Sometimes, I'm scared by how much I love these rascals.
Yesterday we celebrated what would have been Momo and Dad's 34th wedding anniversary. In honor of the occasion, we had a lovely little brunch.
I made this crepe cake--and it turned out stupendously (if I do say so myself :).
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| Five's glorious fruit platter |
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| Princess H picking her tea... |
In the afternoon, we took a trip to the park with all five(!) of Momo's grandchildren. |
| I like him |
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| I guess she's pretty cute, too. |
Clearly some were a little more excited than others....
Happy Anniversary, Momo!
We adore you!
Oh, by the way, have you seen this yet? I feel like a bad person for loving it so much....
Oh, by the way, have you seen this yet? I feel like a bad person for loving it so much....
The hospital can be a pretty challenging place. So on my relatively frequent visits, I've decided to take along my paints and canvases. I choose a color palette and paint! Whether you knit, sew, draw, write, make jewelry, engaging in a creative process when your sick is remarkably theraputic. In my case, when I would paint, my blood pressure dropped. My oxygen saturation improved. My heart rate went down. So go make something! It's good for the body, the soul and your walls <3
Saturday morning, we woke up bright and early to a clatter of excitement outside. A quick peek reminded me that it was Race Day. Just across the street, 24,000 people from around the area and across the country were bouncing up and down with anticipation for the 26.2 mile adventure about to start, right there on our corner. As the appointed moment approached, I grabbed Princess H and scrambled down to the street to cheer them out of the gate. The horn sounded and the first group took off -- elite runners, who were very serious and very fast. I was unprepared for the excitement that comes with that much humanity filled with that much energy running that fast rightinfrontofmyface. It was fantastic. As we stayed and watched the later groups start, the thrill didn't fade. In fact, it was almost more inspiring to see the grannies and packs of chubby girlfriends dressed in green glitter mini skirts and determined grins setting out on the grueling course. They were a little slower, and a lot a less alien.
After the last of the runners was trotting down C Street, the firemen started taking down the enormous American Flag, and we turned around to head back inside the house. Sigh.
Now that my adored little sis is back from the brink, alive and getting stronger every day, it feels a little less blasphemous tocomplain about reflect on more temporal problems. I really only have one worth mentioning. But it's been driving me crazy lately for the last year-and-a-half. And if you were with me Saturday morning, heading back into that house, I guarantee you'd be sympathetic. The unfinished floors, plastic-wrapped furniture, random construction debris and endless fog of dust are just the first set of nasty reminders of all the broken promises, wasted money and maddening delays wrapped up in those four crazy walls. Mr. One and I don't think of ourselves as the type to be repeatedly swindled and suckered, but there's no denying we've mismanaged this particular (very large) project, and let ourselves be taken advantage of over and over and over again. Maybe it's inevitable that this happens when a homeschooler marries someone born and raised in Utah, but there's no question this blasted house has been -- more than the Ivy League or Manhattan or corporate America -- a sad education in things I wish I never needed to learn.
After making the beds, moving a couple boxes and attempting yet another futile pass with the Swiffer, I went downststairs to tackle something in the kitchen. As I stood at the sink, looking out the window at the lovely mid-morning light, I had to do a double-take. A man was bounding past my side yard toward the finish line a couple blocks away with all the grace and speed of a young gazelle. After running 26 miles in about two hours and twenty minutes, this dude did not even look winded. I stopped to admire a few more early finishers as I buckled the kids into the car to head out to Home Depot (again). Have I mentioned how much I can't stand that place?
We returned a bunch of stuff we didn't need and aquired even more, arriving home via an illegal turn the wrong way down a oneway, thanks to the race-induced maze of still-closed streets. I pulled through our alley and into the drive in time to see a slow trickle of caboose marathoners, huffing and puffing through the last couple blocks: green facepaint smeared with sweat across a bright red face; a woman speeding up to just barely a trot when she heard the cheers of well-wishers on the corner; a couple walking hand-in-hand, she looking fresh and fit, he limping badly and leaning just a bit on her shoulder. My heart welled with admiration for each of them, finishing this hard thing they had decided to do in a moment of enthusiasm, when it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea.
Like those bedragled runners, I realized, I brought this epic, house-sized headache upon myself. I chose to run this crazy race. At the time, I really did picture myself triumphantly sprinting across the finish line, under budget and ahead of schedule. But, for a host of reasons, (some of which we ought to have anticipated, some of which nobody could have imagined), it just hasn't turned out like I envisioned.
