Archive - 2009

No You Didn’t

Here’s a funny story for you, just because.

About 15 years ago, there was a commercial for Jello No Bake Cheesecake.  A youngish woman was busy getting ready for some sort of informal get together at her house and thankfully, with all she had to do, spending time making a delicious cheesecake was not one of them. Thanks to Jello, of course.  Her friends are complimenting her on the cheesecake and asking her where she bought it and she says she made it herself.  One friend says, “You made it yourself?! No wonder you didn’t have time to do your hair!”  At which they all laugh and the hostess throws her napkin at her friend.  The ad ends with the line, “Jello No Bake Cheesecake – you’ll even have time to do your hair.”

Cute ad, right?

At the time, Philip was attending an Army school and the wives would often have coffees – it’s actually a Social Function, not just a couple of friends over for a cuppa.  A Coffee involves more extensive cleaning of your home, a couple of different tasty treats and nicer clothes.  Still informal, but a Function, nonetheless.  We sit around talking and socializing and if there is any information that needs to be broadcast, this is the place to do it.  Don’t get it mixed up with lunch at the club or a Family Support Group meeting (or whatever we’re calling them these days) or a Welcome or Farewell Tea.  Anyhoo…we had coffees about once a month at different people’s homes.

So we’re having a coffee and all is well and we’re talking and having a good time.  Someone compliments the hostess on her cheesecake and she says, “Oh it’s a Jello No Bake Cheesecake.”

Oh yes I did.

And oh no, they did not.

That is, they did not laugh when I promptly blurted out, “No wonder you didn’t have time to do your hair.”  One of the girls- I call us girls because we were all in our early 20s – even glared at me.  I was aghast when I realized that they had no idea what I was referencing.  Apparently I was the only person who had seen the commericial. I explained myself and got some laughter, and thankfully the hostess was gracious and understanding.  The one who glared at me never saw the humor, but she was sort of snooty anyway.

I’m not sure there is a moral to this story.  Just something funny to warm your probably freezing day. 🙂

There’s Been Knitting

Sorry about the big silence last week.  My parents were visiting and I had to spend less time on the computer and more time making it look I was doing housework or being busy.  I did get a lot of knitting time in, with a couple of completed projects to show for it.

I made a dishcloth – woohoo!  No stunning feat of knitting prowess here, just a stash of cheap yarn and the need to get out from under the massive projects I’ve undertaken of late.  Very quick, very satisfying.  You can find the pattern here:  Ballband Dishcloth.  That’s the yarn company’s actual website, but aren’t my pictures way better?

And then I started this:

No, not a ghost with a hat, but a snowman without a scarf.  I’m still working on the scarf, then I’ll show you the finished product.  He’s just too cute not to share right now.

But before I started either of those projects, I finished something that is a surprise, so if your name is Jenn and you had a baby on Christmas Eve, you need to click away right now since this is the last thing in this post, or at least act surprised when you see this in person.

Really cute mock cable baby hat and…


a soft, warm blanket with a matching crocheted edging.

Annoyed

It’s still several days away, but the Inauguration is already annoying me.  It’s messing with my plans all over the place.  Last week, the President came to our base to say goodbye to some of the folks here and shut down the main street and a couple of the gates.  Something was Up today too, as I tried to leave base to take my parents to the Metro station.  An MP was stopping cars and having them turn around.  Right before I got to him, 2 of the President’s helicopters left from the helopad where they’re stationed.  Hmmm. The MP instructed me on how to get around the road closure and then I asked him what was up.  “Sorry, ma’am, I can’t discuss it,” was the answer.  OK, but hey look – aren’t those both the helicopters? (Whenever the Prez travels in Marine One, both helicopters are used at the same time.  Don’t worry, I learned this from the Military Channel, not any of the Army’s Top Men.)

So my plans for the upcoming national holiday are thwarted, too.  We usually hit some of the Smithsonians, but seeing as how they line the National Mall, I don’t think it’s going to be worth the hassle, being less than 24 hours away from the Big Event.  We considered leaving town for the weekend, but we’d have to return on Monday, coming into DC at precisely the same time as every.single. other. person. who thinks seeing the Inauguration will be fun.

Oh, and they are closing all bridges from VA into DC and a good number of offramps from MD to DC, too.  So at some point or another, it is going to be near impossible to get into the District.

Just call me Gripey McGripester.

At Least I Didn’t Say “I Told You So”

On Christmas Eve, Boo put on his dress pants and we discovered that he was outgrowing them, as ten year old boys tend to do.  They were still ok to wear to church, but it was time for new pants.  Later in the week when he was folding his laundry, he left the pants in the living room

I told him to put them away and he told me that he wanted to give them away now that they were too short.  I asked him to please put them away anyway, since he could still wear them if he needed to, until we could get him some new ones.

As ten year old boys tend to do, he brought the pants to his room, but left them on the floor, where I discovered them several days later, crumpled in a heap, now needing to be ironed.  I gave him a stern lecture and instructed him to put them away. Which is what I told him the first time.  No, I didn’t iron or rewash the pants.

