douche bags with free drinks

We went to two parties this afternoon.  The first was very nice, good friends, Portillo's catering - yes.  cannot go wrong.  and a marvelous ice-cream cake from Coldstone covered in chocolate ganache that I'm dreaming about now.  Chris, who couldn't sleep last night because of the amazing poop machine, was tired and dreading the second party, which (his dread) was draining to me.  I felt uncomfortable at this party, but the piece de resistance was, after several relatives tried to egg me on about how if you told the bartender (who did nothing about the no soap in the ladies room problem) "Obama sucks," she would give you a free drink.  After the first explanation of this, I smiled and said I didn't want to talk about it to the following attempts.  As we were trying to leave (because Gracie had out-pooped the number (6) of diapers I stuffed into my purse) my youngest uncle hugged me goodbye, then wouldn't let go as he brought up Obama.  I said I didn't want to talk about it and he kept me in a hold and played the pro-abortion card.  I mean, he had his arm around my head and was loudly exclaiming "abortion!" I escaped, furious.  I remained calm and left the party without telling anybody what a dick they are.  All I can say is that when their guy was in office, no matter what he did wrong, Americans are supposed to have respect for the office of the president.  Great job, douche bags with free drinks.  

Last night we went to the wake of my uncle's father.  (different uncle, different family)  I enjoy spending time with my Dad's side of the family.  The girls and I stayed just a little too long at the after party and Gracie liquipooped on my leg, down her pants and socks.  Again, I ran out of diapers.  My uncle was so accommodating and sweet; he gave me one of his dad's old Depends and said we should give her a bath, just like his dad.  

Pa told me it was the 4 year anniversary of Gram's death.  I didn't even know that.  I've never been to her grave.  I wonder if that makes him think I don't care.  I guess I don't want to see his headstone there; they just set his in when they buried her.  I think about her every day.  I wouldn't look at her open casket.  I was a pall bearer.  I just don't want to visit her grave.  It's not like she's there.  I visit Pa about once a month.  

My Dad's side are democrats.

Before the wake, I took the girls to an art opening, and before that, we had some friends over.  I researched fossils on this great website.  But kids don't care about that.  They just want to make the pudding.  Especially when they are acting all crazy because their friends are over.  We should have people over every week so the kids don't act so crazy.  

Charlotte lost another tooth on the way to the wake.  She showed everyone.  Today she told everyone she went to a party called "the wake."  At "the wake," the family next to ours was a big Italian party, pouring out of their assigned room.  They had cannolis.  Not only is their family appealing to me because I grew up in a town where you weren't cool if you weren't Italian, but ... what I wouldn't do for a good cannoli.  I thought about asking for one, but I didn't think that would be appropriate.  

I heart Nippon

I was distracted by three things today.  We received a package from my friend in Japan.  I cried as I looked at the pictures she sent.  I miss her and I miss Japan and I still dream about visiting.  Literally.  Like the waitressing nightmares I used to have- I can't get where I need to go;  I'm in Japan but I can't find Natsumi.  I learned so much about being a good mom from her.  We were next door neighbors.  Isn't she beautiful?

Secondly, my current next door neighbor, who I also love, came by and told me about a long term art sub job at her school.  I could sub and keep my current job, turn the sub job into a real job, and triple my income.  This felt tempting because I had just been stressing about money.  This would also kill homeschooling and ever seeing my kids.  ...so, I guess there's nothing to talk about.  Take a number, Sallie Mae.  

Thirdly, as I finish up Hard Times in Paradise, I find myself more interested in the son going off to Harvard than staying behind on the ranch.  For all my talk, do I really want to live off the land?  I believe I do, but there's sort of a sickening, imminent break up feeling that I sense.   Nonsense, right?  Because I never left the suburbs.  In my head, I did.  Or maybe it's more of an aging feeling.  ...the idea that the girls will grow up and have opportunities for excitement, get to be that thrilling age of possibilities, and we will get left behind, maybe a little youth-jealous, stuck with the consequences of choices made long ago.  I think that when they leave, I want to go off and do something new, too.

In Bumblebee news, the girls went to their first American History club.  Success.  No schoolish activities at home before lunch, though I did dishes, laundry, and self-flogged for not painting.  

Naturally, Gracie threw up last night.

This will make us feel better.

Eleanor learned fractions today

Survived, enjoyed even, my new batch of students today. 32 enrolled for a max 18 class. 16 showed up. Nice size. I have an assistant for that class, a generation my senior and far more accomplished. Co-teaching, I told the students. I feel embarrassed by the notion he'd be my assistant. I enjoy the company. 

It took me an hour to get the girls to sleep tonight. Now, at 10:14, the last thing I feel up to is painting. I wish I had something delicious. Last night, I got everything out to sand, then I heard a high pitched, small moaning "ow...ow" Gracie's arms were so sore from her shots and she felt so crummy from the flu. No sanding.

The girls joined me at the gym this morning. I like to watch them sprinting around, laughing with the other kids in the gymnasium. At home, Eleanor plowed through 20 pages in her math book. She learned fractions today. Charlotte had a tantrum about not wanting to do her workbook, so she went to her room and later did a single page of math and turned every digit into characters she called the bow-tie family. That was great too.