One of the chipper runners I saw setting out that morning had a t-shirt that read "finishing is winning." As my wonderful, saintly family and a few ninja contractors help me dig out from the chaos that separates our clan from a sane and functional living space, I'm adopting that as my mantra. How incredibly lucky I am that these are my problems! How blessed to feel, at last, that the end is just around the corner. So what if the pick-up truck with flashing lights and huge sign that reads LAST RACER is hot on my heels? We're finally approaching the finish line, and, bruised and exhausted though we may be, we are going to cross it. And that is going to feel great.
After the last of the runners was trotting down C Street, the firemen started taking down the enormous American Flag, and we turned around to head back inside the house. Sigh.
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| The view from the kids' window |
Now that my adored little sis is back from the brink, alive and getting stronger every day, it feels a little less blasphemous to
After making the beds, moving a couple boxes and attempting yet another futile pass with the Swiffer, I went downststairs to tackle something in the kitchen. As I stood at the sink, looking out the window at the lovely mid-morning light, I had to do a double-take. A man was bounding past my side yard toward the finish line a couple blocks away with all the grace and speed of a young gazelle. After running 26 miles in about two hours and twenty minutes, this dude did not even look winded. I stopped to admire a few more early finishers as I buckled the kids into the car to head out to Home Depot (again). Have I mentioned how much I can't stand that place?
We returned a bunch of stuff we didn't need and aquired even more, arriving home via an illegal turn the wrong way down a oneway, thanks to the race-induced maze of still-closed streets. I pulled through our alley and into the drive in time to see a slow trickle of caboose marathoners, huffing and puffing through the last couple blocks: green facepaint smeared with sweat across a bright red face; a woman speeding up to just barely a trot when she heard the cheers of well-wishers on the corner; a couple walking hand-in-hand, she looking fresh and fit, he limping badly and leaning just a bit on her shoulder. My heart welled with admiration for each of them, finishing this hard thing they had decided to do in a moment of enthusiasm, when it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea.
Like those bedragled runners, I realized, I brought this epic, house-sized headache upon myself. I chose to run this crazy race. At the time, I really did picture myself triumphantly sprinting across the finish line, under budget and ahead of schedule. But, for a host of reasons, (some of which we ought to have anticipated, some of which nobody could have imagined), it just hasn't turned out like I envisioned.
One of the chipper runners I saw setting out that morning had a t-shirt that read "finishing is winning." As my wonderful, saintly family and a few ninja contractors help me dig out from the chaos that separates our clan from a sane and functional living space, I'm adopting that as my mantra. How incredibly lucky I am that these are my problems! How blessed to feel, at last, that the end is just around the corner. So what if the pick-up truck with flashing lights and huge sign that reads LAST RACER is hot on my heels? We're finally approaching the finish line, and, bruised and exhausted though we may be, we are going to cross it. And that is going to feel great.
And the winner to last week's Scarlet Samples giveaway is. . .
Vancouvergal! Congratulations!!! You won!!! You get to meet Il Divo in style!!! Whooooo!
I found this song for you:
(except, replace every 'we' with an 'I' (and make any accompanying grammatical tweaks))
Send us an email at fivetdsisters@gmail.com, and we'll send you the deets on how to redeem your $30 credit at Scarlet Samples!
Q(s): I like to consider myself an easy going person (I may not be, but I like to consider myself one). However, I've come to believe that the treble bleed from low quality headphones at high volumes matches the natural harmonics of my adrenal glands. Not unlike other victims of acoustic resonance, when exposed to the relevant sounds I find myself being driven towards catastrophic collapse.
Two (Professional Noise Maker): Two recommendations. 1. Get your own ear phones and listen to podcasts of something you enjoy or 2. Smile, tap the person on the shoulder and say "I know this seems annoying, but would you mind turning down the volume?" They may say no, but if you're nice enough (and if they are too) you just might save their hearing.
Three (Hooligan): I'm going to start with a tid-bit from the news. Last summer in DC there was a string of iPhone thefts on the metro. No one ever got caught. I share this story because I feel it ought to offer you a little perspective. Why break their electronics, when you could just as easily turn this noisy situation into a business opportunity!
So what I propose is that you just jump on that band wagon and steal the darn things. It'll take some thought, and timing--not to mention a general disregard for the law--and it won't solve your issue in the short-term, BUT if you're playing the long game this is DEFINITELY the way 2 go. Here's the plan. As you near your stop, cozy up to the offending party, but DO NOT let them get a good look at your face. As the doors open, swipe their player of choice and RUUUUUUUUNNNN!!!!! Then, sell the goods on ebay, and use the money to buy yourself noise-cancelingblablabla...
