Feeling Crappy.

I'm back to work at the wee store, and it is providing me with an excellent venue to have my cold in, especially because it does not have a very active and needy toddler in it like my home does.

It's not very busy, so I can sit here and blow my nose to my heart's content. As of now, I've used more tissues than we have snow globes in this collection that came in; and I am thinking that it's possible I'll have used as many tissues as there is "snow" in the globes by the end of the day. Sometimes I'll raise my head off the desk and take sips of some hot water with lemon that I've been stewing my throat in all day. Then, I dab some hand lotion around my flaking nostrils, and hop around swearing and flapping my hands in front of my nose because it burns. I'm planning on stopping by the drug store on the way home, and wondering how to better phrase the question to the pharmacist "What can I moisturize my nostril skin with that doesn't feel like Napalm?"

I'll occasionally wander over to the front window, roll a cool, smooth snowglobe across my hot and aching forehead, then reach over and shake the Las Vegas one to see what comes up in the dice.

Craps, sometimes.

But I just got an Ace-Deuce, and I had to share it.



16-1 that my hot Friday night date is hawt in the way that I'm going to drink more scalding lemonade, burn my tongue some more, and fall asleep watching some crap on TV because I'll get interested in it and forget to change the channel.

Signs of Spring

Signs of Spring around our house:

I'll buy a bunch of pussywillows.




My pussywillows in the back yard are budding!



The cat is no longer spending twelve to fifteen hours a day on the bed, licking himself and growing his fat sack!

Clockwise from top: Today's evidence of the 9 am-11am nap, the 1:03 am-4:45 pm nap and the 6-7 pm nap.

My Cup Is Like Wo.

Cafe Breve, one teaspoon of brown sugar and a dash of vanilla

Find yourself a cup; the teapot is behind you. Now tell me about hundreds of things. H. H. Munro

This is monumental (in my life) (GAH. I KNOW):



I have found a cup I love.

Hot chocolate with both large white and mini coloured marshmallows, and a dash of vanilla

We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out. Ray Bradbury

A while ago, I took part in Andrea's Valentine's Day "Pay It Forward".

From Ginger, I received not one, but TWO Star*ucks gift cards. Now, I'm a funky indie coffee shop kind of girl, and I intended to use these when we visit my folks, and there is no such thing as a funky indie coffee shop in the suburb of Cheektowaga. But I had them in my pocket a few weeks ago when I went to the swank West-end drop-in , and while I was waiting for my sissy coffee with carmelly goodness, this cup was sitting right there, on the discount shelf and I swear it winked at me.

Raspberry tea, one heaping teaspoon of sugar.

While we are a coffee company at heart, Star*ucks provides much more than the best cup of coffee—we offer a community gathering place where people come together to connect and discover new things. We are always looking for innovative ways to surprise and delight our customers.” Howard Schultz

I eyeballed it, took a step closer to it and yes, yes I fondled it while I waited. Oh, how glossy the inside and the rim of the saucer, oh! they are a beautiful lustrous pink, delicate and tinged with rainbow light, like the inside of a Conch or a puddle with oil in it after a rainy day when there is a pink sunset. And, yes, as I said - THE SAUCER. Because that was what caught my eye: the can-shaped cup having a saucer. A generously sized saucer (singsong). I can put a cookie on it! I don't have to burn my fingers if the beverage is too hot, because I can hold it by the saucer! No sloppy coffee rings on my fine formica or distressed painted tables!

And the beverages? They are the perfect amount of hot. The walls of the cup are not so thick as vitrified diner china, yet not as thin as porcelain. The rim tapers at the edge so the liquid flows into my mouth at just the right angle and speed. I do have this other wide, thick cup that will sometimes channel drinks into my ears if I so much as recline and don't purse my lips like a miser when I drink. That cup now feels bad, because I haven't used it in three weeks.

Cups with wide circumferences let beverages cool off too quickly, with all of that liquid surface area exposed. I hate those stupid cups. And the handle - I can hold it the way I love best: thumb on the opposite side, two fingers inside the handle and the index and pinky above and below, respectively - but I can also lift it and drink from it actually using the handle. Because the handle, and you can see that I have considered this, isn't often balanced on those huge latte cups that are everywhere. And I don't want to use two hands to drink. I need one hand to scroll down on the TWOP forums.

