in which concessions are made

Friends, citizens, fellow patriots, we ran a clean campaign and can feel proud of our attempt to shake things up and bring an era of clear thinking and reasoned decision-making to the Happyland School District. The votes are in and complacency with the status quo was the clear majority (by about 200 votes). Some dead white dude who I'm too lazy to Google right now once said "To the victor go the spoils," and as the clear loser, I walk away from this race having lost nothing (except the money I spent on campaign signs). My gains include experience and new friendships. My opponent will enjoy his spoils: the drudgery of long meetings on Monday nights. (Trying real hard to feel bad about that...) It's the same old era in Happyland today as it was yesterday, and I plan to withdraw back to the private sphere where I'll support God, America, apple pie and motherhood.





But seriously? Losing an election feels like rejection. I mean, I LOST, you know? On the bright side, I can cross running for political office off my bucket list now, and focus on pleasant things.

Like how springtime is muddy (see the tracks across the porch) and this guy follows me everywhere I go:


And how daffodils bloom abundantly:

And cute little blue flowers--some kind of crocus I think:

And a wattle under construction:


Not a bad place to retire one's political aspirations, is it?

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2 bad things + a forecast

When you see that many trucks lined up in front of a house you know things are complicated. I'll share this much: the traffic in my driveway involved a hot water heater (and we have radiant heating and it's winter), carbon monoxide, drilling a hole in my basement wall to ventilate a small room, a partial power-shutdown, no water and a big bill.

The work began Wednesday, resumed at 6:45 Thursday morning until the wee hours

and continues as I type this today.

First a head lice scare and now this. I'm supposed to leave town around 4:30 to head to the Dells for a weekend with my girlfriends. A weekend we planned in December. A weekend I've anticipated for 3 long months. There will be wine, wonderful food, enormous amounts of laughter. Weeks ago I booked a Thermal Mud Wrap at a very chi-chi spa. I've coordinated meals for Team Testosterone for the weekend. I haven't been away from my family for any substantial length of time in over a year. I. Need. This. Weekend. Away. And now the weatherman says this shit is coming.

Regardless of what happens, I WILL be swilling wine by 9:00 tonight.

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wtf, anthropologie?

While looking for some new hardware for my kitchen, I ended up at Anthropologie. The cyber version, not the brick-and-mortar one because all the neat stores are not HERE (yes, I'm talking to YOU, Title Nine, IKEA, Trader Joe's and Whole Foods). Before checking out with my five new knobs, I trolled through the clearance bin and found the most twee butter dish. We eat butter at Chez Green Girl. Margarine is for sickos. In the Dairy State we're all about the real deal. We eat butter to the tune of at least a pound or more a week. I always keep a stick of better on the counter, nice and soft for spreading on toast, bread, English muffins--Paula Deen would feel right at home here. For $12 I could buy this adorable stoneware butter dish with a cover in a color that would match my redecorating.

Of course I clicked "Buy now."

No, I did not read the fine print. It's a freaking butter dish, right?

Then the UPS guy brought it to my front door a week later and I tore into the box, delighted with my five new knobs and perplexed by the butter dish.

Behold:
That, friends, is my new butter dish. Next to the butter dish is a stick of butter. In Wisconsin all butter comes packaged in sticks measuring a half-cup each. I've never seen it any other size or shape--except packaged as a whole pound block.

See how the butter is way too big for the butter dish?

Why would you design a butter dish perfectly sized for a half stick of butter?

And yet they did:

DETAILS

One pat or two? This festive stoneware container holds a half-stick of butter beneath its lid.

• Stoneware
• Dishwasher and microwave safe
• 2.5"H, 6"W, 4"D
• Imported

Had I bothered to read the fine print and not made my decision based solely on the picture, I wouldn't be stuck with this ridiculous version of a butter dish.

Half stick indeed. A pox on you, Anthropologie, and all of your silly proportions. Us real girls need actual sized kitchenware, not the diet-sized crap. (Or spinster-sized, come to think of it--this would be perfect for my grandma...)