Now here we are, a few weeks later.  My parents are visiting and wanted to take us all out to the brunch at the Officer’s Club after the children’s religious education class.  About 20 minutes before we need to leave to drop them off, Boo comes to me and asks if he should change into a collared shirt and his dress pants before class or after. Of course, I reminded him that his dress pants were a wrinkled mess from lying on his floor.

What ensued next was mind boggling.

He threw such a hissy fit over not having anything nice to wear for brunch.  We recommended that he wear jeans with his collared shirt, tie and dress shoes, but he wouldn’t have it.  We suggested just wearing what he was wearing, since brunch here is not all that dressy.  Nope, wouldn’t hear of it.   He was stomping around and carrying on so much that we needed to point out that if he’d hung the pants up in the first place, he would have them to wear.  Oh, and remember -he felt they were too short to wear anyway.

He stormed off, declaring that he was old enough to stay home alone, so he wasn’t going to brunch.  He said something else about not feeling right about wearing every day jeans with a nice shirt.

When he had left, Philip and I looked at each other and said, “Is he throwing a fit over…clothes?  When did he become so fashion conscious?”  It was pretty darn funny.  I guess we really should have been more sympathetic but honestly, who knew he cared so much about clothes?  This does not bode well for the teen years when he realizes that the ladies care about the fashion.

The lesson here is of course, when mom tells you to do something, you really should do it.  Or risk being known as Fashion Boy from here on out.

Blech

OK, you all so didn’t warn me.  I thought we were friends.  Why didn’t you tell me how awful the movie “Ratatouille” is?  Yes, I knew what it was about – some disease infested rodent becoming a chef.  But it’s Disney, fer cryin’ out loud!  Surely they could turn that into something worthwhile?  And it takes place in Paris, so how can you go wrong?

I’ll tell you.

Hordes of pestilent rodents falling out of a poor old lady’s ceiling.

Swarms of disease laden rats tying up the health inspector and throwing him in the pantry, probably to later kill him and eat his liver.

A main character love child (“Mama, how come Gusteau didn’t know he had a son?”) who is bitten all over his chest by said rodents from hell.  Don’t the French have socialized medicine?  Yeah, good luck getting a rabies shot, monsieur.

Rats cooking. Thousands of them. Crawling all over the kitchen, the food, the pots, pans and utensils.  Oh sure, they washed their hands but they are RATS.  I don’t care if they were stuck in an autoclave, they are not going to be clean enough to prepare food.  They weren’t even wearing hairnets.

I could go on, but let’s just say that Pumpkin Girl and I will not be eating out for a very long time.

Celebrity

No doubt you’ve heard of the death of John Travolta’s son.  I won’t even bother to link to a story, it’s everywhere.  You know what I think is so sad, beyond the tragic loss of life?  The way this story is played out in the media.  All the details are being broadcast, from the desperate father’s plea for his son to wake up, to who is going to do the autopsy.  The EMT who responded to the call has done an interview and people are even speculating about whether the boy was allowed anti-seizure meds.

John Travolta is a big star, I know.  But can’t we leave these people alone?  Is the death of his teenage son newsworthy?  Yes.  Are all the agonizing details our right to know?  Absolutely not.

When Rebecca died, there was a standard investigation.  Philip and I gave separate, sworn statements.  They came to our home and took pictures.  Word spread quickly through our small community.  But none of it was published for the world to read and comment and pass judgement on.  Things that needed to stay private stayed private.

When a child dies, life is never the same.  Even the most ordinary things change, things you wouldn’t even think mattered.  I cannot imagine having this played out on a world stage.  I guess in some way, being a celebrity at a time like this might bring comfort – knowing that strangers care about you.  But there is just not enough money in the world that would make me want to share my grief with the world like that.  What the world knows is only what I’ve chosen to share.

I don’t know what my point is exactly.  I feel badly for John Travolta and Kelly Preston and their surviving daughter.  Such a long road stretches in front of them and the world gets to come along to watch.

Slacking

I’ve been really busy this week – busy slacking, that is.  I had great plans, of course.  I always do.  I was going to clean up the Christmas explosion of toys, get the rest of the Cub Scout popcorn out of here, review our upcoming school year, and put all the wrapping paper away.

Yeah.  So, none of that happened.

Instead I stayed up way too late every night with Philip, watching Monarch of the Glen or playing Lego Indiana Jones.  Or both.  But not at the same time.  That resulted in me sleeping way too late every morning and it being around noon before I really got going.  And then you know, the children needed my help putting together their new Lego sets.

Oh, and we also took 5 children to Port Discovery (again!!) last weekend, then braved the 50 MPH winds to go to Mount Vernon on New Year’s Eve.  I had forgotten that they open the normallly closed attic during Christmastime and I wanted to see it.  Now we’ve seen the whole mansion from attic to basement. The attic has a phenominal view and a really cool copula and the room that Martha Washington moved into after George’s death.  I like Martha Washington.  She was short and she was married to an Army officer.  I bet she would have written a very interesting blog.

Alas, duty calls.  Unlike Martha, all the actual household duties fall to me so my time as slacker mom is over.  It was fun while it lasted.

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