You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me. C.S. Lewis

And it is just the right size in terms of its capacity. Slightly larger than a mug. Slightly smaller than my bladder.

It followed me home, becoming more perfect as the realization of exactly how perfect it is washes over me with every use.

It makes me happy that I was able to find something that would last longer than a few schmancy coffees with my PIF gift cards - I didn't expect to. Thank you Ginger!

If I displayed this cup, I might look at it once or twice a week. By using it, I get pleasure from it continually. Lila Acheson Wallace

Oh...and it's real pretty. I don't have to say that, do I?

So, get this:
During Steve's band practice the other week, one guy grabbed it and was within a splash of pouring his coffee into it before Steve could inform him that if he touched that cup I'd put a curse on him that would blister his nuts. And his banishment would be re-instituted. You see, that is why Steve is an excellent guy - he knows stuff like that. That is why the other guy is probably not as lucky in love as Steve is, what with possibly arousing the scorn and indignation in the legions of women whose Very Special cups he's violated in the past.



And so, while we have a collection of cups and mugs and things that in the past were certainly receiving passing grades...


And while I have some fun vintage "breakfast cups" that I do actually use...




And while I admittedly have too many diner cups and saucers (to go with my diner dish collection) (for crying out loud, they were thirty cents each)...



It is this cup that holds my lattes when I need a boost, tea when I need to mellow, and hot chocolate when I am trying to stave off a Nutella binge. It is really, really working for me. And here, weeks later, I'm still (obviously) like totally stoked over my bitchin' find - because for the first time in maybe thirty tea/coffee/hot beverage drinking years, I have what might be the perfect cup.

Waiting for the next drink - maybe a milky chamomile tea before bed?

Y'all, My cup is like Wo.

Taking a break from a MAJOR project.

One Word Meme stolen from Nancy and Sharon (but I cheated)(just a little) (because I am wordier than both of them put together)

1. Where is your cell phone?
charging

2. Your Vehicle?
(sighs)paidfor

3. Your hair?
roots

4.Your mother?
(no words - makes strangled noise)

5. Your father?
decrepit

6. Your favorite thing?
found

7. Your dream last night?
weird

8. Your favorite drink?
bourbon

10. The room you’re in?
southwindowsunlightaaaahhhhhh

11. Your ex?
jackass

12. You are?
improving

13. What do you want to be in 10 years?
alive

14. Who did you hang out with today?
clutter

15. What you’re not?
healthiest

16. Muffins?
acrumbywasteoftimejusteatacupcakethey'rethesameamountofcalorieswhatiswiththisstupidmuffinshit?

17. One of your wish list items?
Bloodle

18. Where is the ______ ?
love

19. The last thing you did?
tidied

20. What are you wearing?
apron

21. Your favorite TV show?
makeover

22. Your pet(s)?
jackass

23. Your computer?
beloved

24. Your life?
transient

25. Your mood?
SPRING

26. Missing?
dentalplan

27. What are you thinking about right now?
TWOP

28. Your Shoes?
Converse

29. Your work?
neverending

30. Your summer?
gardening(aaaaaahhhhh)

31. Your favorite color?
seafoam

32. Tag?
Nah

I Used To Think I Was Being Sardonically Tacky, Now I Can Say I Am Making A Political Statement

One of the projects that we accomplished over the last week was to recover the dining room chairs. The dining room table is not a dining room table per se - it is Steve's kitchen table from his bachelor days; and so, of course, the chairs, in essence, are not really traditional dining room chairs.

The chairs were a wedding gift to his cousins thirty years ago, and they seem to have outlasted the marriage.
I don't even want to know how long ago, but I'm going to let you know it was more than eleven and less than twenty, that Steve decided to upholster the chairs in white and black leopard spotted fun fur. (At the time he also covered a guitar in it too. Wacky!)


Now, I want to assure strangers and visitors to our home alike, that throughout the ten years they've been on my scene, I've often shampooed them and they were vacuumed a few times a week, like anything in our home, because I am a freak that way. I cleaned the chrome with steel wool, and I did my best to make myself comfortable with what I knew, but couldn't bear to think about, must have been a scary amount of stuff that could still reside in plushy fibres despite the best of care.