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nuts, nutless and nutty

Since I'm "acting" president of Happyland Elementary PTA for one more meeting, I had to concoct some sort of agenda. Apparently the school went nut-free this year, which caused me to laugh out loud while I contemplated how to phrase this in the agenda. "Nutless?" That sounded about right to me. "Happyland Elementary is nutless." Heh. A day later I got the first phone call from an angry parent--Why did the school go nut-free? How many kids does this affect? My daughter will not eat meat, nuts are a major part of her diet. And while I agreed that no, I've never read of anyone keeling over of a nut reaction, I do know other districts have gone nut-free, but gee, lady, this isn't my issue because I've pulled Team Testosterone and am sending them to the parochial school down the road. Talk about nuts, right?



Meanwhile, I got an email from my friend Lauren, in Baltimore. Her power finally went on post-Irene. I reflected on the damn inconvenience of no power and went ahead making big plans for Day 2 of school. I had laundry running, tomatoes simmering, the laptop booted up and then this mom called me. Forty minutes later I hung up (finally!) to wrap up the mess in my kitchen so I could tackle the rest of my list. That's when the alert sounded on the radio. I pulled in my wash, kenneled Jax and battened down the hatches. I'd just returned to the kitchen when everything went black.



Day 2 of school and there I sat until 1:30 without power, all of my plans down the toilet. Only now I couldn't even flush my toilet. No electricity. No internet. No stove. No washing machine. The wind raged, the rain poured, the dog howled a little. I watched my sunflowers crash flat to the ground, crushing the tomato plants. I watched the pergola slide across the patio and topple into the pool. I tried to read by candlelight and worried about the poor teachers stuck in their classrooms with all of those children but no lights. I felt whole new empathy for those folks on the east coast whose power went out for days. My inconvenience really seems paltry by comparison.



I ate Nutella on bread (no toaster) and wished I could have hot coffee (oh, the hardship!). I read. I texted with my BFF Sarah who was stuck in her classroom while snow plows cleared the roads of downed trees and power lines. I took a little nap and read a lot. Bored on the second day of the school year. That's a new record. That's nuts.

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drat.

The phone kept ringing, interrupting my rainy day plans with one wretched piece of news after another. The second phone call was from the new PTA president who was supposed to lug home the files and obligations after I explained it all. After getting a promotion at work and learning she is pregnant with #3, she doesn't feel she's able to take over the responsibility of leading the Happyland Elementary PTA.

A few phone calls later, no one else is stepping into the gap.

I conceded to do all the beginning of the year stuff, so as not to leave the organization in the lurch. But at the first meeting I'll announce the seat is still open and as I'm sending all 3 of Team Testosterone to parochial school, someone else has to take the reins.

The day continued in a downward fashion after that. Except for my hair. That continued to frizz and spiral outward from my scalp in a weird, witchlike sort of way.

Rainy day bliss?

Nevermind.

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to be honest

1. Last night I participated in a sparring match where I could only be defensive and my partner could only be offensive. To be fair, it was a bit of a grudge match and I took a shameful pasting. It really ticked me off.
2. I agreed to be the communication merit badge counselor for Mr. T's Boy Scout troop. Oy vey. The only reason I agreed is because Mr. D and I do almost nothing to help out the Scouts but our boy is involved. Frankly, I prefer dropping Mr. T off at his troop meetings and heading off to karate class with Mr. B. For two months I'll have to stick around and actually lead things.
3. When I read about the Wisconsin woman who found a quarter of a million dollars' worth of drugs in her new vacuum cleaner, I suggested to Mr. D that it would be pretty tempting to not turn it in to the police. He had every right to question my moral fiber. Although I was only saying someone might be tempted to keep $250,000 because that's a lot of money, but my imagination can be deplorable. I'd never do that myself. Heck, I discovered I hadn't paid for something in my shopping cart and after loading my groceries into the Momvan (in the middle of a blasted cold January afternoon in Wisconsin) I headed back inside to ante up even though it was inconvenient because I knew it was the right thing to do. I like to believe if I'm honest about $3.57, I'd be honest about $250,000 in shrink-wrapped cocaine.
4. When I ask the boys what they want for lunch or dinner and Mr. B answers "peanut butter sandwich" and Mr. G says "the same" I really really love them. Inevitably Mr. T pipes in, "can't you make (fill in the blank with some time-consuming casserole requiring ingredients not in my fridge or pantry)?" "No," I reply and resent him for not eating peanut butter sandwiches. "Well then can we go to (fill in the blank with restaurant names)?" "NO!" Our irritation runs both ways. My kid wants to eat fussy things and feels unloved because I won't give him what he wants. I feel unloving because I don't want to mess around with him and the kitchen and for the love of all things holy just eat a peanut butter sandwich already!
Then I introduced him to this:

