*****
Monday: Sadly, Amy Krouse Rosenthal died on Monday, after a long illness. I wrote about her Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life on my 2016 book list. I had no idea that she was sick (or that she had written children's books) until the New York Times published her "You May Want to Marry My Husband" essay on March 3. She was a great writer and, obviously and more importantly, a great person.
Monday night: A tense evening as the heavily hyped forecast of snow appeared for a while to have been mistaken (or a hoax). The snow finally began to fall, prompting an early snow day call from the school district--the first one this winter. All-out Lord of the Flies rebellion: Narrowly averted.
Monday night: A tense evening as the heavily hyped forecast of snow appeared for a while to have been mistaken (or a hoax). The snow finally began to fall, prompting an early snow day call from the school district--the first one this winter. All-out Lord of the Flies rebellion: Narrowly averted.
Tuesday: Snow day.
Tuesday night: You know, Rachel, I turned off a hockey game to watch that, nearly sparking an another potential uprising. These are revolutionary times at my house. I'm not sure that "Donald Trump paid some taxes in 2005" was quite the truth-to-power Watergate-level scoop that we all hoped for. PS--I think Trump leaked the return himself.
Wednesday: I don't even remember. It was four days ago! Oh wait, I remember. I worked from home on Tuesday. Snow and whatnot. So I sent myself some files, because my work computer is huge and unwieldy, and no matter how many times I readjust my hands on the keyboard, I can't type on the thing. I worked like a madwoman all day. Then, on Wednesday morning, I got to my desk and realized that I didn't have the computer that I had used on Tuesday, and that I had forgotten to email the file back to myself. Kind of a problem, because it was kind of an important thing with kind of a hard, immovable, drop-dead, not one minute late deadline. Something of a dilemma.
All's well that ends well. My husband was on the late shift this week, and being home, he was able to email the file to me. Then, I stopped at the grocery store on the way home, only to realize that I'd left my wallet at home, too. At least I hadn't actually shopped yet. Because I'd have been SO MAD.
Thursday: A long work day, but I didn't mind. The Friday deadline still looming, I stayed at my desk until 6:30, and then came home and worked until a little after 10.
Friday: Deadline met.
Saturday: I hate to shop, as I mentioned here. The benefit of working full-time is that I can afford to shop; the disadvantage, of course, is that I don't have time to shop. Or rather, I do have time, but my time is limited, and shopping is my very least favorite way to spend it. So I buy clothes online. And then I wear them, and hate them, and end up with a pile of nearly new stuff that languishes in my closet, while I tear my hair out every morning because I have nothing to wear.
But wait. We're not talking about every morning. We're talking about today. I went shopping, in a real store, where I tried some things on, and even bought a few items. Or articles. We'll see what happens. That was the least fun thing that I did all week. Note that this was a week that included floor mopping, snow shoveling, tax paying, and insomnia, so do the proverbial math.
*****
It's still Saturday, a few hours later. Do you know what's happening right now? My son, who is 15 years and 9 months old today, is watching the Maryland Motor Vehicles Administration's how to get your driver's license video. No matter what time it is, it's always later than you think. Or later than I think, anyway.
And speaking of math? 100 Concepts is veering off the rails into pure ridiculousness . Now I'm supposed to believe that there's such a thing as a three-dimensional one-sided shape. Fiction, I tell you.
Early in the evening, we went to our favorite neighborhood Mexican restaurant, with this boy and his mother (my sister-in-law) and his baby sister, who slept through the entire meal. The hostess was the senior co-captain of my son's high school swim team, and as high school kids often do when they see each other in non-school settings, they pretended that they didn't know each other. Perhaps my son, who had ridden with my sister-in-law so that he could help with the children, was embarrassed to be seen carrying a sleeping infant in a forty-pound carrier. Perhaps the girl, who is normally rather stylish, was embarrassed to be seen in her work uniform of khaki pants and a polo shirt.
I'm glad I'm not in high school anymore. Because it would be awkward to be the teenage mother of two teenage boys.
*****
It's Sunday morning now. I'm the only person awake, and I'm watching "Stranger than Fiction," a movie that I really love. I might like Will Ferrell even better in dramatic roles than in comedies. His "Stranger than Fiction's" character's favorite is work, not smiling. And Emma Thompson, Queen Latifah, and Maggie Gyllenhaal (sp?) are great as they always are. It's good to be up early.
Did you not get the work/smiling reference? Then go and watch "Elf," right away.