But, toddlers and fun fur chairs don't mix. Pink sparkly glue, play-dough, and as the last straw, a cupcake decorating party - they all took their toll.

We made a trip to the fabric store that gives me a frisson just thinking about it, and of all the fabrics I could find? After I looked at fun retro designs, ruled out oilcloths and vinyls as being too hard to work with quickly, and tried to keep stain-hiding capabilities and wipe-ability (and a budget of $10/yrd and under) in mind?

A lovely cotton twill, slightly stretchy. Complementary to the colours in our home, especially the wood floors, and in a pattern that surely won't show greasy toddler smudges and odd smears followed us home.




And get this - if you look closely at it in real life? It has minute sparkles.



Why, when I had the option of doing a tasteful brown or black, or something funky but not worthy of trailer-trash, did I choose this?

I don't know, for sure.

I thought about how when it comes time to sell the chairs at a garage sale, they'd probably end up being recovered anyway, and that in funky Leslieville, the leopard print would be eye-catching. Before long, we hope to buy a more grown-up retro-teaky-wood set, and while it will still be funky, it will be ultimately be marginally more boring than this set.


I thought about how you can take the parents out of punk, but you can't take the punk out of the parents.



So, I was almost resigned to spending the rest of our time with these chairs thinking, "Hey, it's better than the decrepit fun fur!" Then, after Steve devoted an hour and a half to each chair for the actual recovering process, and I saw the underside of the fun fur? (Shudders) I was wildly grateful for the change, and I would have been just as grateful if the only choice available to us for this project involved polyester pant material fresh off my mother's ass. At least that would be cleaner.

But it was when I was perusing the catalog from the Radical Lace & Subversive Knitting exhibit that followed me home from my trip to New York (ohmygoodness...that was well over a month ago now) that I remembered one artist's work that I admired even more once I read her statement.

In talking about her Coral Snake Series, 2006 Ruth Marshall described her attraction to knitting animal skins as the same reasons a hunter would have, and that "the initial response has to do with the impact of the animal itself and just how beautiful, exotic or different it is." Seeing her work as a positive alternative to hunting, she states "People desire animal skins. My thinking about it: Why can't you desire something that has been inspired by the animal skin instead? It is a much more inventive and creative way to preserve the animals, and also embodies the idea of desiring something, of possession."





So, yeah. That's it. While I'm not sure that makes pleather tasteful, it does mean my furniture recovering project has been somewhat redeemed.

"Hmm...I also think it makes a great excuse to blow three dollars on pink zebra striped napkins, right Simba?"

Mmmmmm...Podge

Of course, some of the busy-ness around here has been because we are making lots of crafts. Some of them have even been rather successful!

For example, one of Josephine's birthday presents was wrapped in some super cute paper, and I really really liked it. I liked it too much for it to go to waste, so I hovered and whined and asked Steve to help her gently ease the gift out of the paper (that means just do it himself) so I could save it. And, in a rather quick turnover time for me, it only sat around, still in its box shape for about a week.


One night while we watched a movie, I cut out all the figures (not a toddler-friendly activity if one wants it to be done well - but a really absorbing adult activity I quite enjoyed, and I recommend using tiny nail scissors). Then, I picked up a stretched canvas while running errands (much nicer than a canvasboard, which was my first intent), and then Josie and I decoupaged the stuff I'd arranged on there (a toddler-friendly activity, as long as it's understood that Podge does NOT come out of clothing). The background/sky was some of the tissue that came in her gifts - a layer of white over a deep teal. The uneven adhesion added to its charm. REALLY. Oh, ModPodge, how I huff thee.

Ta-DAAA!


I'm going to hang it by the gray ribbon that came with the present, tacking it around the edges of the canvas.

***************************

Yesterday we ran some errands, and in a Hallmark store, we saw these adorable resin chicks with wire feet. And that is the only description you'll get, because I can't find an image and there are enough Hallmark stores in the world that you have probably seen them yourself. Of course Josie and I loved them, and I thought they were rather charming and faux-rustic-folk-arty and quirky - but I thought "Hey! We could make something like that!" and then I said it out loud, which meant we had to. and toddlers also think that means right away.