It turns out he's willing to eat a chocolate sandwich.

Spill it, reader. In all honesty.

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very merry

It has come to this--for the price of a medium latte (no flavor)I have access to what I've discovered are two vital components of my existence: a computer and Internet access. Shepherds abide in their fields at night and my computer abides on the desk of a tech.

I'm looking at this sudden unplugging as a mandatory "time out." To hike in the woods under the stars. To dust the corners beneath the furniture. To examine my ambitions and desires for the year to come. To meditate on the peace and goodwill brought by God at Christmastime.

So, from this computer at a counter at a coffee shop I wish you the merriest of holidays, full of laughter, health, blessings, peace and at least a few moments of silence so you can appreciate the power of God and the gifts of love.

And now I'm off to the bathroom because the guy who used this keyboard before me had mayo on his sandwich. Ew.

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the sky has changed

Fall always feels so wide and empty after the busy humming and buzzing of summer. Sure, the colors are gorgeous, but they crescendo and abruptly wilt away, drifting to to the ground in crunchy piles. The box elder bugs attack me on the front porch, the Asian beetles crawl their way into every crack and crevice, anxious to escape the cooling temperatures. The only flower blooming now are the asters. Brave and showy, they glow in the midst of empty stems and stalks.The happy chirp of crickets has been replaced by the frantic shouts of geese moving south.


So many geese.


Some hunters on the Back Forty take aim and the still air explodes.

Fall empties my spirit, loss replaces all the joy and abundance filling summertime. While most folks swoon over the colors of the leaves, cheer wildly for football teams, savor the smell of burning leaves and mulled cider, I paste a smile on my face and try to appreciate it. But I'm really mourning summer and itching for spring to come again.

Even so, there is apple picking this time of year.

And that helps.

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soggy socks

We had such grand plans for tonight--two baseball games (that's right, ladies, twice as many coaches wearing double-weave polyester stirrup pants). But the rain won't stop.


We have a field of amazing, invasive reed canary grass and a man with heavy machinery and chemicals contracted to kill it. But the rain won't stop.

We have a pool in dire need of cleaning. But the rain won't stop.


We have a pile of dirt (now mud) that needs to get shoveled into a wheelbarrow and hauled to the strawberry bed. But the rain won't stop.

We have 3 loads of laundry to wash and hang out to dry. But the rain won't stop.


We have 5 acres of prairie to mow. But the rain won't stop.

We have windows and screens to wash. But the rain won't stop.

Mr. G has nothing at all to do with today's post--he just looks cute wearing his brother's sparring gear.

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vexing

I stayed up late to watch a disappointing ending. Damn Duke.

Seriously, is anyone out there happy?




**crickets**




In other vexing news, D's team lost last night which was to be expected. We arrived a the game, all decked out in our fan wear (hats & sweatshirts in team colors) and approached the field from the back side. Hm, that doesn't look like Slugger in left field. We walked closer and I squinted to see who stood in the infield. I don't recognize the pitcher or the catcher either. Then I caught a glimpse of the dugout. What's the JV coach doing in there? I thought they had a game today, too.

Unless...crap. I'm at the JV game. I asked a parent where Varsity was playing and thanked them, feeling utterly foolish. Then we packed up the Momvan, drove the mile to another park and repeated the process of unloading everybody.

The head coach's wife was there with her new baby. I do love her, she's incredibly nice and intelligent and has a decent sense of humor. But (there's always a "but," right?) she's Type A to the 2nd power. No kidding. She's perfection underlined, organized, hard-working and anal-retentive. I feel fantastically inferior around her all the time.