In closing, I should rule the world.
Four (Resident Bard): I believe in the power of bribery. Let me explain: buy some candy--maybe two types (chocolate and fruity). Bring it with you every morning. Whenever you encounter anyone whose choice of headphones offends you, offer them a choice. You sound like the type of person who might become paralyzed by fear in the heat of the moment, so just stick with this script:
"Hey little fellow,
I don't mean to bellow,
but that sound's a gettin' on my nerves.
I'll give you two choices,
let's lower our voices,
and see if we can't find--ok, I'm just gonna cut to the chase. Turn your music down, buddy. Also, here's some candy--fruity or chocolate?"
I'm pretty sure that should work.
Five (Bleeds, Much Like Earphones): In my opinion, there are two optimal ways to conquer this aural irritant:
A(s):
One (Pragmatist): Just yesterday, at Safeway, I pointed out to the shoppers in front of me that they were standing in a 15-items-or-less express lane with a cart that looked destined to feed Thanksgiving dinner to an entire team of linebackers. I usually like to avoid conflict with strangers. But I had to pee, and when you get between an 8-and-a-half month pregnant lady and her bathroom break, interesting things happen. I share this story to prove that I'm not total pushover when it comes to thoughtless strangers. That said, I think your problem has a very easy, conflict-free solution: get your own headphones. Listen to music you like, or an engrossing podcast (This American Life and New Yorker Fiction are some of my personal favorites). You'll arrive at your destination enlightened and upbeat. Just make sure you don't turn the volume up too loud. That would be rude...
Two (Professional Noise Maker): Two recommendations. 1. Get your own ear phones and listen to podcasts of something you enjoy or 2. Smile, tap the person on the shoulder and say "I know this seems annoying, but would you mind turning down the volume?" They may say no, but if you're nice enough (and if they are too) you just might save their hearing.
Three (Hooligan): I'm going to start with a tid-bit from the news. Last summer in DC there was a string of iPhone thefts on the metro. No one ever got caught. I share this story because I feel it ought to offer you a little perspective. Why break their electronics, when you could just as easily turn this noisy situation into a business opportunity!
So what I propose is that you just jump on that band wagon and steal the darn things. It'll take some thought, and timing--not to mention a general disregard for the law--and it won't solve your issue in the short-term, BUT if you're playing the long game this is DEFINITELY the way 2 go. Here's the plan. As you near your stop, cozy up to the offending party, but DO NOT let them get a good look at your face. As the doors open, swipe their player of choice and RUUUUUUUUNNNN!!!!! Then, sell the goods on ebay, and use the money to buy yourself noise-cancelingblablabla...
In closing, I should rule the world.
Four (Resident Bard): I believe in the power of bribery. Let me explain: buy some candy--maybe two types (chocolate and fruity). Bring it with you every morning. Whenever you encounter anyone whose choice of headphones offends you, offer them a choice. You sound like the type of person who might become paralyzed by fear in the heat of the moment, so just stick with this script:
"Hey little fellow,
I don't mean to bellow,
but that sound's a gettin' on my nerves.
I'll give you two choices,
let's lower our voices,
and see if we can't find--ok, I'm just gonna cut to the chase. Turn your music down, buddy. Also, here's some candy--fruity or chocolate?"
I'm pretty sure that should work.
Five (Bleeds, Much Like Earphones): In my opinion, there are two optimal ways to conquer this aural irritant:
Solution: Pack a pair of baby scissors in your back pocket before you leave for work each morning. As you enter the subway car, acquire your target: Grievous Noise Polluter. Sidle on up next to Grievous Noise Polluter, and -- as he or she is obliviously nodding away to their obtrusive tunes -- unsheathe your weapon and snip! Earbuds no more! Melt back into the commuter crowd and bask in the sense of fulfillment that follows single-handedly liberating an entire train from the t/ear/anny (PUN!) of one poorly regulated iPod. Like Batman.*
Other Solution: Noise cancelling headphones.* Some may worry about fallout from cutting a stranger's earbuds and rendering them unusable; in my experience, it's the skinny, sensitive types who blast their gravelly voiced crooners into public noise space, so I wouldn't fret too much about violent reprisals.
Have a question? ASK FIVE. You'll have a 1 in 5 chance that
someone will see it your way!
Just send your questions to:
Come back to me, little dancing feet that roam the wide world o'er,
I long for the lilt of your flying steps in my silent rooms once more;
Come back to me, little voices gay with laughter and with song,
Come back, little hearts beating high with hopes, I have missed and mourned you long.