After that I wanted to sleep. I sat on floor and prepared to sand loudly while the kids were up. I realized the boards have to be hand sanded anyway. The girls came in to help and their imaginations were ignited by the possibilities of construction. Chairs, birdhouses. Good idea.

about to sand

Gracie and Charlotte got 4 shots each today. I made the girls do 2 pages each in their math and reading workbooks. I still have the schedule blocks in my mind. If nothing else, they are there for me when I am too bewildered to think. The girls handed in their girl scout cookie order: 80 boxes.

Work was good. I made them draw their self portrait the whole time and they did pretty well. I brought my lunch tied in a red scarf (because I couldn't find the right shape tupperware) two hard eggs, several sprouted crackers, a tiny jar of mulberry jam, and an orange. and a small knife. in case I ran into the big bad wolf on my way there.

In telling my new students about exhibits that would fulfill their assignment for the semester, I told them that I would be in one and that should be good because I haven't started the series yet. Of course they raise their eyebrows - what does her work look like, this one who advises us? If they think I suck, they won't listen to me anymore. So now I have to work every night. Or totally lose face on yet another level. These are the fears that lead me to make nothing. I told them on purpose to motivate myself.

Must. sand. plywood. in pajamas. and not wake up the baby who just threw up AGAIN. with the electric sander.

it's better on toast

It was hard to wait so long, but it finally came out! Very exciting!

Gracie has been sick the last few days, throwing up on the floor, in Charlotte's bed, in my bed. The funniest bit was when she added diarrhea to the line up. Chris unknowingly pulled her up into bed with us and squealed for help. I opened the diaper and it splattered everywhere. That was early in the morning. When I was going to bed last night, I happened to hear her go again and stepped into their room -what a smell! We cleaned her up and pulled her into bed with us, where she threw up, which means I won't nurse her, long at least, which means she cries herself to sleep. I woke up at 10. It's Sunday.


I still haven't finished my syllabi. Perfectionism is the greatest deterrent to getting things done. I have nothing to wear to work tomorrow. I want a uniform. I tried to buy a black smock jacket, but Chris said it just looks like a coat. A cheap polyester coat. It is. I have to return it anyway to make up for spending too much on margaritas last night with Tania. We were going to our other cousin's party, but it was too far and too late. So we went to Fridays. We walked in and the music was too loud, it was too bright, and a waiter in a stupid hat walked by dancing and bobbing his head. It was a Saturday Night Live skit -cringe. They wouldn't serve us because Tania forgot her license and then they didn't have the appetizer we ordered, so we walked out. I can't stand corporate restaurant managers on their false power trips.  So we went to a great Mexican place.  

Yesterday I spent most of the day reading Hard Times in Paradise.  Couldn't put it down.  Academic couple takes three young kids to live off the land.  Unprepared, misadventures ensue, kids homeschooled , end up at Harvard.  

Garden planning time.  I'm looking at Seed Savers Exchange and Bakers Creek.

spaghetti sauce

OHMYGOD! I made something delicious.  

1.  dice four onions

2. douse in almost half a cup olive oil

3.  cook till mush - almost an hour

4.  throw in one pound frozen ground beef, scraping away and flipping 

5.  while the beef browns, add

maybe 1/4 cup brown sugar

several shakes of ume vinegar

a small fistful of thyme because you can't find oregano even though you know you had like a pound

maybe 2 tsp of cocao powder

two sparing shakes of nutmeg

maybe a tsp of cayenne

6.  puree one head of garlic with a little crushed tomato

7. add one 6 lb 6oz can of crushed tomatoes and the garlic pureee to the pot.

It's awesome.  I'm gonna let simmer for several hours more.  

I was such a crank this morning until I scrubbed every dish and surface of the kitchen.  Then I felt joy.  Charlotte dried.  

inauguration lapbook

This morning we went on a fantastic field trip where we pretended to be runaway slaves on the Underground Railroad. Actors dressed in period clothing and we were conducted between freedom stations, where we learned about slavery and the Underground Railroad. At one point, Charlotte was so scared she cried a little. Eleanor started acting silly after the first hour. I was really proud of them for participating in question and answers and for remaining so quiet. Charlotte really empathized with the slaves. She and I began planning a lapbook on the topic.

Our other big activity today was listening/watching inauguration footage. They got a little tired of it, but when I tried to get Eleanor to do the UGRR for our first lapbook, she insisted on doing presidents. We are all excited about the Obamas in the White House. So we ventured out once more to get brightly colored file folders and cardstock. By bedtime we had made 43 tiny, red matchbook folders with a different presidential portrait glued to each one, all glued to a big folder. Eleanor really enjoyed the activity and all three girls did gluing and cutting and arranging by number. There were marvelous math opportunities in multiplying how many sheets we'd need to use and sorting presidents by number. Tomorrow everybody will get labeled. Eleanor also cut out a giant Obama and is determined to include his family heavily in her book. It's cool that they can relate to his daughters.

As someone who has always been drawn strongly to subcultures, I felt a new tug toward the mainstream as I watched inaugural footage with the kids. I'm afraid to admit it (because I hate being made fun of by right wing relatives for being so naive) but I really believe in this guy and it feels good to believe. I'm tired of cynicism. I believe in his integrity and it makes me want to participate instead of sidestepping. For Obama, I would wear a suit, curl my hair, and use my best manners. ...He makes playing the game seem worth it, which is new for me.