Just Another Day

So my grandmother was famous for a few things. She was a wonderful cook of pretty much everything, and it is to my detriment that I never asked to learn from her. She was also well-known for her cleanliness. She cleaned thoroughly, and many times a day. Her house was always spotless, even after cooking a large meal. The other thing she was known for was her tendency to rearrange her furniture. Pretty much every time we went to her house, the furniture in the living room was arranged differently. It almost seemed like she had a new house. Even down to the things hanging on the wall, there was an entirely new look. She had lots of little pieces such as end tables and chairs and lamps, so the variations seemed to be quite endless. It wasn't until I became a stay at home mother that I finally understood my grandmother's compulsion for change. Being at home and seeing the same items in the same place began to bother me after a while. When Mr. Personality was an infant with ...

So can I tell you that I have three separate, very large surprise parties that I am basically in charge of planning? Can I tell you that as I relay information to various people, most of whom are related to me, I am forgetting who is who and almost letting the wrong details out? The first party is the one for my parents 40th anniversary. My sister and I are (somewhat) jointly handling this one, although so far her only concrete contribution was to attend one of the prospective fancy brunch locations with me. Hmmm, some hard work there, eh? But, it is only reasonable that I do most of the research and legwork, as I am the only non-retired member of the family who does not work. The second party is my grandparents 60th wedding anniversary. This one is going to turn out to be quite a doozy, as we are wanting to fly in people from across the country without my grandparents being aware. It is also supposed to be quite upscale, as you are certainly not going to take the whole gang to C...

So I have decided that certain names and dates of this story will be altered to protect the innocent. A couple weeks ago, I was invited to a party. Oh, not just any party but a "product" party. For avoidance of possible defamation lawsuits, I will call the company Brownie Tree . The person who invited me is a sweet widow who lives in my complex. She dotes on Mr. Personality, and is always giving him tasty food in the grand tradition of elderly, kind neighbors. Plus, she always makes a point to come out and talk to me when we are wandering the complex, so I didn't want to hurt her feelings by ignoring her invite. Normally, I avoid these parties like the plague. I don't feel comfortable with the Multi-Level-Marketing tactics of most companies like Brownie Tree . I mean, really, the expectation that you will come to the party and buy something because the hostess is your dear friend hovers around 99%. In this case, the product host was my neighbor's daughter...

SO POOP HAS BEEN DEPOSITED IN THE POTTY. THE NORMAL WAY. AND PEE, ALTHOUGH I THINK THAT WAS SOMEWHAT A HAPPY ACCIDENT. And here we go... I wasn't expecting it, really. For the last few days, we have been letting Mr. Personality know that when he learns to go in the potty, he will no longer have to suffer through the multiple torture sessions known around this house as diaper changes. Hubba-hubba had been especially pushing it yesterday morning, the various charms of the potty. It even sounded good to me. But I wasn't prepared. Only one crappy (I couldn't resist) potty book from Fischer Price, no little prizes to grab out of a bag like I had planned. Grandma, Grandpa, Auntie, and Great-Grandma were all called so that he could breathlessly inform them of his stupendous achievement. All complied with responses of "what a big boy" and "good for you" etc... So this is day two of the Surprise Potty Boot Camp, and it is going pretty well, all things consi...

The Scene: Vons Supermarket, pasta aisle. The Players: A 30-ish couple with their young child in the cart. The child has a balloon tied around his wrist. The scene opens with young toddler fiddling with the balloon string on his arm. Suddenly, the balloon begins to rise in the air. Her: Oh my God, the balloon! (jumps up about an inch in an awkward, futile attempt to snatch the balloon as it rises toward the ceiling) Her: (looking at husband, annoyed) Why didn't you even try to get the balloon? Why were you just staring at it? Him: (also annoyed) I couldn't get it! What do you want me to do, knock you on your ass? Her: Knock me on my what ? Him: Knock you on your ass! Her: My what? Him: Knock you on your butt ! Now, surely this is a disturbing exchange to be heard in the market. Imagine, this cretin has just threatened to knock his wife down on her ass in the middle of the pasta/sauce aisle! In front of their young and adorable child, no less. Perhaps the store manage...

So about a week or so ago, I entered the gym for the first time in a very long time. I had gone half-heartedly a little after Mr. Personality was born, but I hated leaving him at the daycare center. I couldn't see what was going on, and I felt he was just too small to be left alone in there. So we went about four times together and I stopped. Part of the problem of my lack of gym attendance can be blamed on Hubba-hubba. Not all, but part. He has always insisted that we work out together, meaning we must leave Mr. Personality at the child care center. He will read this and splutter in denial, but it is true. I didn't like leaving my son with strangers, and I still don't. Finally we brokered a compromise that we can work out separately. Due to my back problems, I needed a truly non-impact cardio workout, and the gym is the best place for that. We have a 24 Hour Fitness Sport membership. Our particular Sport complex happens to be a complete meat market, which I abhor. ...

So Sister MR was my favorite teacher in high school. She taught me in Freshman AP English. When I told my "sophomore buddy" that I had her for my teacher, she visibly shuddered and wished me luck. Sister had a very formidable and intimidating presence in the classroom. She did not smile often, and if you made a mistake of any kind, she would embarass the heck out of you in front of the class. She expected, no demanded, perfection from us and did not hesitate to let us know when we failed her. I loathed her for probably the first quarter of school, along with the rest of the class. But then something happened between us, I don't remember what it was exactly. I think it was the journals that she had us write in for the first ten minutes of class every day. She would go down the alphabet, and write a quote on the chalkboard that started with that particular letter. Then we were to just free-form and write a page on whatever we thought about what she had selected. We ...