…this is just from the front yard! The lawn supervisor hasn’t had a chance to mow yet. We’ve bought him a little more time…
Archive for the 'Random Thoughts' Category
Claire’s school has a pretty strict dress code. She is not allowed to wear pants that have rips or tears in them, and if she does, the office keeps a roll of duct tape to cover the situation.
Imagine her dismay when her favorite pair of jeans developed a hole in the knee!
So, I decided to be creative with the patch. (No, I don’t recognize myself.) I thought I’d weave some yarn over the hole. Claire picked out the yarn, which we had on hand, and I got to work.
So, let’s see. A lot has happened since I posted last:
Visitors arrived to The Hotel Rasmussen, and Merry Holidays were had.
A New Year traipsed through our living room and looked at me sitting with my leg propped up and giggled.
On the 21st of December, I had foot surgery. I’ve been recovering ever since.
I’ve got a bunch of things to share when the dust and glitter settles, and after Claire goes back to school on the 8th and I get my stitches out (hopefully that same day? I’ve been denied once already, so I’m not getting my hopes up.)
What do you need to do? Vote!
Okay, okay, I was afraid if I put “Vote!” in the subject title, you wouldn’t read this post. As an Independent in a Swing State, I’m SO SICK of all things election-related. Please. Make it stop.
That being said, it brings me back to what happened four years ago.
Claire and I went to the polls early, and we were spotted by a photographer from Reuters. He took our pictures. I love them.
Click the images to enlarge.
Despite my loathing of the propaganda, I love voting.
Please do it.
This year, because she’s in school and can’t come with me anyway, I voted by mail. Signed, sealed, delivered. Now…if only voting early made the phone calls stop…
“You know what’s cool, Mom? Science doesn’t want anything. It just is.”
“We’re just puzzle pieces that don’t fit together,” my daughter said as we were talking about a birthday party she wasn’t invited to attend. “And that’s okay,” she added with a lilt to her voice that told me she really believed what she was saying.
I wasn’t sure how Claire would handle something like this. She’s usually pretty easy-going about things, but she’s also used to being included. Now is the time to start building the foundation that will become the base of her reactions to things like this.
In a First Grade classroom, everything is shared; germs and secrets eventually pass freely, no matter how many times you wash your hands. Pictures of the events make their rounds before the frosting becomes crusty on the discarded paper plates.
It can sting to see photos of your friends having fun, knowing you weren’t included, even if you didn’t want to go anyway. No one will be included in everything every time. The guest list will always have a limit. This is okay. These things don’t matter, and yet they do. The trick is not to give them more power than they deserve.
As she ran off to play, I realized that she may have this figured out better than I do. I’m so glad we’re in this together.
My husband and I were watching TV last night. I was zipping through the commercials, and we saw an ad for the Sleep Number Bed whiz by on the screen.
The inside joke we’d shared over a Sleep Number Bed popped into our heads simultaneously, and immediately, we both started laughing.
When we were on our Great Roadtrip of July 2012, we had the opportunity to stay with friends in Utah. Their house is gorgeous, and their guest facilities top-notch. Our friend was giving us a tour and showed us the bed in the guest room. It was a Sleep Number Bed, and we’d always wanted to try one of those. (Someone told us a while ago that there is a strange “hump” in the middle of a Sleep Number Bed. We both sleep in the middle, so I was curious to see if that was true.)
She told us that it was still functional, but that the display on the controls no longer lit up. You had to just push the buttons and see what happened. We wouldn’t be able to see what our number was, but that’s okay. No worries. Beggars can’t be choosers. I was just happy to be sleeping somewhere that wasn’t a sleeping bag, and I was sure it would be fine.
We went about our evening.
As things turned out, I went to bed before my husband did. Claire was already asleep in the room on an air mattress on the floor. I didn’t evaluate the firmness of my side of the bed any more than, “That feels okay. I have no problems with this,” and that was that. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
Later that night, I had the strangest dream. I felt like I was sinking in quicksand! I could hear a slight hissing noise as my limbs sunk deeper and deeper. As the Pssssshhhhhhh whispers through the room, I’m sinking, sinking, sinking. Then, just as quickly as it had started, the noise stopped and I was suspended on a cloud. Then, the leaf blower started blasting.
I shot straight up.
“What the…what!?” I yelled. My husband can’t hear me over the roaring noise coming from our bed.
“Sorry! Sorry!” he hubby says, frantically pushing buttons on the control. “I can’t see what I’m doing!”
“Well, why are you doing anything at all!?” I whisper-screamed at him, as the noise finally stops.
“It has buttons! How am I not supposed to touch the buttons!?”
Luckily we have a child who can sleep through anything, and she didn’t even wiggle. We decided to sleep on whatever number was already set for fear of pushing that luck too far, and we discovered that it does indeed have a distinct ridge in the middle of the bed.
I have yet to see an infomercial depicting the true nature of a Sleep Number Bed. No one is frantic as they try to work the controls. There is no yelling. There are no whisper-screams.
I don’t know what my Sleep Number is, but I can tell you this: It’s somewhere between Quicksand and Leaf Blower.
I want to share a funny thing that happened to me yesterday. See the above Instagram?
This is Claire’s shirt. It’s new. We dig it. She decided to wear it to school yesterday. Granted, in real life, the colors are softer. We liked the bold filter on Instagram, so that’s why it looks like that. Still…it’s paisley. Very Paisley.
Anyway, I was emailing back and forth with a mom of one of Claire’s classmates. We’ve been friends for over a year, so we can joke around with each other. Well, in the email, she said that she wanted me to know about the “filthy talk” my daughter said to her this morning before school.
I braced myself!
My friend had complimented Claire’s shirt, the one in the photo above. Claire thanked her and then proceeded to tell my friend that IT MATCHED MY BRA, but that Mom’s bra is PINK PAISLEY! The exact paisley, but in PINK!
Not only is that completely true, it’s embarrassingly hysterical. (This isn’t the first time my daughter has aired my personal habits for all to see…)
It’s true: My secrets aren’t safe…and neither are Victoria’s.