Minutiae, random thoughts, tired

The amount of small-scale, 99% unimportant -but that 1%?! What if it's critical?? Damn that 1%!- crap strewn throughout my house this morning threatened to overtake my ability to manage it. Everywhere I looked there were papers (aka scraps), scribbles (aka beloved secret messages), random bits of gravel (aka most treasured rock from the school playground found on the second Tuesday last September), decaying magazines (aka "vintage" Bon Apps, Gourmets and F&Ws that are filled with gems), and other household detritus. That Imelda was coming did not assuage the intense feeling of PURGE that churned through me. Gah! I worked like a dervish on speed for three hours, tossing, organizing, ordering. Oliver's room was an untold disaster, Jack's always calls out for some degree of support, T has been home finishing up vacation and I have been reminded of the very real reason I long ago nicknamed him the Grand Relocater.

When the boys returned home from gym camp, I'd managed to get dressed. By which I mean I exchanged my PJs for elastic-waist lounge pants, a bra and a shirt, combed my ponytail and applied some concealer. Jack ate like he'd been fasting for 8 weeks, and then we hosted one of Ol's pals for a playdate. T spent some obscene number of hours at Home Depot and then said he was going to the garage to trim a piece of PVC but it'd only take five minutes. Was I born yesterday? I think not. The kids and I started counting, and sometime after minute 25, T ambled up the snowy deck stairs, sheepish but successful. I popped some ramekins of coconut-Meyer lemon crème brûlée from the oven, switched my Mom Hat light to off-duty and went upstairs.

Jack built a motorized card-slinger out of Legos (amazing), T got excited and helped him improve it, and Oliver continued to wax enthusiastic about a shiny wallet I was recently given. I said we could share it and he nearly melted. Nutmeg and Percy nuzzled noses sweetly for a full twenty seconds before N tried to swipe P's legs out from under him, and T and I enjoyed one of our best pizzas in a while.

I'm tired as get-out, and sorer than that, the beautiful snow from this morning was blown from our trees by this afternoon so sadly I have no pics, and a babysitter who was to come and provide respite tomorrow (yay) no longer can (sad!). The "ooh, think of all I can do in four hours" glee was snatched from my hands all too quickly, but better today than tomorrow. It's all cool but I'm going to bed now. My oldest honey pie is officially 7 and a half tomorrow! Where does the time go?! He suggested I make a blackberry pie for his big-day breakfast, but I can already see that's not going to happen. Sorry charlie. I love you but.

Can we talk about extreme lip and hand chap? Why does it happen so quickly? How? My lips feel like they got shredded- did I microplane them instead of the Meyer lemons today? I think I'd have noticed such an error, but perhaps not. I am tired. And my hands are cracking and they ache. I'm not in the Arctic for christ's sakes. T bled on a hot dog bun earlier. Sick! I'm covered in Carmex and lotion yet still attempting to hold my book tightly in both hands so that it does not bonk me in the face thus injuring my grated lips even more. As an aside, I am working so hard to hold this book, Hyperbole and a Half, because it is g-damn hilarious. When it's not heavy and/or sad. The author, Allie Brosh, is brilliant. I can think of little better than laughing yourself silly over a book. Well, laughing yourself silly without making your raw lips and hands hurt/bleed worse would be better...

Sugar Bowl, Blackfish, animals, kids

After a good dinner which I will tell you about tomorrow, T and I settled in to watch Blackfish. Being that I am still scarred from having seen Dances With Wolves with my Dad when I was younger, I have to approach movies/documentaries about animal mistreatment (it matters not a ball that those buffalo weren't real; they seemed real and at one point in history surely were real) with steely nerves or wine; otherwise, I simply can't deal. Case in point: stone-cold sober and soft, I started watching Life of Pi last month. Not four minutes in I see the CGI tiger all thin and hungry and struggling, and I stomped out of the room, wild with anger and grief, even though I could hear T calling after me, "that tiger is not real AND this movie is good." I still refuse to watch it. In any case, having enjoyed a Frenchie red, we got through Blackfish, and I hate SeaWorld even more than I already did (bastard orca abusers) but I think you should all watch this doc. It's excellent and lets you be swayed by the facts of the matter rather than heavy-handed, one-sided guilt and stuff. Without meaning to, I then got sucked into watching the last two and half minutes of the first half of the Sugar Bowl and decided to root wildly for OSU. Really, that interception for a touchdown was outstanding. I don't care enough not to have then left for bed, however. Did y'all know my grandpa, Nanny's husband, played in the first Sugar Bowl? Cool huh! He rolled with the Green Wave.

On my way upstairs, I stopped by each boy's room for my nightly kiss-o-the-sweet-and-innocent-non-talking-sleepers, and as usual, Ol smiled beatifically in his sleep after a few nuzzles. He then said, with complete clarity, "Jack has a $100 that looks SO real but is fake."

"Oliver, what are you talking about, and why did you think to say that?"

Sweet slurring toddler, "because I just was and it's twue. I need to go to the bathroom."

Doting mommy, "Ok darling boy, I'll take you." To the pot... "Ol, hold you P down, I don't wanna get sprayed."

"Ok, Mom, I am in straight penis."

Good lord in the heavens above. It was at that point that I knew I simply must sleep in the basement tonight. And so here I am. Nutmeg curled up sweetly by my feet, and I felt guilty about moving because I might disturb him.

Can we have a reality check which will do me no good? This is a cat. I am a human with real responsibilities and the complete inability to sleep whenever I want throughout the day taking random pauses to purr, pounce or wash my bottom. It would literally (!) never occur to Tom to accommodate the cat in such a way. He wouldn't even let him on his bed! What is wrong with me? I suspect T would say this sort of behavior is the underlying "reason" for the boys' "serious desire" to be with me at all times. Hmm.

La granchia

As the boys descended the stairs this evening, I hid behind a corner and then jumped out with this guy and startled them. Hilarious. Jack said "thank you," and when I asked why, he said, "isn't it a crab sculpture for my room?" Ah, no. Oliver did a double take and said, "I am not scared but why is that here?" For dinner, small sirs! This gal is a Dungeoness, pre-steamed so I don't have to murder anything, and I just picked her clean in prep for dinner tonight. All I know thus far is that I'm going to put it on King salmon, peas will be involved and maybe avocado too. Keep ya posted!

Thoughts: why did seven hours at gymnastics camp not completely exhaust my children? And, why at my somewhat advanced age do I still believe picking a hangnail and/or zit will lead to good things?