh, 8:13 a.m., let me tell you, he's already put in a hard day's work. We are losing everything including my mind. John is down two shoes -- one each of two pairs. Argh!
6. Christmas is mostly put away. I cranked up Andy Williams and, as Ainsley put it, chopped down the Christmas tree. Oh, she made me feel like the Grinch. I waited until the Baptism of the Lord. We even had a little gift exchange with friends Sunday night. Can't say we didn't embrace the whole season.
Among our favorite gifts was this little gem on the right.
Back in November I became determined to turn Ainsley's bed into something girly and John's bed into something boyish. I perused website after website in search of sheets or pillows in primary colors that would be cute and colorful and just the right degree of girlish or boyish. And you know what? Save for ladybug fabrics, no one really does primary colors. It's all brown and celery green, pink and raspberry.
I headed for Etsy and discovered Snuggles of Love and bought this. True confessions: It was crazy expensive. But it is soft and beautiful and Ainsley absolutely loves it.
Now all three boys want their names on a pillow. I am ruminating on how I might pull this off (not gonna pay that price times four).
7. Continue to pray for Jen, the host of Quick Takes. She recently posted this:
A beautiful pearl of wisdom we should all take to heart.
I’ll never forget the powerful, soul-cleansing relief that poured over me when I learned that there really had been something wrong with me for all those weeks. Even though I had not begun to receive treatment and felt no better than before, I was suddenly inspired to do my best despite my circumstances. Almost immediately, I began to approach my situation with joy. Once I stopped lamenting sins I wasn’t really committing, I could take a clear look at the sins I was committing, and made a better confession than I had in months. Even sitting there in a hospital room, I felt closer to God and happier with my life than I had in a long, long time.I feel like I’ve been given a divine permission slip to stop defaulting to self-blame for all of my little daily difficulties (not just as it related to my lungs, but in every area of life) and I want to share it with you. If you’re a mom and you’re struggling, let me just tell you that the problem is not you. Well, I suppose I can’t know that for sure; if you find that you’re regularly too drunk to put the Cheez Whiz on your kids’ cookies for dinner, then maybe the problem is you. But, short of that, my guess is that your suffering is due to your difficult circumstances far more than it is due to laziness or lack of holiness or ungratefulness on your part. What you’re doing is hard, harder in certain ways than what your grandmothers experienced, and don’t let the voices in your head tell you otherwise.
So pray for Jen and head on over to her place to add your Quick Takes.