On the walk home, I thought about how we could make a palm-sized chick out of what we had around the house, the thoughts weaving in and out with toddler whines about walking and conversations about mud and melting snow.

"Papier Mache! Hmmm...maybe around a wad of tape! Or maybe just some cotton batting? But I don't know how to make it yellow...OH! Tissue! We have lots left over from Josie's birthday. I don't think there's yellow. I know I have googly eyes somewhere...Thank goodness I'm the kind of person who has very fine faux-rusted wire lying around from an old craft when I made a crown of thorns out of it! OH! I could use some of my vintage silk flowers to make it pretty!"

So, with no further suspense - here's what came out of it all:



Now, while I used to teach actual classes to grown-ups who paid a not inconsiderable amount of money for them, imparting specific knowledge and all that, here is why I do not write craft tutorials.


Here's the tutorial, as if it were in real time, which was half an hour before dinner:

Hey! I have two styrofoam balls from that cotton-batting covered snowman that was in Martha Stewart's Christmas issue that we never made!

Hmmm...How should we stick them together?

Rummages in drawer. Wooden toothpicks! Using just one on its own broke. So use five! Toddlers love sticking toothpicks in things. Give her another ball and toothpicks so she'll just go away and do that.

Finds half-dried out congealed yellow paint (yellow's not a favourite colour around here) and mixes it in Podge (because I always have Podge) with a chopstick left over from Josie's party.

Brush that all over balls (snicker - jokes with Steve ensue), forming two pieces into fluffier "wing" shapes in the appropriate areas.

Bends "rusty" wire into feet shape. Toddler helps stick in at charmingly skewed angles. Sticking things in things is the BEST toddler activity ever.

Cuts roundish base out of two layers of corrugated cardboard, and glue them together. One of them is a beautiful green colour, so that takes care of "grass".

Fucking thing won't stand. Steve gets the idea to stick a nail through the bottom of the cardboard up the thing's bum, and it will now be a sitting chick (Adult jokes ensue, including one Fusilli joke). Answer Josephine's forty questions about why it won't stand.

Set it aside to dry near floor register with toddler sitting next to it expectantly, and make meatballs. Project resumed after dinner, despite my already being a bit sick of it.

The beak is a bit of orange ribbon left over from a present years ago, cut in a square, folded in half. Actually have to get the iron out to make the crease. (Curses). Use hot glue gun along the fold.

Googly eyes (yes, I have them lying around too) look tacky. Steve gets the idea to use furniture tacks from abandoned re-upholstery project. Much discussion about placement, as the difference in expression based on location is astounding. Too close together really give it an idiotic look. Too wide apart looks cretinous. Find a happy blank-expressioned medium.

Garnished with vintage flowers, and another used ribbon around its neck.

Chick is huge, and awkward, and is immediately dubbed "Chickysaurus" by Steve.

Chickysaurus is much beloved by Josephine, and must travel with her everywhere, including to the desk where it can gaze upon her as she is rocked to sleep.




This morning she found a rubbery grub pulled out of her "Pat the Beastie" book, and that was Chickysaurus' breakfast.




Welcome to the family, Chickysaurus. It's a bit weird here, but so are you. We like to think it's a charming kind of weird though.

Ignorance IS BLISS

You know, it's times like this I'd really rather not know what's going on.

I mean it.


IF SOMETHING IS HAPPENING UNDER THE SOFA, I DON'T WANT TO KNOW.

Toddler Supernova

After we came home from the birthday party last Saturday, Josie and I had to crash Steve's band practice, which hadn't quite finished yet.

With the charm of ten thousand movie stars, Josie soon had the guys playing her favourite song selections.


A few rounds of "Roly Poly" (after a false start with a "blue" version) and "Deep in the Heart of Texas" didn't quite satisfy Josie. Soon the band was working on selections from the Sound of Music.

I'm supposing that there's a study in there somewhere - most women of a certain age can belt out, at the drop of a hat, any number of songs from the beloved movie/musical. But do you think three middle-aged guys can pick out the songs on the command of a three year old?