Her house is spotless and clutterless, makes me feel like a giant slob. There isn't even a toaster or a coffee maker on her kitchen counter. My house? Well, I live with Team Testosterone and my staff does a crap job backing me up. Her hair always looks freshly blown out, even when she was pregnant she dressed in cute, stylish clothes. I look barely passable on a good day, after I've made an effort. My clothes are wrinkled and 3 years out of date, my face is red and sweaty, my hair is either flat or flying away. She had the kind of baby who never cries or fusses or spits up. I have Team Testosterone who looks dragged through the mud and has a penchant for public brawling at baseball games, several times ending up rolling on the ground throwing punches. Plus they whine for me to buy them concession stand treats. (At this game G was wearing rubber boots and he and B had "painted" their faces for the game with green and yellow markers to show team spirit. T looked okay except for wearing his blue Snuggie slippers as socks.).

I walked up beside her, admired her new non-fussing baby and said with a laugh, "I went to the wrong field. But I'm sure D and I aren't the only couple who have communication problems."

She replied, "I asked Head Coach two times where the game was because I wanted to be sure I came to the right diamond."

Of course you did.

Spill it, reader, whose perfection do you find vexing?

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wanting and some spite

Mr. B wants glasses. He's been wearing the pair from Mr. T's Harry Potter costume and looks pretty darn cute in them.
Mr. T wants to shoot a deer this weekend. He knows he can't actually shoot it, but he has visions of bringing home a freezer full of venison.
Mr. G wants to play on my computer all the time lately.
Mr. D wants it to be Thanksgiving because TURKEY! (and stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, bread and pie.)
I wanted Attila's son to get better and he has. You can read about that here.
I want less clutter in my house and today I took the fourth load to the thrift shop in three months. We've done NO shopping for "stuff"--everything has been consumable or replacement goods, except for Mr. B's birthday. Despite my efforts, I feel like we're drowning in stuff. I think I'd be very happy living in a bare room with a view and a cot lately.
I want our downtown to stop dying. Today I read that my other favorite store is closing. Where will I get my locally made soap and candles? Organic peanut butter and tea? I miss the bookstore that closed this summer. There's little reason for me to go downtown anymore.
I want politicians to quit wasting our time and money and sign a damn health care bill already. I want them to fund all reproductive health procedures. And if they don't, I want them to strip all funding of Viagra and any other treatment of erectile dysfunction because that would seem a little more just.
I want Sarah Palin to go away. Mostly because I find it appalling that she didn't actually write a book that is a best seller and I have actually written five (and revised and rewritten) and can't get anyone to buy them. How is that fair? Plus she annoys me with all her fake folksy talk. I want to scream back at her "I'm a lazy person who hates hocky and I'm still patriotic! Kiss off!" Her book should've been published as an interview or a biography, not as her own work if she were to be truly honest about it. And isn't honesty patriotic?
I want to eat Shepherd's Pie with a pint of Guinness.

Spill it, reader. What do you want? Feel free to leave your spiteful comments behind, I found the last paragraph a little cathartic.

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seasonal angst

Fall came bearing down on us Sunday night like a conservative tea party--complete with the screaming wind and petulant harangue of cold nastiness. Suddenly I am caught between my cozy couch with a stack of inside work and a vast list of outdoor chores. If I wait, it might get colder and more miserable out there, making the easiest jobs impossible with frozen fingers and strong winds. If I hunker down and do the outdoor work now, it could become warm and balmy in another two weeks, making window washing and garden harvesting infinitely more tolerable. I despise fall--changing leaves and apple cider aside, it means winter is around the corner.

Every weekend in October is slated for something and I'm forced to make tough decisions about What Will Get Finished and What Will Have to Wait Until Goodness Knows When.

Meanwhile, the boys have school pictures tomorrow and they need haircuts, we have a hundred mosquitoes breeding in our bathroom, Mr. B is insisting on a birthday party at home complete with time-sucking crafty decorations and games, and candidate training is taking ALL of my spare time and making my hips ache. Or maybe it's the changing weather making my joints hurt.

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