Archive for April, 2011

Capital Number One Pet Peeve:

Want to ruin my entire day?

Common sense, it would seem, is quite uncommon. 

Take, for instance, my paper carrier.  While I am sure there are people out there with Master’s degrees who get up at ohmigod o’clock every morning to deliver newspapers for extra money (what with the economy being what it is), I’d be willing to bet that newspaper delivery doesn’t rank too highly on the “gotta have special skills” list.  And yet, a weather forecast of 95% chance of rain and MY newspaper carrier will toss my paper onto my driveway without bagging it. 

Because, you know, bagging it would make some sense.  Right? 

If I happen to catch it early enough, only one side will be wet and I’m able to spread it out in the oven for a few minutes so that it’s dry enough to read. 

If, however, it is Good Friday and my child’s Catholic school has the day off, I will be sleeping in, enjoying the sound of the rain pitter-patting on my windows.  And when I finally roll out of bed a full hour after I normally get up, the chances of my unbagged paper being readable are at a solid 0%. 

So if I am a bit snappish the rest of the day it is because my routine, which I keep because it keeps me sane, has been upset from the get-go. 

— Mox

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Not that I’ve been obsessing or anything, but I read something here recently about Will & Kate that gave me a bit of pause. 

It would seem, that in their quest for a measure of “normalcy” (whatever that may be for them) that the future Princess Catherine stays home and happily cooks dinner for her man most nights. 

Oh, honey.  You’ll get over that nonsense in time. 

I remember when the tide turned for me.  We had just moved into our second apartment, four upstairs rooms in an old Victorian house, when we made the happy discovery that there was a tavern only two blocks from our place.  My husband was working late evenings, and I refused to put dinner on the table at 8pm.  I mean, really.  No sense in that.  So we would walk down to the tavern, and more often than not, stagger home. 

Mostly, my husband’s schedule is the reason I don’t cook much.  A lot of nights he’s not home until well past Spawn’s bedtime, or not home at all.  And Spawn, well, is the Pickiest Kid On Earth.  I can get by with mac & cheese, tater tots, chicken noodle soup, or grilled cheese for the kid.  Me, I’ll whip up a little spaghetti carbonara or share the tater tots with Spawn.  Or just not eat at all.

I suppose this would bother me if I enjoyed cooking, but as it stands I don’t particularly like to cook.  I find it to be a tedious chore.  I mean, cooking for three isn’t a whole lot different from cooking for two, or one, in that there are quantities of food to be adjusted so that you don’t cook for an army that isn’t there.  I, for one, am not a huge fan of leftovers.  Then there is the prep and the cleanup, both of which would be a lot easier if I had a dishwasher that works. 

And really, after a while the whole romantic dinner thing sort of loses its’ luster.  You get wrapped up in the sturm und drang of daily living and honey, the honeymoon is pretty much over by that point.  And then cooking gets reduced to an action that just gets the job done, sustains life, and that’s it.  Nobody appreciates it.  In fact, for all you know, the family thinks that food appears on the table by magic. 

Does Will help clear the table when the meal’s over?  I mean, you’d wonder, seeing as how he’s been raised with a life of privilege, and that includes someone cleaning up after dinner.  I’d be willing to bet he’s not much one for picking up his own socks, much less carrying his plate to the sink. 

My advice, for what it’s worth, to Kate is this:  don’t do anything the first year of your marriage that you are not prepared to do for the rest of your life.  Call for takeout. 

— Mox

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While I was spring breaking last week, summer snuck in and stole our spring away. 

When I left, the trees were just beginning to show a little green fuzz.  The daffodils had budded and were beginning to bloom.  The spring beauties that pop up wild in my yard were casting a pinky-white haze all throughout my just-greening grass.  Tulips were just starting to send up buds. 

When I came home ten days later, the dogwoods and tulips were blooming, most trees had baby leaves and/or blooms, and the daffodils had bloomed and faded. 

My favorite flower is the daffodil.  I mean, is there anything more cheerful than a cluster of bright yellow trumpets after months of cold and snow?  So you can imagine my chagrin when I realized I had missed most of them. 

I’ve been going non-stop all week — in fact, I hadn’t even unpacked until just this morning — so there’s a lot of spring that I’ve missed.  I took a walk around the yard last night before sunset, and my visions of getting a little bit ahead of the season were pretty much shot.  I’ve got a lot of work to do. 

My favorite season is spring, and this year it is speeding by me. 

— Mox

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Not amused.

It was an odyssey of Homeric proportions, and I have returned. 

I suppose the good news is, my father has determined that this was his last trip south.  That sound you hear is my deep sigh of gratitude for not having to drive him or my mother a thousand miles, ever again.  I do not regret making this trip, but I also don’t have a great desire to repeat it.  Airplanes for everyone, from here on in. 

I often wonder if there is something wrong with me, that I don’t get as worked up about stuff as my parents do, and I guess I have to chalk that up to my relative youth. 

It was still winter-like when we left here a week ago.  I wore jeans and a sweatshirt.  A week later, I came home in a tank top and shorts.  And now, we’re headed back to winter, or at least super-early spring.  It was 75° at 6 o’clock this morning; it will be 55° at 6 o’clock this evening and dropping further.  By the weekend we’ll be back in the upper 40’s.  Nice. 

Which just goes to prove, you can drag spring northward but there’s no guarantee it will stick around. 

— Mox

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