Jake did a pretty good job with "Edelweiss", which, of course, isn't Josie's favourite. They weren't about to attempt "So Long, Farewell". They managed to get through "Do, Re, Mi" eventually.




This inspired Josie to get her guitar out, and jam with the band. But, all practices must come to an end. Three-year olds don't take things like that very well.



After throwing a snit worthy of Courtney Love, she then stated "I want my own band."

It looks like we'll be holding auditions for her band a little sooner than we thought.

Weird.

ORIGIN Old English wyrd [destiny,] of Germanic origin. The adjective ( late Middle English ) originally meant [having the power to control destiny,] and was used esp. in the Weird Sisters, originally referring to the Fates, later the witches in Shakespeare's Macbeth; the latter use gave rise to the sense [unearthly] (early 19th cent.).

And I mean this in the sense of having the power to control destiny.


Last week Saturday, we went to Alice's birthday party. Josephine spent the time there in either of two ways:

Being "Rudolph":

(You can tell she is being Rudolph by looking at her "hooves". See? On the left? Josephine's hands are curled in, like hooves. On the right - a normal kid's hand, attached to a normal kid.)

Or she'd be licking the string of her balloon.

Or the balloon itself. She fell asleep that night holding the ribbon of the balloon we brought home, the purple orb hovering above her. She has said, nearly every day since, "May I please keep it, even when I'm a grown-up?". We now have, just lying limply in a shriveling heap, a withered purple balloon with 4's on it, suitable for DNA samples that could clone ten Josephines/Rudolphs, that I don't dare discard. It's not important enough to take a stand on it. That is, to me it isn't.

This is not to derogate Josie in any way. Actually, I think it's pretty great that she's found something to do that's self-soothing during situations she's uncomfortable in, and that she' s always interested in gratifying her senses. Her father used to chew on his sleeves. I used to doodle, or smear glue on my palms, let it dry, and then peel it off. For our family - she is normal.

We could work harder, I suppose, to encourage behaviours that blend a bit more. I went so far as to explain to Josephine that Alice invited Josie to the party, not Rudolph - and then I let it go, because I was having my own hard time engaging.



It's just that you'd think the weird kids would have it a bit easier being the parents of the weird kid.

And, if we changed anything about her, I'm sure we'd laugh a lot less. For example, just now:

Josephine is playing with her stuffed reindeer. They are being a herd. But she is a "girrrrull" reindeer - because Bambi is a boy. That is because he has a peanut."

Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda.

I could have posted about so many things since last week. It's not like we haven't been busy.

I would have, really, if the weather hadn't taken a refreshing turn for the not-ass-bitingly-cold.

I should have tried harder - you know, brief snippets illustrated by the images I collected.

So, I set down to catch up tonight, and there was this picture:


And I decided that it says enough for now, and I'm just going to keep on enjoying the fact that blogging is optional.

Posting about KinderYoga Camp, the thawing snow at Riverdale Farm, re-covering chairs, cat asses, toddlers and their foibles and having found the perfect cup to enjoy my hot beverages in? Sure, it's all wound up inside my brain, and since I doubt I'll find a pensieve at either of the fantastic Estate Sales I hope to hit this weekend it'll have to end up somewhere. Sometime.

But right now, it's all sparking inside me like this:


What? You see a melting hunk of dirty ice? No. You forget I have a wonderful toddler.

As Josephine told me: "It is so many beautiful crystals, like diamonds. It is a special present for you-ooo."

And Now I Will Tell A Story Without Words, Yet You Will Still Understand That I Have Been Flipped Off And That My Plant Is In Danger.

(Subtitled: Sweet Jesus Boo Boo, I Just Have To Change The Sheets, Which I Have To Do Twice A Week Because I'm Allergic To You, Why Do You Have To Be Such An Freaking Jerk About It All The Time ?!?)

Don't. Just Don't.

So.




So you see something like this in on your dining room table.


And you have a toddler. More specifically, a three-year old who expends about seventyhundred "WHY" questions a day.


Don't say "Hey! A conga line!". Just don't.

Because.