After Mass, I'll be attending a Lularoe home boutique show with some friends. No good will come of this, I promise you. With money in my pocket and the encouragement of well-meaning but misguided friends (both of whom are teachers, which means that actual toddler clothing is acceptable work attire for them), I'll end up with a pile of stretchy polka-dotted sack dresses, peacock-feather printed leggings, and a floppy hat. With the right pair of Birkenstocks, I can show up at my job as a technical writer at a federal government contractor looking like a jewelry vendor at Lollapalooza, circa 1994.
Maybe I should leave my wallet at home.
Later, I'm making chicken for dinner, using a video recipe recommended by another friend. The recipe involves a chicken and a Bundt pan, and like every other Internet chicken recipe, it suggests an insanely optimistic cooking time. (Hey! That was exactly a year ago!) A food writer who believes that a whole chicken stuffed into a Bundt pan and surrounded by lemons and vegetables can go into a 425 degree oven and then come out ready to eat just 55 minutes later has obviously never cooked a chicken, but the friend who recommended the recipe is usually a dependable source of household and cooking advice. Only one way to find out. Maybe I'll post a cooking diary next week. Don't say you weren't warned.
All's well that ends well. My husband was on the late shift this week, and being home, he was able to email the file to me. Then, I stopped at the grocery store on the way home, only to realize that I'd left my wallet at home, too. At least I hadn't actually shopped yet. Because I'd have been SO MAD.
Thursday: A long work day, but I didn't mind. The Friday deadline still looming, I stayed at my desk until 6:30, and then came home and worked until a little after 10.
Friday: Deadline met.
Saturday: I hate to shop, as I mentioned here. The benefit of working full-time is that I can afford to shop; the disadvantage, of course, is that I don't have time to shop. Or rather, I do have time, but my time is limited, and shopping is my very least favorite way to spend it. So I buy clothes online. And then I wear them, and hate them, and end up with a pile of nearly new stuff that languishes in my closet, while I tear my hair out every morning because I have nothing to wear.
But wait. We're not talking about every morning. We're talking about today. I went shopping, in a real store, where I tried some things on, and even bought a few items. Or articles. We'll see what happens. That was the least fun thing that I did all week. Note that this was a week that included floor mopping, snow shoveling, tax paying, and insomnia, so do the proverbial math.
*****
It's still Saturday, a few hours later. Do you know what's happening right now? My son, who is 15 years and 9 months old today, is watching the Maryland Motor Vehicles Administration's how to get your driver's license video. No matter what time it is, it's always later than you think. Or later than I think, anyway.
And speaking of math? 100 Concepts is veering off the rails into pure ridiculousness . Now I'm supposed to believe that there's such a thing as a three-dimensional one-sided shape. Fiction, I tell you.
Early in the evening, we went to our favorite neighborhood Mexican restaurant, with this boy and his mother (my sister-in-law) and his baby sister, who slept through the entire meal. The hostess was the senior co-captain of my son's high school swim team, and as high school kids often do when they see each other in non-school settings, they pretended that they didn't know each other. Perhaps my son, who had ridden with my sister-in-law so that he could help with the children, was embarrassed to be seen carrying a sleeping infant in a forty-pound carrier. Perhaps the girl, who is normally rather stylish, was embarrassed to be seen in her work uniform of khaki pants and a polo shirt.
I'm glad I'm not in high school anymore. Because it would be awkward to be the teenage mother of two teenage boys.
*****
It's Sunday morning now. I'm the only person awake, and I'm watching "Stranger than Fiction," a movie that I really love. I might like Will Ferrell even better in dramatic roles than in comedies. His "Stranger than Fiction's" character's favorite is work, not smiling. And Emma Thompson, Queen Latifah, and Maggie Gyllenhaal (sp?) are great as they always are. It's good to be up early.
Did you not get the work/smiling reference? Then go and watch "Elf," right away.
After Mass, I'll be attending a Lularoe home boutique show with some friends. No good will come of this, I promise you. With money in my pocket and the encouragement of well-meaning but misguided friends (both of whom are teachers, which means that actual toddler clothing is acceptable work attire for them), I'll end up with a pile of stretchy polka-dotted sack dresses, peacock-feather printed leggings, and a floppy hat. With the right pair of Birkenstocks, I can show up at my job as a technical writer at a federal government contractor looking like a jewelry vendor at Lollapalooza, circa 1994.
Maybe I should leave my wallet at home.
 |
| I look ridiculous? You're wearing cupcake-patterned leggings. Dumb ass. |
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