Because "WHY is dat a tonga wine?"

Well.

So.

If, perhaps, you did, you will need to know this:

conga |ˈkä ng gə| noun 1 a Latin American dance of African origin, usually with several people in a single line, one behind the other.

and maybe, if you elaborate BEFORE you read the simple definition above,

conga drum
2 (also conga drum) a tall, narrow, low-toned drum beaten with the hands. verb ( -gas , -gaed |-gəd|or -ga'd, -gaing |-gə-i ng |) [ intrans. ] dance the conga. ORIGIN 1930s: from Latin American Spanish, from Spanish, feminine of congo ‘Congolese.’


To save you some time, a conga drum, and someone playing it, looks like this:

(hopefully the sleeve thing won't come up)

Then, if you have to do the dance, remember the kick is slightly before the fourth beat.


There is etiquette to be explained.

And there are dire warnings:

• The conga line is not to be confused with the Trinidadian wine dance. Do not attempt the Trinidadian wine dance without an actual person from Trinidad and a medical team present.

What?

Why, yes. We did have a lovely cold winter afternoon stuck inside the house doing the conga. Lots of times.




What?


Well, yes. Josephine is rather tenacious, what with being a toddler and all, and I do expect we'll be doing conga lines with anything and everything for some time to come.

Multiple Choice Answers (Not Really)

Q: What are these guys doing? (Remember, this is our house.)



A: The Daddy and Mommy Lions have adopted a tiger cub into the pride, and we are daily enacting a toddler version of "Diff'rent Strokes". Except they don't really have catchphrases, and we haven't gotten to the part yet where the cubs grow up and enjoy a life of crime, or end up on reality TV shows. I'm looking forward to that time.

B: It is important for Josephine to know the proper names for every animal and every animal baby, plus what a collective of said animals are called. From left to right, a lion cub, a lion, another lion cub (and please oh please don't upset the toddler by attempting to state otherwise), a lioness; and together they are a pride. When in doubt, go to the computer. (A clowder of kittens?!?!) (And if anyone knows the collective for mammoths, please do let me know.)

C: From left to right, they are Nala,Mufasa, Simba and Sarabi, and they are on Pride Rock. (Pronounced Pri-ide Raoa-oaoawk). They are about to come downstairs to rescue the mammoth from the Ice Age.


Because we are watching too many movies lately, and that is because it is so cold outside that attempting to make the child play results in writhing and screaming of this sort:



And because dealing with that just drives me straight to the Nutella.


D: Their real names are Missy, Missy, Missy and Missy.

F: This is where they were left last night. Their bums were watching "Do-Re-Mi", from the Sound of Music, which Josie likes to watch before she falls asleep. She has a strong preference for the London 2006 Stage Production.

G: All of the above.



Now excuse me. Since you don't really need an answer, because if you read this blog you know they are all correct answers, I need to go now - Josephine just asked her umpty-hundredth question of the day, and this one requires a fresh cup of coffee.


"Why are books made out of paper?"


The question is one with multiple choice answers. One of the answers is "because". But that one never works. And there aren't really answers for that in the computer.

It IS Asking Too Much.

M: Boo Boo. Please stop that.


B: Did you not move them here for everyone's enjoyment?


M: Well...kind of. Enjoyment in a visual sense. Not in an edible sense.


B: Are you saying that the teensiest, tiniest tippy tips of your dying $3 Ikea plants are more important to you for being aesthetically pleasing than are the needs of your dear companion kitty cat, whose instinct to daintily nibble these delicate fronds is so visceral that even as we discuss this I am planning to ignore your request and enjoy a few more tidbits?


M: My needs to have some greenery below neck level and a pet that doesn't tick me off are pretty deep-rooted right now too, Boo Boo.




B: "Hunger is insolent, and will be fed." (Homer)


M: The cat is insolent, and will go outside. The plants will go on top of the bookshelf.


B: After another morsel.



M: "Victory is by nature insolent and haughty." (Marcus Tullius Cicero)


B: "If the insolent man is strong, the one in the right is considered guilty." (Turkish proverb)


M: "Short is the joy that guilty pleasure brings." (Euripides) They looked better in the kitchen anyway.